the daughter

It was freezing. The bed was covered with snow, and in the air, the salty smell of the ocean, of blood. The blood spread slowly over the snow, from her ears, nose, mouth, and from between her legs.
A boom-boom-boom danced inside her chest. Her heart was pounding fast, too fast, ready to burst. Clutching her chest, she cried bloody tears.
She heard the scraping of claws ripping skin, felt gnawing hunger, a black hole in her stomach demanding to be filled. "Feed me! I'm starving!" she screamed, scratching her arms and chewing on her hands, tearing away layers of delicate skin. Wood crunched. She spit out splinters...
Miles away, hiding in a corner of the room, something kept mewing, something small but glowing with heat. Heat she needed to stop the cold inside her. The sound shredded every nerve ending, the high pitch bouncing and echoing inside her head. Eyes closed, she lunged out of bed. "Stop!" she commanded, but it would not listen.
It fought her, scratching, hissing and spitting, but she felt strong, very strong, and her nails were long and curved. Deep snarls rumbled from her throat as she made the noise stop. Forever.
The Runic choker glowed as she slurped greedily from cupped hands. And the red swallowed her into darkness.

the father

He didn't answer. Stumbling into the bathroom, he locked the door and ripped off his shirt. A growth protruded from his chest. The black paw tattoo had become a hot red fist holding his heart within its iron grasp. He threw himself into the shower, blasting the cold water, begging for the fiery pain to cool.
The bathroom mirror fogged then cleared. Dachnaur, lips twisted into a sardonic smile, emerged. "One more day, Vincent, one more day," he said patiently before his reflection faded.
The fist relaxed, flattened, turned black again. Now freed, his heart beat more normally. The burning ceased. Shivering, he turned off the water. Well, that settled it. Trick now was convincing Darlene to agree to the deal.

the baby

She loved his blue veined see-through skin, his tiny bones, white-lashed pink eyes and especially his white, white hair, so different from hers. He looked like an alien baby. He probably was an alien baby. He was so quiet, hardly ever cried, and she'd only heard him scream that one time.
He was less than a year old then. Mamma had been at work, Daddy off somewhere. She and Tommy had been watching cartoons. Grandma Di, doing her daily praying crap, had stormed to the TV, snapped it off, then started hitting her over the head with the Rosary. At first it was really funny, but then the crucifix had hit her on the cheek. It got her mad, and she'd grabbed the Rosary. Tommy' eyes had rolled back in his head. He screamed--so high it made her ears ring. Grandma had staggered back, holding her head like she'd been hit or something. Later that night, she'd had a stroke and Daddy had finally put the old bat in a home.
She had this theory. She and Tommy were from another planet and their real parents had dumped them here. Someday, if they behaved, they would pick them up again. The problem was, being good was a real pain in the butt. That part was always the sticking point.

the werewolf

Ignoring the screams, Dachnaur pressed the broken nose between his fingers, cracking the main bone. As careful as a surgeon, he molded it like clay into its former shape and held it until set. Deftly, he sliced through the clothes with one claw, then placed his hands on Vince's deformed leg and foot. Skin glowed, bones softened, stretched and re-shaped.
Wavering in and out of consciousness, Vince felt burning knives ripping and tearing everything inside. He moaned.
"You are such a baby." Humans, Dachnaur thought, do more whining than the rest of the animal kingdom. And half-humans are the worst of the lot.
Heroin scars flamed then faded, fingerprint whorls rearranged. At the monster's touch, skin surrounding the tattoo puckered, cracked. The bright wings of Ba began to fade.
"No! No..." Vince screamed, trying to pull his hand out of reach, but the claw held his arm in a steel grip until the entire tattoo had disappeared.
The creature pressed his hand on the heart area. Flesh sizzled; the room filled with the odor of seared meat. "This is your heart, boy. Never forget that."
The mark of a huge black paw appeared, indelibly scorched on Vince's chest. Then, Dachnaur's two large thumbs squeezed the fragile temples until the veins bulged.
Vince felt his fingertips and lips tingle, then numb. His eyes rolled back to white. The sanity of unconsciousness overpowered him.
"Grow up, son," Dachnaur whispered, brushing the hair off Vince's sweaty forehead with unexpected tenderness.
All business again, he inspected the surgery with approval. "And just say No," he said, then laughed.