The night was dark, the moon shone bright enough to cast shadows that seemed to dance about and move against the trees that stood like dark sentinels. A large shape tore through the shadows of the trees, eventually breaking free to an opening atop a ledge that overlooked a town nestled between mountains named Lunesta.

Lunestra was a special place that had, unbeknownst to many of the humans dwelling there, supernatural origins. A destination that brought tourists from all over the world, not only for its mountain ambience and all-season weather, but also for its luxurious shopping and comfortable and cozy lodging even in the harsh and cold winter. Eccentric shops of all sorts lined its Main Street, and while not a large city, comparatively speaking, Lunestra had its own charm, especially when it came to its food and festivities.

Lunestra was also a place full of whimsical wonder, holding shadowy secrets and creatures and legends and rumors of fantastical beasts and creatures such as this werewolf. While some spoke of the myth of monsters, others lived it because Lunestra was one of the most densely populated places of supernatural beings in the Mainland. But that, my friend, is something that is kept secret, locked away and forgotten through a sort of worldly spell so humans can continue functioning normally, without the fear, and truth, that monsters do lurk in the dark.

The hulking werewolf leaned into the moonlight as if taking it its warmth like a human being basking on a sunny beach. A gnarly beast with a long snout, vigilant green eyes, muscled arms and bulky form that could snap a tree in two with the swipe of its massive claws.

The beast narrowed its gaze on Lunsta with its downtown streets and various homes of shapes and sizes and colors. It was looking for something, searching, and after a moment of panning the whole town and finding what looked like its target, it leaned back and let out a terrify howl, its breath seen in the cold of the night air. The echo of the howl slowly faded from existence, becoming as vast and empty as the dark sky, replaced with the sound of a beeping alarm clock.

. . .

"What a weird dream," Vincent Black groaned, blinking his tired eyes open, his blurry room becoming clearer with each blink as he arose from his slumber. He rolled over and slapped his annoying alarm clock's snooze button with a frustrated movement.

Instead of slapping the snooze button, though, he smashed a dent into the thing, effectively silencing the alarm. He sat up and stared at it, rubbing his dreary eyes. Running a hand through his hair, he smacked his dry lips and cleared his throat while the alarm gave one last beep before it died a robotic death.

"That's what you get for rudely waking me," he said with a smirk.

He jumped out of bed, stretched his arms over his head, and cracked his neck in nervous and excited motions. Which made sense as it was his first day of high school.

He yawned, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep, but moved to his closet and opened it to reveal his school uniform:

As another yawn escaped him, he grabbed a towel that was draped over a desk chair and moved to the bathroom to start a shower.

. . .

Cleaned and combed and fresh, he stood with his school uniform on, rubbing his hand through his black hair, turning, and checking himself out in the mirror. While Vincent didn't prefer wearing a uniform, he had to admit that he wasn't too shabby looking.

"Not bad," he said, frowning. "Not bad at all." It was a start, as he reminded himself that first impressions could make or break one's social life. And he really wanted to have a social life this year.

The only problem was his tie. After failing to tie it properly for the tenth time, he surmised that he would really need to get one of those clip-on ones. For now, he'd leave it draped over his shoulders. He gathered his things and grabbed his backpack, making his way out the door.

As Vincent descended the stairs he thought about the past and a time when he was in the locker room in middle school. He was the only kid that seemed to have hair on his chest, armpits, and... other places. Like a lot of hair. It was embarrassing, because while the other boys seemingly had little to no hair, their skin was smooth as a baby's bottom, and he became the butt of their jokes because of this. He got the name "wolf boy" from there on out.

He was hairy but he wasn't that hairy. Suffice it to say, Vincent was kind of a loner throughout middle school because of that and other weird happenings. One would think being called wolf boy would be endearing. It wasn't.

Even in elementary he had problems. Like when he was called a dog by a group of boys that had seen him running on all fours and barking like a dog. Apparently, it wasn't normal, even if it felt natural to him to do that for some reason. While he tried to reconcile with the kids and befriend them, he was pushed down, face forced in to the sand while the others shoved sand down his pants and shirt. He was itchy for the rest of the day.

The only time adults got involved was when he pushed one of the boys off him in a huff, even slugging another one in the face, knocking him out cold and breaking his jaw, which apparently is quite the painful ordeal. The adults jumped in after he had slugged the kid.

In the end, Vincent got pinned as the culprit that supposedly started it, and they were just defending themselves as he was bullying them. What a joke that was. And the adults ate it up, because majority rules, right? Five stories against one. He was always a minority in that regard. Alone, and seemingly disliked by all.

He got expelled for breaking the kid's jaw and giving him a concussion, apparently. Disorderly conduct and uncontrollable behavioral issues were the official labels. Which was ridiculous because he was only defending himself. Granted, he didn't realize he had hit the kid so hard, or that his punch would pack so much power. He felt bad about that, he really did, even if part of him felt that the kid deserved it.

The ruling had been made, though, and he was expelled, leaving him no choice but to attend another school. He had several other incidents which got him kicked out of two other schools, which gave him a bad reputation. But that was in the past.

High school would be different, it would be better, he told himself. He was going to make a positive impact, even if he was a hairy mess. He'd overcome his difficulties... like trimming down his hairy body hair and... other areas. He was sure he could make a connection in high school, make at least one friend.

His first real challenge, though, was tying his tie. And since he was now going into high school and thought of himself as an independent young adult, he knew exactly how to solve his tie problem –

"Mom," he called, moving into the kitchen area where his mother was cooking up breakfast. "I'm having trouble with my tie again."

His father sat at the table sipping his morning coffee and reading something on his tablet. He lifted his eyes slightly to Vincent, pushing his glasses back on his face, then went back to his reading.

His mother, a wonderful woman full of so many talents, among them being the best breakfast maker in the world, was whipping away at some eggs in a bowl. She set the metal bowl down and gave Vincent a knowing look as if she knew the drill.

"Oh, Vincent," she said, taking his jacket and setting it to the side. "Are you ever going to learn how to do this yourself?" She adjusted his collar and tie, and went to work, quickly tying it.

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Vincent scratched his already messy hair, which seemed impossible to keep straight, even with a comb and hairdryer. "I tried, mom. I really did. I'm just nervous, ya know."

"Maybe you should get one of those clip-on ones," his father suggested.

"Those look tackey, dear," she said, pulling the tie tight and stepping back to check her work, hands on hips, head tilted. She let out a little tsk noise, signifying it wasn't perfectly straight, as she had quite the attention for detail, on the OCD level, Vincent thought. She leaned forward and adjusted the tie. "Besides, I don't think your school allows clip-ons as part of the dress code." She patted his chest, seemingly pleased with her work, then turned back to the preparing of breakfast.

"Your mother has a point," his father said, taking a sip of his coffee. "She knows best."

He wasn't wrong as Vincent's mother was the type to have read over and memorized all the fine details of the paperwork, brochures, manuals, you name it. It was one of the more annoying things about her, because it usually made her right in any kind of argument.

"Look at my boy," she said, grabbing Vincent's chin and squeezing it. "All handsome and grown up."

Vincent groaned and pulled away. "Ah, mom, don't do that,"

"Do what?" she said with a knowing smile as she turned back around and emptied the eggs into a hot pan, quickly stirring them as they sizzled away.

"You know exactly what," Vincent said, plopping down at the table and frowning at the perfectly tied tie. It was so frustrating to be inept at seemingly simple things. Online videos didn't seem to help, either. All half measures. It was one thing he'd have to master, though, as he couldn't just let his mom keep doing it. He sagged in his seat, letting out a sigh, determined to go over it again tonight.

He sat for a moment, taking in the sights and sounds of the room. The sizzling of eggs and sausages, the flipping noises of pancakes as his mother cooked away. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and flowers from his mom's perfume, the bounce of her red hair as she swayed to a silent tune she hummed. It was nice.

"What do you think, dear?" Vincent's mother asked his father as she flipped some completed pancakes and eggs onto a plate. "Doesn't our boy look dapper?"

"Sure does," Vincent's dad said, raising his eyes to look at his son for a moment, brushing a tuft of black hair to the side. He winked, then turned back to his tablet.

Vincent's mother turned off the stove and dished out the portions of pancakes, sausages, and eggs.

Vincent didn't spare a second, and dove right it, not noticing his parents both looking at him intently. After swallowing a big chunk of food, he cleared his throat which hurt a little as he should have chewed more. "What's up? Are you guys not hungry?"

His mother placed her hand upon his, a soft smile on her face. "There's something we need to talk to you about. Something important." She glanced at Vincent's father, whom was oddly not drown in his tablet for once but looking right at him.

Vincent couldn't help but chuckle a little bit at this odd behavior. "What is it?"

"Son," his father said, clearing his throat before saying the next words. "You're a... werewolf."

Vincent had shoved a whole pancake in his mouth and was chewing on its fluffy goodness as he looked at them, biting down in silence for a moment. After he swallowed, he let out a little chuckle at his dad's humor, as it was a lame attempt to calm his nerves.

"Yeah, good one, dad. Wait to keep me on my feet." He thanked his mom for breakfast, and patted his dad on the shoulder, shaking his head in disappointment at his dad's lame joke. "Good try, though. A werewolf?" he chuckled as he made his leave. "Love you."

And he was gone, out the door, leaving them both in silence. What he didn't know, though, was that he was a werewolf, and they were being serious, and he was about to have a rude awakening once he arrived to his first day of classes at his new supernatural school.

. . .

Vincent burst out the door, hopped down the steps, and moved steadily down the sidewalk toward the bus stop.

"Werewolf," he said with another shake of his head and a chuckle. "Well at least I get a good laugh for the start of the day." And it was going to be a good day, he promised himself.

As he made his approach to the spot where the bus would pick him up, he had this sudden urge to run all the way to school, so he tightened his backpack straps, put his head down, and ran.

Pumping his legs, heart racing, he felt the invigoration of high spirits move through him. He covered five miles in about 20 minutes, which was astonishing, because he recalled the record for running a mile was around five minutes or something. Perhaps he'd consider joining the track team with this speed of his.

When he arrived at the school's entrance, he wiped his sweaty brow clear, feeling a bit odd as he wasn't super tired after such a long run. It made him think about moments in the past. Weird moments. Like when he ran around the entire school during elementary at recess, not caring that the other kids were giving him looks and pointing at his erratic behavior. He just remembered feeling the urge to run, and not stop, so he ran. There was also the breaking of that kid's jaw that got him expelled, and... the destruction of many alarm clocks over the years. He had also broken dishes, drawers, and other random happenings that his parents just played off that he began to think of.

Little bursts of energy, of anger and rage, that just willed him to... unleash, and so he gave into that instinct like he had today, without really questioning it, because it felt right. It felt natural, even if it pegged him as weirdo to other kids. Perhaps he'd have to push those urges away if he really wanted to make friends this year. He'd think about it and decide later, though.

"Okay, first things first," Vincen said, pulling out his phone, trying his best not to feel overwhelmed by the size of the building and all the activity going on around him.

High school was different than elementary in that he had language, history, math, science, etc. in the morning. Following lunch, around 1pm in the afternoon, were classes titled "Supernatural & Special Tactics" in room 412 for two periods on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. There was only one on Wednesday. What was up with that title? He didn't know, so it made him a bit nervous as perhaps there had been some sort of mistake. Either way, he'd figure it out at that time. He gulped, thinking about it.

Students milled about, getting out of cars and busses as they pulled up, walking by him, and moving through the entrance doors. He felt his nerves tense, which is why he anxiously pulled his phone out and began tapping away on the Crescent Academy app to check where his class was.

"Today's going to be a good day, remember?" He reminded himself as he pulled up the directions to his first classroom on the first floor in room 105. A math class. He hated math, which increased his nerves. How hard would it be, he wondered? For some reason, he scrolled and clicked through the map, locating classroom 412, wondering what the heck Supernatural & Special Tactics was. Maybe he should find a teacher or staff member and ask?

He shrugged it off and tapped the screen to reveal a map that showed directions to classroom 105, and made his way forward. Engrossed in the map and not watching where he was going, he ran into someone.

"Watch where you're going, chump," the person said, giving Vincent a hard shove which knocked him to the ground.

Grunting from the fall, Vincent rubbed the side of his leg as he looked up at the rude culprit. "What'd do that for?" He asked.

"Cause you were in my way," A kid with messy gray hair said as he glared down at Vincent with judgmental yellow eyes. Vincent wasn't sure where it was coming from, but the kid's eyes felt familiar somehow.

Vincent thought it best to be polite, even if this kid was kinda a punk, so he gave a cordial smile and apologized. "Sorry about that." Chuckling and rubbing the back of his head, Vincent stood.

The kid frowned. "Yeah, you should be sorry." Then, he gave a wide smile and punched a fist into his open palm. "Next time, I won't be so nice."

The kid's jacket was a bit wrinkly, and his red dress shirt unbuttoned at the top with no tie, which made Vincent wonder if he was breaking dress code as his mother had told him that having a tie tied properly was part of decorum, which he assumed meant something dealing with following dress code.

"You know," Vincent said, still maintaining a friendly air but trying to assert himself. "You didn't have to shove me like that."

"Oh, I kinda did," the kid said, his smirk twitching with a mild delight.

Vincent suddenly patted his pockets as if he was looking for his phones, then his eyes went wide as saw the sad sight of his phone on the ground, and it's cracked screen. "Ah man, it's all busted up," he said, picking it up. The screen had two cracks across the front, with several scratches on the back. He knew he should have gotten a case for it.

The kid snickered and shook his head. "Serves you right for not looking where you were going, chump."

Vincent suddenly found himself not liking this kid, his tone, nor the way he said chump.

Before Vincent could say anything, the kid shouldered past him and sauntered away with a little wave. "See you around, loser."

Vincent felt a sudden urge to want to stomp after the kid, grab him by the shoulder, spin him around, and punch him in the chin, but stopped himself and stepped backward as a stench filled his nose. The stench of unwashed, wet dog. It invaded his nostrils like an uninvited intruder in the night.

"Ugh, that's nasty" he said, lifting a finger to his nose in a vain attempt to lessen the lingering smell. He scrunched his face up. "Yuck." While the smell was unpleasant it wasn't anything he was not used to as he had experienced little bouts of intense aromas, like the one he had suddenly taken an unwanted whiff of.

He finished brushing himself off and watched the kid disappearing into the school, scrunching his nose up at the fading smell. "What a punk."

He looked down at his phone, tapping a finger against it with a frown. Relief came over him as the screen came to life. "At least it still works." He let out a reassuring sigh and made his way into the school, hoping that he would not run into that kid again, but knowing that luck was not usually on his side in that regard.

. . .