"THIS IS A STUPID idea, Tori."
Dim flashlight in his grip in the depth of an abandoned tunnel in Missouri at 1am in the morning, Christopher Reeves stared through with the fear that crept into his bones. His disheveled black hair fell in straight sullen lines beneath the shadow of his hoodie, almost drenched by the sweat of his fear.
Something was in these caves, he knew it. But he hadn't come this far to prove Tori right about her symmetry. Gods. Demigods. Monsters. He wouldn't say it didn't bother him that she invested her beliefs in such fanatical myths. In fact, when she'd approached him last week and told him of her voyage to some 'demigod academy', Christopher had not only figured out that Tori was mad, but she was also in need of help.
And if help meant trotting unarmed into a haunted, seemingly haunted tunnel that was believed to be inhabited by monsters, then he would take the risks. He would do just that to stop her from trying to corrupt his beliefs. If, however, he returned to the city unscathed, and she still refused to look reality in the eye, then he would definitely take her to therapy.
"This was your idea, stupid." Tori's voice pouted from the receiver's end of the call, echoing off the tunnel walls like it ached for a resting place. She chuckled softly, satisfactorily. Almost like she knew how this day was supposed to end for him. Then a tease. "You're scared, aren't you?"
"I'm not." Christopher denied, then let out a shudder at a sudden creak. He stopped to listen, darting the rays of his flashlight around every corner. It screened a page of bright white light on every surface, but there was nothing. He moved, resuming slow steps along the muddy path. "There's nothing here, don't you think I'm starting to become brainwashed as you are."
Maybe 'brainwashed' wasn't the word, but this place was really starting to seem like a refuge home for monsters. The utter overwhelming darkness. The distant snoring of sleeping bats. No. There was no such thing as monsters. How could fear have made him forget that tiny little detail?
There had to be an explainable reason why he was suddenly this terrified. Maybe it was because he hadn't engaged in any daring activity for so long. If anything had been a spotlight for him this year, it was trying to survive school and the consistent intimidation of his bullies. But then, that was even more knightly than simply strolling through an abandoned undercity tunnel, looking— for affirmation— for what didn't even exist.
Wasn't this a waste of his time?
"Alright. That does it, I'm leaving." He frowned, his resolve crowning fear. He was already starting to turn away when his eyes met a bloody wall before him. He stopped, hearing his jerking wildly as he ran his flashlight along the wall. There, on the scarred surface was a cold splatter of blood, trailing down to the mangled corpse of a person.
Christopher gasped, the shock almost causing him to unhand his cellphone. He stared in sheer panic at the body before him, halfway chewed up. It was a girl, with the tannest orange hair he'd ever seen. Although her petite face had turned pale from being stagnant for too long, her freckles were still never denying.
She was dead, wasn't she?
"Help me. . ." She whispered beneath her lungs, just loud enough for a reconfirmation. "Please. . ."
Christopher hesitated, shivering through something between irritation and panic. He took in deep forceful breaths, which was quite a difficult rhythm to maintain in the enclosed space. Then, he heard a guttural noise like a growl, the tap of steps approaching him.
He braced, indulgently pulling a zapper out of his hoodie pocket and charging it up. Okay, maybe his beliefs weren't veered towards the existence of monsters, but anything could be hiding in a tunnel that has been dormant for two or three decades.
And did a five-foot-tall werewolf qualify as 'anything'? Or was this just the deception of fear in his eyes?
He shut his eyes and opened them back up, but there it still was. A werewolf, probably only an inch shorter than him, with blackened fur like the night and fiery glazed eyes. No, there were two of them. No, not two. A rather astounding pack. They growled and salivated over their bloody snout, sauntering towards him as if trying to explain how delicious he smelled.
He got the message.
"Hey paleface, what do you see?" Tori asked from the other end, but he was more or less at a loss for words. "Christoph, are you there?"
"Please tell me I'm just being brainwashed like you right now." Christopher finally spoke, staring petrified at the menagerie before him. "In reality, a bunch of huge wolves aren't promising to tear me apart, right?"
"Oh shit—Run. Now."
Christopher didn't waste a second. He jolted off, yelling and screaming, aching to see the tunnel's entry soon. The werewolves followed, seemingly jogging on their fours and yet still catching up to him. What sort of hope did he carry, that he would be able to outrun an entire pack of his doom? Whatever it was, he sprinted regardless, his hoodie flapping behind him. It was only a matter of time before his heart would rip itself out through his chest from exhaustion, but until then, he planned to stay alive.
The pack alpha's growl trailed behind him, sending chills into his soul as fast as freon freezes. Evidently, it seemed more mad now that his meal was on the run. It began to pick up a fast pace, and from a casual jog, the beat transposed movement into a desperate leap. Christopher yelled as the monster's about nudge his back, the gnashing of blood smeared cannibals as it failed to snap off his flesh.
Exhaustion crawled through his body like a silent predator, overriding his lung capacity and potentially— his breathing. His adrenaline rush seemed to have faded alongside his will to live, and so he slowed. He registered a fifteen-pound pounce against him and collapsed with a thud. The fall made him see white, and a vivid replay of his pathetic life.
Death, perhaps? Was this how it felt like. . .?
SLICE!
A sharp sound of a slicing blade suddenly interrupted his concentration. It was in that moment that the head of the alpha wolf rolled off from him, stopping before a pair of worn-out field boots. Christopher recognized those shoes anywhere, and even with his blurred eyes, he recognized the skinny stature, the shaggy beard hair, and a lemon green t-shirt with blue italic fonting that read, 'I HATE TO WORK'.
"Rudolff!"