Hound of the Yard

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Drip, drip, drip. That sound infuriated him, yet it continued. He no longer had feeling in his hands, as he lay there on the cold, unfeeling ground. Drip, drip, drip. For the life of him, he could not figure out what that dripping was. Drip, drip, drip. He looked over himself. His black leather jacket was stained in blood. His jeans, once blue now red, were torn. His normally bleached hair was red from the blood, his blood.

He remembered now, everything. His name was Brian White, he was 17, and went to Western Canada High School. He was 6'1; his hair was bleached; his eyes were a simple brown, and he wore very dark clothing. His outfit consisted of combat boots, a dark hoodie, and a leather jacket. This entire ordeal had started with a fight. Larry Obthorne, the school bully, everyone was afraid of him, except for him. Soon he was targeted by Larry. Brian could normally beat Larry in a one-on-one fight, but Larry had three footballers to help him. Larry challenged Brian to a fight, and he would have won, if it had not been for the running-back who knocked him upside the head.
After he woke up, he found he was in the Nurse's office with a lot of bruises and a giant headache. Without telling the Nurse, he left.
He went to the graveyard, to just sit down near a grave. It was a full moon tonight, for as long as he could remember, just the sight of the full moon made him feel stronger. As he entered through the gate he saw a man dressed in old brown clothing, dragging a rusty old shovel with him.
"Hey Mr.Jameson!" Brian yelled out. The old man stopped, and turned to him with a yellow toothed grin, hid brown eyes shinning.
"Hey kid, what happened to your face?" asked the old man, now identified as Mr. Jameson.
"Nothing, you should see the other guy." replied Brian.
"That's good, hey have you heard any howling?" Mr. Jameson asked.
"No, why?" questioned Brian.
"Well I got a new guard dog, and he got away, so I need to find him," replied Mr. Jameson.
"Oh, well I'll let you know what I find," stated Brian.
"Well look, be careful, and be out by 8:30. Okay?" reminded Mr. Jameson.
"Alright, hope you find your dog." answered Brian.
"I'll probably just get a different one, this one is too old now," Mr. Jameson added randomly.
"Well good luck," replied Brian.
He then walked off, and sat down next to an old grey grave, with little stone angels carved into it. Next to it was the the oldest grave in the graveyard, it was a mausoleum decorated with statues of fierce looking wolves. He asked about it once, and Jameson told him it belonged to a cult who worshipped the wolf-god, and used them as guardians, but they died out centuries ago. A few minutes later he fell asleep. When he awoke it was pitch black, and well past 8:30. It was different from before; the wind roared like a beast in pain, and the trees shook with a spine-chilling whistle. Up above a full moon, shined brightly. He looked around for the gate, but as he turned, a sound drifted to his ears. It wasn't like the wind, or the trees. It was something breathing, taking giant breathes. Soon he heard a growling, followed by a branch snapping as if Andrew the Giant had stepped on it. He turned again, only to see a pair of dark yellow eyes, watching his every move.

Fear built up inside him; he tried to move, but is was like the cold hands of the dead kept him rooted in place. Soon the eyes burned with a great inferno of rage, and barked a demonic sound, a bark that sounded... hungry. The eyes suddenly lunged at him, into the pale moon light. He saw that the eyes were attached to a giant beast of a wolf. It's fur was dark brown. It was four feet taller than him. It's claw were sharp, and reflected the light. It's fangs were long, and the eyes that once reflected rage,now glowed with hunger, and insanity. It's snout was long, while the ears were short, and triangular, and the fur appeared to be thick. The wolf creature then tackled him to the ground, it's claws tearing at him. Blood stained the ground. Suddenly the monster sunk it's great fangs into his neck.

From nowhere a intense burning struck him, exactly where the wolf had bit him. It felt like someone had taken a car liter, and put the flame to his neck. A bloody scream of pain and agony tore from his mouth. The animal was still cutting him, and the eyes looked even more demonic than before.

"Away", he thought. "I have to get away, now!"

Looking for anything to help, he saw a grey colored rock the size of a baseball. He grabbed the rock and thrashed it against the dark demons head, again, and again. The giant canine jumped away in pain, but only for a few moments. That was all Brian needed. He jumped to his feet, and took off running, ignoring the pain from his wounds. He dared not turn back, because he could feel the monstrosity at his heels. He ran for only a few minutes before he tripped on a root, and rolled down a hill. Half-way down his head collided with a sharp stone. When he finally reached the bottom of the hill, he blacked out from pain.
As Brian came to, all he could hear was that dripping. Soon he remembered what was happening. He tried to get up only to fall back to the ground. His body was weak, and he was tired. He knew he should get up and run, but he just lay there, and soon passed out.

Drip, drip, drip. The sound echoed around him, hiding the location of the troublesome drip. He opened his eyes looking for the drip. He scanned the immediate area, but the drip wasn't coming from there. Suddenly, the spine-chilling growl of the monster returned. He looked all over for the eyes, but could not find them. With great fear, and hesitation he looked up the hill from where he had rolled down like an amusement park ride, only he was not amused. There on the hill stood the beast in all it's divine, dark, glory. His eyes met the creature's, and a thought went through his mind.

"I won't die,' he thought, 'Not here, not in this place!" Suddenly Brian's eyes changed. What once were normal brown eyes, were now blood red, demonic, showing the same insanity as the monster. Brian knew not what was happening. He felt cold, and hot, in pain, and in pleasure. He yelled at the creature with such rage, but instead of a human yell all that came out was a roar, louder, and stronger than the creature's previous ones. Now Brian began to change. His fingers turned to claws. His skin began to rip. He started to tear it off. After two minutes of this horrendous transformation, there stood a beast like the first, only it's fur was snow white, and it's eyes were redder than the Devil's skin; this was Brian. He leapt at the monster, jumping a good twenty feet, and landed next to it. He then raked his new claws against the monster's face, starting a magnificent brawl.

The battle that followed was beastly, horrific, and bloody, but in the end it was Brian who stood above the corpse of the monster. He walked on, only to fall, about twenty feet away, from his own wounds. He closed his eyes expecting death, but when he opened them, he was in his room at his house. The sun was shinning through the window, and there not a speck of blood on him. He walked to the bathroom with a smile, happy that the nightmare was over, and screamed with great fright when he saw the mark on his neck where the beast had bit him.

Back at the graveyard, Mr. Jameson was walking around, inspecting the graves, and making sure they were kept tidy. He then heard the terrified shriek of Brian, and chuckled.

"One month," said Mr. Jameson, "One month, and I get my new watch dog," he turned only to show his eyes, once brown were now as pale, and colorless as the dead he looked over.





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