In the quiet town of Blackwood, nestled deep within the forest, the full moon cast an eerie glow on the cobblestone streets. It was a night like any other, or so the townsfolk believed. But something was stirring in the shadows.
Emily had always been skeptical of the old legends about werewolves that her grandmother used to tell her. However, tonight, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. As she walked home from the village square, she heard rustling in the bushes. Her heart pounded, but she told herself it was just the wind.
Suddenly, a blood – curdling scream pierced the silence. Emily froze, her eyes wide with terror. She saw a figure emerging from the darkness, its eyes glowing like fiery coals. It was a man, but not quite. His body was twisted and contorted, his face a grotesque mask of fangs and fur. He was a werewolf.
Emily’s mind raced as she tried to remember what her grandmother had said. “Silver bullets, the only way to kill them.” But she had no silver bullets, only her wits. She ran, her footsteps echoing through the empty streets. The werewolf was fast, but she was faster, driven by sheer terror.
She reached her home and slammed the door shut, barricading it with a heavy table. The werewolf howled outside, a sound that sent shivers down her spine. She knew it wouldn’t be long before it broke through. Desperation gave her strength, and she grabbed a silver candlestick from the mantelpiece. As the door splintered, she raised it high.
The werewolf lunged, but Emily was ready. She struck with all her might, the silver connecting with its flesh. The creature let out a howl of agony and stumbled back. Emily didn’t wait to see if it would recover. She fled into the night, hoping to find help.
When the sun rose, the town was in chaos. Bodies lay in the streets, torn apart by the beast. But Emily was safe, and the werewolf was gone. For now. She knew it would return, and next time, she would be ready.
