Beryl looked down hard at Michael's immobile form lying on the grass. Then she looked about. They had chosen a perfect time. Stone Henge was officially closed to the public, and nobody was about. They were all home glued to their teles watching the World Cup Finals. She inhaled, and then released a barking laughing as she smiled.
"Stupid, Michael, you had no idea you were the latent anthromorph that I've been hunting, did you?" Beryl said leaning in to stroke his hair. "I've always wanted to stuff and mount a werewolf since granddad took me hunting when I was 10. He bagged a ferocious beast. I hope you'll be as fine as specimen when you've changed."
Dully in a dark void in his mind or maybe six feet to the left of it, Michael was dimly aware of his prostrate form lying nearby. Beryl was leaning over his body saying the most monstrous things. Werewolf? Him? Please!
Still his limp body broke into a cold sweat and all his muscles seemed to be spasming at once. He needed medical help, but Beryl just knelt there rubbing her hands and grinning maniacally.
"Oh, yes, yes," cooed Beryl eagerly as she began to glisten in anticipation.
There was intense pain in his joints and then a snapping sound as his body began to reconstruct him from the inside out. His nose and jaw began to thrust upward. His teeth sank back into his gums at the same time. Hovering helplessly over his prone body, Michael could only watch as his body changed from man into something less than man or maybe more than man. He didn't know. He didn't want to know. But he was going to know.
The body's chest swelled. Buttons flew violently into the air. One struck Beryl's face, and she leapt back in surprise.
"I'm a fool. I should get the video recorder running, and get the guns ready." She hastened to make it so.
Michael started as his new snout was suddenly populated with two rows of sharp fangs. Dark hairs sprouted up on every patch of bare skin. His body writhed back and forth. He was vaguely aware of his movements, but also maintained his observer status. As he changed, his rage at what Beryl had done, and planned to do to him increased exponentially. His hands were now claws and they shredded his clothing as he writhed in agony. His body was no longer his, it was something totally inhuman, something monstrous. Something powerful, something ancient, something that could teach Beryl the lesson she so richly deserved.
Michael's body let out a fiercesome howl and he was sucked back into his pain racked body. He could move of his own free will again. He tore away the shreds of his clothing and leapt to his feet.
Beryl turned and fumbled with the camera in one hand and a gun in the other.
"Damn, that was faster than I expected," she cursed. She snapped a picture with a blinding flash, and fumbled to release the safety on her gun.