The Beast at the Door

The full moon sat bloated in the sky, leering down like a watching god. Its cold light seeped through the cracks in Barry's cabin, painting the walls in eerie silver streaks. His fingers dug into the wooden table, splintering the surface as he fought against the shift clawing at his insides. His bones ached, his muscles trembled, and his skin burned like fire. He could feel the beast coiling beneath, waiting—begging—to be set free. Not tonight.

Barry gritted his teeth, forcing slow, ragged breaths. His claws were already breaking through his fingertips, black veins crawling up his arms as his vision blurred between man and monster.

Then the radio crackled.

"Sheriff, we got a situation down at the Old Mill Road—domestic dispute turned nasty. Reports of screaming, sounds of a struggle. Might wanna get down here before someone dies."

Samuel's voice. Tense. Uncertain.

Barry squeezed his eyes shut. Not now. Not like this.

But duty called.

With a trembling hand, he snatched his badge, adjusted his coat to hide the telltale signs of his shifting body, and stepped into the night. The house was a wreck. Windows shattered. Furniture overturned. Blood smeared against the walls in desperate streaks. The scent of iron was thick in the air, mingling with the sharp, acrid sting of alcohol and sweat.

Barry stepped inside, his heart pounding against his ribs as his heightened senses took in everything—the woman sobbing in the corner, clutching her face where bruises had already begun to bloom. And in the center of the room stood the attacker.

A man. Tall. Muscular. Breathing heavily, his hands still curled into fists. His knuckles were raw, bloodied from whatever he had just done. Barry could hear Samuel's hurried footsteps behind him, but he raised a hand, silencing his deputy before he could speak.

"Sir," Barry said, his voice steady despite the primal rage bubbling beneath his skin, "step away from her."

The man sneered, wiping sweat from his brow. He didn't step back. Barry's claws tingled beneath his skin. His pulse thumped against his skull. He could smell it—the fear, the anger, the violence."Who the hell do you think you are?" the man spat, his lips curling into a snarl. "You think some badge makes you a goddamn hero?"

Barry took another step forward, his eyes darkening. The man moved first. A flash of movement—a fist flying towards Barry's face. Instinct took over. Barry caught the punch mid-air. Bones cracked beneath his grip. The man screamed.

Barry had only used a fraction of his strength, but the sheer force sent the attacker crumpling to his knees. His arm bent at an unnatural angle, his cries filling the room. Samuel saw everything.

Barry realized too late—his strength, his speed, the way his eyes flashed gold in the dim light. It was all wrong. Samuel stood frozen, staring at Barry like he was something else entirely.

The attack had been handled, the suspect detained, but Samuel barely said a word on the way back. Barry knew what he saw. The way Samuel's hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than usual. The way he avoided looking Barry in the eye. The unspoken questions pressing against his lips.

Barry didn't answer. Because something worse had happened. Another body had been found. And this time, the wounds weren't just brutal. They were familiar. Barry stared at the crime scene before him, bile rising in his throat. The corpse lay in the dirt, arranged in a horrifyingly precise manner. The body was mutilated in patterns Barry had seen before. Patterns he had created.

The Calendar's work.

But it wasn't him.

It wasn't him.

His breathing grew shallow, his hands trembling at his sides. He had spent years running from his past, burying the name The Calendar in the dirt. And yet—The monster had returned. And Barry wasn't sure if it had ever really left.

Barry stares at the corpse lay sprawled in the dirt, its vacant eyes staring at nothing. The deep gashes carved into the flesh followed an all-too-familiar pattern. Then, Barry knelt beside the body, his fingers twitching at his sides. The scent of blood was overwhelming, metallic and thick in the cold night air. His stomach twisted as his eyes traced the cuts, the way they were placed—so precise, so intentional. This wasn't just a kill. It was a message.

"Do you remember me?"

Barry's breath hitched. The last time he had seen a body like this was before.

Back when his hands were drenched in blood.

Back when the beast inside him ruled with no remorse.

And now it was happening again.

Samuel stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly, his face pale under the moonlight. He didn't say anything, but Barry could feel his gaze, the unspoken suspicion.The deputy had seen too much tonight. Now there was no denying it—Barry wasn't just a sheriff anymore. He was a suspect.

Back at his cabin, Barry paced like a caged animal. His reflection in the cracked mirror stared back at him—wild-eyed, haunted. The full moon still hung in the sky, and his body ached from the transformation he had barely kept at bay."This isn't a coincidence."

Someone knew. Someone had studied his past, memorized every detail, and now they were replicating his crimes.

Mocking him.

He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers still stained with the scent of the dead.And then—a sound. A soft rustling just beyond the tree line. Barry's head snapped toward the window. He felt it before he saw it—the presence watching him from the darkness.A figure stood at the edge of the woods, half-hidden by the trees.

Barry's breath came in shallow, controlled exhales as he reached for his gun. He pushed open the door, stepping out into the cold.

The figure didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Just stood there.

Waiting.

Barry's voice was low, measured. "Who the hell are you?"

The figure finally stepped forward, the moonlight catching his face. A man, clad in dark clothes, his features sharp and unreadable. His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile."You already know," the stranger said. "You've known from the moment you saw the body."

Barry's grip on the gun tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears. The stranger tilted his head. "You buried The Calendar. But monsters don't stay buried, Sheriff."

A cold chill ran through Barry's spine."Tell me," the man continued, voice dripping with amusement. "What do you do when the past fights back?"

And just like that, he turned and vanished into the trees, his form swallowed by the darkness. Barry stood frozen, heart hammering against his ribs. The shadows had never felt heavier. Because for the first time in years, Barry had to ask himself a question he wasn't sure he wanted answered. Was this truly a copycat? Or had the beast inside him found a way out after all?