Once my initial hunger – craving – had been dealt with, I began to break off smaller pieces and pop them between my splintered lips, savouring every mouthful as if it were some expensive delicacy. There was an overwhelming desire to finish it all at once, to lick the bowl clean of the ‘red stuff’ as Potter liked to call it, but just like I had with the water, I left enough of the meat to last me until the cravings became unbearable again – whenever that might be.

I pushed the leftovers to the edge of my cell and lay down next to the dish. I wanted to stay close to it, just in case Phillips came back and took it from me. If I did hear those keys in the lock again, I would ram as much of what was left of the bloodied meat and water down me. So curling up on my side next to the two dishes, I lay looking at them, as if protecting them like a junkie protecting the last of their stash.

With my thirst and hunger now at bay, I already felt stronger and more comfortable. With my eyes open, I lay still and silent – listening intently for the sound of Phillips’ return. I waited and waited but he never came. As I lay on the stone cold floor, I caught my reflection in the shiny silver dish. I peered at myself, and like my hands, my face was covered in dirt and grime. My black hair was matted together in lumps and sat limply around my shoulders. Deep shadows hung under my hazel eyes and I was scared to see that I was starting to look older than my twenty years.

What has happened to me? I wondered, as I closed my eyes against the reflection. As the day outside grew old, the sunlight which had spilled in through the square hole finally faded. It was gradually replaced with darkness. Without even being aware of it, my own darkness came again and I fell into a deep and troubled sleep. This was the start of my nightmares.

Chapter Four

I could hear screaming. It wasn’t the sound of someone in pain – it was fear. The screaming came again in long, terrified bursts. I was in bed and the sounds had woken me. More screaming followed and I listened to their agonising groans. Throwing the bedclothes to one side, I stood up and crossed the darkened room. There wasn’t any carpet, just hard, cold sterile tiles.

The screaming came again and it was coming from somewhere nearby. I tried to pull open the door but it was locked.

There was a small, round window in the door and I pressed my face against it and peered through the glass.

More screaming.

Whatever lay outside my room was shrouded in darkness and I couldn’t see anything, I could only hear the sound of running feet – lots of running feet as they dashed up and down on the other side of the door.

Screaming! More Screaming!

I twisted the door handle again, but it was locked tight.

“What’s happening?” I called out.

My question was met only by the sound of those feet dashing back and forth.

I peered through the round window again, my eyes flickering from left to right. Then suddenly, a face appeared at the window and I recoiled violently, staggering backwards and falling to the floor.

A young male pressed his face against the window and stared in at me. His hair looked wet and was plastered in black streaks to his brow. His face glistened with sweat and I could see the wispy tails of steam coiling up from his skin as if he were burning alive with a fever. His face was contorted with pain.

The sound of running came again.

“Kiera!” the male screamed as he looked in at me lying on the floor. “Help me!” he begged, banging weakly against the window with a set of bony fingers. “We have to get out of here, Kiera!”

As he looked into my face, my heart began to race in my chest as I recognised who it was staring back at me.

“Isidor!” I screeched.

But he was grabbed roughly away by someone or something on the other side of the door and was gone.

I clambered to my feet and rushed back to the door. Again I pressed my face against the glass and peered out into the darkness.

Someone appeared on the other side of the glass and met my stare with a set of cold, black eyes.

“I want to see my friend Isidor!” I shouted, banging my fists against the glass.

“Get back from the window!” the face ordered. “Go back to bed, Kiera Hudson!”

I stepped away from the door and made my way back

to my bed – all the while, that face glaring at me from beyond the glass.

All of a sudden I felt incredibly thirsty – my throat felt dry. I desperately needed water.

The face at the window continued to watch me.

Any thoughts of Isidor faded and I just wanted to tell the face how thirsty I was and that I only wanted a cup of water, but no words would pass over my cracked, blistered tongue.

“Go back to bed!” the face screamed.

Pulling the blankets over my head I closed my eyes.

I forced my fingers between my lips and sucked them, hoping that this would moisten the inside of my mouth. But it wasn’t water I wanted, it was something else - warm and sticky that would not only quench my thirst, but sedate my hunger too. It was the red stuff I wanted. So with my fingers in my mouth, I began to chew. Slowly at first, just enough to draw some…

Chapter Five

…blood on my tongue and it tasted coppery. I woke suddenly and pulled my fingers from my mouth. The tip of my right forefinger was bleeding from around the edge of the nail. Sucking the blood away, I felt a woozy feeling wash over me, like I’d had too many glasses of wine.

My cell was cool and dark and a beam of blue moonlight shone through the square hole above me. Just like my dream, my throat was dry and sore again and my leg was throbbing, too. I picked up the dish with the water in it. Trembling, I brought it up to my mouth and took a sip.

It was then that I became aware of something or someone moving in the far corner of my cell.

“Who’s there?” I croaked.

Silence.

Staring through the darkness, I watched the shape move along the far wall. Whatever it was, it was huge. Carefully placing the dish back on the floor, I shuffled away from the shape.

“What do you want?” I mumbled.

As if in response to my question, the shape made a woofing sound. The noise was deep and throaty and it made me shudder in fear.

It then began to move out of the shadows and come slowly towards me. I pressed myself against the rough stone wall, whining at the stabbing pain in my back and trying to make myself as small as possible.

It moved into the centre of the cell and stepped into the moonlight. It looked at me, its eyes sharp and clear. A huge, pink tongue snaked from its gaping jaws as it licked its own face.

I felt both petrified and in awe at the same time. Although it looked fearsome and deadly – the wolf now standing before me was magnificent. The moonlight shimmered off its fur and glittered in its piercing eyes. But the wolf just stood and stared at me. My heart thumped in my chest and I began to shake uncontrollably as I remembered now that I had seen such wolves before. They had been called the Lycanthrope - a group of serial killers dammed by God to walk the Earth half human/half wolf. Seth! Jack Seth! Was he here, too? No, he had escaped the caves and I closed my eyes as I saw Potter racing away from me up a long tunnel - screaming back over his shoulder that he would return for me. But just like Luke, where was Potter now? Why hadn’t he come for me?

“Are you cold?” the wolf suddenly asked.

I sat feeling numb, too scared and shocked to reply.

The wolf stepped forward, its paws whispering against the stone floor.

“Are you cold?” the wolf asked me again.

On hearing it speak to me for the second time, I placed my hands over my ears and turned away.

“Why won’t you answer me?” The wolf pressed.

“Because you’re not really talking to me! I’m imagining it and if I answer you then that means I’m talking to a werewolf – a Lycanthrope – and that would mean the memories that I’m having are all true!” I shouted.

I heard the soft patter of its paws as it closed the gap between us. The wolf was so close to me now that I could smell and feel its breath against my cheek. Its breath smelled of raw meat – just like the meat I had eaten earlier. I didn‘t want to think about that, not because it made me feel like an animal, but because if I thought about it, I would want more of it.

“But you can hear me, right?” the wolf whispered in my ear.

“Okay I can hear you – but you’re not really here - I’m imagining you!” I groaned.

Then, I felt something rough but wet run up the side of my face. I quickly turned to see the wolf slipping its pink, fleshy tongue back into its mouth.

“Imagine that, did you?” the wolf teased.

I wiped its spit from my face in disgust.

“Well?” the wolf asked me.

“Well what?” I whispered, reluctantly resigning myself to the possibility that the wolf was really there and talking to me.

“Are you cold?” the wolf asked again.

“No.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

“Because I’m scared,” I said softly.

“Scared of what?”

“Of you!” I told him.

The wolf tilted its head to one side as if genuinely puzzled. “Why are you scared of me?”

“Because you’re a Lycanthrope,” I said. “A werewolf - a serial killer.”

“But why would I want to hurt you?”

“Because that’s what werewolves do,” I said. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes - I’m starting to remember it.” And I was remembering. I could see how the Lycanthrope had deceived my friends and me, leading us into a trap beneath the caves that were hidden behind the Fountain of Souls. “You’re not to be trusted.” I hissed.

The wolf made a woofing noise as if laughing at me. “If you are worried that I might eat you, then don’t.”

I dared to meet the wolf’s stare and said, confused, “Why not? That’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“I only eat humans,” he purred, “You’re only half human - so you don’t really count. You taste different.”

“How would you know?” I asked.