She’d been attacked by a werewolf when she stepped into our backyard one night to take some clothes off the clothesline.
I fired three silver bullets at the werewolf and missed. I had a cache of silver bullets I made because there’d been a werewolf sighting in the forest surrounding our country home.
The werewolf sped away before I could get more shots off. My wife survived the attack with only a small bite, but she and I knew that was enough.
We knew she was doomed to become a werewolf the next full moon night. And we had to figure out how to deal with it.
I hate to admit I felt like killing her to save her from her fate and to save others from her, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill my loving wife of ten years.
The following month right before the full moon appeared my wife and I had decided she would be locked in the escape-proof cellar.
The full moon rose. My wife howled and howled in the cellar, and her howls sounded as if they came out of hell.
A while later, I heard a crashing sound in the cellar and glass breaking. Then I heard two separate howls outside the house.
I peeked out my front window and saw a male and female werewolf running into the forest hand in hand. I grabbed my pistol loaded with silver bullets and went down to the cellar to check on my wife.
I saw the cellar window that was ten feet above the room had been broken from the outside, and my wife was gone. I knew then she had run off with the werewolf, the one that bit her, and I feared I’d never see my wife again.
It was as if the werewolf bite was like a love spell that bound him and my wife together.
I’d searched the forest every full moon night for years after that, my pistol loaded with silver bullets to kill the male werewolf who stole my wife and to try to save her from the darkness that had invaded her innocent soul.
But I never found him or my wife, as if they migrated to a faraway hunting ground. And I knew I’d lost my wife forever.
Bob Boyd
