Mrs. Peel stifled a yawn, her eyes glazing over as she watched Jessica Parker scribble in her notebook. The rhythmic ticking of the wall clock seemed to mock her, each second dragging by with excruciating slowness. She’d been stuck in this stuffy classroom for nearly an hour, babysitting a student who’d rather be anywhere else. Join the club, kid.
Detention duty was her least favorite part of teaching. It felt less like punishment for the students and more like torture for the unfortunate faculty member assigned to oversee it. Mrs. Peel’s stomach grumbled, reminding her of the pot roast waiting at home. By this time, George was probably wondering where she had gone.
She sighed, her gaze drifting to Jessica. The girl hadn’t looked up once since she’d arrived, her pen moving furiously across the page. Whatever she was writing, it certainly wasn’t lines. Mrs. Peel debated saying something, but honestly, what was the point? As long as Jessica was quiet and not causing trouble, she didn’t much care how she spent her detention.
Poor kid. Mrs. Peel had heard whispers about what had happened in the hallway earlier. Sticking up for a friend was admirable, but breaking someone’s arm? The response was certainly excessive. However, rules are in place for a reason, and violence is unacceptable, regardless of the circumstances.
The clock ticked on, each passing minute an eternity. Mrs. Peel found her thoughts drifting to her plans for the evening. A quiet dinner with George, maybe catch up on that new mystery series they’d started. Simple pleasures, but ones she’d kill for right about now.
A cool breeze rustled the papers on her desk, drawing Mrs. Peel’s attention to the window. Evening had descended as she engrossed in her thoughts, the heavens a rich, velvet black. And there, hanging low on the horizon, was the full moon–a perfect silver disk, impossibly large and bright.
Mrs. Peel shivered, though she couldn’t say why. There was something almost... ominous about that moon, like it was watching them with cold, unblinking intensity.
A sudden cry of pain shattered the silence. Mrs. Peel’s head whipped around just in time to see Jessica tumble from her desk, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
“Jessica!” Mrs. Peel was on her feet in an instant, rushing to the girl’s side. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Jessica writhed on the floor, her face contorted in agony. “I don’t... I don’t know,” she gasped. “Everything hurts. It feels like I’m being torn apart from the inside.”
Mrs. Peel’s hand flew to her mouth, her mind racing. What should she do? Call an ambulance? The girl’s parent?
“It’s burning,” Jessica whimpered. “Make it stop. Please, make it stop!”
“Okay, okay, just... just try to breathe,” Mrs. Peel said, trying to keep her voice calm despite the panic clawing at her chest. “I’m going to get you some help. Just hang on.”
She straightened up, her knees protesting the sudden movement. “I’ll be right back,” she promised. “I’m going to run to the nurse’s office and grab some medicine. Just... stay put, okay?”
Jessica didn’t respond, too lost in her pain to acknowledge the words. Mrs. Peel hesitated for a moment, torn between staying with the girl and getting help. But what could she do here, besides watch helplessly?
Decision made, Mrs. Peel hurried from the room. The hallway stretched out before her, eerily silent and bathed in shadows. She’d never realized how creepy the school could be after hours.
Her footsteps echoed off the lockers as she half-ran, half-walked towards the nurse’s office. What kind of medicine would even help in this situation? Tylenol seemed woefully inadequate for whatever was afflicting Jessica.
As expected, the nurse had locked her office. Mrs. Peel fumbled with her keys, muttering curses under her breath as she tried to find the right one. After what felt like hours but was probably only seconds, she finally got the door open.
She flicked on the lights, squinting against the sudden brightness. Where would the nurse keep the good stuff? Mrs. Peel rifled through cabinets and drawers, grabbing anything that looked remotely useful. Pain relievers, antacids, even a bottle of cough syrup. Better to have options, right?
Arms laden with supplies, Mrs. Peel hurried back to the detention room. “Jessica?” she called out as she approached. “I’ve got some medicine that might help. We’ll figure this out, don’t worry.”
But as she pushed open the classroom door, the words died in her throat. The room was empty.
Mrs. Peel blinked, certain she must be seeing things. But no–Jessica was gone. In her place was a pile of shredded clothing, scattered across the floor like confetti.
“What on earth...?” Mrs. Peel whispered, her mind struggling to make sense of the scene before her. Had Jessica run off? But why would she leave her clothes behind?
A chill ran down Mrs. Peel’s spine as her eyes landed on Jessica’s shirt. It wasn’t just discarded–it looked like something torn apart from the inside, as if it had... burst out of it.
No. That was ridiculous. She was letting her imagination run wild. There must be a rational explanation for this.
“Jessica?” Mrs. Peel called out, her voice echoing in the empty room. “Jessica, are you here?”
Silence was her only answer.
Mrs. Peel set down her armload of medicine, her teacher instincts kicking in. Okay. Think. The girl was clearly in some kind of distress. Maybe she’d run to the bathroom? Or gone looking for help?
“Jessica!” she called again, stepping back into the hallway. “Jessica, answer me!”
Nothing. Just the oppressive silence of the empty school.
Mrs. Peel’s heart raced as she searched around, checking empty classrooms and dark corners. With each passing moment, her concern grew. What if Jessica had hurt herself? What if she’d wandered outside in her confusion?
As she neared the teacher’s lounge, a noise stopped her in her tracks. A low, rumbling sound, almost like... a growl?
Mrs. Peel’s hand trembled as she reached for the door handle. This was insane. She should call for help, call the police, call anyone. But some morbid curiosity pushed her forward.
The door creaked open, and Mrs. Peel peered into the darkness beyond. “Hello?” she called, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is someone there?”
A pair of eyes flashed in the shadows–yellow, feral, decidedly inhuman. Mrs. Peel stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat.
And then it lunged.
A massive shape erupted from the darkness, all white fur and fangs and razor-sharp claws. Mrs. Peel glimpsed white fur, matted with what looked horribly like fresh blood.
This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible. Werewolves didn’t exist outside of movies and trashy novels. And yet...
The creature–for she couldn’t bring herself to call it a wolf, not when it was so clearly something more–advanced on her with terrifying speed. Mrs. Peel’s legs refused to move, frozen in terror as those yellow eyes bore into her soul.
In that moment, as the beast’s hot breath washed over her face, Mrs. Peel had a sudden, crystal-clear thought: She was never going to have that quiet dinner with George.
The scream tore from her throat just as the werewolf’s jaws snapped shut. It echoed through the empty halls of Moon High, a final, desperate cry that went unanswered.
And then silence fell once more.
*****
Sheriff Daniel squinted through the windshield of his patrol truck, the headlights barely cutting through the inky darkness of the mountain road. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he navigated another sharp turn. Beside him, Deputy Earl Simmons fidgeted with the radio, filling the cab with static.
“Would you quit fiddling with that thing?” Daniel grumbled. “You’re giving me a headache.”
Earl’s weathered face crinkled into a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Sheriff. Just trying to get some tunes going. It’s dead quiet out here.”
Daniel grunted in response, his eyes never leaving the road. The silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the rumble of the engine and the crunch of gravel beneath the tires.
After a few minutes, Earl cleared his throat. “So, uh, what do you make of that incident up at Black Rock Mine?”
Daniel’s jaw clenched. He’d been hoping to avoid this conversation. “What’s there to make of it? Two miners are dead, and one witness sounded crazy.”
Earl shook his head. “I don’t know, Sheriff. He seemed pretty shaken up. And those claw marks on the bodies...”
“Probably just a bear,” Daniel cut him off. “Or a mountain lion. Nothing supernatural about it.”
“But what about the creature he witnessed? And the glowing eyes?” Earl pressed.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Daniel shot him a sidelong glance. “Since when did you become such a believer in ghost stories, Earl?”
The deputy shrugged, his expression serious. “I’m just saying there are a lot of strange things in these mountains. My grandpappy used to tell tales—”
“Your grandpappy was fond of his moonshine, if I recall correctly,” Daniel interjected dryly.
Earl chuckled, but his eyes remained earnest. “All I’m saying is, maybe we should keep an open mind. Be aware, you know?”
Daniel opened his mouth to retort when something large and white suddenly darted across the road. He slammed on the brakes, the truck’s tires squealing in protest.
“Jesus Christ!” Earl yelped, bracing himself against the dashboard.
The truck skidded to a halt, leaving them both breathing heavily in the sudden silence. Daniel’s heart pounded in his chest as he peered through the windshield, trying to make sense of what he’d seen.
“What the hell was that?” he muttered.
Earl was already unbuckling his seatbelt. “Let’s find out.”
Daniel hesitated for a moment before following suit. He grabbed his flashlight from the center console and stepped out into the cool night air. The beam of light swept across the empty road, revealing nothing but scattered pebbles and scrub brush.
“You see anything?” Earl called from the other side of the truck.
Daniel was about to respond when a low growl froze him in his tracks. Slowly, he swung the flashlight towards the sound.
There, at the edge of the beam, stood a creature unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was vaguely wolf-like, with matted white fur and a long, pointed snout. But its proportions were all wrong—too large, too... human-like.
Daniel watched with a mix of horror and fascination as the creature reared up on its hind legs. It towered over him, easily seven feet tall, with wickedly curved claws and eyes that glowed an unearthly amber in the flashlight’s beam.
“Earl,” Daniel said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Get the shotgun. Now.”
The creature’s lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Daniel’s hand instinctively went to his sidearm, drawing it in one smooth motion.
“Daniel!” Earl’s panicked voice came from behind him. “What is that thing?”
The beast’s muscles tensed, preparing to spring. Daniel didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger; the gunshot shattering the night’s silence.
The creature yelped in pain and surprise, leaping back into the shadows. The sound of its retreat faded quickly, leaving behind only the echo of the gunshot and the acrid smell of cordite.
For a long moment, neither man moved. Then Earl stumbled forward, his face pale in the truck’s headlights. “Did... did you see that?” he stammered. “It was... it was...”
“I don’t know what it was,” Daniel cut him off, holstering his weapon with a shaking hand. “But it wasn’t natural, that’s for damn sure.”
Earl’s eyes were wide with a mix of fear and excitement. “You believe me now? About the supernatural stuff?”
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he admitted. “But I do know one thing—we’ve got a dangerous animal on the loose in town.”
The reality of the situation hit him like a punch to the gut. “Oh God,” he muttered. “Jessica.”
Earl frowned. “Your daughter? Isn’t she at school?”
Daniel nodded, already moving back towards the truck. “Yeah, detention. We need to get back to town. Now.”
As they climbed back into the vehicle, Daniel’s mind whirled with possibilities. He’d always prided himself on being a rational man, on seeing the world in black and white. But what he’d just witnessed... it defied explanation.
*****
Kevin clutched his new comic book to his chest as he hurried down the darkened streets of Moon Valley. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on the sidewalk, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder for the umpteenth time, seeing nothing but empty streets and closed storefronts.
“Get a grip, Kevin,” he muttered to himself, picking up his pace. “You’ve read too many horror comics.”
Still, he couldn’t help but feel relieved when he finally turned onto his street. The familiar sight of his house, with its peeling paint and overgrown lawn, had never looked so inviting. As he fumbled with his keys, a rustling in the bushes made him jump.
“Just the wind,” he told himself firmly, though his hands shook as he unlocked the door.
The house was quiet and dark, his parents’ absence palpable in the stillness. Kevin flicked on the lights, chasing away the shadows that seemed to loom in every corner. He headed for the kitchen, his stomach growling in protest at the day’s neglect.
The refrigerator hummed as he yanked it open, the cold light spilling onto the linoleum floor. Kevin grabbed a soda and a leftover slice of pizza, kicking the door shut with his foot. He was halfway through his impromptu dinner when a sound from outside made him freeze, a pizza slice dangling from his hand.
It was a bark—sharp, urgent, and unmistakably frightened.
“Rex?” Kevin called, setting down his food and moving towards the back door. “What’s wrong, boy?”
He opened the door, peering into the darkness of the backyard. A blur of fur rushed past him, nearly knocking him over. Rex, the normally lively German Shepherd, huddled in the kitchen corner, emitting a gentle whimper.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Kevin knelt beside the dog, running a hand through his thick fur. Rex trembled beneath his touch, his eyes wide with fear.
A crash from above made them both jump. Kevin’s heart raced as he stared at the ceiling, straining his ears. Another thud, definitely coming from the attic.
“Butter balls,” he whispered, glancing between Rex and the stairs. Part of him wanted to grab the phone, call the police, and hide until they arrived. But a larger part—the part that had just spent forty bucks on the latest supernatural horror comic—knew he had to investigate.
Kevin grabbed a flashlight from the junk drawer, its weight oddly comforting in his hand. “Stay here, Rex,” he commanded, though the dog showed no signs of moving from his spot in the kitchen.
The stairs creaked ominously as Kevin ascended, each step feeling like a mile. The attic door loomed before him, a dark maw ready to swallow him whole. With a deep breath, he turned the knob and pushed it open.
The beam of his flashlight cut through the gloom, illuminating dusty boxes and forgotten furniture. Kevin swept the light back and forth, his pulse pounding in his ears. Nothing seemed out of place, no sign of whatever had made that noise.
He was about to turn back when a low growl froze him in his tracks. The flashlight beam trembled as he slowly turned, revealing a pair of glowing eyes in the far corner of the attic.
A creature stepped into the light, and Kevin’s breath caught in his throat. It was like something straight out of his comics—a wolf, but not quite. Its body was lean and muscular, covered in white fur that seemed to shimmer in the darkness. But its face... its face was almost human, with intelligent eyes that glared at him with unmistakable hunger.
“Holy heebie-jeebies,” Kevin breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
The creature—werewolf, his mind supplied helpfully—snarled, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. Kevin didn’t wait to see what it would do next. He turned and ran, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste to escape.
His mind raced as he sprinted for the living room. This couldn’t be real. Werewolves didn’t exist. They were the stuff of movies and comics, not something you found in your attic on a Tuesday night.
The phone. He had to call for help. Kevin lunged for the landline, his fingers just brushing the receiver when something slammed into him from behind. He went flying, crashing into the coffee table with a force that knocked the wind out of him.
Gasping for air, Kevin rolled onto his back. The werewolf loomed over him, its lips pulled back in a snarl. Up close, he could see that it was female, with a leaner build and softer features than he’d imagined a werewolf would have. Not that it made her any less terrifying.
Kevin’s eyes darted around the room, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. His gaze landed on his prized possession—a baseball bat signed by his favorite player. It wasn’t silver, but it would have to do.
He lunged for the bat, his fingers closing around the smooth wood just as the werewolf pounced. Kevin swung blindly, feeling a satisfying thud as the bat connected with the creature’s skull.
The werewolf yelped in pain and surprise, stumbling backward. Kevin scrambled to his feet, wielding the bat like a sword. “Stay back!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fear and adrenaline.
The creature shook its head, clearly dazed from the blow. The creature looked at Kevin with an expression that bordered on confusion, as if it could not comprehend how this slight teenager harmed it.
Kevin didn’t wait for it to recover. He swung again, catching the werewolf on the shoulder. It howled in pain; the sound sending shivers down his spine. But he didn’t stop. He kept swinging, driven by terror and a desperate need to survive.
The werewolf tried to dodge, but in the confined space of the living room, there was nowhere for it to go. Kevin’s swings became wilder, fueled by panic and disbelief at the situation he found himself in.
Finally, with a sickening crack, the bat connected with the side of the werewolf’s head. The creature’s eyes rolled back, and it crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Kevin stood there, panting heavily, the bat still raised for another swing. Slowly, the reality of what had just happened sunk in. He had just knocked out a werewolf. A real, live werewolf. In his living room.
“What the heck am I supposed to do now?” he muttered, staring at the prone form on his floor.
His mind raced with possibilities, each more absurd than the last. Call animal control? The police? Was there a hotline for supernatural emergencies he didn’t know about?
Kevin ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to think rationally. He had a living werewolf unconscious in his house. His parents were out of town for another week. And he had no idea what to do next.
He paced back and forth, casting nervous glances at the werewolf. It—she—was still out cold, her chest rising and falling with steady breaths. In the room’s silence, Kevin could nearly persuade himself that everything was just an intricate prank or a vivid hallucination.
But the ache in his body from being thrown across the room was all too real. And the white fur of the creature glimmered unmistakably in the light of the overturned lamp.
“Okay, think,” Kevin muttered to himself. “What would the hero in a comic book do?”
He snorted at the absurdity of the thought. Comic book heroes didn’t have to worry about explaining claw marks on the furniture to their parents or how to feed a captive werewolf.
A soft whine from the kitchen reminded him of Rex. The dog poked his head around the corner, eyeing the unconscious werewolf warily.
“It’s okay, boy,” Kevin said, though he wasn’t sure if he was reassuring the dog or himself. “She’s... not going to hurt us. I think.”
Rex padded over to him, pressing against his leg. Kevin absently scratched behind the dog’s ears, grateful for the familiar comfort.
His eyes fell on the comic book he’d bought earlier, now lying forgotten on the floor. The cover showed a heroic figure standing triumphantly over a defeated monster. Kevin had always dreamed of being that hero, of facing the unknown and emerging victorious.
Well, he thought with a hint of hysteria, be careful what you wish for.
The werewolf stirred slightly, a low growl escaping its throat. Kevin tightened his grip on the bat, his heart racing. What if it—she—woke up? What if she was angry? What if she was hungry?
He needed a plan, and fast. He couldn’t keep an unconscious werewolf in his living room indefinitely. But he also couldn’t just let her go. What if she hurt someone else?
Kevin’s mind whirled with questions. Where had she come from? Why was she here? Were there more like her? And most pressingly, what was he going to do with her now?
He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was barely past nine. The night stretched out before him, full of possibilities and dangers he’d never imagined.
One thing was certain—his life would never be the same after tonight. Beneficial or not.
With a deep breath, Kevin steeled himself for whatever came next. He was just a normal kid from Moon Valley, thrust into an extraordinary situation. But maybe, just maybe, he could be the hero he’d always dreamed of being.
He looked down at the unconscious werewolf, then back at Rex, who gazed up at him with trusting eyes. “Well, boy,” he said with a nervous laugh, “I guess we’re in for one hell of a night.”
The werewolf twitched again, and Kevin tightened his grip on the bat. Regardless of the events that followed, he knew one thing for certain—his life had been altered irrevocably.