WritingMadeHard

Carved over a period of 12,000 years by wind, ice and water, the Niagara Gorge collects waters from the upper Great Lakes Basin. The waters flow into the Niagara River, rushing at 40 miles per hour toward the 1100-foot wide crest line of Niagara Falls. The governments of Canada and New York State divert 112,000 gallons per second to their electrical generating plants. The remaining 100,000 gallons per second hit the precipice at full force and crash to the rocks 182 feet below in a deafening thunder that drowns out all other sound. Luna Island, a small strip of rock, interrupts the water of Bridal Veil Falls at the southern most point. The small section that remains is known as Luna Falls.
Alan Strange sat on the front steps of his log cabin on the Canadian side some distance from the falls. He slowly turned the pages of an old photo album. A hundred and fifty years ago, when his father built the cabin, Luna Falls had been visible from the front porch. But massive hotels and other structures had long since obstructed that view. Now, the trees and brush that Strange had allowed to sprout up in the yard limited his view to the immediate surroundings. Even so, he could hear the falls rumbling endlessly in the distance, and he found that far away rumble comforting, somehow.
The face of a young woman standing next to an oxcart looked up at him from the photo album. The picture was yellowed and frayed at the edges, the image nearly worn off by constant touching. Had it really been that long since they’d walked together in the streets of Budapest? It hardly seemed any time at all. He had loved her so much. He still missed her, after nearly a century. How could he have murdered her like that? He loved her more than life itself, yet he had torn her literally limb from limb. He didn’t remember it, of course. He didn’t remember killing anyone. Still, everyone he’d ever loved…everyone he’d ever known…was gone. He couldn’t remember killing any of them, but he relived the murders every night in his dreams. He relived the madness, the savagery, and the rage. Every morning he would awaken with no memory of the acts, and only a vague awareness of the dreams, but knowing that he was responsible for all of those deaths.
Finally, he had moved here to the wilderness. Well, it had been wilderness then. The move had allowed him to be away from people. Perhaps if he didn’t know anyone, he wouldn’t kill anyone. But it hadn’t worked out that way. Eventually he had devised a way to lock himself into a windowless cubicle with a timer that would allow him to exit only when the sun was shining. He wasn’t a danger during the day. Only at night and only when the moon was full. He was a true lunatic—that’s what he was: a person driven mad by the full moon. But in his heart he knew the truth. He knew exactly what he was. The old woman in Hungary had warned him, but he’d ignored her. He was a scientist. There was no supernatural. What a fool he had been.
Strange gently closed the old album and carried it into the house where he wrapped it in a cloth and closed it up in a dresser drawer. Some of these pictures were over a hundred years old. They had to be protected. He looked up at himself in the mirror above the dresser. He looked just like he had the night Myra disappeared. He hadn’t changed in all these years. His hair was still black, his skin supple, and his tan face lineless. He had gone to Budapest to research longevity. He had been working at one of those clinics where they gave rich women injections of lamb cells. Such clinics were all the rage back then, but it was a joke. He had found nothing useful there. Then he met the old woman. He had given her his life’s savings to take him to a man she told him of—a man who did not age. Yes, he had found the secret of prolonging youth, all right. And he had spent the rest of his life trying to find an antidote. Now it looked like he had finally succeeded. Not a cure, but a treatment that taken regularly would stave off those awful side effects. Just as the old woman had told him, the secret was in the little yellow flower that grew on the mountainsides near her village.
“But why are you so concerned with youth?” She had asked. “There are worse things than growing old, worse things even than death.”
But to him, there had been nothing worse than growing old and dying. He had been raised by his grandfather and as a teenager, he had watched that gentle, wonderful man shrivel up and die before his eyes. It had left him determined not to suffer the same fate. Or at least he would learn to put it off as long as possible. How foolish he had been.
Now, it was beginning to get dark. The moon, a full moon, was rising. He could feel the moonlight burning his skin, and he could feel the old rage beginning to well up within him. It was time. He fought to remain calm and exited the log cabin onto the front porch. The greenhouse was behind the cabin, but the cabin had only one door. It was only a few steps around back to the greenhouse, but it seemed like miles. The moonlight distracted him and he almost forgot his mission, but he was determined and for the moment he was able to ignore the symptoms brought on by that awful light. Then he saw the door standing awkwardly open and the anger mounted within him. Damn raccoon, he thought. He had seen one of the animals nosing around the greenhouse earlier in the day, but had thought nothing of it at the time.
Strange ran to the greenhouse and threw open the door that was hanging by one hinge. The place was a wreck! That raccoon, or something, had gotten in and smashed the cases and upturned the racks of plants. The little refrigerator in the back corner was on its side. Broken vials were scattered across the floor. He rummaged quickly through them looking for an unbroken container, but found none. It was all ruined! And it would take months to grow enough of the yellow flowers to produce more of the treatment! He must lock himself in the escape-proof cubicle, quickly!
He started across the overgrown yard toward the partially underground six-by-six log cubicle that until recently he’d been forced to lock himself into every 28 days. After a few steps, he stopped. It wasn’t a raccoon that had done this to him, he thought, his mind yielding to the lunar madness. It was that woman who worked in the convenience store! No one else even knew he existed. It had to be that bitch! She must have followed him home through the woods and ransacked the greenhouse while he was…He’d get her for this.
Strange turned away from the cubicle and headed into the darkening woods, his ability to reason overcome by a savage rage. He ran awkwardly, feeling, sensing, smelling his way as the light faded almost to blackness. His feet hurt. His damn shoes were too tight! He kicked them off and continued on more lithely, the light of the rising moon cast long, ominous shadows ahead of him. He bent low to pass under a tree branch, then stayed in that feral posture using his hands and arms to sweep brush and briars out of his way.
Abruptly, he stopped and cocked his head to one side. He was absolutely quiet for a few seconds. He didn’t even breathe. There it was again—the sound of people talking. He dropped down until his hands were on the ground and peered through the brush at the young couple who walked toward him along an old trail. They were holding hands and laughing about being lost. Perhaps it was they who had ransacked his greenhouse? No. It was that woman from the grocery store. He would take care of her! But first, he must see that these two did not stumble across his home. They had no business in these woods, his woods. They deserved what they were going to get.
Strange bounded over the low brush between them, and pounced, growling like an animal. The male grabbed him by an arm, throwing him into a bramble patch. He was strong, that one. Strange no more than hit the ground than he was on the attack once again, biting, scratching, and tearing at the soft flesh of his opponent.
“Run, Zen!” The male shouted, “Get away, quick!”
“No, I…”
“Go! Now!”
Strange tore at his back with talon-like nails, while sinking his teeth deep into the male’s neck. He jerked his head several times, tearing out a piece of flesh the size of a child’s hand. Blood streamed from the wound and ran down the male’s chest.
The female looked around for a weapon, but there was nothing useful at hand. Finally, in desperation, she picked up a dried branch that had fallen from a tree. It was full of wood-rot and termites, and when she struck Strange with it, it shattered into dust. She cursed and cried, looking for anything she could use to defend her mate, but found nothing.
“I’ll get help!” She shouted, and ran back the way they’d come.
The male kicked Strange in the gut, knocking the wind from him. In the darkness and shadows of the woods it was hard to see and the shadows made everything surreal. Strange knew the male couldn’t really tell what had attacked him and that was an advantage for Strange. He redoubled his efforts, raking the man’s body with his nails and biting out pieces of flesh. Most of the man’s clothing had been torn off or shredded and his skin was slick with blood making it difficult for Strange to get a good hold on him. Strange howled, the man cursed, and the brawl continued.
Suddenly, the man had a broken tree branch in his hands. He swung it like a baseball bat, cracking it against his attacker’s skull. Strange fell to the ground, momentarily stunned. Then he was up and attacking with such force the male was knocked onto his back. Strange pounced on top of him, sank his teeth into the male’s soft belly. He jerked his head away, rending a gash in the male’s belly. He dug his nails into the open wound digging, widening and deepening the bloody opening.
The male rolled over pinning Strange beneath him. He stabbed at him again and again with the broken tree limb. It came away bloody. The man kept pounding away with the broken limb, but he was getting weaker. He had lost a lot of blood and continued to bleed from his neck and belly wounds. Finally the man collapsed. Strange slunk away, whimpering, into the woods. He was bloody and injured, but he still had to find that bitch from the grocery store.