I wasn't always the way I am now. I used to be happy... I used to have a family... I used to have, if very few, friends.
The everything changed...
But before we get to the change, I'm sure you'd like to know who I am, correct?
Max.... my name used to be Max... but now, I go by Feral.
I was about 6 years old when it happened. The changing. It seems early, I know, but you'll understand later on. I'm Native American, so going to a different school was a little scary. I was pale-skinned like everyone else, so no-one suspected anything. Except the feathers in my hair and the necklace with the wolf pendant. Those where dead giveaways.
I remember the children would laugh, and the teacher would tell them to be quiet. I could feel their stares boring into me, as if trying to look at me and figure out exactly what I was. When recess started, I would sit alone by the woods near the school, watching the others play. Some kids would come and make fun of me, but I just ignored them. They didn't matter. While I sat there, though, I could never shake the feeling of being watched. Yes, there where dozens of eyes on the playground, but this felt.... unnatural.
One day some older kids pushed me down while I was gazing at the sky, daydreaming as usual. They taunted me, shoving me from person to person. I was too busy staring at the forest.
In the forest stood a figure, unnaturally tall. It appeared to be wearing a suit, but it was hard to see it when it was in the shade of the trees. A sharp ringing filled my ears, and my vision turned blurry. I felt fear strike my heart, but the instant I blinked, it was gone. I passed it off as my imagination at the time. The bell rang to go back inside, and the kids pushed me on the ground. I got up and rubbed the dirt off me, noticing blood staining my hands when I was done. I had scraped my knees on some rocks. I walked back inside the school, filthy and bleeding, and the entire time I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling of being watched.
A few years pass and I'm 14. In eight grade, going good... I guess. The kids here taunted me worse, calling me names that only angered me more. Every time I fell asleep, I still felt like something was watching me, staring at me through the curtains of my window. I always shook the feeling off as paranoia. Going to school was torture. The kids where total jerks. "Go back to the reservation, Wolf Girl!" they would taunt. They would call me names, like "Native Whore" and "Savage Bitch". I suffer from ADHD, so I'm not able to stay still. They taunted me about that, too, caling me "Hyper" and "Crackhead", but the one that stuck in my head was "Feral". I don't know why, but it just.... stuck. I remember going home one night, and I did my homework and ate supper with my parents. They didn't know what was going on. I never told them. I went to bed that night, but remember waking up at midnight. My room was pitch black- not a light source in sight. Except the moon. It illuminated my room enough so I could see someone standing in the darkest corner of my room. My heart races in panic. The person is wearing a suit, their arms so long their hands reach down to their knees, their skin bleach white. My eyes travel up it's torso to it's face, and my panic rises even more.
It didn't have one...
I tried to scream, I really did, but no noise would come out. It cocked it's head to the side, as if it was examining me. Questioning. I couldn't think straight. Ringing sounded in my ears, and the longer I stared the sicker I felt, but I couldn't look away. My feelings of panic and absolute horror grew, and it stretched a hand out to me. I lie down, trying to avoid it, but it only followed. It settled over my eyes, and the last thing I remember seeing before I black out is a vision of dead, bloody children.
I woke up, panting. 'Must have been a dream...' I thought. But it felt so real... are dreams supposed to feel like that? I can still feel the creature's cold touch on my face, as if it's hand was still there. Then I hear screaming from outside...
My instincts told me to run, but curiosity got the best of me, and I climbed out my window into the chilly August night. I followed the source of the scream until I hit the woods. Instantly memories of my childhood near the woods came back. Memories of that creature, staring at me...
Again my curiosity got the best of me, and I walked into the forest, turning on my flashlight I had grabbed on the way out. So far, nothing. I got deeper into the woods, and saw something hanging in a tree. I shined my flashlight on it, and backed away, fear and horror forcing my voice to die.
Hanging from the tree was the body of a girl I went to school with, her entrails hanging to the forest floor, her face forever frozen in a look of pain and terror. I fell to my hands and knees and puked, the sight too much for me to stomach. I wiped my mouth and looked back up. Upon further inspection, I saw her organs had been stuffed in bags and placed back in their correct spots, some had fallen out and sat there on the ground. She was hanging from a tree branch stabbed through her forehead, blood and brain matter dripping down her horrific face. I got up and backed away, and then it started. The ringing. It pierced my ears and I almost dropped to the ground. I coughed into my hand, feeling something wet splatter my fingers. When I opened my eyes, I saw blood staining my hands. 'Why am I coughing up blood?' I asked myself. 'I'm not sick.' I got up and tried to run away, my legs weak. I tripped on a tree root, and when I turned around, I came face-to-face with the creature stalking me. The skin where it's mouth was tore open, sounding like velcro, and the most sadistic and demonic smile I'd ever seen grinned back at me, it's black forked tongue snaked back and forth. I backed away and got up, running dizzily. "Can't Run..." a low, demonic voice growled in my head. "Can't Hide!!" The talking ended with maniacal laughter as I ran back into my bedroom, closed the window and locked it, then went back to bed. Even though my back had been turned to the window, I felt something... or someone... staring at me.
I finish highschool, and I'm 27 now. I still get shit from my old schoolmates, but I ignore most of it. I sat in a coffee shop one day, and felt like I was being watched. I put my head down and started to panic. No... He's found me!
I looked out the window slowly, and sure enough, He's standing on the other side of the street. Watching me. I blinked, and He disappeared. Then I felt normal eyes boring into my back. I looked behind me to see three of my old schoolmates glaring at me. I get the check and I leave the money on the table, leaving as quickly as I can. I remember those three girls. They beat me up my freshman year of highschool.
I looked behind me and saw they where following. I decided to take a shortcut through the woods, hoping to cut them off so I could get home.
Instead, they cut me off halfway through the woods.
"Look what we got here, girls." The middle girl, obviously the leader, sneered. She flipped her blond hair and glared at me. "It's the Feral bitch."
There it was again. That name. Feral."I thought you went back to the reservation!" One of her friends growled.
I took a step back. "Look, I don't want any trouble." I said.
"Get her!" The blond yelled.
After what felt like hours of torture but was only minutes, I managed to drag myself home. Beaten, bruised and bleeding, I felt something snap inside me, and I knew it wasn't a bone this time. I started laughing. I didn't know why, all I know is I laughed, and laughed, my sides hurting from my broken ribs. I stood up and my back cracked as I straightened it. They where gonna pay... I would make them pay! I grabbed my nail-file I had never used and put it to use, filing my nails down to a point. I grabbed a kitchen knife from my kitchen and checked the time.
I walked out of the house and looked at my paper of addresses. Lisa Robinson, 42 North Street. The blond who helped her friends beat me up earlier. I started heading there, my eyes darting from side to side and my hand twitching with the knife in it. I reached the house and tried the front door. Locked. I snuck around to the backyard and found an open window, which I used to enter the house. I looked around and checked all of the rooms until I found her bedroom. She was fast asleep, so I snuck in, trying not to laugh. I shook her awake, and she screamed.
"What the hell are you doing here?!" She shrieked.
I grinned, tilting my head to the side. "Don't trust the wild ones!" I said, laughing, and pinned her to the bed, stabbing her in the wrist and tearing into her with my now-sharpened nails. The blood, the flesh... it smelled good...
As she screamed and yelled in pain and agony, tears spilling down her face, I grabbed one of her arms and sunk my teeth into her flesh, tearing off a chunk of human meat.
It... didn't taste... that bad...
As I finished her off, eating a little of her meat in the process, I wrote "Don't trust the wild ones! ~Feral" on the bare wall. I don't know why... it just felt... good...
Then I took a hammer and nailed her to the wall next to it, intestines and blood splattering the floor.
I hear sirens wail outside when I'm done, and I panic slightly. One of the neighbors must have heard the shrieking and called the cops.
I jumped out the 2-story window and landed safely, running into the woods. I felt good. Better, but I wasn't moving as fast as I could be. I kicked off my shoes and took off my socks, ripping the blood-soaked legs off my jeans so they're like shorts. I ripped only a little of my shirt and continued running. I felt much better now. Less to constrict my movement.
I could hear the barking of dogs in the distance, and I ran a little faster, adrenaline pumping in my veins. I waded through a river, dodged around trees, but still they pursued me. Ugh!
I came to a small cliff and looked down, seeing a river below. It wasn't that far of a jump, so even if it was shallow, it wouldn't kill me. I look behind me, then back at the cliff, and jump.
I ended up on the shore, and when I do, I looked up at the same being who had been chasing me for years. His expressionless "face", for lack of a better phrase, stared down at me, His head cocked to the side. I growled, sounding like an animal, and backed up. If this thing thought it could kill me, it could think again!
It just stood there, watching me. It extended a hand to me, and I prepared myself to get up and run, but it stopped short of my face and was held palm-up. I looked up at Him, and his head was still cocked to the side. I put my hand in his, and He helped me up.
"Hey Rosie, check this out!" My roommate Sarah calls from the living room.
I head into the living room and sit next to her as she un-pauses the screen.
"We have breaking news!" The news-anchor says. "Three weeks after the murder of fashion design apprentice Lisa Robinson and the disappearance of Native American author Max Wolf-Blood, there have been a chain of murders in the area! Police are currently searching for the murderer, suspected to be the same person. Currently, all they have found is a kitchen knife at the sight of Robinson's death, the corpse's flesh missing with visible bitemarks where the flesh was, and the similar words at each murder sight. The words all read "Don't trust the wild ones" and the word "Feral" written below them. The killer is described as female, with black hair and ripped clothing. If any of you have any information on the cannibalistic killer known as Feral, please contact the authorities."
Sarah turns the tv off and looks at me. "Scary, right?
I nod, then look out our window at the snowy scene in horror.
A woman stands there, her long black hair almost to her ankles. She's grinning, her head cocked to the side and all of her teeth pointed and looking sharp as knives. Her skin is bleach white, with a black O with an X through it visible on her left shoulder. Her black tank-top and jeans are shredded, and her spiked collar shines in the dying light of the setting sun. It must be Feral!
Sarah notices too and we both get up, running to the phone. I dial 911, but when I look over, I see she's even closer. My eyes widen and I drop the phone in shock.
There are no footprints in the snow.
She leans down between our heads and whispers "Don't trust the wild ones!", the last thing Sarah and I ever heard.