The Howlett Brothers. A Wolverine Short Story By Morgan Murphy

The Howlett Brothers

(Wolverine Short Story)

By Morgan Murphy

In Canada there are countless terrains. The woodlands is where one might go to get lost. It was here in a beautiful wooded landscape where James and Victor decided not to be found. It was beginning to get dark. A lone campervan was parked in the lay by of a vacant road used only by lumber workers. The trees surrounded the van and the road with perfect symmetry. Snow from the past night rested gently on the bracken of the woodland floor. The only light in the area came from a porch under a misshapen awning that belonged to an old campervan.

Victor staggered up to the campervan. He passed through the tall trees either side of him, stopping and leaning against the bark of every other tree to keep his balance. His jumper is torn in places and his long brown coat was stained with blood and dirt. His face was covered in sweat and splashed with flecks of blood, his expression was vacant. He looked around 24 years old and was visibly shaken and very damp. As he approached the van he saw his younger brother sat on a foldout chair smoking a thin cigarette. James looked 22 years old and wore a loose fitting button down shirt with a thick brown jacket. The porch light sat on a small keg he was using as a footrest. There was just enough natural light for James to notice his brother approaching covered in blood.

“God damn it Vic.” Said James under his voice but clearly audible enough to be heard by his older brother. He could smell the blood on him.  

“Don’t start Jimmy” Victor went inside the van and returned with a second fold out chair. He slumped next to his brother and looked down at his large sharp bloody fingers. There was blood and pieces of flesh under his nails.

“Where are they?” asked James.

“Dead. All of them” his eyes glazed over as he responded.

“I guessed so. But I was actually referring to the bodies.” Victor stared into the distance completely unresponsive.

“Victor! Did you bury the bodies?” He came around and words struggled from his mouth “uh um” he shook his head. “No. I didn’t.”

James rose from his chair and climbed the steps into the campervan. He shuffled around and knocked things about inside. He stepped down from the doorway with two shovels in both hands. Victor stood up as James threw one of the shovels into his hands. James leant the shovel against his shoulder and gestured to victor to show him the way. Victor stepped past James with a snort of laughter.

The sun had truly set by the time they had finished digging the graves. The snow had melted in the last of the evening sun and darkness had swamped the wood. As the last bodies were buried the two young men propped themselves against their shovels. The graves lay peacefully amongst the trees. The soil beneath them was rich and dark.

After a short rest and a few moments of reluctant silence they set off back in the direction of the van. They were both covered in dirt and had sweat dripping from their similar noses. They began to discuss the men they had just buried. The small gang of men had learnt that the two of them were camping in the woods and amongst them decided to ask the two boys to leave. They were five honest men from the small town nearby. James’s thoughts turned to the fatherless children and the widowed women. He didn’t blame victor directly, he blamed himself too. Victor explained to James how they had followed him into the woods and confronted him. They then attacked him. And Victor, consumed with rage as he was known, had killed all five men. He had squeezed each of their throats and slashed at their flesh until they lay still.

These two boys were not the young outlaws they appeared to be. They had lived as young lords in an age that had long past. They had done things together that any sane man would deem impossible. They were gifted. But their gifts were not used in any moral way. The two boys knew nothing of morals. They had been home schooled from a young age all those years ago. But since being on the run they had only each other’s company and very little time in one place to read or learn. They must have been around fifty-five years of age but to the naked eye looked no older than twenty. They were not fatigued nor did they show any signs of being their true age. They had lived partly empty lives and often found it difficult to remember their past.

They had a large amount in common, their ability to age slowly, their animal like perceptiveness and powerful senses of smell. Their wounds healed moments after being opened and they both suffered from uncontrollable rage when provoked. Not to mention James’s hideous retractable bone claws that sliced through his fists. And Victor’s finger nails could become bone hard and incredibly sharp.

When they got back to the van they snuffed out the porch light and James tidied up some of the mess from the day. The two stepped into the campervan in turn and went to sleep on opposite sides of the living space. The van was cold and damp, it was barely liveable. But the word ‘Liveable’ didn’t mean much to these two brothers.

James woke in a most unpleasant way. Although he had escaped from another nightmare about his father which was pleasant. These were regular and he would often find himself waking in a fit of screams with Victor trying to restrain him. It was an uncomfortable sleep. His shoulders hurt and his arms felt numb. He stood and stretched his body as the cold morning sun shone through the blinds. Victor was well awake and sat outside on the porch, he had a small kettle boiling on top of a little gas cooker. As James sat next to him he opened a tin of coffee and placed two mugs on the top of the keg they used as a table. They drank coffee and ate stale bread in silence.