Journal Of A Teenage Werewolf: Horrors Of The Moon (On-Hold)

Day 8- 9.00 A.M

                                                         Day 8

9.00 A.M                                                                                             In my Room

I had a weird dream, Diary.

No.. Not a dream- a nightmare. And a really long one at that.

When I woke up, hardly an hour or so back, I walked to the bathroom to splash my face with water. Not only was the nightmare so long, (owning to the fact that I woke up only a while back) but also, I remembered it in great detail.  

Staring back at me from the mirror was a girl who looked like the one from The Ring. My old-fashioned nightgown clung to my thin frame, my eyes looked like shallow black holes, holding emptiness inside them. My face and lips were white with the absence of blood. Pulling the collar down, I stared at the pentagram mark, the purple colour resembling a horrid bruise. I traced the mark, my finger gliding over each line, each segment, of the five-pointed star.  It was a pentagram with two points up, and one point traced outwards on the other three sides.

I blinked my eyes when it seemed like the pentagram had started to shine when I finished my tracing. I passed it off as a trick of the light, not wanting to think of an alternative. Sighing heavily I closed my eyes, playing my dream in my head.

The world seems painted in red. Drawn in the colour of blood as I move in this red haze.

My legs barely brush the ground, seeming to fly with each step. The only sound to be heard is the quickness of the breeze, the world around muted in a dead silence. I am in a forest, the trees close-knit, like a barricade, but I avoid each one swiftly like they are just shadows in my path. My nostrils flare as I try to capture a scent, a taste of silver that makes me growl. As soon as I capture its scent, my eyes narrow as my vision peeks and the path in front of me turns gold, separating it self from the red. The object of my desire  would be served on this golden path.

My movements grow more hurried and I feel my body lose its shape in a shadow as its speed increases. A howl is captured in my throat as my teeth ache, elongating as I come to the end of my path.

And there she stands, her arms pulled away from her, held by invisible chains, her body resting in a sacrificial position. Her body is wrapped in a skintight material of red. On her chest is the tattoo of a pentagram, its purple colour out of place with all the surrounding red. My motions slow as I walk the rest of my distance to her. My nails develop into claws with each step as my back grows more hunched.

I walk closer to the woman, trying to see her face that is hidden from me. Her bowed head looks down at the pool of blood at her feet. At the edge of this pool I stop and watch as an eyebrow rises in surprise. What I assumed to be a dress that covered her, was actually her own blood. Slick and wet, it painted her skin, coloring her like her insides were out.

I don’t feel any disgust, nor any fear, instead I look at the bowed head of the woman, wishing to see her face. The blood does not smell and the gold path has disappeared.

“Look at me,” I want to say, but words do not come out, only a growl that resonates from the deep pits of my stomach.

My eyes focus on the mark of the pentagram and my fingers touch my own. My nails bite into the flesh, seeming to tear away the circle. As I move my hand away, the droplets of blood fall to mix with the pool of blood at our feet.

I look down.

Reflected in the red pool is a shadow, shifting between man and beast, the outline blurred and the shape swaying. It does not have a face, nor a body. My form is not taken yet. In reflex I look up and meet the eyes of the hanging woman.

I stumble back in shock, my quiet heart pounding dangerously. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch my shadow in the blood shift between man and beast like the swinging of a pendulum. Shifting so quickly that the shadow swirls around and around, finally transforming into a circle.

A black moon.

“Kill me,” the woman whispers, her voice harsh and strong. Her dark eyes are unflinching though her body is weak. I watch as a thread of blood escapes the corner of her mouth as she glares at me.

I let out the moan of a wounded animal as I move back further in disbelief.

The woman tries to stand up on her feet, her wrists trashing against the invisible chains that hold them. When her effort is futile, she gives me a grin of admitted defeat.

“It is the only way,” her lips turn like she is about to laugh and my head pounds with the strong power of anger.

The familiar eyes close as I move towards the woman and she holds a smile of death. In one fluid movement I slash the air with my claws, aiming higher than her body. They come in contact with the invisible chains, breaking them. Though they break easily, I see that my nails are cut and bloody from the force they took. As the chains break, they become visible, coated in a shine of inky blackness.

And then she falls. I watch myself fall.