Chapter 5 of the Jack Moore Chronicles The dancing, crackling fire and the burning wood roused me from unconsciousness, or so I thought. The snow fell softly on the ground. A crow sat upon a nearby tree. Its wings took flight when I spotted it. Snow fell from the dead branch that the crow took off from. My father sat at the old wooden desk. passed down through generations. Scratches
lined the wood, echoes of the past. The colors of the symbol on the desk remained as vibrant as the day someone forged them into the oak. The stark red and deep blue of the water stood out. My father wore a sweater that looked itchy. The gray of his long hair blended with his neatly trimmed beard. He faced away from me. Yet I knew it was him. It was as if I were a kid again. The weight of the years vanished, as did the pain on my forehead. My feet swung from the couch.
The word dad was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite utter it. He adjusted his head to the right, as if to hear better. Dad? The word finally escaped. He didn't turn. His focus was on the work that was in front of him. The fireplace's warmth caressed my skin. I glanced at it, and then could not take my eyes off the flames. I thought about the flames increasing. It was as if the words escaped my mouth and drifted to the fire, translating into a language it understood.
The fireplace's warmth increased. As the flames grew, the fire came alive. The blue of the flames devoured the red. Wait! No! Stop! Stop! I yelled, but the words fell on deaf ears. The flames surrounded me in their warm embrace until all I could see was red. All I could feel was heat. I closed my eyes in hopes of waking up. Jack. Wake up, a voice said in the distance. The drastic change in temperature shocked my system. My skin was
flushed from heat. I was drenched in sweat. My eyes opened to see Golding standing over me. What the hell happened to you? He asked. I don't know. I could feel blood gushing down my forehead. I tried gathering myself, the heat fading away. The detective put his hand up as an offer, one I accepted. In that moment, I saw strength and weariness in his grip. The man before me had been through hell and back. He was more like me than I initially thought, kindred spirits
of the devil. What the hell, Jack? The detective yelled as he pulled his hand away from mine. His face turned from worry to pain in an instant. I looked down at my hands, and they appeared normal to me. You just burnt the shit out of my hand, the detective said. I was just as confused as him. I was at least 20 feet from the barn. The door was ajar. I thought about telling the detective about the creature, but this didn't seem like a good time. We walked back to his
car. We sat in silence as he drove me back to Doug's. My head felt like shit between the normal pain and the wound. I felt lousy as he drove. I stared out the window, trying to comprehend what happened. As I looked out the window, we passed some trees. The dead branches twisted and bent as if possessed by a demon. I closed my eyes, trying to regain some kind of sanity. After a count of five, I open then to find the
trees looking normal again. I've been higher than a kite before, but this is new, and I'm not even high. Did I hit my head so hard I'm seeing shit? Was that vampire even real? Is this real? Is Steven even dead? What the fuck is wrong with me? I was rudely taken out of my self -pity when Golding slammed on the brake. We were at Doug's. What happened out there, Jack? He asked, his voice more raspy than normal. He was rubbing the burned hand with the other one. Your guess
is as good as mine. I was searching the ranch like you asked me to do, and all I can remember is waking up on the ground. I decided to not tell Golding about the vampire. I didn't want him to wonder how I got away from it. Hell, I didn't even know how I did. Can you explain this? He showed me his palm that had a scorch mark. You know how the other victims were killed, right Jack? The detective said, it wasn't a question. Yeah, a hole blasted through them? Yes, scorched
through them by fire. I caught on to what Golding was putting down. Not you too. Detective Moron already wants to frame me for the killings. My best friend was killed. He was like my brother. I don't know how I burnt your hand, but I sure in hell didn't kill anyone. Jack, you're trying to be reasonable here. You know this ain't normal. You try to be reasonable. Take care of your hand. I slammed the car door and paid for it. The sound burrowed in my mind. I must have gotten a concussion.
Golding rolled down the window on the passenger side. You sure you can drive home? Yeah, I'm fucking sure. Doug's was still open. despite it being later in the afternoon. I walked in to find the place empty. Doug stood behind the counter, cleaning. What happened to you? He asked as I walked in. Your guess is as good as mine, I replied. Doug pointed to the bar stool that sat on the other side of the counter. I sat. Before I could say anything, a bottle of whiskey
appeared. Doug, you don't have a liquor license. Well, I ain't charging you, so... They can't charge me. Doug poured me a cup. As he did, the blue long sleeve of his shirt raised, unearthing a tattoo in the process of being erased. As my eyes caught the tattoo, Doug covered it with his sleeve. Who's the lucky lady's name you're erasing there, man? Oh, uh, no, just a past I'd like to forget. I was sure whiskey wasn't the best remedy for a concussion. but the liquid
gold went down nicely. What happened to your head? asked Doug, changing the subject. Me and that detective went out to the ranch, and I got knocked out or something. To be honest, not even sure. Looking into Doug's green eyes and his weathered face, marked with wrinkles like tree rings revealing his age, I could sense his skepticism toward my story. Has anything unexplainable ever happened to you? Something that can't be real? Doug took a deep breath and drank his whiskey.
There was something at that ranch, Doug. I saw it. Saw what? I don't know, but it was fucking horrific. It had red eyes and teeth sharper than any knife. It couldn't have been real though, right? I don't know, Doug. Maybe I really am losing it this time. Maybe I'm just seeing shit. But it felt real. Felt like it was going to tear me apart. Doug took a deep breath and leaned close. Jack, the world is full of things we can't explain. I think you need to take a step back.
I know Steven's death hit you hard, but I'm telling you, it's not good for you to keep doing this. The weight of the past is something we all carry. Doug rubbed his finger along his wrist with the tattoo. You don't know shit, Doug. Thanks for the drink. Let me know if you hear from Susan. I didn't want pity. I didn't want understanding. Just answers. I put my drink down and walked away. Doug returned to cleaning the cafe. I could hear Doug in the distance as he wiped the counter.
You're welcome. I walked outside, my whiskey breath visible in the night air. I got in my Saturn. It was dark and cold. My car's heater was useless, just as I felt. I screamed. Fuck! My voice reverberated in the confined space. Hey you. Yeah, you. Thanks for listening to this episode of the Jack Moore Chronicles. Curious to see how the story unfolds? Make sure to follow the show so you don't miss what's next. If you enjoyed this episode, please consider leaving
a review. It really helps us out. Want more podcasts from Wolfshield Media? Check out our website at wolfshield .media. Until next time. Thanks for listening to this Wolfshield Media Production.