Werewolf

I must admit, I am deathly afraid of werewolves. 

        Once a month, bathed in the light of the moon, a transformation occurs. Bones snap and re-arrange, muscles tear and reform, and the blood boils like a fire raging through the veins. The skin tingles as if a thousand beetles were scurrying across it. For this monthly occurence, an eternal curse brought by the simple light of the night's pale moon, is said to be merely a myth. Or at least, that's what I tell myself as I listen to the guttural snarls of neighborhood dogs shift to howls adrift upon the still night air. I can never convince myself for long though. Soon eneough, my back is pressed aganst a locked door as I gasp to catch my breath before diving beneath the covers.