The Last Werewolf

12

Anne

The mind doesn't work at the snap of a finger, so Anne didn't see a beautiful dream.

Instead, she found herself in a quiet forest, trapped in a nightmare.

Panic clenched at her chest as she frantically scanned her surroundings, unable to see beyond the thick fog that swirled around her feet. 

The silence was deafening, broken only by the rustling of leaves underfoot and the distant hoot of an owl.

"Come back!" Anne called out, her voice trembling with despair.

Was it a memory or an illusion?

Was it a nightmare or the truth?

 "I command you to come back!" Her words reverberated through the forest, but there was no response.

The fog seemed to grow thicker, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud.

"Come back!" she repeated, this time angry. 

She was furious!  

"You need to listen! I am your Lu  -"

Anne's voice was cut off as figures began to materialize in the mist, their faces twisted in hatred. They emerged slowly at first, but soon their numbers grew, surrounding her.

With a cry, Anne launched herself at them, her fists pounding against their forms. She fought with all her might, her blows landing with a sickening thud, but no matter how hard she fought, they seemed to multiply.

Their accusing gazes haunted her every move, their hands reaching out to grab her, to pull her down.

"I'll kill you for this!" she screamed at them, her voice filled with rage and anguish. But they overwhelmed her, their cold hands gripping her arms, her shoulders, dragging her down. One of them delivered a sharp, painful shot to her arm, and she cried out in pain.

As Anne fell to the ground, her strength ebbing away, her voice changed to a whisper, "I'll kill you all!" 

And she was surrounded by darkness.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, Anne was ripped from her nightmare—or memory, or illusion, or whatever it could be. 

It had only been a dream, she reminded herself, but the pain and anger lingered.

Anne didn't know what to do.

She couldn't go to Doctor Rick - even to apologize for his coffee table. She was a monstrum now, wasn't she?

"Well, Doctor Rick wasn't exactly young anymore. The coffee table could have been there for twenty years, and... there are bugs that bite wood, after all, right?"

Anne asked herself, trying to rationalize the situation, while she went to take a shower.

"Actually, I did the Doctor a favor. This time, he's buying a table that will last." 

She nodded,  thinking that he should be grateful to find it sooner then later.

"I am not a werewolf," she shook her head.

 "Bugs are dangerous!" She nodded again.

 The shower slowly erased the traces of her dream, but instinctively, she looked at her left shoulder, at the spot where she had been shot in her dream.

"It's just a vaccination scar," she told herself as she felt a round scar on her shoulder that she had never noticed. "It must have been a traumatic experience."

After she was done, she looked in the mirror, her reflection staring back at her with a mixture of exhaustion, frustration and sadness.

Anne, with her long and thick hair, which usually cascaded in rich waves when not wet from the shower, honey-brown eyes that shimmered with depth, and plump red lips, embodied an epitome of classic beauty.