By William Poling

William Poling is a senior at KSC with a U.S. history major and a writing minor. He started writing at the start of college as a hobby, and declared it as a minor sophomore year to learn how to become a better writer. He mostly enjoys writing fiction in almost any genre and hopes to write books as a potential career someday.

The bite still itched. As though thousands of needles and maggots that weren’t there

chewed at my flesh. It had only been one week. I scratched the back of my neck again, it had

been itching for a few days. I had always felt sick near the end of the fall months, but this was

very new. Maybe the dog had been rabid? The shot should have worked, but I do not feel any


My heart was racing and my hands pulsed with a twitch, as if I had have to muck dark

coffee. Feast. My thoughts were acting stranger than usual. Pull yourself together Henry. Feast.

My back started to crack with hollow pops as I felt my nerves ignite with quick pain. My hands.

My fingers have stretched and contorted. My finger nails are pulled with the pain of hangnails

being ripped apart. Feast. My shoulders have nails pulling them part with the pain of expanding

cramps. My spine was still popping with harder jolts of pain to my hands and now my feet.

Feast. I looked to my hands again. They were long and covered with fur and two inch claws at

the ends of each finger tip. Feast. I feel the hair growing on me with my skin becoming dry as

ash and as warm as red coals. Feast. My jaw snaps open and unhinges with the pain of pins and

needles. It snaps back into place and my teeth begin to grow. Feast. My teeth are as sharp as

steak knives as the quickly cut my tongue. I taste blood. It is time to feast. I howl at the full

Moon above me and I hunt for my food.

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