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I cannot rest when the moon is full, it’s wintery presence keeps me wakeful. I wrestle with this affliction each winter, and thankfully the full moon on its cycle only happens twice.
By now I know when it’s coming, and I take precautions. I give my wife a sleeping tablet in her evening cocoa, and I’m glad that I do as I know she would not appreciate what happens.
It’s the growing of hair over my body, the seizing pain through my spine as it contracts then expands, bending and re-shaping my posture.
My teeth lengthen, and for a short time, I thrash in the bed as my mind goes to things other than sleep.
I experience a savage hunger, and the fact my wife is asleep beside me does little to quench the hunger that holds my body in its thrall.
At three in the morning, I am prowling the neighbourhood, and the cats are never safe though strangely the dogs I have little desire for.
But I crave flesh and human flesh, and I know people are beginning to put together the pattern. Full moon, someone goes missing, the footprints, the blood, it won’t be long before they come knocking at my door.
I try to stay hidden as stalking is a serious business when the result is satisfaction. One kill and I’m sated, and it doesn’t come over me until the next winter full moon.
I rest in my bathroom as my form always returns with the same pain it came on with.
I crawl into bed; my wife sleeps blissfully unaware of what once again I have buried under the house.