You mustn't deem me insane for I have been through a far more frightening and horrific ordeal than many would be able to withstand. Those that might be strong enough may have been proud of what they accomplished. It is no small feat to stand while the fires of hell bear down on you as a thousand tongues of flame lit under the skin swell your flesh until it splits and all that is left is the soul, bare and naked as a newborn babe. Yes, they would be proud, ecstatic you might even say.

I am not a prideful man. No. Not, at least, in that. I am not proud to have survived such dreadfulness. How can I be? How can I bear myself with pride and dignity when it is I who has unleashed such beastly horror on my people? From any other perspective, it is I who am the villainous monster, the hideous beast, the untamable wolf. To me it is them who are the monsters, the wolves in sheep's clothing, the snake writhing beneath the tree of knowledge. They are as hideous to me as I am to them.

It begins on the night my son was born and I, fretting nervously, was sent out of our home by the midwife to breathe the fresh air. I wandered for a time, underneath the great black sky where countless stars glimmered and the moon shone full and bright. The world around me was turned to silver. A cooling mist swirled about my feet, wetting the grass and rising up on small breaths of air to kiss my fingertips. In the far depths of the Darkling Wood a wolf howled mournfully.

I remember little of what happened in the few moments that followed. I only remember stepping into the dreaded wood as if caught in a trance while before me floated two of the most fascinating of objects. Two identical lights floated a mere two feet higher than my head. They glowed with a fierceness of will and strange power not found in the natural world.

My mind was fascinated by these lights and like a child seeing a small candle burning I reached out to touch the pretty flame. Flames like daggers raced up my arm. The fire burned more strongly than the largest of blazes. To this very day I can feel the embers still sizzling deep inside my skin. They are as much a part of me as my own flesh and blood, as integrated as the wolf is in his pack.

A blackness fell over me, deep and consuming. Long I lay on the forest floor as the silver moon filtered through the bare branches of the shadowed trees onto my pale and bloodless skin. On my hand a warm, wet sensation trickled across my cold skin. I know not how long I may have lain there, swooning in the dark, if a doe and buck had not crashed through the brush. They stood upon slender legs, still as the night air, regal and proud as kings of old. Their tawny coats gleamed hale.

Seeing their bright eyes renewed inside me the strength to rise. My feeble movements startled them and away they bounded, crushing bushes and snapping twigs fallen to the ground in their haste. I staggered to my feet, clutching at the air for support that was not there. My right hand was inert and lifeless, yet warm with an inner fire. To even think of moving the tightly curled fingers of my hand pained me greatly. With immense difficulty I stumbled through the forest, using the sturdy tree trunks to keep me upon my feet when a spell of nauseating dizziness washed over me.

Slowly I made my way back until the dampness of the forest left me and I again stood in the free air, breathing the sweetness of a spring night. From inside my home, little more than a hut, yellow light shone through the windows, bright and glaring against my eyes. Blinking and swaying I stood at the edge of the forest, unable or, perhaps, unwilling to bring myself near that hideous light when the moon shone on me so softly and delicately.

All signs and thoughts of hesitation fled my mind when the wail of a newborn child pierced the stillness of the night. Tripping over my own feet, I rushed forward and fell against the door. It gave way with incredible ease. The hut was hot and smoky from the hearth fire blazing on the far side. Half a dozen women and one man, the doctor, stood around my wife. Their faces were red and sweat slicked. My wife lay on a mound of thick blankets, her eyes closed and chest heaving. The midwife cleaned the child with warm rags.

My entrance had gone unnoticed, but when I called to her they saw me. The women screamed in sudden fright and the doctor rushed to my side.

"My good man," he exclaimed, "whatever has happened to you that you should appear to us in such a state?" I did not deign to answer him. What had happened to me was altogether a mystery of horrific details I could not recall. The pain that had left my hand when the child cried returned to me. I looked down to see my hand, or what remained of it. Where skin, whole and unblemished, should have covered my bones was a red mass of shredded flesh. My vision blurred and I felt myself falling.

Long I fell through blistering heat and bitter cold. Always my hand burned. Darkness pressed on me from all sides and I knew not one moment from the next for each moment stretched into eternity and yet flew by at frightening speeds. Oft, I recall, I cried aloud in my pain for a hand to cool the fire that always burned under my skin. I dreamed of frightful yellow eyes that chased me through the forest and always a beast snarled in my ear. There was a voice, sweet and gentle, begging me to awaken, but no matter how I struggled I possessed not the strength to open my eyes and end the dream. Thus I lay in a perpetual cycle of vicious fever and agonizing awareness and all the while unable to wake.

When at last I did wake the room was dim, the fire red coals in the hearth. I lay upon the bed with my arm wrapped in thick bandages. Soft singing floated through the doorway along with the creaking of a rocking chair. Summoning what little remained of my strength I rose from the bed and dressed. My clothes fit me ill, hanging from my emaciated frame as if there were nothing beneath them.

Walking the length to the door left me breathless and weary. In the small room I had built many months ago, my wife, Carina, sat with her back to me, rocking the child and singing a soft lullaby. Her dark hair hung loose down her back in gentle waves. I leaned against the doorframe, content to watch and listen for a time.

The melody ended and Carina rose and saw me standing there. Stifling a scream she swiftly placed the child in its crib and rushed toward me, tears staining her cheeks. She buried her face in my chest and sobbed with relief. Long we embraced without words. The child whimpered in its crib, tearing my wife from my arms. She lifted the child from the crib and walked over to me.

"Your son," she said presenting the black haired boy, eyes shining with pride and love for the tiny babe in her arms. He was small, yet the way he clenched his tiny fist and waved it spoke of strength. I let him wrap his fist around my forefinger and smiled when he clutched it tight and gurgled happily.

"He is strong," Carina said. "Strong like his father."

"You discredit yourself," I said. "His mother is stronger."

She smiled sheepishly and reached up to kiss me. "Will you hold him while I prepare dinner?" she asked. I nodded and sat gingerly in the rocking chair. She gently place our child in the crooked of my good arm, making sure he rested secure. As she left, he watched me large, liquid brown eyes. His lips moved soundlessly, opening and closing. His tongue peeked through his lips at times like a moist pink worm. In the other room Carina clattered with the dishes and soon the faint scent of a savory soup wafted throughout our small house.

Leaning my head back against the chair I closed my eyes and allowed a sense of peace to wash over me accentuated by the child resting heavily, comfortingly, in my arms. All the agony and pain of my fevered dreams slipped away into a thoughtless void. A dog barked, jerking me from peaceful reverie into quiet panic. My heart pounded inside my chest and my breath came in short gasps. Snarling came from just outside the door. The door shuddered as the beast slammed against the wood.

"Carina!" I shouted fright gripping me so that I could not move. Carina rushed in and knelt down beside me.

"Fenris, what is it that frightens you? Tell me, maður,1" she said. I could not speak. A great slavering jaw with jagged teeth fixed itself before my eyes. Blood dripped from its gaping maw while bloodshot eyes hungered for more. My gaze was fixed upon the door that shuddered and groan each time the beast threw itself upon the fragile barrier.

Carina must have seen my gaze for she stood and went to the door.

"Carina, no!" I shouted suddenly standing. The beast would surely devour her if she opened the door. Carina frowned at my sudden passionate outburst.

"'Tis only Amund, Fenris," she said opening the door. A grey and whiteJämthund bounded through the doorway. "He must have heard your voice." She squatted down to pet the wolf-like dog. Amund's tongue lolled out and his tail swept slowly across the floor. She stood and Amund padded over to me and nuzzled my leg. Carina took the child from my trembling arms and left the room.

Amund sat on his haunches and pressed his snout against my bandaged hand. A soft whine escaped his throat. Swallowing thickly I knelt beside him. He pressed his body against mine and heaved a great sigh with his eyes closed. Gingerly I stroked his fur.

"Fenris," Carina called. Slowly I stood, using the chair to help me. Amund followed close behind me as I entered the main room where Carina had prepared our meal. My legs trembled as I sat heavily in the chair and Carina cast a worried glance my way. Amund lay by my feet with his head resting on his front paws. The child lay on our bed with his fists waving slowly in the air.

"Eiginkona1 ," I began, "how long did I sleep?"

Carina pursed her lips and stared at the plate before her. She pushed her food around her plate slowly, refusing to meet my gaze.

"Carina," I said sternly. A sob escaped her lips and she buried her face in her hands and wept. The strong walls of her character came tumbling down and she was suddenly no more than a young girl alone and very afraid. "Carina," I whispered. She wept harder and I was unable to comfort her in her distress. All I could do was to hold her. Long she wept until the sun had lowered in the sky and the babe cried for attention.

"Fenris, forgive me," she pleaded.

"There is nothing to forgive. I do not fault you for your tears," I said.

"No, Fenris, I am at fault," Carina said. "I was unfaithful." Anger welled up inside me sudden and hot.

"Am I some toy to you that when damaged you toss aside to the dogs for another?" I snapped. Carina's eyes widened in fright.

"No, maður. I lost hope. Hope that you would awaken. You were so very ill. For days on end you burned with fever and then grew so still and cold they feared you dead. Day after day you burned and froze and none knew why. Your hand was healing yet you lay as if in the grave. My love," Carina pressed her hand to my face, "I lost hope because I could find none. Will you forgive me?"

"I do," I said. Carina offered me a wavering smile. The baby squalled and she rushed to him, leaving me to find my balance against the table. Trembling with the effort, I returned to my seat and attacked my food with voracious appetite while Carina soothed the child. My attempts to eat were clumsy without the use of my right hand, but I persevered diligently. When the child was quiet, Carina returned and smiled when she saw me eating.

"The doctor will return tomorrow morning to see to your hand. He said to me that if you were to wake I was to feed you only liquids until your stomach was strong again."

"I dearly hope it will not be long," I said earnestly. Carina laughed and a darkness that I had not known was there, lifted from my heart.

"Then the three of us shall suffer together, though I do not believe Bjorn suffers."

"Is that his name?" I asked. Carina nodded.

"He is like the black bear, small, strong, and dark. And he growls like their cubs."

Our son. He would grow into a fine young man with the strength and dexterity of the black bear and yet possess the gentle soul of a dove. I oft mourned my absence in the latter years of his youth when I could only watch him from the forest while the beasts of my dreams hunted me.

The morning after I awoke the doctor came by as promised. He was surprised to see me sitting upright, awake and alert. Greeting Carina kindly and quickly checking Bjorn's health, he made his way over to me. We spoke for a short time, politely yet strained as between severely ill patient and a doctor who could not help. He asked me what had happened that night. I told him I did not remember anything more than returning. He was quiet for a short time.

"'Tis strange," he mused, "we suspected a beast of great size and so men were sent to hunt this thing that ravished your hand, but no tracks of a beast were found. Only that of a dog's near where you were attacked."

Carina approached us, her face glowing with joy. The doctor rose to meet her.

"He seems to be recovering, but I would have a look at his hand before I leave." He unwrapped the bandages while Carina sat by my side, gently caressing my left hand. When the last of the once white cloth fell away I dared to look at the damage. Where once a healthy, whole hand was a mess of angry red lines broken by thick stitches. Carina buried her head against my shoulder.

"We were able to save most of the skin, but I am afraid you may never have correct use of your hand again," the doctor told me. The hideous yellow orbs flashed before my vision.

"Cover it up, please," I said. The sight of my mutilated hand wrought strange visions before my eyes that seemed to fade in and out of existence. Silently my hand was bandaged and hidden from view. The doctor left after instructing us on how to best care for both my hand and Bjorn. Tight lipped and pale, Carina shut the door behind him.

"Oh, Fenris," she breathed. "Fate has served us ill. How shall we ever survive?"

"As we always have," I said calmly.

In the weeks that followed I slowly regained my strength, far slower than was expected for I was plagued by frequent illness that often left me bedridden for long spells of time. As the long months of summer wore on my hand healed in appearance. It remained stiff and unyielding, riddled with thick scars and ill repaired tendons and muscles. Hours each day I would spend gripping the tools I once so easily used without thought or toil, hoping that I would regain my former strength. I could find little work. Who would want a crippled man? I did not blame them. Their lives were already difficult. I could do no more than add to their toils.

A deep weariness settled upon our home. Always we were tired and worn, thin and hungry despite the richness of summer. It was Bjorn alone who lifted our spirits on even the darkest of days with his smile, for he quickly learned how to spread joy though he did not yet understand it. It would be a lie to say that he brought Carina more joy than he did me for as my strength and health waxed and waned like the cycles of the moon his never faltered. I found a steadiness in him, he who was utterly dependent on another, but was so far removed from struggle. In Carina I found a quiet strength as she cared for me when I could hardly lift my head.

It was during the midst of one of my frequent illnesses when Fall was turning the world around us golden that the doctor visited, summoned by Carina who grew ever more worried each time I fell ill. Lying still, as if in a deep sleep, I listened to them.

"Have they gotten worse?" the doctor was asking.

"There are some weeks worse than others, but I have never seen him as ill as now," Carina replied, worry making her voice tight.

"But you say he always recovers."

"Yes."

"What is he like after?" The doctor asked.

"Ravenous," Carina said. "He eats as if a man half starved."

"And before? Does his temperament change? Does he become aggressive?"

"No, sir, he is always gentle, perhaps quieter, but never aggressive."

"What of his appetite? Has his preference for meat changed?" The doctor asked.

"Sir, I do not know what you ask, but I will not have the habits of mymaður discussed while he is scarce able to walk. If you cannot help him then I must ask you to leave my home," Carina demanded forcefully.

"I am sorry, Carina, I am a curious man and I have never before seen an illness such as this. I fear I cannot treat what Fenris suffers from if I know nothing about his condition. I suspected an infection when you wrote to me, but now that I see him I believe it may be some disease passed from the animal that bit him. If only we knew what it was that attacked him and the others. We found two men dead in the forest but three days ago." The doctor and Carina were quite for a long while and I slipped back into my dreams. They were always the same blackness broken only by shafts of pale moonlight. Always those yellow eyes were before me, for I now knew that what I had seen that night was a creature of malevolent nature. Though its eyes shone like the angry sun, its form was hidden in deep shadow.

Many more months passed the same as the one before until one night, in the dead of winter when the snow lay thick upon the frozen ground and the branches were bare as dried bones, found myself in the Darkling Wood unclothed, weak, and deeply cold. All around me was the unfamiliar night. Strange trees twisted upon themselves and faded into the darkness. The moon shone clear and full above.

I moved to stand and found that any motion send stinging pain down my chest. Superficial scratches, like those of claws, ran up and down the bare skin of my chest. Shivering violently from both cold and pain I started in the direction I thought to be home. I know not how much time passed, but the sky was yet dark when I entered my home and clothed myself. Carina and Bjorn slept soundly. As I lay beside her she woke.

"Where did you go?" she asked sleepily. I did not know where I had gone.

"I could not sleep," I told her. She pressed against me.

"You are cold."

"I shall be warm soon," I said. Many more times in the following months I would awake deep in the forest. Some nights I bore the same claw marks, and others I woke hale, without blemish. It was during this time that we received word of men, women, and children disappearing from their homes in the dead of night. Days, even weeks, later their bodies would be found frozen in the snow with large chunks of flesh torn away. Many were nearly fully consumed. My strange illness continued, though I now recovered more quickly having learned that if I ate more as soon as I felt my strength begin to leave I would recover quicker.

Carina began to notice my absences in the middle of the night and though she did not question me, I feared she thought me unfaithful. How I longed to tell her that I had no more an idea where I went on those nights than she did. I waited for the right time to tell her of everything that was happening. I did not have to wait long. A year after Bjorn was born and I was attacked I woke in the forest with a great wound on my face. I stumbled into our home, blinded by pain and dripping with blood. Carina was awake.

"Carina," I gasped. She screamed and Bjorn woke with a cry.

"Fenris, what has happened?" she asked. I told her as she cleaned the blood from my face and sewed the wound shut with swift fingers. I told her of everything; the dreams, the eyes, the nights I woke in the forest, the strange consuming hunger I always felt. As I told her my heart sank and dread filled me. I thought then what I now know to be true. The creature that attacked me was no ordinary being.

"Carina," I said gripping her hand, "when the moon is full you must chain me to the bed and Take Bjorn far away from here. Do not come back until the morning."

"Fenris I-"

"Please, Carina. I fear that what I believe to be happening is true. If it is, you are in grave danger. Promise me you will do this," I said. Carina nodded, tears falling from her earth brown eyes. When the moon again was full Carina found heavy chains and tied me securely to the bed. Her face pale with fright and worry, she took Bjorn away to a place I knew not where. I tried to remain awake to witness the transformation I was sure would happen.

It was that night I knew what had become of me. I was a monster and my family was in danger because of me. My chains broke and I ran. They knew. Those that hunted me. They knew of what I was. The doctor was a cunning man, a cruel man. He had planned that very night to descend upon my home and slay me where I lay. I was, in their eyes, a devil bringing death and destruction wherever I went. I did not blame them for their fear. I was more afraid than they. No. I cannot fault fear of monsters, but their fear turned to hatred and for that I would not forgive them. Not even if they ceased their hunting and left me to myself. I would never forgive them for tearing me away from my family even when my enemies lay dead at my feet. Even years later when I returned home to see my son a strong grown man. I did not forgive them when I held Carina's head against my chest once more. I would not rest until they felt every minute of the pain they cause me and my family.

I would be the monster they thought I was.

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1 - Eiginmaður/eiginkona = Husband/wife. Often shortened to maður and kona.

This was a project for my literature class I am taking online, hence the nature of the writing style and the, uh, subject matter. I'm not one to usually write horror or gothic. This was my second go at that genre. I mildly enjoyed writing this. It's different from anything I've ever written before and I will say, it's not half bad... as far as werewolf stories go. XD