I was pissed—at the world, at myself, at everything.
I was tired. Tired of the situation. Tired of how powerless I felt. That bitch won't leave me alone, and no one believes me.
I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I didn't want to be around anyone. The more I did or said, the worse things got. So I decided to isolate myself, at least partially.
In public, I pretend everything is fine. But behind closed doors?
I'm a trainwreck.
I felt useless. I felt like nothing. I lay in bed, feeling my mind unravel like loose thread.
I told myself I'd rather rot in this bed than step out of this room.
But of course, life doesn't know the meaning of the word "consent."
"Isaac!"
My mom called from downstairs.
Ugh. Human interaction.
I got out of bed and pulled on some pants. I was in my own room—I'm allowed to sleep without pants, damn it.
I went downstairs to find Jack and Daniel.
Daniel looked upset, clutching a black duffel bag close to his chest. Jack sat beside him, gently patting his back like you would a crying dog during a thunderstorm.
My mom was in her blue coveralls, ready to head out for work.
I spoke up.
"Hey guys, what's up?"
Jack looked at Daniel. Daniel looked at Jack. Then he stared at the floor.
Daniel cleared his throat.
"Hey, uh… dude. Listen. We're your friends, right? And as your friends, we deserve to know the truth."
I blinked, confused.
The truth? Wait—are they finally believing me about the werewolf?
"The truth?" I repeated.
Daniel groaned loudly.
"ENOUGH! JUST ADMIT IT! YOU BROKE MY SPEAKERS!"
His shout startled both me and my mom. Daniel never shouted.
"I… dude, I didn't break your speakers. I've been here or at the pound lately."
He unzipped the duffel bag and pulled out his premium speakers. I remembered when he first bought them—he worked his ass off, saved every scrap of allowance.
He turned them so I could see the damage.
"So you didn't do this?"
My heart dropped.
On the back of the speakers, words were scratched deep into the plastic:
BOY WHO CRIED WOLF
My throat went dry. My hands shook.
No way… she didn't.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak.
She's targeting my loved ones now.
"Got nothing to say?"
"Daniel… put it down. Slowly. It could have her fingerprints on it—"
"ENOUGH WITH THE SHIT, ISAAC!"
He dropped the speakers on the table.
My mother stepped in.
"Daniel, I'm so sorry about this. I'll pay for the speakers."
A sharp pain twisted in my chest.
"Mom, you gotta believe me—I didn't do it. It was her—"
Jack placed a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. His look said Don't make it worse.
I looked away, blinking fast. My eyes stung, but I refused to cry.
Tears would mean she won—and I won't give her that.
So I stood in silence.
My mother reached into her wallet to repay Daniel, but I beat her to it. I pulled two hundred dollars from my pocket and handed it to him.
Daniel sighed.
"Isaac, I'm your friend. You don't do this to your friends. You need to get some help."
I sighed, too—though mine came from deeper down.
They don't believe me. So what's the point of even talking?
Daniel caught the look on my face and put the money back on the counter.
"I… I don't want the money, Isaac. I want you to get better. If not for us, then for your family. Just admit you have a problem."
All their eyes turned to me, soft with pity—like I was a lost puppy by the roadside.
It made me sick.
What will it take for them to believe me?
"…Maybe you're right," I said quietly.
Jack smiled, relieved.
"Come on! We've been friends for years. We can't let this come between us, right?"
Daniel stayed silent. So did I.
"…I'm gonna go back to bed," I muttered, turning around.
"Isaac!" my mom called after me.
I held my hand up to stop her.
"Please, Mom… please."
I walked upstairs.
She's targeting my friends now.
No—she's targeting me through my friends.
And I can't do anything about it.
I lay back down, my head suddenly too heavy for the pillow.
"What can I do? …What can I do?"
My head throbbed.
My eyes fluttered closed.
[Gore warning Skip to next prompt if easily Queasy]
I felt lightheaded as I awoke in bed.
The sun blazed into my face—had I really slept through the entire night?
I'd lost track of time. My stomach growled as I wandered downstairs, following the sound of laughter.
"Isaac, is that you, dear?" my mom called out. "Come join us for dinner. Daniel's telling such a wonderful story."
I sighed.
At least Daniel isn't mad at me anymore… I guess.
I stepped into the dining room, ready to eat—
But a scream caught in my throat.
At the table sat all my loved ones.
Mom. Dad. Jack. Daniel. Flynn.
They were all eating and laughing together.
Unaware—or uncaring—that they were surrounded by werewolves, tearing into them with hungry teeth.
Chunks of flesh were being bitten off.
Blood soaked into their clothes.
And yet they smiled.
They chewed. They laughed.
"Hey, champ! Come sit with us!" my dad beamed, blood pouring from his neck where a werewolf gnawed.
"Mom made your favorite—meatloaf!"
I couldn't move. Couldn't scream.
I watched my family being devoured… and they didn't seem to care.
Then I saw her.
The wolf girl.
Standing in the living room, face stained with blood.
"It's nice of you to join us," she purred. "We're just in the middle of a little dinner. Take a seat."
Daniel stood up and pulled out a chair for me—
Before his head was ripped clean off.
His body collapsed into his plate, blood splattering the table.
I vomited all over the floor.
My mother rolled her eyes.
"Ugh. 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' is being dramatic again."
They all laughed.
Chanting, over and over:
"Boy who cried wolf. Boy who cried wolf."
Then the oven dinged.
A chilling silence fell over the room.
No one moved.
The wolf girl grinned.
"I wonder what's for dessert."
The other werewolves began to snarl, howling in anticipation.
She strolled to the oven, swaying with every step.
"Oh gee, looks like someone's late to dinner," she cooed.
"Don't worry. I'm sure we can make room for her."
My eyes widened.
No…
Everyone was here except—
No!
She opened the oven.
Before I could see what was inside, I bolted upstairs, heart pounding, and slammed my bedroom door shut.
I locked it.
[Gore warning over]
But her laughter followed me.
Endless.
The wolves banged and scratched at the door.
I screamed for help—
But no sound came out.
Only strangled gasps of anguish.
The snarling got louder.
And louder.
Until—
Silence.
A single leaf fluttered into my lap.
I looked up.
And saw…
me.
But older.
Rougher.
With a tangled beard and dirt-caked skin.
Tree roots wrapped around his arms like armor.
Leaves clung to his body.
"Pathetic," he spat.
His voice grated like stone on stone.
"Is this all you have to offer?"
He grabbed my face in his hand, gripping hard.
"You're gonna run from an overgrown mutt because you're afraid of fleas?
You're much more than that.
Now get off your arse…
And FINISH WHAT WAS STARTED."
I awakened to a dark room.
I sighed in relief.
It was just a dream.
Thank God—it was just a dream.
I sat up and checked the clock.
10:45 PM.
I groaned. I felt like breaking down.
But I couldn't.
I wouldn't let myself.
I stood up. My legs were wobbly as I walked downstairs, stepping lightly to avoid waking my parents.
That's when I heard it.
"She'll be here tomorrow," my mom whispered from behind her bedroom door.
I froze.
Leaning in, I pressed my ear to the door.
"I don't like it. Can't we just talk to him again?" my dad asked, voice low and tired.
My mom groaned.
"Talking to him isn't working, Pete. He's locking himself in his room because of a werewolf. A goddamn werewolf!"
"I understand that, honey. But we're his parents. Can't we just assume… maybe something else is going on?" My dad's voice cracked. "I trust our son. I know he wouldn't break his own friend's speakers."
"Because he's not well! I trust him too," she snapped, "but we need to be there for him. And if it means... she has to come tomorrow, then maybe that's a risk we'll have to take."
Dad sighed deeply.
"Yes… babe, I understand. But nothing is set in stone. We're not going through with it completely. She'll just come over to talk."
I backed away from the door slowly, heart racing.
Who were they talking about?
Who's "she"?
Are they working with the werewolf?
No.
No—I trust my parents.
...But do they trust me?
I crept to the kitchen, grabbed a water bottle, and slipped back into my room, locking the door behind me.
I took a few gulps, my mind still spinning.
There has to be something I can do.
I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop.
In the search bar, I typed:
"Could a human fight a werewolf?"
The results were… not encouraging.
One site said a werewolf's bite strength was estimated at 406 PSI.
That could hypothetically crush 195 watermelons—at once.
Another site explained werewolf behavior.
They're like dogs—but with human emotions.
And then there was one more article about how to "take" a werewolf…
I closed that one instantly. It wasn't about fighting.
Sleep wasn't an option. Not after everything.
I pulled the curtains closed and opened my closet.
Reaching up, I grabbed it—
my baseball bat.
Maple wood.
Old. Scarred.
I'd carved the initials "BB" into the handle.
I held it in my hands.
The weight was familiar. Comforting.
Hello, old friend.
I sat back down, placing the bat beside me.
And began to doomscroll like my life depended on it.
Because… in a way, it did.
10 Hours later
I must have passed out at my desk.
I was jolted awake by pounding at my door.
"Isaac! You open this door right now—you hear me!? Right now!"
It was my mother. Angry.
I scrambled to open the door, confused and groggy.
Her face was livid.
"Come downstairs. Now."
Still blinking the sleep from my eyes, I followed her.
In the living room, Jack stood next to his mom—Kim.
She offered my dad a soft smile.
"I'm so sorry. We'll pay for all the spoiled meat—we really are sorry," she was saying.
Jack saw me.
His face twisted with fury.
"You asshole!" he shouted, lunging forward and punching me square in the jaw.
I stumbled back and hit the floor hard.
My father and Kim grabbed Jack, pulling him away.
"Stop! It's not his fault!" Kim cried.
But Jack wasn't hearing any of it.
His eyes burned with betrayal.
"How could you do this to me, man!? I thought we were friends! And this is how you repay me?! REPAY US!"
"That's ENOUGH, JACK!" Kim shouted.
I stood frozen. Confused. Hurt.
Jack would never hit me. Never.
Why was he so angry?
What the hell was I being accused of now?
"What did I do!? What did I do wrong!?" I pleaded.
Jack rolled his eyes, practically shaking with rage.
"Don't act like you don't know! The meat, Isaac! You broke into my mom's store and stole all the meat!"
I stared at him in disbelief, horrified.
"Dude… you gotta believe me. I didn't do anything—I... I wouldn't—"
But he wasn't listening.
He shoved past his mom, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me outside.
The moment the door opened, I saw it:
A trail of packaged meat.
It stretched from our driveway all the way down the road.
Jack pulled out his phone.
He showed me a photo.
The inside of Kim's meat locker.
Ransacked.
And scrawled across the blood-smeared floor, in raw meat, were the words:
"SHE'S HUNGRY"
I staggered back.
Kim followed us out. She gently patted my back.
Her smile was warm. Forgiving.
"Isaac, I understand. Please don't beat yourself up over this," she said softly.
"You just need the proper help."
She turned to Jack. "Come on. Let's go clean up the shop."
Jack looked back at me one last time.
His eyes burned—not with anger now, but disappointment.
He turned to leave.
No.
No. I couldn't lose Jack too.
I COULDN'T.
I dropped to my knees.
"Please don't go!" I grabbed the back of his shirt.
"I wouldn't do this to you—or your mom! Please, you gotta believe me! It was HER! She's going after you to get at me! She wants to ruin my life!"
Jack yanked his shirt away from my grip.
"Please… just get some help."
He shook his head.
"I don't even know you anymore."
My heart collapsed.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my broken phone.
Water-damaged. Cracked screen.
"This has proof! I swear! It's on here—I just can't turn it on, but it's here! Please, Jack! You're my friend! I'm not crazy—I'M NOT CRAZY!"
I shoved the phone into his hands.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then slipped it into his pocket.
"…Goodbye, Isaac."
He turned and left with his mother.
The car pulled away.
And I stood there.
Alone.
My stomach twisted. My chest caved in.
I had lost my friend.
I had lost my family's trust.
Just like that.
I wasn't insane.
But I was starting to wonder how close I was.
I didn't go back inside.
Couldn't face them.
Instead, I grabbed the garbage can and began picking up the trail of meat—one slippery package at a time.
Don't cry.
Don't cry.
It took me an hour.
The sky had turned black. Clouds swallowed the sun.
Like the world itself was mourning me.
By the time I finished dragging the trash can back to the house, I noticed a blue sedan parked in the driveway.
It hadn't been there earlier.
I slipped inside, tried to sneak upstairs—
"Isaac."
My dad's voice was firm.
I froze.
Then sighed, turning into the dining room.
At the table sat a brunette woman in a pencil skirt and blazer.
She had a kind smile and piercing blue eyes.
"Hello, dear. How are you?" she asked gently.
I looked from her to my parents.
"Life is shit," I muttered.
My parents moved to intervene, but she held up a hand to stop them.
"I can see that," she said calmly. "Would you like to talk about it?"
I scoffed. "What are you? A psychiatrist?"
She slid a business card across the table.
Dr. Emma Wyls
Silverpine Institute for Mental Wellness
My breath caught.
My eyes snapped to my parents.
"You're trying to send me away!?" I yelled.
They started to respond, but I shouted over them:
"I'M NOT CRAZY! I'M NOT CRAZY!"
I couldn't let this happen.
They couldn't lock me up like they did Uncle Tommy.
There was only one thing I could do.
I ran.
"ISAAC! NO!"
"SON, STOP!"
But I didn't stop.
I couldn't.
I tore out of the house like a man being hunted.
Down the road.
Past the old Wiccan house.
Past the pound.
Past the town square.
Past the baseball field where I used to belong.
I just kept running.
Running until my lungs gave out.
Until my legs gave up.
I collapsed to my knees on the soaked sidewalk, gasping for air.
KABOOM!
The sky split open with thunder, and rain came pouring down in sheets—cold, punishing, relentless.
As if the universe itself had one message for me:
"Go fuck yourself."
I hunched over, soaked to the bone, my clothes clinging to my skin like regret.
"What did I do to deserve this…?"
The rain masked my tears.
Or maybe the tears were the rain.
I couldn't tell anymore.
I stared at the cracked pavement.
Gravel. Mud. My shaking hands.
"Things can't get worse," I whispered.
"They can't get worse…"
But the rain fell harder, drowning out the world—
And I didn't hear the footsteps behind me.
Didn't see the figure approaching from the shadows.
But I heard it.
Soft.
Mocking.
Inhuman.
"PoPoPo…"