They Say He Changes

And he runs. And runs and runs. He's used to it, he says, but I'm not sure. He does this every month he says, but I don't know why. He looks at me and his eyes widen. He has to go he says, he turns around and stops, he looks up at the sky with a petrified look. Then he runs, and he doesn't stop, he never stops for anything.

Then I decide to follow him. I giggle as I run after him, he's fast, and I can't keep up. He soon is out of my sight. I groan; he's gone. He ran and now he is gone. Where did he go? I crossed my arms, I can't breathe, I can't run, I need to sit.

"He changes," a man says above me.

"What?" I say.

"He changes every full moon," he says, his eyes have that crazed twinkle in them; I am transfixed, "It first happened when he was a lad; a dog went an' bit him. He changes when the sun goes down, he turns savage, destroys every livin' thing in 'is path."

His accent is thick and intoxicating, he breathes on my face, and I can smell his happiness. He hiccups and burps, he couldn't possibly be telling the truth, he's lying, it's the alcohol. I should leave, but I don't want to. His story is an epic of sorts. I need to find out the end, or else it will haunt me, I know.

"Is that so?"

"Aye," he nods he smiles, his yellow teeth sharp and his eyes are water, "He changes, and he turns savage, like a monster," he draws out his words, and his hands are speaking too. He eyes are fixated on my face.

"He done and got bitten, then he run, he run till his lungs burst and he collapses there, he hopes that it's a good place to stay, and if it isn't he gets up and runs again."

"Where is he running toward?" I ask.

"He's running away," it was the most obvious answer in the world, "He runs away from us, and he runs until we aren't there no more. Then runs more, and when he can't run no more, he collapses, and his spine is ripped out of it's usual place, an' it's stretched and curved, like a dog's."

My mouth is a fly-catcher, "Why?"

"Ah, he be changing. He be running till he changes, then his jaw grows, it dislocates and his skin stretches to fit it. His teeth, they change, too. They grow into fangs, and his eyes are sewn shut 'cos of the pain, aye, the pain is horrible. He can't scream, no, his vocal are ripping and tearing and re-formin' themselves."

I gasp.

"Aye," he says, "Everything be re-arranging them self. His bones are growing and moving around and his nails and his hair grow. His nails be sharp as razors, perfect for scratchin'. All his senses, they be heightened, and for a moment there, he's dead. Dead as doorknob, but he's not. His heart stops beating, then it starts again, twice as powerful as before. And his ribs are stretched outwards, as with his hips, he grows, an' he grows an' grows. He grows till he's eight feet off the ground. He grows till rank fur is all over his body and till his fangs an' nails are sharp and can tear your supple flesh as easy as ripping the fabric of your sweater."

He looks at me, his eyes are hungry.

"You're a liar."

He laughs, his laugh is like a hyena's, it’s sharp and it rings through my ears, it turns almost into a howl.

"Want me to prove it to you?" I don't answer him, but he takes my hand anyway, and he runs. And he runs and I can barely keep up with him. He runs and runs and my lungs burn and he's almost dragging me.

Then he slows down and he's covering my eyes. I can't see anything and he whispers in my ear.

He whispers, "I told you so."

Then he leaves, his eyes are gone from my eyes, but they're still closed. I don't want to open them, I am frightened, but I open them anyway.

I see him, I'm in the clearing of a forest, and there he is. He's crouched and gasping, and he looks up. I can't tell, that's not him, it couldn't be, could it...?

His mouth contorts, he's trying to tell me something, I'm supposed to run, but I've ran and I ran and it seems like it's all I've been doing, how could I possibly run any more?

I walk, I walk away. He's gasping and writhing behind me, I look up, and it’s a full moon. Of course, he changes when there's a full moon. The man told me, he was drunk, but he was right. His face changes behind me, I know it's too late, but I can't possibly run. He changes, he's changing. Hell, I know this, and I'm not running.

One step; his spine is being ripped out. Two steps; his eyes are closing from the pain. Three steps; his nails are growing; they're growing and getting sharp, so they can tear my skin from my bone. Four steps; his shoulders are dislocating, his collar bone growing, widening. Five steps; his jaw is growing, his skin stretching. Six steps; his vocal cords are tearing and stretching and tearing again. Seven steps; fur is growing on all parts of his body, his mind going savage, primitive, blood-thirsty. Eight steps; his whole body is growing, getting taller, wider, stronger, and faster. He'll catch up, I know.

Nine steps, ten steps, there an ear-splitting scream, a howl. It's right behind me. The man told me, but he also took me here, so it was his fault. I let the man take me here, I didn't listen to him before, when he ran and ran and told me not to follow. But I did. Back then I didn't know that he changes.

But now, I do. He changes, yes, he transforms. He's not quite himself, but his eye's they're the same. His eyes are beautiful, I stare at them, he breathes in my face, and I had stopped walking a long time ago. His breath is in my face, it's warm, like dog breath.

"You've changed since I've seen you last."

He growls, it sounds like a chuckle.

Then he pounces, and his mouth is on my neck, his fangs are sharp, they tear the skin from my neck, I seem as fragile as glass. His nails, they're razors, ripping apart my stomach and pulling out my small intestine and ripping apart my ribs and separating them, he takes my heart and eats it. He rips my arm from its socket and I'm nothing but blood and skin.

They said he changes, I didn't think it was true, but I know now.