The Real Confessions of A Werewolf

By: Lou

If you’d rather listen to me read this story, check out my YouTube Channel:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4H05ZjGbvA

I tell you; I have the best job in the world. I get to tell ghost stories for a living. For a couple hours a day, six days a week it’s just me, my microphone, and old tales of the macabre, or sometimes things that I made up. Tales that can be cheesy or chilling, or both at the same time.

Occasionally, I write what goes on air. A few days back, I did a story called 'confessions of a werewolf'. A silly little thing, really. I talked about a full moon. Being a slave to it. Taking down human prey and barely remembering doing it. I even wrote in a joke about fleas. A small thing to take up an hour or so on the show. It got some attention, but was mostly ignored, especially compared to some of our classic tales.

The story never even got a second thought. It was intended to be build up to our next tale, which is supposed to be airing tonight. A story of classic thrills and chills, about a wolf-man terrorizing a poor old English town. However, that story is being put on hold. We're going to change the format, just a bit.

A day later a letter was delivered to our station. Now, we regularly get mail, both praises from our listeners, as well as the occasional scathing insult disguised as the innocuous “complaint”. This letter though, was neither one of those things. It seems to have been hand delivered. It only had the station's address on it. There was no forwarding address, no stamp.

It appears to have been typed on a typewriter. The letters on the envelope itself as well as the letter appears to have been imprinted upon it with a striking key rather than a ink jet nozzle or laser printing.

That letter is what I hold in my hands for you tonight. A letter that was written by some distressed fan who appears to have taken issue with my original account of the werewolf confession, and felt the need to correct me on the things that I had previously said. So, that is what I deliver to you this evening.

The paper I tell you, appears to be a heavy stock, almost card stock. It looks as if it would be the kind of paper a college student may use to print off his resume on when he's out searching for work. It has a rougher finish than your traditional computer paper, with an edge about it that almost appears as if it was cut by some rough machine rather than the traditional mass pressed computer stock with the near glossy finish to it.

It does cause my mind to wonder as to what sort of person or thing may write something such as this? It could be a joke. Or it could be a matter of principle. Perhaps they were so angered by my false reporting of the werewolf confession that they simply had to deliver their own and correct it. Or maybe it's neither of those things. It could be a simple case of a mad man delivering his thesis on how he sees the world. Someone who at any moment could believe themselves to be undergoing the change of the wolf. Someone that you could be passing by on the street, or sitting down next to at a coffee shop while eating your bagel before going into work or class. Someone who could snap at any moment and do God knows what to those around them.

I don't know if this listener, whoever they are, is all or any of those things. However, it does give one pause. After all, what if the contents of this confession are true?

So, it is with that, that I leave you. I present to you, dear friend, my reading of the work, entitled “The REAL confessions of a werewolf”.

I suppose you could say that life is somewhat different when you sometimes have fur. I suppose you could say that, but in all honesty I don't really know. The world doesn't deem those born into one life the ability to see outside of it. A mirror after all is not able to look back and stare at itself.

Like all old legends, somethings are true, somethings are not. Silver hurts. Technology does not. Healing is done quickly, on the move so you can be ready for your next attack, or next meal. In general humans are not tasty. There is a bitterness, a gaminess to the meat as if it is toxic for your very soul. Many have sworn off killing two legged game for this very reason. Sometimes they will even fight to protect them.

Food is not always meat. Meat is not always murder. In fact, meat is usually something caught racing between the trees, fighting for its own life with the gifts that nature had given them: hoof and antlers. You can find one eating a salad or a veggie burger as much as you'd find one chowing down on a thick bloody steak.

Most of our kind don't mind trading trees for sky scrapers. A trip to the forest is cheap after all when you live close enough to it. No one knows you're hunting out of season when you do it on four legs instead of two. There really is nothing better than feeling the dirt, dust and leaves beneath your feet. Whether you're running on four legs or two.

Life is generally about as long as you'd expect it to be. There is no special knowledge or talent given to one of us aside from fangs and claw. We tend to enjoy nature more, but that does not mean we all have an affinity for it. Some would rather hunt in a concrete jungle, chasing and arresting bad guys. Others would rather hunt more globally, protecting a new pack of man animal in another country until all can be brought home.

Chances are you've already met one or know one. Chances are your very life had been threatened already, by one or protected by one and you never even knew it.

The last confession for you is something that everyone gets wrong. We prefer a new moon not a full one to hunt by. Hunting is far easier when our prey can't see us coming. Perhaps I'll see you later. Perhaps you'll be lucky enough to see me.