Dogman
Samuel hated the moon.
It hung low and fat over the quiet town, rising above the pines as the last light of day faded from the sky. Its silver light crept across the streets, stretching the shadows into cruel shapes. Every sound carried a threat. The streets were nearly deserted. They always were on nights when the wolf was about to take him.
The three days of the full moon had made a nightmare of his life. The curse had taken almost everything from him, but the moon reminded him it could always take more.
Please, God. Not tonight.
He felt the first warning deep in his bones.
A familiar ache spread through his legs, then climbed his spine. Samuel stumbled, catching himself against a tree. He knew what came next. The ache would become pressure, the pressure would become agony, and then his body would cease to belong to him.
“Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum.”
The words came breathlessly. He had prayed them so many times that they came almost without thought. Sometimes they helped him stay calm. Sometimes they were the only words he could manage.
Tonight, he wasn't sure they would be enough.
The pain sharpened. Something shifted in his knee with a sickening pop, nearly sending him to the pavement. He caught himself and kept moving.
St. Agnes Church stood ahead, its stone walls pale in the dusk. The last light of the setting sun still touched the steeple, indifferent to the orphan stumbling toward its doors.
“Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus.”
His voice was changing. He could hear it now, a guttural edge beneath the familiar words. His throat tightened, and the prayer became harder to pronounce.
Father Jeffery was standing near the church doors.
The priest spotted him halfway up the steps. His expression changed immediately, and he hurried down to meet him.
“Samuel!”
“Father...” Samuel tried to straighten, but another spasm bent him nearly double.
Jeffery caught his arm.
Samuel could hear his bones grinding against one another. His skin felt too tight, as though something beneath it were swelling, pushing against the limits of his flesh. Every nerve seemed to be waking at once.
“Come on, son. I've got you.”
The priest helped him through the heavy wooden doors.
He could hear Father Jeffery's heartbeat.
That frightened him more than the pain.
“Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,” Samuel managed through clenched teeth. Tears ran down his face. “O... o...”
“Ora pro nobis peccatoribus,” Father Jeffery continued, more for him than with him. “Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.”
Another convulsion tore through Samuel's back. He cried out, grabbing the edge of a pew hard enough to splinter the wood.
“You have to go!” he pleaded.
“Samuel...”
“Please!”
The priest didn't move away. He steadied Samuel instead, as though the boy were suffering from an ordinary illness.
“He's never hurt me,” Jeffery assured him. “Sancte Christophore, protege nos a periculis quae a tuis cognatis veniunt. Adiuva eos ut meminerint se non monstra esse, sed Canes Caeli. Amen.”
The priest spoke the familiar prayer softly, his hand still resting on Samuel's shoulder.
Samuel wanted to scream at him.
That's because you've never been close enough when he gets loose.
He wanted to explain that the thing inside him wasn't a frightened boy. It didn't know Father Jeffery. It didn't know gratitude or kindness. It certainly didn't care that the old priest had taken him in when nobody else would.
But his jaw was beginning to ache, and the words wouldn't come.
“Downstairs, son,” Jeffery said, gentle but urgent. “I wish you'd let me talk to her. She's a friend.”
“No!”
The word came out as a snarl, startling them both.
Samuel immediately regretted it. Father Jeffery was only trying to help. He always tried to help.
But the rage was rising with the pain, and Samuel could no longer tell which thoughts were his own.
He shook his head, trying to apologize.
Jeffery squeezed his shoulder.
“Alright. We won't talk about her tonight. Come on.”
The basement stairs waited beyond a narrow door near the back of the church.
During the Cold War, the basement had been rebuilt into a bomb shelter. Thick concrete walls, reinforced doors, and a second level beneath the church had once been intended to protect the congregation from a nuclear attack. When the shelter was abandoned, it had been cheaper to leave it than fill it in.
For decades, the church had used it for storage.
Now it was where Father Jeffery kept Samuel when the moon came.
The stairs were steep. Each step sent a fresh wave of agony through his legs. Samuel gripped the railing, his fingers tightening until the metal groaned beneath his hand.
He could smell the damp concrete below them. Old cardboard. Rust. The faint trace of cleaning supplies Father Jeffery used to make the place more comfortable.
There were blankets down there. A mattress. Water. Nothing expensive, because Samuel had a habit of destroying things in his fits of rage.
He didn't come here every night. Only when he was afraid he might lose control, or during the three days of the full moon.
But Father Jeffery refused to treat him like an animal. Even if Samuel believed he deserved it.
Samuel hated the kindness. Hated the reminder of his humanity. He hated himself. He and the wolf agreed on one thing. They didn't deserve kindness. But he loved the priest for giving it.
Another bolt of pain racked his body. He fell against the wall, gasping.
“Almost there,” Jeffery promised.
Samuel tried to answer. Then he saw it. A shimmer in the air ahead of them.
For one terrible moment, he thought the pain was making him hallucinate. But he knew that distortion. He had seen it before.
No.
The air rippled again. Not them. Not now. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? He tried to warn Father Jeffery, but his throat seized. A growl escaped instead.
The first creature appeared in front of the reinforced doorway.
Eight feet of matted fur and muscle filled the narrow passage. Its enormous shoulders nearly brushed the concrete walls. Long arms hung at its sides, ending in thick, powerful hands. Yellowed fangs protruded from its snarling mouth.
Two more appeared behind it.
Samuel could smell them now. Wet fur, old blood, and something foul beneath it all.
Father Jeffery stopped.
For the first time that night, Samuel heard the priest's heartbeat quicken with fear.
The old man took a step backward.
Samuel wanted to put himself between them. He tried to move, but another spasm ripped through his spine, driving him to his knees.
They weren't afraid.
They had come for the Dogman, and they thought they had found him helpless.
A fourth shimmer appeared.
Then a fifth.
Five of the enormous ape-men now crowded the basement, their silhouettes looming in the dim light. Samuel's eyes burned, casting an unnatural glow across the concrete walls.
Something inside him recognized the threat.
And welcomed it.
The fear began to disappear, swallowed by a rage so immense that Samuel could barely think around it.
Father Jeffery. Get him out.
He tried to speak, but the words tangled in his changing throat.
One of the creatures stepped forward.
Samuel felt his lips pull back from teeth that were already growing too long for his mouth.
“You want the Dogman, you sons of bitches!?”
His voice shook the narrow passage. It was barely human now, a deep, guttural roar that hurt his throat.
The creatures hesitated.
“Fine!”
Samuel tried to rise. His hands struck the concrete, fingers twisting as his bones began to lengthen.
“COME AND DIE!”
At least, that was what he wanted to say.
He wasn't sure what actually came out.
The pain became everything.
His spine cracked. Muscles tore and reformed beneath his skin. His ribs expanded with a series of sickening pops, forcing the air from his lungs. He tried to scream, but the sound became a howl that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than his throat.
Somewhere beyond the agony, he could still hear Father Jeffery.
He couldn't make out the words.
Please, God. Don't let me hurt him.
The wolf tore its way out of Samuel's body.
