Flee the Werewolf
The more he helps: the faster he turns
Pain pulsating from grinding teeth to the temple. A hard lump does not belong. Long and white, sharp like a canine; that of a wolf. Ten hundred years passed now Howling Hill seeks new blood. How foolish to think the escape was real. Ooze ran over fingertips; an earthy essence captivated the nostrils. By the fall of the noonday sun, this town will be overrun.
“Flee!” The man demanded. His voice now a growl.
Screams erupt – fur tufts sprout. Blue eyes turn to shadow. Footsteps scurry – before the blinding sun. Time is running out.
About the Creator
Leni Koski
Life is intense, as is suspense!
Disconnect from crazy and plug into the world of characters through fantasy, sci-fi or even poetic reads.
Fiction and Non-Fiction: Just let me write!
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.