Short stories

The Werewolf

A shiver. That's what it was. A cold haunting shiver that ran through my whole body. I knew what it meant. The stories. The rumours. They were all true just like mother said, but I was to arrogant to listen. I could already hear then taunting creek of its bones in my ears but I refused to open my eyes. The chipped surface of its fingers trailed along my back as I sat on my knees, to its mercy. This was it.

I could hear the quiet sound of the ripping flesh before I felt it, the trails of blood that start to crawl down my back, and the chattering voices telling me that this is the end. But it's not. It can't be. It's teasing me, as if it wants me to fight, but this isn't how it's supposed to happen....right?

It was warm, or was it just me? Beds of sweat forming on my body as possibilities shoot through my mind, do I or don't I? Will it or won't it? My thoughts were interrupted by a shooting pain in my chest, my eyes shoot open and down, the creature. It's real. It's hand buried in my chest, it's bony hand wrapped tightly around my heart. "N-no" I whisper unable to move any of my limbs. It's black orbs staring into my eyes mocking my existence. I should've listened.

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