Chapter 10

Carl had seen something in Hannah that he wanted or, more accurately, needed. Recalling how she had walked past the garage where he had worked, the draw of her shining goodness had called him. There was no worry about making an approach and being rejected. That never happened to him.

The blond, willowy girl was awash with virtue. When he looked at her it calmed him. It almost made him want to be good, but he had accepted that he could not completely change his nature. This girl's presence in his life would, definitely, help him keep his baser instincts in check.

His mother had told him about his father when he was young. He had never met him, but he had still exerted a great influence on his life. Carl was told that his father was a monster. As the years passed and he grew older, his mother gave him more information about his dad and what he learned was terrible. Terrible but somehow fascinating, too.

"Your father, Patrick, he had the devil in him."

"What do you mean, mum?"

"Oh, he was handsome and charming, but there was something off about him. You could see it sometimes. A look, a word, and the hair would stand up on my neck. Before long I was getting like him. Led me astray he did."

Often when she spoke about him, she would whisper as if he would be alerted in some way and return. Her biggest fear was that he would come back and take control of their lives again. To keep from being discovered they moved constantly with Carl's school life being erratic and sometimes non-existent.

The wandering lifestyle suited the young Carl. Aware that he had a mean streak from an early age, he would bully and beat his schoolmates. Sometimes they moved because Sheila was feeling nervous, sometimes they moved because Carl had got into trouble again.

There was a look that his mother gave him when he was in trouble. Anger, disappointment and fear all mixed together as she regarded her son. The words "You're just like your father" would be thrown at him. A reprimand when he was young, it became a tantalising statement.

Sheila often used the words devil, or demon, when she talked about Patrick. Carl was fairly sure that he was similarly afflicted. There was a voice inside that urged him on to commit acts of violence. Was it the same thing that gave him his other gift? He could persuade people to do pretty much whatever he wanted.

Manipulating others, was useful in so many ways. Carl rarely paid for anything in shops. A smile, a touch of some sort, and assistants waved him out of the shop with a smile. School kids handed over pocket money or possessions without objection. Teachers would forget his misdemeanours.

Annoyingly, there were some people who were immune to his charms. Not many though. Not enough to disrupt his acquisitions. Those that could see through him did make life difficult. Sheila would drag them off to another location at the first sign of someone realising what a problem Carl was.

Sheila said that she had been a wide eyed innocent when she had met Patrick. She had just accepted everything that he said and went along with it. They moved around the country staying for a few months in one place before moving on again. She had lost contact with her family, so now it was just her and Carl.

The revelations about Patrick and how he was a monster usually came late at night when Sheila had opened a bottle of vodka to help her sleep. Tormented by nightmares about things she had seen and done, that kept her awake. He was so charming, she would say, before her face crumpled from a smile to a grimace, but evil too.

"He was like a drug to me. As soon as I set eyes on him, I was gone. I would do anything for that man. And it wasn't just one-way traffic, he wanted me too. Said I kept him right. Said I was good for him."

A couple of drinks later the lurid details would come out.

"He was a murderer. I suspected as much, things happened and we moved a lot. Had to keep getting out of town and going somewhere else, but then I saw it with my own eyes. He turned into a beast and killed someone. Right there in front of me. It was horrible and I was never the same again."

Getting to the bottom of the bottle, Sheila would tell the story of how Patrick cast her aside.

"After the murder, he said I was tainted. My shine had gone, he said, whatever that meant. I had kept him good, but now he was turning me bad. Then I got pregnant with you and everything changed. Not in a good way. He would say to me, "Have we not got enough evil in this house, we don't need anymore.". I never understood that. How could a little baby bring evil to the house?"

Sheila's lip would then curl as she regarded her son.

"Left me a note and said that he was gone and wouldn't be back. He had stolen and conned and killed. He had involved me in his crimes and then he left. Just like that. There was an envelope of money. At least he managed to do that. I know now what he meant about too much evil in the house. You've got that demon too. Fighting and stealing all the time. Stop now lad, or you will end up like him."

As a young boy he had been frightened at the thought of this horrible man coming back into their lives. He was too young and weak at that stage to fight back if his evil father appeared. Carl then went through a stage when he thought his mother was making it all up to stop him seeing his father. There was always a part of him, however, which knew that the stories were true and that he took after Patrick. Later he understood exactly what Patrick was like. He was a chip off the old block.

The first time that Carl had changed to something else was shortly after his sixteenth birthday. His mother Sheila had very little light left in her and he was finding it harder and harder to control himself. She should have been a source of comfort, but he could sense her, less than benevolent, intentions towards him.

That initial change had been frightening and revelatory. Feeling angry and as if he would lose control, the sanctuary of his bedroom had been sought. Safely inside, the flood of emotions released something that had always been trapped inside. A surge of power caused a physical transformation to take place.

Watching his hands, they sprouted thick dark hair and his nails thickened to become claws. The sensation of more hair growth across his shoulder, which had broadened at the same time. The crack of bones as his jaw changed shape to accommodate the large fangs growing where his teeth had been.

Staring in the mirror, Carl understood Patrick. He understood that he was special, too. A career of murder and violence stretched before him and it was welcomed. The demon receded and he was Carl once more. Next time it emerged it would want to be fed. It would want to take a life.

Carl would not be telling his mother about his new talent. The conversations that had taken place, hinted at his father being a monster. That had not been a euphemism. Now he knew what his mother had seen and was not surprised that it had corrupted her. Did she know that he would be able to change like his father? Maybe she did not want to believe it was possible.

The stories about Patrick included admissions about Sheila's behaviour, too. She had started off as such a sweet and innocent girl but "You can't live with that much evil without some of it rubbing off on you."

At times, she had been drawn into his schemes and had committed crimes, as well. What they were was never revealed, no matter how drunk she got.

"The shame. After your father disappeared, that was all I was left with. I would have done myself in, but I had you to look after. I've tried to keep you right, Carl, but I think you are going to end up like him. What am I going to do then?"

For Carl, Patrick had gone from being the bogey man to being a role model. Each day he felt a greater affinity for the man he had never met, but had learned so much about. His mother watched him warily in the hope that he would not turn out like his father, but she knew what his nature was. He would be evil like Patrick.

A tension filled their lives after Carl turned sixteen. Mother and son watched each other. At what point would things boil over? How would it end? Fairly sure that his mother was plotting his demise, Carl laughed at the thought. Did she not know how powerful he had become?

"I think it is time to move on." Sheila suggested.

"Why, has something happened?"

"No, I'm just feeling restless. Pack up all the stuff and I'll get a car from somewhere."

"Be careful when you nick a car."

"Its not the first time I've done it. You do your bit and I'll do mine."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know yet. Drive off and see where we end up."

The vague plan made Carl wonder. Sheila was often erratic, but this was unusual. What did she have up her sleeve? The way she had looked at him lately had made his hackles rise. When Carl looked in the mirror, he saw a dark, good looking, man. The coming of his demon had changed him. Could Sheila see what he had become and what did she plan to do about it?

What would he do in her place? Seeing a potential danger grow stronger by the day, the only recourse was to strike before it became unassailable. A smile spread across his face. There would not be a chance to kill him because he would kill her first. The first sacrifice to his demon would be his own mother.

The car felt full of static as the journey began. Carl looked at Sheila with a mocking smile for the first five minutes and then settled back for a snooze. Out of town, on a country lane, an opportunity was presenting itself.

"Can we stop for a minute. I need to take a piss."

"Charming. I'll pull over so that you can relieve yourself."

"What's with the airs and graces? You are a single parent sat in a stolen car with your demonic son."

"Demonic son?"

"Yes. I forgot to tell you. It seems that good old dad has passed on his demon as well as his genes. Look what I can do."

Eyes wide and scrabbling for the handle, Sheila sought her escape. A clawed hand grasped her arm and, as her flesh was torn, she screamed. The last sight of her son terrified her and broke her heart. Carl, with his fangs and his fur, was the one thing she hoped he would never be. A beast.

Dragging her out of the car, Carl rammed his claws into Sheila's throat and tore it open. The body, slung over his shoulder, was taken to a copse of trees and discarded. So, that was matricide. Carl didn't give a toss what it was called. The look of shock on her face had been almost comical, with her eyes wide and her mouth agape. When he had searched her handbag, he had found the knife which she had planned to use on him.

Driving the car for a few miles, Carl, eventually, found a suitable place to abandon it. There was not much of value amongst their possessions, but some things were taken. A bit of money, some jewellery, some clothes and he was off. The talents inherited form his father would ensure that Carl lived a comfortable life.