Curves for the Werewolf(2)By: Cassie Laurent
“What the fuck, man? What the fuck is going on?” said the shorter one in the group, looking panicked.
My mind was racing. Fear coursed through me. What had I just seen? How drunk was I?
Then another blur of grey and the second man was knocked to the ground on the side of the path. Growling noises, bestial and foreboding as the large paws plodded slowly up to the third man who was paralyzed, his body shaking violently in abject terror.
Adrenaline kicked in and I ran, screaming my heart out. Instinct kept me running, darting down the barely discernible path until I could see street lights through the hollow. I ran faster than I ever had, towards the gate and out of the park onto the street. I looked up for street signs, for some hint as to my location. I was on 67th street. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere in the park. I was almost twenty blocks away from my apartment.
I walked quickly toward the subway, my clothes now completely wet from the rain, my heels clicking on the wet sidewalks. I was out of breath still, half from running, half from panic. I felt like someone was still following me. I turned back, but found nothing. Just an empty street with a few cars passing by on the adjacent road.
I was only a block away from the subway, surely there would be more people there. I would feel safer in a crowded public place. Plus the cars of the subway train were heated, that would be a welcome comfort in my current state.
I walked down the steps into the station, swiping my metro card and moving through the turnstile. As soon as I walked through, I noticed a group of police officers standing around talking, watching the video monitors and keeping an eye on the station.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Looking up at the timetable, I saw that a train would be in the station in two minutes. I tapped my foot, trying to calm myself as adrenaline still flowed through me. I just wanted to be home in my warm bed.
The automated voice came across the loudspeaker signaling that a train was approaching the station. It clattered down the tracks, filling the underground space with tremendous noise before coming to a screeching halt. The doors opened and I walked in. It was relatively uncrowded and I found a space to myself very easily. Only four stops until my apartment.
The doors started to close as a tall, dark man slipped through them. He was dressed in a dark jacket with longish, black hair. He sat down a few seats away on the opposite side of the train. I watched his face closely. He was shockingly handsome, but something was strange about him. I kept searching his features as if trying to figure out what it was.
Then he locked eyes with me. His face stern and intense. I smiled sheepishly and looked away. A few seconds later I looked back, and he was still focused on me, his ice-cold glare piercing me, his eyes blue like Arctic glaciers. I felt my heart beating rapidly, pounding deep in my chest. He had the eyes of an animal. That’s what it was, that’s what was so strange. I looked back at him, and as soon as I had, I was forced to look away. How long had I been here, trapped by his stare?
I heard the bell sound as the doors closed.
I peered through the window out at the sign in the station, fearing I’d missed my stop, but luckily I was still one more stop away. The man got up as the subway lurched out of the station, walking towards me, his hands steadying himself on the metal bars overhead.
“What is your name?” he said, his voice a hushed whisper, almost like a growl.
“I—I’m Maggie,” I said, paralyzed with fear as I felt his essence move over me, some strange magnetism I couldn’t explain.
“Maggie. I like that. Where are you off to tonight?”
“I’m going home.”
“Are you? I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” his voice was slightly mocking, a devilish grin barely surfacing on his face before being eclipsed by that intense glare. I was panicking on the inside, terrified of this man, yet strangely… attracted? I didn’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t attraction as such, it was almost animalistic, an impulse, an instinct I couldn’t explain.
“You look stressed. Did something happen to you?”
“No, just a r-regular night out, I guess,” I stuttered, shivering in my wet clothes, but more out of fear at what this man could do to me. What use did he have for me? He was handsome, tall, and muscular, why was he talking with me? I couldn’t help but imagine what sort of malicious game he was trying to play. Why else would he bother talking to a curvy girl like me?