I warned my neighbor, Rodney, to beware of the forest behind our homes on full moon nights. Rodney loved the outdoors more than the indoors. He pitched a tent in the forest behind our homes on many nights. I told him I don’t believe in werewolves, but of late, I heard howling in the forest on full moon nights.
I shrugged it off as some human lunatic and told Rodney a deranged lunatic could be more dangerous to his life than a fictional werewolf. Rodney didn’t take my warning seriously. He laughed it off, ignorant of the danger it held. And the next full moon night, he went camping, seemingly to spite me and prove no danger lurked in the forest when the moon was full.
And, sure enough, I heard the howling that full moon night. But with human screams for help. I called the police and saw what looked like a werewolf enter Rodney’s home and turn on the lights. In the meantime, the police arrived and found two dead people in the forest, newly weds camping. The police followed up on what I said about a werewolf entering Rodney’s home and found only Rodney in his pajamas complaining about being woken up. He said I was crackers, just seeing things and that I was a little off my rocker.
Rodney hasn’t been speaking to me since then. When I see him, he looks at me with hard eyes. He knows that I know what he is. I’ve no doubt he’ll be speaking to me when the werewolf in him comes out. So before the next full moon and Rodney break loose, I’m stocking up on silver bullets and pinning wolfsbane on my home’s doors and windows.
Bob Boyd