My Friend, The Werewolf.

Chapter One

I guess I should start from the beginning. My name is Erin Porter. My favorite color is navy blue, my lucky number is nine, and I'm an only child.

My parents died when I was three years old, leaving me to live with my Aunt Stacy for four years. How do I begin to describe Aunt Stacy? She was a young, funny, and bubbly woman. However, the one thing wrong with her was that she was one hell of a party animal. Parties equal booze, and booze equals bad choices. She held wild parties at our house, and got drunk in front of me. Sometimes I would have to put myself to bed and make my own lunch and breakfast the next day because she was at some friend's house or to hungover. One day she just didn't come home. This was usual, but after the third day I guess the neighbor noticed called the cops, because I was put in the foster system a week after they found a brochure to France. They told me when I was older that she'd been arrested under terms of abandonment when she came back from Paris. I didn't care what she had done; she was the closest thing to family ever had.

I was living in 'Parkinson's Home for Boys and Girls', and fourteen years old when all this crazy wolf stuff happened. The home was the size of a middle class house, located where everything was a were a mile apart and the nearest town was 25 miles away. There was a long paved driveway (although we barely saw any cars), a white picket that lined the patchy lawn, a wooden three-step staircase that led to the front door, and a huge white sign that said 'PARKINSON'S HOME FOR BOYS AND GIRLS', in big black letters in the front of the driveway. The home itself was white, stained with dirt and other mystery substances. There were windows to each of the bedrooms, the REC room, and the kitchen.

The other foster kids would play ball in the front lawn, but I like to spend most of my days in what I called 'The Forbidden Forest'(You know... like from Harry Potter? Get it?). 'The Forbidden Forest' was separated from the backyard by a rusty chain-linked fence, which was easy to jump over. The forest was so full of trees that you could barely see the sky when you looked up. Sunlight shown in beams on the dirt floor through the gals in the leaves. What I liked the most about the forest was that there was no real path, but it seemed to go on forever. If you went in deep enough, you wouldn't hear a thing but natures song. I loved it there, but of course no one was allowed to go in. Our guardian, Ms. Clerk (a women in her late sixties who was very kind, but stern when she had to be), would scold me every time I ran away into the forest, which was more than occasionally.

The other foster kids didn't go near the forest though. They said it was "haunted" or "creepy", but I found it peaceful, and a nice place to think. I didn't really talk to the other foster kids anyway; I figured it would be best not to make close relationships, because sooner or later we would have to part ways. Instead I occupied myself with reading, writing, drawing, exploring, and even just thinking. I would think about a world of magical beings and mythical tales. These are the things I read about too. I knew I was different than the others. I was strange, random and totally weird. I thought about things differently than others. I had a different philosophy on everything.

Maybe I had gotten so outlandish, that I was going insane, because I'm pretty sure if anyone else had saw what I saw in the forest that day, they would have the sense to run. But no, I stood there like a frozen dumbass, eyes wide and jaw nearly touching the ground when that five-foot dog morphed into a girl, right before my eyes. But I'll tell you one thing:

I was scared as fuck.