The monsters we became

The evening was still, the kind of stillness that makes you feel like the whole world has taken a deep breath and is holding it. The streetlights flickered to life, casting a warm glow over the quiet, suburban street. Mrs. Jenkins stepped out of her house, her eyes scanning the yard for any signs of the neighbor's pesky cat that had been digging up her garden. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air, a reminder of the long, hot day that had passed. A soft rustling sound from the bushes made her jump, but she chuckled to herself. "Just the wind," she murmured, patting her chest to calm her racing heart. She walked down the path to the mailbox, the gravel crunching beneath her feet. The mail was already there, a few envelopes and a catalogue that had arrived a day early. She picked them up and turned to go back inside, her eyes catching the silhouette of a large dog across the street. It was standing perfectly still, staring at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. Mrs. Jenkins hurried back to her house, the key shaking in her hand as she unlocked the door. The dog didn't move, not even when she called out a friendly greeting. It just watched her, its eyes reflecting the amber light from the street. She stepped inside and locked the door behind her, the sound echoing in the silent night. Inside, she placed the mail on the table and flipped through the catalogue, trying to push the uneasy feeling away. The dog outside was just a dog, she told herself, as she made herself a cup of tea. The water boiled and the tea steeped, filling the kitchen with a comforting aroma that mingled with the scent of her favorite flowers from the vase on the windowsill. She took a sip and glanced out the window, but the dog was gone. The street was empty, the only movement coming from the swaying branches of the old oak tree in the breeze. The next evening, as Mrs. Jenkins was getting ready for bed, she heard it again—that same rustling from the bushes. She peeked through the curtains, but the darkness was impenetrable. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, not a dog this time, but a man. He was tall, with broad shoulders, and his eyes glowed with an eerie light. She gasped, dropping the curtain, her heart pounding in her chest. The figure began to approach her house, and she realized with a start that he was walking on all fours. Her mind raced as she tried to piece together the events of the past few days. The strange howling she had heard at night, the torn-up garden, and now this... A werewolf? It had to be. Her trembling hand reached for the phone to call the police, but she paused. What would she say? "There's a man turning into a wolf in my yard"? They'd think she was crazy. Instead, she grabbed a heavy flashlight from the hall closet and cautiously approached the window. The creature was now right outside her door, its breaths heavy and labored. She could see the fur rippling under his skin, the transformation almost complete. Mrs. Jenkins steeled herself, her hand shaking as she flipped the lock and stepped out onto the porch. The man—no, the wolf—looked up at her, his eyes pleading. And she recognized him. It was her neighbor, Mr. Smith, the quiet, unassuming man who had moved in last year. He spoke, his voice strained and desperate. "Please, don't be afraid. It's me. I need your help." She stared in disbelief as the fur receded and the man she knew took his place. "I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, his voice now human. "But I can't control it anymore. The full moon is coming, and I need a safe place to hide." Mrs. Jenkins's fear turned to pity as she took in his desperate expression. She had always sensed something was off about him but had never imagined it could be this. The trust they had built over the months felt like it was crumbling, replaced by a strange mix of fear and concern. She had to decide whether to help him or turn him away. If she chose the latter, she might be signing his death warrant, for she had heard the whispers of vigilante groups in town who had taken it upon themselves to "deal" with any supernatural beings that wandered in. Her heart softened, and she stepped closer, the porch light illuminating his tortured face. "What happened to you, Mr. Smith?" she whispered, her voice trembling. He looked down at his hands, which were still tipped with sharp claws. "It's a long story, but I didn't choose this. I was bitten by a werewolf during a hiking trip, and ever since, I've been fighting this curse. I thought I had found a way to manage it, but it's getting stronger." Mrs. Jenkins considered his words, weighing the risks. The quiet bond they had formed over shared gardening tips and neighborhood watch meetings was now being tested in the most unexpected way. "What do you need from me?" she finally asked, her voice firm. Mr. Smith looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "Just a place to stay, a place to lock myself away during the full moon. I have a cage, I promise. It's in my basement, it's safe." She nodded, a decision made. "Alright," she said, "but you must swear to me, no one else can know about this." The tension in his body visibly eased, and he nodded fervently. "Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins. I'll be as quiet as a mouse, I promise." And with that, she led him inside, the weight of his secret and the gravity of her choice heavy on her shoulders. As they descended into the basement, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just invited a creature of the night into her home, one that could tear her world apart if it chose to. Yet, there was something in his eyes that made her believe he was more man than beast, and she hoped with all her heart that her trust would not be misplaced. The cage was larger than she had imagined, made of reinforced steel bars and thick, heavy chains. It was clear that Mr. Smith had spent a good deal of money and effort to ensure his own safety, as well as that of others. She watched as he secured himself inside, the bars clanging shut with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine. His transformation was gradual but no less terrifying to witness, his body contorting and reshaping into that of a creature from her darkest nightmares. As the full moon began to rise outside, casting a silver glow through the small basement window, Mrs. Jenkins found herself torn between pity and fear. The man she knew was now a creature of the night, trapped in a prison of his own making, and it was her house that had become his fortress. The air grew thick with the scent of fur and musk, and she could hear the low, guttural growls echoing through the cage as he fought against the beast within. Days turned into weeks, and the nights of the full moon grew more frequent. With each passing transformation, Mrs. Jenkins grew more accustomed to her role as the keeper of the werewolf. They talked through the bars, Mr. Smith sharing tales of his lonely existence, of the pain and isolation that came with his curse. And she, in turn, shared her own stories of love and loss, creating a strange bond that grew stronger with each shared secret. But whispers began to circulate through the neighborhood, rumors of a beast prowling the streets at night. The local news reported livestock missing and pets found mauled, and the townsfolk grew restless. Mrs. Jenkins knew it was only a matter of time before someone connected the dots, before the truth came out, and the quiet life they had built together was shattered by the very thing she had feared the most—the betrayal of trust and the wrath of a town that didn't understand. One fateful evening, the police knocked on her door. They had received an anonymous tip about strange noises coming from her basement, and they were here to investigate. She could see the fear in Mr. Smith's eyes as she tried to calmly explain that it was just a wild animal that had found its way inside. But the officers were insistent, and she knew she couldn't let them find him. Her mind raced as she led them through the house, her heart pounding in her chest with every step that brought them closer to the basement door. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back, willing her to protect him. In a moment of desperation, she pointed to a broken fence panel in the backyard, claiming it was the source of the noises. The officers took the bait, leaving her house with a warning to keep an eye on her property. That night, as she sat in the kitchen with the lights off, listening to the distant howling of the werewolf, she knew that she could no longer keep his secret. The town was on edge, and the price of her silence was growing too high. But she also knew that turning him in would mean a life of pain and possibly death for the man she had come to care for. The love she had once felt for her quiet neighbor had been replaced with a love for the tortured soul that lay caged in her basement. The decision weighed heavily on her, a constant tug-of-war between her duty to protect him and her duty to protect the town she had called home for so long. The lines of right and wrong blurred until she could no longer tell which was which. She sat for hours, her mind a tumultuous storm of thoughts and emotions, until the first light of dawn began to filter through the windows, bringing with it the promise of a new day and the inevitable decision she would have to make.