Chapter 25 The Photographer 2

The young man banged his head against the wall, aching to get the flashes of horrific images out of his head.  Nothing was making any sense as blood ran down the center of his forehead to begin dripping from the tip of his nose.  The brick wall seemed to not be of discomfort to him as he growled in pain from each blow to his body.

He reached for his scalp and cried out in misery as he began to pull at his hair.  It did himself no good as it was soon replaced by more.

He growled again as he scraped himself along the brick wall, staggering in the emptiness of the night while street lights lit the way but no one in car nor truck or on bike stopped to aid him.

Blue lights mixed with the natural street lights from behind him.  The warning did no good.  The camera hung around his neck loosely as he went down the sidewalk. The patrol car sounded its alarm briefly but there was no one on the sidewalk to hear the warning sound.

His hands stopped his body, holding his knees above the pavement as the muscles in his legs began to swell, tearing his pants apart, while his ankles grew to match the size of his feet, that had now grown out of his shoes. And he growled as the officer opened the door and stepped out of the patrol car, holding a receiver to his mouth.  The headlamps lit up the sidewalk exponentially.  The hind legs exposed.

"What?" The officer said as the clothes on the man ripped apart and dropped to the ground.  The mans skin darkened in the car light and soon was covered with fur.

"Sometimes," the man said, deeply with a growl.

The cop put his hand on his gun and eased it out of the holster.

"I can," the man continued as his back raised up into a hump covered in black fur.

"Put your hands up." The officer spoke bluntly into the receiver.

"Control it." The man said, looking back at the officer, pointing the gun at him.

The wound on his forehead healed as his forehead reshaped itself into a wide expanse of skull. His eyes reddened and darkened to black, highlighted by yellow in the cop cars flashing lights. His ears pointed towards the night sky and his face stretched slowly outward into a snout filled with fangs. He reached for the camera's strap and tore it from his neck.  He placed his paw back on the pavement and stood there facing the law enforcement officer who was shocked by what he was seeing.

"A werewolf." The officer said to himself. "They told me I might run into one." He said, his mouth hanging open with nothing coming out of it.

The beast turned around and faced the cop, growling.

Slowly the officer eased himself back into the car, careful not to startle the beast. He eased the door shut—the gun still aimed straight ahead at the beast.

The officer looked into the street, vehicle after vehicle had stopped to watch the scene play itself out.

The werewolf howled, then stood up and howled again. It's muscular body flexing as it strained, forcing the horrific sound to escape it's body.

It kept it's eyes on the patrol car and stepped forward, towards it.

The officer pressed the horn hard blasting the night, hoping that the warning sound would be enough to scare the dark creature away.

"There's a werewolf on main street. The sidewalk. I repeat, there's a werewolf on main street" said the officer into the receiver.  The radio crackled with verbal confirmation.

The werewolf crept onto the hood of the patrol car, and ran into the street and disappeared.

Main street quickly turned into Creek Dams Forest.  Everywhere the werewolf moved it got deeper and deeper into the woods.

It's fangs dripped of saliva as it stomped the ground, making its way through the thickness of the forest.  It breathed heavily as it ran away from the brightly lit main street.  There was no sense to be made for the creature although it knew exactly where it was going.

The dark forest gave no hint as the trees began to thin.  It stopped. Hiding behind one and looked out into the open from the forest.

The lights of the houses dimmed the blackness of the night.  It looked up and down the area, recognizing where it was at.  The familiarity of the location made it take its time as it came from behind the tree to focus on the house in the distance.  It moved slowly to the edge of the forest and stopped and waited and watched the house.  Without care for anything left behind, it stepped forward onto the paved road and quietly entered the driveway and made its way carefully to the home.  It stayed closed to the building, listening for any sound to be made but heard nothing.  It stalked its way around the property listening for any sound at all.

"I don't know if it's him!" A voice exclaimed.

The werewolf stopped and listened.

"Who else could have done it?!"  A voice asked. "If all of the doors were locked—"

The werewolf growled.

"Did you hear that, Lucky?"

"No, Candace. What was it?" Lucky asked.

Candace sat, looking out the window.

"A growl." She answered.

"Max! Stop playing!" Lucky yelled to the back room.

"That's not Max. There's no way he'd be outside doing that. Not after what we've been through." Candace said.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Max said, coming out of the bedroom. "I've been inside ever since we got back."

Lucky looked at his sister who was frightened by something.

"A dog?" Lucky asked.

Candace shrugged her shoulders.

"No. Not like that." She said, looking intently at the window.

Lucky opened a table drawer and removed a gun.  He motioned for his sister and brother to stay quiet as he went to the window and peeked out of it.  He sees nothing in the dimly lit dark and lowers the gun.

"Stay here." Lucky said as he goes outside.

Gun fire shatters the silence. Lucky returns instantly and afraid.

"It's a werewolf!" Lucky said. "He's a werewolf!"

"Who's out there?!" Candace asked.

"Damien!" Lucky said, his back to the door.