Journal of Beauregard Ellis
Tuesday, October 27th

The advertisements are driving me crazy: all the little ghouls and witches doing cute little sound-bytes on television, the stores filled with pictures of bats and spooky monsters.  These people have no idea how frighteningly real their nightmares could become.  I’ve just realized that the full moon comes on Halloween.  I’m going to buy new safeguards tonight after work.  Time is so very short.

Wednesday, October 28th

I’ve added new chains and locks to my room, and bars to the window.  The manager almost caught me installing the bars.  I’ve disguised them inside extra drapes.  I just wish I could stock meat early, but it has to be fresh, or this won’t work.  I’ll stop at the butcher shop on the way home on Friday.  I’m beginning to feel the hunger now -- and the fear.  I shudder to think of all those kids out on Halloween eve.

Friday, October 30th

I’ve checked all the locks and chains again.  I’m almost always insatiably hungry now.  I have this gnawing pain in my belly that keeps me sleepless.  I just wish I’d been able to finish the Pelham account today.  If I had, I’d call in sick tomorrow.  The boss wants it done before Monday.  I’ll go in early tomorrow, so I can get it finished early.  Moonrise is at 6:25 PM.  I’ve got to be home before then.

Sunday, November 1st

Shit!  Shit!  Shit!  The memories of last night replay through my mind constantly --  images from hell.  I had it all planned.  It could have worked ... could have if my boss hadn’t insisted I stay late to finish the Pelham account.  It was almost done, but the delay turned out to be crucial.  I was able to leave work by 5:30, but had to stop by the butcher shop for fresh meat.  The stuff didn’t smell right, but it was a chance I had to take.

I rushed toward home, feeling the gnawing hunger in my belly, feeling the hunger in my very soul.  I could feel the moon nearing the horizon before I ever saw the clock verifying my fear.  I decided to cut through an alley to save time.  I had to make it home.  I picked the wrong alley.

I was confronted by two men in their early twenties.  I can still smell their scent now.  I knew I was in trouble, especially if they delayed me.  The tallest of the two addressed me: “Hey man, got any cash?”  The smell of his sweat told me there would be no reasoning with him -- no communication he'd understand.

I tried anyway: “You don’t understand ....”

There was an audible click, and I saw the flash of a switchblade by his leg.  “Gimme yer wallet, man!  I mean it!”

The hunger was boiling in me.  I had to get home now.  I couldn’t stay here any longer.  “Okay, man.  Here it is.  Just hurry, please.”  My senses were going crazy.  I could smell their hatred, hear their hearts beating, feel their intent.  It’s not an intent I was unfamiliar with.  They had no idea of the horror that stood at the threshhold.

There was another click, and the shorter of the two men opened his switchblade.  My heart sank within me. “Awwww, man ....”

The moon broke over the horizon.  I didn’t see it, I felt it.  I held out the wallet, my hairy hand displaying newly formed claws.  The first man was reaching for it, as the shorter one stepped closer.  That’s when the moon broke free of the horizon in full glory.  The alley was suddenly bright, as my nocturnal eyes took over.  I began to salivate with the hunger.

“What the hell?”  The first man jumped back at the sight of my hand.  The rage exploded in my soul like a brilliant white fireball.  I snarled in fury.

The shortest of the two muggers was swinging his knife toward me.  I grabbed his arm and jerked him to me.  The whiplash instantly broke his neck.  I threw him like a toy across the alley, and he made a splatting sound against the brick when he hit.  The remaining mugger was frozen by fright, his fear-widened eyes pleading for his immobile vocal chords.  I slammed him against the dumpster and ripped out his throat with my fangs -- his fresh blood felt good to my ravening hunger.  I shook him with my jaws, splattering blood everywhere.  I ripped him open, and began to feed.

The rest of the night is a blur.  I remember frightened children running, a policeman screaming as I ripped him, swerving cars, a lot of broken glass, shots being fired.  I woke up in the park, naked and covered with dew.  I don’t know how I made it home without being caught.

Now comes the hard part -- living with the nightmare memories; fearing, yet praying that I may be discovered.

Dallas D'Angelo-Gary 99