werewolf - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The good werewolf was the protector, as were the angel witches, yet man could not tell the difference between them and the evil degenerates and chased them all from our lands.
"Werewolf - there's nothing else it can be. Real wolves don't move like that, don't grow that damn big. Its paws are as big as Daryl Walker's hands and the eyes... Did you see?"
Jack took a moment to respond, his mind had been busy replaying the scene in slow motion. "Yeah, I just freeze framed him."
Hugh snorted, "I forgot you could do that. Got a print out too?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "His eyes are human. Nothing else they can be. His skeleton isn't all wolf either, especially the skull. If we can match any of the anomalies to a person we'll have our werewolf."
Though it was still silent like the pre-dawn always is, in that darkness devoid of birdsong, there came a musky scent tinctured with rancid breath. Ben was awake as always, trying to figure out how to live through his next day in the mill without breaking his back or worse when he caught the scent. The rumours of the werewolf pack were rampant in the village and though he thought it "stuff and nonsense" he kept a modified cricket bat next to the bed. He'd hammered nine inch nails right through to the other side so that it bore more resemblance to a medieval mace than something for sport. He nudged Claire and placed a gentle hand over her mouth, she roused and pulled herself to sitting. Then he made his way toward the doorway that lead to the only other room of their stone cottage. There were three of them, but it was odd, they were playing cards at the table like they still had half-human minds - so much for being unable to curb their killer instincts. Ben turned to Claire and gestured toward the window, it was the only way out. She nodded and went to push the glass open. A furry face appeared almost instantly and she screamed.
The card players looked round with wolfish grins and stalked over to the bedroom, glaring at Ben with his weapon. With Claire behind him he stood resolute. Then the largest werewolf spoke. "We don't want you man, we want the woman - far more tender. Stand aside and live." In answer Ben raised the bat higher. The werewolf continued, "We played cards for her, I won. So you see, she's mine." At his words a drool of saliva rolled thickly from his rubbery lips and he took a step forwards. Ben didn't blink, didn't move, didn't speak. There was no negotiating with devils such as these, the only answer they were going to get was a face of nine inch nails. Then in the morning he'd get a community search going for people with similar injuries and kill them in their human form...
From the shadows comes a wolf, yet he's no ordinary predator. He moves to block the gun cabinet, staring with almost human eyes. The only sound in the entire house is his breathing, his flaring nostrils as he takes in Kali's scent. He curls up his gums to reveal yellow stained teeth and then lets out a low rumbling growl. Kali already knows her fate, in seconds her throat will be ripped out, her flesh consumed, blood staining the a pale sheep skin rugs.
In the clearing was a pack of werewolves, no natural wolf was so large. Teeth gnashed in a frenzy of feeding, the remnants clearly human. Tony watched from his tree branch, focusing on keeping his breathing as quiet as possible. Wolves couldn't climb trees but he didn't know if these creatures could. Likely his scent would be drown out by the odour of fresh blood on the forest floor...
The werewolf slunk like he was a part of the shadow world, only visiting the mortal creatures to feed. His heart was cold and his mind had no room for pity. For his "heaven" was one with many victims to consume, victims who became paralyzed with fear before he dined on their soft flesh. Their cries were music to his ears, their blood the finest perfume. To watch them suffer was his serenity, his joy. But his greatest satisfaction lay in taking away loved ones; he could taste the difference. Knowing that he'd struck a blow into the lives of their families and friends was sickly sweet, intoxicating, more addictive even than the flesh.
The cages had become a must at full moon - one for every team member. No-one knew if they'd been bit deep enough on the last raid to get the infection; everyone had agreed to death over living as pure evil. A gust of onshore wind moved the cloud layer to allow a silvery shaft onto every person. Should anyone transform they would be the first kill of the night, but never the only one.
Kayla screamed. The blood ran from every face as she collapsed to the floor, skin bubbling and bones transforming. Once the buzzer sounded all the doors unlocked and seven silver bullets went into her skull. It wasn't the start of the night anyone wanted, but it was part of the job. A heroes life, a heroes death, a personal sacrifice, an honourable spirit. When the dawn came she'd be buried with her most beloved pair of boots and crucifix. No-one in town would know she didn't die fully human and her name would be added to roll call of warriors.
Fail to feed the good werewolves and the evil ones will tear you apart.