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Description
The stagnant fall air blew aimlessly in the hot October breeze. Leaves atop apple trees' branches swirled carelessly in the wind; an occasional apple dropping from the branches. Somewhere in the sleepy town of Plum Bridge, a clock struck twelve o' clock and chimed solemnly.
Stars dotted the sky and the full summer moon brightened the night. The rolling hills loomed over the tired little town, giving it an authentic rural look. Cornfields and orchards dotted the hills, a single road led in and out of town.
More or less, all of the lights of the city were off, excluding of course the red light on the town's occupants various A-C units, which kept the hot town of Plum Bridge cool. For many of the older citizens, this was the hottest fall on record. "Hot enough to fry an egg," they'd say to their children and grandchildren.
The school year began again, and many of the grade schoolers, middle-schoolers, and high-schoolers had just been starting to relax. Soon, though, the entire town would be high-strung and very paranoid. Tonight is the night it all started.

****
The Beast raised its head and howled ferociously at the moon which hovered forebodingly in the sky. The Beast stood itself up on long lupine legs, and began to walk clumsily over the hills, straight for the farm of John MacAfee.
The barn of John MacAfee stood on the outskirts of Plum Bridge, far from the small-town police station. As the Beast neared, the livestock John kept smelled the wolfen creature nearby, and began to run amok. They smelled death. Intrigued, John investigated.
Leaving his somewhat-safe farmhouse, he ventured down his twisting driveway in his fluffy blue slippers, boomstick in hand. Being a rational man, John figured it had to be one of the numerous juvenile delinquents of the town, or a stray coyote or rabid dog, at worst. That's what his boomstick was for. Approaching the barn, John noticed an unpleasant smell, similar to rotting flesh. He readied his shotgun, and reached for the handle of the door, but stopped just short.
From inside came the alarming bleating of an infant calf, the very same calf he had delivered three nights ago. Enraged, he flew through the door and took aim, but saw nothing. Nothing besides an entire room drenched in blood, and bathed in gore. But then, in the center of the room sat a wolf, the largest he wolf he had ever seen, by far.
In the jaws of the wolf lay the neck of the infantile bovine, soaked in blood. The wolf snarled, and flexed its jaws. An awful crunching sound emanated from maw of the beast, a chunky clicking noise, comparable to that of a tree branch breaking. The Beast lifted its head from the carnage and starred at the farmer with ill-intent. It peeled back its lips and growled under its breath, the way a lion might.
Without another thought, John raised his weapon and fired at the Beast. Both rounds missed, and the Beast sprang, leaping a good six meters, and took John down. John put up little fight; the Beast weighed easily twice as much as him. The Beast dug its teeth into his side, and took out a chunk of flesh.
The farmer let out a wheezing scream and beat at the head of the wolf. It hissed and released him. The wolf reared up on its hind legs and stared down at John with sharp, amber eyes. Thoughtlessly the wolf reached one paw-like hand down, and clenched the elder man's throat.
John gave out a choked cry. The Beast snarled and squeezed harder and harder. John let out another stifled whimper as the fleshy tissue of his neck was torn away. Thick crimson blood sprayed out across the room, splattering on himself and the Beast. John attempted to cry out for help, for anyone, which was impossible; his voice box had been torn out.
The Beast stood over him, and watched John squirm. It began to growl, and threw its head back and howled triumphantly.
The night was still young.

****
Even after its feast at MacAfee's farm, the Beast's hunger was far from quenched. It stalked the dreary dark night, searching for food to satisfy its bloodlust.
A group of men, returning from a bar, walked along the side of the road. A younger man, about twenty, grabbed the baseball cap off his head and wiped sweat off his forehead. "Sure is hot," he complained. He stretched his wiry frame.
Another man, this one plump and harried, replied, "Ah, shut up, Zeke. All you done t'night is bitch."
The third, and final, man laughed heartily, and stroked his beard. The man with the baseball cap, Zeke, retorted and pushed the fat man. "Me bitch? You aware that's all you do at work?" Zeke and the tubby man continued arguing, and somewhere, somewhere close, someone was listening.
The beast watched the three men quarrel, the way one might eye the last piece of cake at a wedding. It watched and waited. Thick, viscous drool hung from its toothy maw. It was hungry still; starving. It crawled from the bushes, intent on having thirds.
The Beast got very close before the drunken men noticed; it stopped almost three meters away. The bearded man was the one who noticed, and when he did, he shouted, "Jesus! What is that?"
Intrigued, the other men spun around to look upon the newly found wonder. "Hey, what're you doing there?" The fat man exclaimed sternly.
"Bloody 'ell! That's a wolf!" Zeke apprehended.
"What?"
Confusion spread quickly as the men sobered up, but the Beast would wait no longer. It leapt forward, claws outstretched. And the fat man yelped as the Beast came down on him. The Beast dug its muzzle deep into the fat man's shoulder, and took out a fleshy chunk.
Zeke fell backwards away from the fat man and wolf, and the bearded man twirled around and ran. "Mike! Get back 'ere!" Zack hollered after him, though his shout was drowned out by the Beast's wayward roars and the fat man's screams.
Zeke sat, horrified, and unable to move. The Beast turned to him slowly, leaving the crushed remains of the fat man behind. It loomed over him solemnly, and breathed out hot rancid breath in his face. It raised its head high, and like a cobra, it struck.
Now far away, Mike, the bearded man, heard the scream of Zeke far behind. Distracted by this, he tripped over his foot, and fell, headfirst, into a rock.

*****
The Beast reared up, and howled. But its howl was cut short, for it saw its next victim. A boy stood down the street, half hidden in October fog.

*****

Description
The stagnant fall air blew aimlessly in the hot October breeze. Leaves atop apple trees' branches swirled carelessly in the wind; an occasional apple dropping from the branches. Somewhere in the sleepy town of Plum Bridge, a clock struck twelve o' clock and chimed solemnly.
Stars dotted the sky and the full summer moon brightened the night. The rolling hills loomed over the tired little town, giving it an authentic rural look. Cornfields and orchards dotted the hills, a single road led in and out of town.
More or less, all of the lights of the city were off, excluding of course the red light on the town's occupants various A-C units, which kept the hot town of Plum Bridge cool. For many of the older citizens, this was the hottest fall on record. "Hot enough to fry an egg," they'd say to their children and grandchildren.
The school year began again, and many of the grade schoolers, middle-schoolers, and high-schoolers had just been starting to relax. Soon, though, the entire town would be high-strung and very paranoid. Tonight is the night it all started.

****
The Beast raised its head and howled ferociously at the moon which hovered forebodingly in the sky. The Beast stood itself up on long lupine legs, and began to walk clumsily over the hills, straight for the farm of John MacAfee.
The barn of John MacAfee stood on the outskirts of Plum Bridge, far from the small-town police station. As the Beast neared, the livestock John kept smelled the wolfen creature nearby, and began to run amok. They smelled death. Intrigued, John investigated.
Leaving his somewhat-safe farmhouse, he ventured down his twisting driveway in his fluffy blue slippers, boomstick in hand. Being a rational man, John figured it had to be one of the numerous juvenile delinquents of the town, or a stray coyote or rabid dog, at worst. That's what his boomstick was for. Approaching the barn, John noticed an unpleasant smell, similar to rotting flesh. He readied his shotgun, and reached for the handle of the door, but stopped just short.
From inside came the alarming bleating of an infant calf, the very same calf he had delivered three nights ago. Enraged, he flew through the door and took aim, but saw nothing. Nothing besides an entire room drenched in blood, and bathed in gore. But then, in the center of the room sat a wolf, the largest he wolf he had ever seen, by far.
In the jaws of the wolf lay the neck of the infantile bovine, soaked in blood. The wolf snarled, and flexed its jaws. An awful crunching sound emanated from maw of the beast, a chunky clicking noise, comparable to that of a tree branch breaking. The Beast lifted its head from the carnage and starred at the farmer with ill-intent. It peeled back its lips and growled under its breath, the way a lion might.
Without another thought, John raised his weapon and fired at the Beast. Both rounds missed, and the Beast sprang, leaping a good six meters, and took John down. John put up little fight; the Beast weighed easily twice as much as him. The Beast dug its teeth into his side, and took out a chunk of flesh.
The farmer let out a wheezing scream and beat at the head of the wolf. It hissed and released him. The wolf reared up on its hind legs and stared down at John with sharp, amber eyes. Thoughtlessly the wolf reached one paw-like hand down, and clenched the elder man's throat.
John gave out a choked cry. The Beast snarled and squeezed harder and harder. John let out another stifled whimper as the fleshy tissue of his neck was torn away. Thick crimson blood sprayed out across the room, splattering on himself and the Beast. John attempted to cry out for help, for anyone, which was impossible; his voice box had been torn out.
The Beast stood over him, and watched John squirm. It began to growl, and threw its head back and howled triumphantly.
The night was still young.

****
Even after its feast at MacAfee's farm, the Beast's hunger was far from quenched. It stalked the dreary dark night, searching for food to satisfy its bloodlust.
A group of men, returning from a bar, walked along the side of the road. A younger man, about twenty, grabbed the baseball cap off his head and wiped sweat off his forehead. "Sure is hot," he complained. He stretched his wiry frame.
Another man, this one plump and harried, replied, "Ah, shut up, Zeke. All you done t'night is bitch."
The third, and final, man laughed heartily, and stroked his beard. The man with the baseball cap, Zeke, retorted and pushed the fat man. "Me bitch? You aware that's all you do at work?" Zeke and the tubby man continued arguing, and somewhere, somewhere close, someone was listening.
The beast watched the three men quarrel, the way one might eye the last piece of cake at a wedding. It watched and waited. Thick, viscous drool hung from its toothy maw. It was hungry still; starving. It crawled from the bushes, intent on having thirds.
The Beast got very close before the drunken men noticed; it stopped almost three meters away. The bearded man was the one who noticed, and when he did, he shouted, "Jesus! What is that?"
Intrigued, the other men spun around to look upon the newly found wonder. "Hey, what're you doing there?" The fat man exclaimed sternly.
"Bloody 'ell! That's a wolf!" Zeke apprehended.
"What?"
Confusion spread quickly as the men sobered up, but the Beast would wait no longer. It leapt forward, claws outstretched. And the fat man yelped as the Beast came down on him. The Beast dug its muzzle deep into the fat man's shoulder, and took out a fleshy chunk.
Zeke fell backwards away from the fat man and wolf, and the bearded man twirled around and ran. "Mike! Get back 'ere!" Zack hollered after him, though his shout was drowned out by the Beast's wayward roars and the fat man's screams.
Zeke sat, horrified, and unable to move. The Beast turned to him slowly, leaving the crushed remains of the fat man behind. It loomed over him solemnly, and breathed out hot rancid breath in his face. It raised its head high, and like a cobra, it struck.
Now far away, Mike, the bearded man, heard the scream of Zeke far behind. Distracted by this, he tripped over his foot, and fell, headfirst, into a rock.

*****
The Beast reared up, and howled. But its howl was cut short, for it saw its next victim. A boy stood down the street, half hidden in October fog.

*****