The werewolf sprang at him with a snarl. Rudy went down under a flurry of teeth and claws, screaming. Mark saw nothing else, because he panicked and ran, dropping the flashlight. It bounced and fell into the open grave, throwing crazy shadows as Rudy fought for his life and lost, his screams quickly fading. Rudy was dead. And the wolf was still hungry.
Mark looked back only once and saw something he'd never forget, not if he lived to be a hundred, which right now seemed unlikely.
It was Madame Thornhill in stark silhouette, with her head thrown back and teeth bared, howling with such fury, it seemed to echo for miles. As Mark watched, the werewolf leaped out of it's grave. With the silver bullets removed, it's dry, ruined flesh was rapidly filling with life. Still shrouded in her shredded gown, Voracia Thornhill sniffed the air for game.
Her head swiveled towards him.
Mark ran.
There was nothing he could do for Rudy, he was dead. But maybe Mark could save himself. He knew he had only one chance to escape. Madame Thornhill might have been an ordinary woman without the light of a full moon, but now she was more animal than human-and there are things a human such as Mark can do that a wolf can't.
Like climb a ten-foot fence.
If Mark could make it to the edge of the cemetery and clear the fence before the werewolf caught him, he might survive! He had a head start of about thirty feet. But wolves are fast-you'd have to be a track star to outrun them.
Or a basketball star.
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Next part coming up in a few days. Please vote and follow. I follow back.
