Free Flash Horror! (Previously published on "Tales to Terrify")

     Dream logic is strange, thought the boy walking through the clearing, cold wind to his back. He wondered if the cold would bother him once he was covered in fur.

     Over there was where Terry shot the gun. He knew that if he explored the area a bit he'd find a shotgun shell. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe Terry hadn't even actually fired. Probably he had. It was so difficult to tell what was real and what wasn't anymore. Ever since that night he’d had a hard time differentiating dream from reality. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked up, watching the moon climb higher. It occurred to him that he had never actually seen the moon ascend into the sky. Like the hour hand on a clock, it only moved when you weren't watching. But right now, the moon was definitely moving.

     He surveyed the wood-line, trying to peer through the vegetation and see what was hidden amongst the trees and shadows. He rocked back on his heels and pursed his lips. Any moment now.

     There was a rustling to his left, just beyond the clearing's edge. His head jerked. Scanning. Searching. He wondered if his eye sight would improve after the change. It probably would.

     Behind him, somebody cleared their throat. He spun. A tall, lanky man stood inside the clearing, just at the edge. The boy couldn't see the man's face or make out any features. The man was naked, but didn't seem embarrassed by that fact, nor did he seem cold. His breath came and went in small puffs, panting like a dog; small clouds of vapor dissipating quickly in the night air.

     He stared at the boy, silent.

     "Hello," said the boy, trepidation and fear cracking his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Hello."

     The man stood still, offering no response.

     "It was you, wasn't it?" The boy took a step forward and the man jerked into a stance that could mean either fight or flight. The boy paused.

     "I'm not going to hurt you," said the boy. "The man who shot at you, that's my step-dad, Terry. You scared us last month. He thought you were a bear."

     The naked man's breathing sped up, but he still held his silence.

     "I know what you really are," said the boy. "Or at least, I think I do." The man's face was still shrouded in mystery, but the boy had the distinct feeling they were making eye contact.

"I dreamt of you, you know." The boy felt himself falling into a trance; calm, detached. Hypnotized. "Every night since Terry and I were out deer spotting, I've dreamt of you."             Now the boy was whispering, feeling caught somewhere between a dream and reality.           Maybe he was.

     He kept talking.

     "I feel like I'm always dreaming."

     The man snorted, spat.

     "I've seen all the movies," whispered the boy, an irrational fear at the back of his mind told him that if he spoke too loudly, he'd wake himself up and the dream would end. "I've read all the books."

     The man finally moved; pacing slowly, left and right. Prowling. Stalking. Never breaking eye contact with the boy, never speaking.

     "I want to be like you," the boy explained, still whispering. "All it takes is a bite, right? Just one and then I'll be..." The sentence lingered, hanging heavy in the air. He couldn't bring himself to say the word; to admit what the naked man was, what he wanted to become.

     There are some words you just don't say in dreams.

     "...then I'll be like you," the boy finished at last.

     The man, still shrouded by the night, stopped moving, kept panting.

     Slowly, ever so slowly, he shook his head.

     "No?" The boy asked, starting to wake up.

     The man shook his head again.

     "What do you mean, 'no'?" Tears streamed down the boy's face. "I saw you in my dreams! I saw you change. You showed me this place again; you told me to be here! You recited that poem to me! 'I'll come to you when the moon is high, I'll feast with you under a full moon sky.' And look!" The boy pointed to the sky. The moon was almost at it's zenith, shafts of ghostly light peeking from behind wispy clouds. "The moon is there. The moon is full! You came to me in my dreams, told me to come to you. I thought you wanted to change me. To make me like you. So we could feast together."

     The naked man stopped panting.

     He growled.

     "Unless..." Realization washed over the boy. "You can't be turned."

     The naked man's shoulders broadened, his nose and mouth extending into a snout. Two triangular tuffs of fur sprouted from the side of his head. No, not fur; ears. He dropped to all fours.

     "You can't be turned," whispered the boy. "You can only be born."

     The man, the creature, snarled in response.

     "I'll come to you when the moon is high," whispered the boy. "I'll feast on you under the full moon sky."

     The wolf crouched.

     The boy turned, running.

     The house, he thought.

     I have to get to the house.

     The wolf hit him hard, knocking the breath from his body and slamming him to the ground. He felt an immense weight on his back, then a vice-like grip on his arm. He was shook back and forth like a rag doll, spittle flying from his gaping mouth.

     I want to wake up now, he thought.

     The agony of teeth in his shoulder, next to his neck. Tendons were crushed; bones snapped.

     Flesh tore.

     I want to wake up.

     Something warm and wet splashed across his face. Blood or saliva, he didn't know.

     I want...

     He heard a snarl. The pain faded. He grew tired; so, so tired.

     The wolf howled at the moon; the lunar body gazing down upon the clearing with the cold indifference of a celestial god. The wolf wagged its tail once, his ears slicked back and flat on his head.

     Then, while the boy's body was still warm, it began to feast.