(Writer's note: Horror is a new genre for me. I am looking for honest reviews of this little story. Not so much worried about how many stars it gets as long as the review is honest and fair. Stars will not help me improve in this genre. Honest reviews will. So, don't be afraid to let me have it straight up both good and bad. I can handle it. Appreciate it very much).


********************************************************************************



The moon was big and yellow. A rolling fog covered the densely tree filled hills surrounding the little village and the third call of the tonight had just come in.

His name is Buchanan. Kyle Buchanan. And he is the local gumshoe for the village of Swarthmoore. He likes things quiet. Real quiet. So, the distractions of that night started rattling his cage in ways he does not enjoy having his cage rattled.

First there was Trevor Smithson, or what was left of him. He had been torn apart into tiny little pieces. The old goat had definitely been put through the wringer. Body parts scattered all around the bloody scene. Enough to make the strongest man toss his cookies.

Then there was Earl Milton. Can't say he didn't have it coming though. The whole town detested the old codger and for good reason. He seemed to take special delight in annoying everybody else to the umpteenth degree. Not one living soul in town missed the old man one iota.

This was getting serious. What with the third time being the charm and all that. But this time he had barely finished his tray of doughnuts, and downed his piping hot cup of joe, when the full moon broke free of the clouds that had been covering it.

Soon the howling would start and the taste of fresh meat would permeate the night air. He always liked the pitch blackness of the night. Something about it just filled his heart with joy and brought out the beast in him.

Then the hair burst forth on his arms and the claws snapped into place on his hands. He was no longer a man. He was once again the creature he was destined to be. He cupped my paws to his mouth and let out a loud blood curdling howl. It felt good. Really good. So he did it again, and again. The need for raw meat consumed him and he knew it wouldn't be long before he struck again.

Finding victims was an easy thing for him to do. His wolf nose could pick up a human scent ten miles away. And being the only law officer of the village he knew who lived alone and right where they lived. Swarthmoore was good to his natural hunting instincts. He would soon pick the town apart just like he had done in many other places several times before.

His next prey was Ryan Higgenbottom and he had promised himself he would take special joy in butchering this one. After all, Higgenbottom had a fondness for little boys he should not have had and that notion sickened the wolf. He would make him pay dearly for every little boy he ever attacked and there were many of them.

Higgenbottom's ramshackle, rundown, clapboard cabin was now only about a hundred yards in front of where the wolf had traveled to. Silently he glided the distance with evil on his mind. No doubt about it. Climbing in through the open window of Higgenbotom's cabin would be the last thing the pedophile would ever see again this side of Hell where the wolf was about to send him to.

He knew his quarry was in there. His twitching nostrils could smell his aroma. The wolf's bigger problem was pacing his pleasures. The adrenaline was really flowing now and his wolf fangs wanted to rip into Higgenbottom's flesh like there was no tomorrow, which for him there would never be again. But the wolf knew had to stay in control to fully enjoy his kill.

You should have seen the terrified, shocked look on Higgenbottom's frantic face when the wolf entered that cabin. A moment in time the wolf lived for. A quick bite to the neck almost made his victim expire and the wolf's rage began in earnest.

He tore Higgenbottom's hands off, then his arms, one at a time. His razor sharp claws easily, and oh so painfully, shredded his target's torso to bits and he heard his agonizing cries with each assault. Finally, the wolf gave him the death bite that almost ripped his throat out, and Higgenbottom's spurting blood covered the wolf's mouth. Some even ran down the fur on his chin. Yes, this was one kill he especially delighted in.

The joys of the night over the wolf climbed back out the same window he had entered in. Leisurely, he strolled back to town. His good deed of the evening now far behind him.

Reaching Swarthmoore he had resumed his human form. His police uniform was neat, and well pressed, looking like he had just picked it up from the dry cleaners. He went back to his office where he opened the thick manila folder he kept in the middle of his well organized desk and leafed through it.

There was indeed a madness to the wolf's method, and tomorrow night he would howl again, as once more he experienced the haunting curse of being all wolf and all man. The same way he had been forever. The same way he would always be.

No, Swarthmoore had no clue whatsoever a wolf was in its midst, and the wolf's folder was full of prey. Life was indeed good, very, very good. And he saw no reason to move on, at least not just yet. He still had plenty of work to attend to.

Cleaning up a lawless town like Swarthmoore was a full time duty. One that he reveled in. And this was just his first night on the new job.