Frank Pendle had been having a bad year. Brenda had left him sometime in February. (though to be quite honest Brenda hadn't "been there" for the better part of seven years) She'd finally put into action what 3 years of cheating and abuse had been steadily brewing-- divorce. Frank was a volatile man, she'd known that when they'd married; why didn't she know that he only got so angry because he cared so much?

Ah screw it, the bitch wasn't worth getting upset about. They hadn't even had sex for the six months before her leaving. In fact, the only thing that had told Frank she was gone was the note and the lack of food in the fridge.

"Gone to mother's."

Well she hadn't gone there; Frank had checked. One night in a storm of drunken fury he'd thrown a brick through his mother-in-law's window causing the police to descend with sirens and ending with an overnight in jail. Brenda never came to bail him out.

A month later Frank lost most of his savings in a poker game gone bad; there were some guys who played for keeps and at that time Frank couldn't afford -not- to pay. Of course he then lost his job followed by his flat and finally in early April found his way to Uncle Bert's broke-down cabin in the woods.

Most of his life Frank had been told that his Uncle Bert was a little crazy, a little loony, and that he'd lived in a secluded cabin far away from any villages or towns. Once when Frank had been a little younger he'd gotten in trouble with the local gang and had needed a place to lie low for awhile; Uncle Bert had taken him in and proved to be a quite sane and enjoyable (if not a little kooky) senior citizen. Now that Frank had no place else to go Bert didn't seem too bad an option and might actually brighten up his so far crummy year.

- - - - - - - - - -

It had been late when Frank finally arrived. Almost tired beyond thought from having hiked so far for so long in the dark he just flung the door open without announcement and then ... and then...

Frank didn't remember what else had happened that night and quite frankly he didn't want to know. What could have possibly compelled him to shoot Uncle Bert six times in the chest? Maybe it was the same thing that told him to dig a pit, throw Bert and the gun in, and then try and drink away the wrongness of it all.

Frank lived most of April in a fevered haze, eating up all of Bert's pantry and root cellar; he'd begun to feel hungry all the time and no amount of food or drink seemed to fill the void that was threatening to tear him apart inside. When May finally rolled around he considered that maybe enough time had gone by for him to go back to the real world now, and that maybe Brenda had come to her senses and realized how much he really did love her. Then he could get his job back and this nasty business of Uncle Bert could just stay buried and no one need know what had happened.

But Frank stayed and he didn't know why. There was something wrong, more so than the rotting corpse of his father's dearly departed brother and more than the entire bottle of whiskey he'd managed to down in one day. There was a burning in his gut that wasn't the alcohol, something wanted out of him, the air smelled mustier, dirtier, and Frank fancied that he could sense the animals that lived in the forest. His head had ached all day and even Mr. Jack Daniels couldn't keep his brain from pounding now that the sun was going down, he didn't want to think about it... he didn't want to think. No more thoughts. ... nothing.

pain.

painpainfearpainpainpawspain

painpainpawsclawsclawing

howlinghowlhairpainpainpain

painfearfearlessprimalpainkill

teargnashkillpainkillpainkill

painkillkillkillkillkillkill.

kill.

Next morning Frank woke up in agony.

He looked like he'd fallen into a fire, one side of his face and his hands were red as blood, the skin peeling away like crisp roasted chicken skin. What the hell had he done last night, how pissed had he gotten? Outside and naked, bits of dirt and leaf stuck to all the blood that covered his torso and hands. Using the outer wall of the cabin for support he slowly pushed his way off the ground without using his hands and decided to try and find Bert's first aid kit.

But Frank never made it through the front door.

The overwhelming color was dark dark red, but if one had searched closely they could've seen yellow and green too. Looking small, the object of interest really wasn't all that tiny as most of him had been spread throughout the little cabin causing little trails of crimson to lead outward from the source like scouting expeditions gone horribly wrong. What remained however was enough for Frank to fetch the shotgun and end the agony of his hands and face.

After all, Brenda was never going to come back to him after this now was she?