The W(h)erewolf: A Short Story
A Young Professional Experiences a Confusing Dark Side on Full Moon Nights
He stalks uneasily through the thicket, following the tree line closely, snout sniffing left and right, looking for threats he doesn’t yet understand.
He remembers landing this time. That is unique. Usually, it’s just a blinding, excruciating flash and there he is: in a forest, in a park, in a northern tundra. He never knows how. He still doesn’t know how, but at least this time he remembers landing. And — yes — it seems like, like maybe, he’s pretty sure… he chose this place. This suburban park. With a swampy, forgotten area behind it, separated from all the McMansions by an expanse of grass and semi-manicured gardens and a playground for the children. He licks his chops at that thought — human children, mmmmm.
At the same time a nausea builds inside his body. He shakes his head back and forth slowly. For a few perfect seconds the full moon captures his profile: Strong jawline, healthy, thick pelt, keen, sharp eyes that can see nearly as well in the dark. And teeth, teeth with the power to kill. His soft paws trot through the underbrush, attracting clumps of mud and scattering nocturnal bugs as they rustle along.
He’s unsettled. He’s looking for something. Or someone? Maybe someone. He…
