Compelled By The Moon

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The time finally came. The day rushed by in a blur. My father and I spent the whole day preparing me for the night to fall. He could not tell me of the pain, of the process. He admitted to me that the one thing mother was most scared of was the pain. If only I had her here to tell me what it was like, to help me through the process and tell me what to do.

Despite all the days' preparations, when the night had fallen down on us, I have never felt so unprepared in my whole life.

"It's time." My father informed me. He led me down to the basement and ushered me into the room. I was told it was for my own safety, but deep down I knew that it was for everybody else's safety.

According to the books I read, werewolves are only out of full control on their first ever shift. Which, I will admit, had scared the living daylights out of me. The thought of being out of control, the thought of some animal taking full reign and destroying anything in its path made the hairs on the back of my neck stand upright.

I heard the clicking of the lock and my father mumbling a good luck. He retreated upstairs, and no doubt was sitting in his chair watching the door to the basement with his gun loaded and ready in case I break out.

I looked up at the cameras that we had secretly hidden in the room, we had to hide them so that my wolf would not rip them to shreds. It was my idea to have the cameras in, I wanted to see myself. I wanted to see what happens when people turn into horrific beasts. My mind was too curious to not know.

I stripped down to my underwear and stuffed them in the corner of the room. Sitting down crossed legged, in the middle of the room, I waited patiently.

I began growing irritated. I started fidgeting and bouncing my knee up and down. Eventually, that grew to not be enough, I had to tap my fingers on the floor. Every instinct in my body wanted to scream, wanted to shout, wanted to break things.

But I knew that was not me. I am not that kind of person. I do not scream, or shout, or break things simply because of irritation, or in pure rage. I was never a violent person.

That is how my night started. The impatience, the irritation... then the pain.

I grabbed my stomach and tried to grip the ground to help me feel something other than the burning pain. It spread through my body like wildfire. Every vein, every muscle, every organ, every hair, every bone felt as though lava was coursing through it, enveloping it and clutching on tightly as it scorched me.

Falling forwards onto my hands and knees, I screamed out. The sounds of my bones snapping and falling back into place filled my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt parts of my body stretch and elongate.

Screaming again, I wanted to fight against it. But the pain was so strong, I was weak in comparison. I was too weak to fight against my own body, but a part of me knew that if I had fought against it, the pain would only be worse.

A pain shot through my skull, causing my eyes to fly open. I could see every particle in the air. I would watch in fascination but another pain sparked through my skull causing me to scream and look away from everything.

Then everything went black.

Stretching, my body ached. I curled up into a ball and rolled over, wanting to go back to sleep. The feeling of a blanket being draped over me brought me to my senses. Quickly, I sat up, clutching the blanket to my bare chest.

My father nodded at me. He helped me to my feet, my aching muscles and weak body groaned in displeasure. As I stumbled to my feet, and I stood with wobbly knees, my father wrapped the blanket around my bare body and became my crutch as he helped me walk up the stairs.