To Run at Night
To Run at Night fantasy stories

danield Words often pretend they are just words.
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
The blanket slides off my fur, its offer of warmth no longer needed.
I stand up, on all fours, fast and fierce.

To Run at Night


Mom offers me more bread.

I say, No, I'll have something later.

Disapproval gazes at me. She warns me of the rat poison, to the east. The squirrels eat it, too.

I won't run east, I promise as I have ever since the farm east of here was sold.

Dad calls me a good girl.

I let out the best growl my still human larynx can muster. I told you not to call me that, it says.


The moon lights up my childhood room through the open window.

I've done this hundreds of times, once every four weeks.

A thin blanket is all that is between the body in space and mine.

I've waited long enough.

The blanket slides off my fur, its offer of warmth no longer needed.

I stand up, on all fours, fast and fierce.


The stable is almost empty these days, only some chicken still linger there.

I sniff, but they are asleep and dumb, more feathers than meat.

Dad still keeps them, a memory of the farm he grew up on that won't fade as long as he feeds it.

I remember when I had wanted to smell Judy up close, when she still stood in the stable, in all her glory.

She panicked at my sight, tried to kick down the iron gate.

I ran back and buried my head under Mom's stroking hands until the night was over. Even wolves can cry.


Trees fly by as I jump through the night.

I hit the ground with my leathery paws just to take off again.

Faster than any human could.

I run, my body an arrow about to strike.

The little meal makes a final mistake, now shivers under the power of my paw.

I can smell its utter fear, then proceed to enjoy this piece of life.


You must have many questions but I can't answer them. Somewhen someone put this curse on me.

I could subject myself to studies, until everyone agreed that it's no more than medieval magic.

Is it really a curse, though? One night a month that I need an excuse to be away from the phone for a few hours?

I'm not stupid. I have a collar with a tag I could wiggle into, in case I should forget the moon.

Not that this will ever happen. But my parents gladly pay the taxes for their "wolfdog".

I even tried spending some nights in my apartment, howling at comedy reruns. It just isn't the same, though.

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