Chapterfour
1192 Words
The Beast in the Moonlight
Darkness swallowed Elias as the world gave way beneath his feet. He fell—not through air, but through something thicker. A void stitched with whispers and claws, shadows pulling at him like hungry fingers. The wind screamed past his ears, then—
Silence.
He landed hard.
Dirt. Roots. The cold slap of damp earth against his back.
Elias gasped, eyes snapping open. He was in the forest. But not the part he recognized. This place was older. Wilder. Trees arched above him like cathedral spires, their bark gnarled into snarling faces. The moon hung high overhead—full, white, watching.
His breath fogged in the air.
He sat up.
The mark on his chest pulsed—burning hotter than before, like molten coal under his skin. Around him, the forest was silent. Too silent.
Then he heard it.
A heartbeat. Not his.
No—many. Dozens. Every creature in the woods. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. He could hear the flutter of bats, to skitter of spiders, the blood in a rabbit’s veins as it froze in the underbrush.
“What the hell—”
The pain came next.
White-hot. From the base of his spine to his skull. His fingers curled against the soil. Bones cracked. Muscles tore. His mouth opened in a scream—but what came out wasn’t human.
His body convulsed.
Nails lengthened into claws. Teeth sharpened. His skin split and reshaped. Fur erupted. His spine arched. The mark on his chest flared like fire, and something ancient—something other—roared inside him.
Elias Grayson disappeared.
And the beast took his place.
He woke to the taste of blood in his mouth.
He was naked, covered in dirt and leaves. His skin was raw, scratched, his limbs trembling. He sat up with a groan.
The surrounding clearing was a m******e.
Dead animals. Rabbits, raccoons, even a deer—throats torn open, bodies shredded. The earth was soaked red. Elias gagged and scrambled back, slipping on wet moss.
“No. No, no, no…”
His chest burned. The mark had faded to a dull ember, but it was still there, still alive. A twisted scar that throbbed with every beat of his heart.
He stumbled through the woods, every step heavy with confusion and shame. Branches clawed at his skin as if the forest itself had turned against him.
At one point, he passed a small stream and fell to his knees, cupping water into his mouth with trembling hands. The coolness offered no comfort. His reflection stared back at him, fractured and animalistic. For a moment, he swore he saw golden eyes instead of his own.
Morning broke over Hollow Ridge like a blade.
Elias slipped through the backdoor of Silas’s house, still trembling. He’d stolen clothes from a shed—muddy jeans and an old flannel shirt two sizes too big.
The house was quiet.
He staggered into the bathroom, stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were rimmed red. His teeth—still too sharp. The gouges on his sides were gone, replaced by silver scars.
“Get it together,” he whispered.
Then the phone rang.
He flinched. Walked to the kitchen. Let it go to voicemail.
Sheriff Harlan’s voice crackled from the answering machine: “Silas, we found a hiker near Devil’s Hollow this morning. Mauled to death. Looks like an animal attack, but I’d feel better if you gave me a call.”
The message ended.
Elias gripped the edge of the counter. His knuckles turned white.
Mauled to death.
He ran.
Lena found him sitting on the edge of the same broken fountain where they’d first met. His hands were stained with dried blood.
“You’re shaking,” she said.
“I think I killed someone.”
She sat beside him, quiet.
“I don’t remember anything after I fell. I woke up surrounded by blood and dead animals. And now—someone’s dead. A hiker.”
He couldn’t look at her.
“I’m a monster.”
“No,” she said firmly. “You’re cursed. Not the same thing.”
“I changed, Lena. My bones broke. My skin turned to fur. I howled. I hunted. I liked it.”
“You don’t remember. That matters.”
He looked up. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”
She held out her wrist.
A scar—long, faded—curved along her arm like a serpent.
“My brother turned old when we were kids. Bit me before he ran into the woods. I got lucky. Didn’t turn. But I saw what it did to him. The fear. The hunger.”
“Did he hurt anyone?”
Lena looked away. “Yeah. Eventually. But he didn’t want to. That’s the difference.”
Elias swallowed hard. “What happened to him?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she took his hand. “I’ll help you. But we have to move fast. Full moons are a trigger, but they’re not the only one. The Hollow Men won’t wait forever.”
“What do we do?”
“First,” she said, “we learn to control it.”
The next week was hell.
Lena brought him books—ancient tomes, handwritten journals, notes from old Whitlock ancestors. They read by flashlight in the basement. Practiced breathing techniques. Tracked moon cycles. Visited the obelisk again and again.
“Control comes from understanding,” she’d say.
Elias fought the urges. The flares of anger. The moments when his vision would sharpen, his nails would ache to lengthen.
He never slept.
He never stopped sweating.
Some nights, he’d wake in a cold sweat, heart hammering, convinced he could hear howling in the distance. Other nights, he sat outside in the yard, feeling the wind press against his skin, listening to the whispers in the trees.
He was not alone. Something else was out there. Watching.
And then came the second body.
This time, it was a hunter.
Found near Miller’s Creek. Torn open like paper. Locals said it was a bear. Sheriff Harlan didn’t argue—but his eyes were darker. Distrustful.
He stopped Elias outside the market.
“You’ve got Silas’s eyes,” the sheriff said. “But your walk? That’s your father’s. Always looked like he was running from something.”
“I’m not.”
“Good. Because this town’s got a long memory. It doesn’t take kindly to secrets.”
Elias walked away before his hands could shake.
That night, Lena made him hike to Devil’s Hollow.
“I need you to see it,” she said.
The place where the hiker died was cordoned off with police tape. Blood still stained the rocks. Trees nearby had claw marks gouged deep into them.
Elias knelt, fingers brushing the dirt.
He saw it in flashes—snarls, teeth, red vision. Hunger. Speed.
“I did this,” he whispered.
“No,” Lena said behind him. “Something else did.”
He turned.
She held a strip of torn fur. Gray. Coarse. Not his.
“There’s another one,” she said. “Maybe more.”
Elias’s blood ran cold.
- Writer
