Fan Fiction

Howls under the Moonlight
The Moon's Reflection Sarah adjusted her rearview mirror, watching the city lights blur into streaks of gold and crimson behind her. The traffic had lightened up a lot, a sharp contrast to the usual weekday chaos that she maneuvered through with practiced ease. But tonight? It felt different. There was a weight on her chest, a subtle unease that her luxury sedan's hum just couldn't shake off. Tonight marked the full moon, her monthly routine of visiting her mother’s grave . For the last five years, like clockwork, Sarah had made this trip to the old cemetery on the outskirts of town each month. As she got closer to the cemetery, the feeling of being watched intensified. It prickled at her skin, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She glanced in her mirrors, catching the glint of headlights far behind her. Just other cars, she reassured herself, but the unease lingered. Turning onto the lonely road leading to the cemetery gates, she spotted him. A figure hunched beneath the bare branches of an old oak, cloaked in shadows. He was tall, his form obscured by dark, shapeless clothing and a deep hood that hid his face. Sarah's breath caught in her throat. He was just standing there, immobile, watching her.Sarah stood at the edge of the cemetery which seemed to be abandoned except for the feeling of countless unseen eyes watching her. Her breath visible in the cold night air. The full moon hung low, casting a silver glow over the rows of headstones. She adjusted her coat, her fingers trembling slightly. She knelt by the grave, her hand brushing the cold stone. “I miss you,” she whispered. Her voice cracked.A low, mournful howl sliced through the silence. Then another, wilder this time. Sarah shivered, not from the cold, but from a strange anticipation, a dark thrill bubbling up inside her. Suddenly, with a metallic clang that echoed through the quiet graveyard, the iron gate of the cemetery was flung wide. The figure in the shadows emerged from behind a mausoleum. He was now closer, his face still hidden by the hood. Sarah wanted to run, to flee, but her legs felt heavy, rooted to the ground. He shuffled closer, his steps tentative. Now she could see the details of his outfit—threadbare patches on his dark coat, grime on his gloved hands. He didn’t seem menacing. He just looked... dishveeled. Alone. Another howl rang out across the night, this one different. It wasn’t mournful; it was hungry. Suddenly, Sarah felt a jolt, a violent tremor starting deep within her bones. Her vision blurred, muscles tightening, stretching, contorting. The premium Italian leather of her shoes strained and tore as her feet elongated, sharp claws pushing into the ground. Her manicured nails thickened into lethal talons. A guttural growl escaped her throat, a sound so foreign to her usual composed self that it startled even her transforming mind. The fear that had gripped her moments before vanished, replaced by a primal instinct and an urgent need. The homeless man, startled by the noise, turned towards her, his eyes widening in confusion. Just a man, old and frail, merely seeking some pennies to get some grub to quell the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. Without thinking, Sarah lunged. The scream that ripped from his throat was abruptly silenced. The moonlight, once softly illuminating, now reflected the crimson stain spreading across the gravel. The fierce howls now seemed to celebrate, echoing her savage victory. The next morning, Sarah strolled into the gleaming lobby of her company, her designer heels clicking sharply against the polished marble floor. Her tailored suit fit just right, her makeup flawless. She offered the receptionist a warm smile, her usual cheerful demeanor radiating professionalism. Her colleagues greeted her with nods and smiles, blissfully unaware of the darkness lingering inside her. She discussed quarterly projections, strategized marketing campaigns, and navigated board meetings with ease. The only reminder of the previous night’s events was a faint scratch on her left hand, easily brushed off as a minor incident. Seated at her large mahogany desk, with the moon’s reflection, so beautiful and serene, streaming through the panoramic window, Sarah glanced at the calendar. Another successful month had passed. Another full moon had come and gone. And the cycle, she knew, would inevitably start again.
By Ashraf Almamlouk2 years ago in Fiction
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