The Legend Of Ghost Bear

Ghost Bear. . . .now

It's cold, it's dark. And I don't know how long I've had half my face blown off. It's been too long. Those. . . . .things buried me alive. I want my revenge.  . . No, it's no longer a want, it's a need. I need my revenge. My fur was once a shiny brown, now it glows of anger, a bright blue. Piercing in the reflection of a calm pond. Filled with fish. . . Yum. . . .I miss the feeling of being hungry, but now that I'm. . . . Half dead, eating doesn't matter anymore. I could eat all day if. I wanted to. But. I wouldn't feel anything. I only peer down on those . . .beings from the shadows of the trees, since the battle in the ring, and since that person came into my cave, no one has dared to step foot into my cave. Vines and ivy have grown around the mouth of my cave, making it a hazard for others to enter, which I use to my advantage.

The sun sets on yet another, lonely day. I head back to my cave in which the sun fills my way, my paws sink a little in the gravel as I walk, leaving huge prints as I walk. My glowing fur illuminates off the cave walls, and with that.  . . .my sins.

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I feel my blood grow cold, my body is changing. I no longer have all fours. Instead, I have legs and human feet, my stomach becomes stretched out into muscles, my chest widens, and before I know it, I have the body of a man, but I am still covered in my fur. I heard the stories, they call these things werewolves. But what does that make me? I'm not a canine, but I'm not human . . . At least I think so.

It's the dead of night, I can hear the ghouls creep out from their Graves miles away. Since I died . . . Perhaps. . . If that's what you want to call it. I've grown the ability to not only speak the human language. . . .but rap it. . . .and hear the dead. The nearest grave was packed with pets, people, and ghouls. And every night, we have a rave party. But the first sight of dawn, we shrink back to our natural forms, sink back into our Graves. Gone.

My face has changed too. I still have my bear like jaws, but my chin . . . It's narrow and pointy. I have ruffled hair on the top of my head, but my ears are still the same. You could say I. . . .lit up the room. But everyone at the huge death castle which us actually just and abandoned stone mansion, the owner long dead, built it. And invited the dead into his home. Some of us don't go back to our coffins and stay in the house. Those ghouls got very territorial of the house and for months the rave parties stopped. But we finally made peace.

I crouch and sky rocketed over the rusty old gate. Running full speed down the dirty path towards the porch of the mansion, on the lawn layed the tombstones of long dead, some of the stones were overruled by moss or weathering. The house was at least four stories high and was wider than a big university. (Don't ask how I know that.)
But I spotted a few devil Girls, talking to a ripped werewolf near the entrance, they held party cups filled with whatever alcohol they were serving. I at least knew the people who got territorial of the building, in fact, we were brothers. Best friends. But we don't talk that much, they say they get caught up trying to rescue more souls from wandering away from the graveyard.