Romania

Roger Wallace, a senior in High School, has just recently moved to Bucharest. But Bucharest seems to have other plans...

Roger Wallace stepped out into the cool, morning air with a cigarette brandished between his lips. He didn’t mind Romania, for the most part. The language had been hard to learn, but the three years of schooling he’d had back in New Hampshire was finally paying off.  

He lit the cigarette and thought back to when he was still just a Freshman at Claremont High. His father had called from Bucharest, saying that he’d be staying longer than planned and that Roger should begin studying the language and culture. Apparently, the change in his father’s plans meant that Roger had to change his own. For three years he’d studied, all the while wondering whether or not his father would be able to afford the plane ticket, and if so, when he’d be leaving. 

He took a strong, frustrated drag on his death stick as he thought bitterly on his father. The stupid preacher thought he could leave his family behind and live a penniless life among complete strangers. Now they were housed with some locals who were kind enough to accept housework as rent. Just as Roger was flicking off the ash, he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. 

Had he been in America, he would have instantly assumed that he was looking at a man in a costume; it was Halloween day after all. But Romanians didn’t celebrate Halloween.

The creature was six feet tall, stood on two legs, and it looked like a wolf. It was staring at him curiously from behind the old wrought iron gate that guarded the house across from his. 

As he stared back at the creature, its ears perked up and it looked west. Then it looked back at him; something in its eyes had changed.

The monster’s ears gradually pulled back, flattening against its scalp. Roger saw the brow lower into a glare, and its lips slowly receded as it uttered a deep, primal growl. 

An eerie feeling came over him as he saw the transformation from curiosity to menace, and he knew. He was going to die. 

The thing leapt over the gate in a swift movement. Roger wrenched open the screen door and pushed open the inner door. He spared a brief moment to look, and the thing had already crossed the street. With the lit cigarette still in hand, he rushed into the house and slammed the door closed. As he reached for the lock a loud smashing noise came from the other side, accompanied by bloodthirsty snarling.

He quickly locked the door and reached for his host’s rifle, but the sound of shattering glass made him lose his nerve. Then there was a groaning sound; metal under stress, and the snap of the screen door being wrenched off its hinges. 

Author's Note

Part One of the War of the Wolves mini-series.

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[phantomcristal]

Daniel ... WRIT3 MOR3. !