Werewolf Skin

23

I sank to the ground. Pressed myself flat on my stomach.

My chest heaved. I breathed through my mouth, struggling to keep perfectly still, perfectly silent.

Did they see me? Did they?

I raised my head enough to peer out at them beneath the bottom branch of the bush.

They had their fur-covered snouts raised. They sniffed the air.

Did they smell me? Did they know I was hiding down here?

Were they about to leap into the bush and rip me apart with those long, silvery claws?

I held my breath, squinting across the grass at them.

They sniffed some more, grunting softly.

Then they turned away. Dropped to all fours. And loped off, heading to the woods.

I waited until I could no longer hear the soft thud of their paws or their low growls and grunts. Then I slid forward on my stomach, reached out, and grabbed my camera.

My camera!

I hadn’t snapped any photos. Not a single shot.

I climbed shakily to my feet and rubbed the wet dew from the lens. Then I raised my eyes to the woods.

I have to follow them, I decided.

I have to take some photos. This is the chance of a lifetime!

If I can take the first-ever shots of actual werewolves, I’ll be famous! I pictured myself in newspapers and on magazine covers. I imagined my photos of the Marlings on display in fancy photo galleries.

And I thought of how proud of me Uncle Colin and Aunt Marta would be.

That thought sent a chill down my back. Uncle Colin and Aunt Marta-they were working in the woods right now. Busy photographing animals of the night.

Did they know that two werewolves were on the loose? Did they know that two werewolves were prowling the woods, searching for victims?

They’re not safe out there, I realized.

Of course, following the werewolves into the woods was crazy-and dangerous. But now I had two reasons to chase after them.

I had to snap some pictures-and warn my aunt and uncle.

My eyes on the woods, I jammed the camera into the case and slung it over my shoulder. Then I began trotting across the backyard toward the trees, following the fresh paw prints in the frosty grass.

I ducked into the trees and followed the curving path. Moonlight trickled through the treetop leaves, making eerie, shifting patterns on the ground.

I didn’t have to go far to catch up with the two werewolves. Just past the bent, old-man tree, I heard an animal grunt. And then a shrill cry of attack.

I stopped-and peered through a low evergreen shrub. Mouths gaping open, claws raised, the two wolf creatures leaped.

They’ve caught someone! I realized, frozen in horror.

Who is it? My aunt? My uncle?