The foolish stranger is starting to walk into Forbidden Forest,
a known werewolf haunt that nobody goes into at night.
And he couldn’t have picked a worse night to enter Forbidden Forest
with a full moon blazing.
I warned him about the werewolf, but he acted like my warning was a
joke. Then he foolishly said, “I can take care of myself.”
I said, “No you can’t, not against that werewolf,” but he didn’t realize
the danger.
I wondered if he was mentally ill, unable to understand the horror.
I tried and tired to talk him out of going into the forest,
to save his life, but he wouldn’t listen to me.
Then he nonchalantly strolled into it the forest while whistling,
oblivious to the werewolf lurking under the full moon in there.
Moments later, I heard the howls and expected to see the stranger
running out of the forest. But it was too late when I heard the
werewolf growling nearby and what sounded like bones cracking
and the stranger screaming like a cat being skinned.
And I knew the foolish stranger was getting slaughtered until
he came out of the forest with a dead and bloody werewolf
slung over his shoulder.
He threw it down in front of me and said, “Have a souvenir,”
and he strolled away whistling.
Who was that guy, I wondered, and I never saw him again.
Bob Boyd