The bloated, wealthy Mr.Maxwell tries to keep an impassive expression on his face.
"I don't believe a word you say" he replies, and flicks his cigar but in the trash.
"Listen to me!" you shout, and realize your voice is now immeasurably thicker, deeper and more guttaral.You rip off the shreds
of your shirt and let them fall to the ground. the fur covered heaving chest in front of you belongs on a wild animal. The man's
obviously in denial you think.
"Look at this" you snarl, lifting up the dazed werewolf's arm and clearing the fur away. "Here's the tatoo."
He looks with panic. "That tatoo could've been on dozens of people! It doesn't matter! It's not him, so get out!"
You then wince as you move your hands downward, clasp, and push away more fur. "And here's the cloud-shaped birthmark."
Mr.Maxwell collapses and blubbers "Oh Rob! What did they do to you? He doesn't even recognize me!"
"Does the name 'Finn' mean anything to you?"
He blanches and stutters "Y-y-yes, I shot him through the heart."
"Well, you missed." And then you tell the whole story.
"I refuse to pay that viper!" he shouts.
"Then you'll have to kill him to save your own life."
He looks at you with uncertainty.
"Okay. Here's what I'll do. I'll discuss this with the other landowners. But I'm going to have a hard time convincing them to pay
him."
"That'll have to do" you say, in hurry to get back as your body starts pounding.
Your hands are lengthening as the nails sharpen, and you can't think as clearly.
"Let me ask you one last thing" Mr.Maxwell says.
"WHAT!!" you roar as your moods fluctuate and another change signals itself.
"Let me look at him one last time."
"Oh fine." you snarl as your hands grow fur and increase in mass. You can feel your teeth and nose lengthen and in the case of
the latter, bulk up. Mr.Maxwell moves toward the werewolf. "Oh, how are your Rob, say hello--"
The creature jumps up with a snap and tries to bite his head off. You jerk the leash and begin to turn away. You break into a
run. You feel the fabric of your shoes begin to stretch and the stiches of your jean begin to fray. Your face is pushing outward as
the chin and forehead draw back and the muzzle begins to take place. You resist with all your strength the new tempatation--to
howl at the moon.