Not a Werewolf

Harry hated night shift.
The Valley Museum of Natural History and Art felt like a whole new place in the dark. Harry wasn’t usually superstitious, but as he patrolled the empty halls, his mind couldn’t help but wonder whether the rumors of seeing a ghost wolf wander through the building were true.
But he had to do this. Any extra income was welcome, if wanted to keep himself and his daughter afloat.
Harry forced his thoughts of the ghost out of his head and tried to think about how tomorrow he could spend the whole day with his girl.
Harry moved his flashlight back and forth. It cast strange shadows among many of the displays, but he paused as it fell upon an open door.
The door leading to the Natural Mysteries exhibits was left ajar, which was intriguing, because Harry specifically remembered locking it right after the museum closed, the Natural Mysteries room was by far his least favourite to visit at night.
Harry approached the door and tried to figure out what happened.
The lock on the door seemed to have been melted away, the warm metal dripped onto the floor in thick droplets.
Harry took a step back. What in the name of Shanks has done that? He wondered to himself.
Harry knew he had to go into the room, but he didn’t want to. Whatever melted the lock was probably still inside. He took a shaky breath and entered the room.
Like always, Harry was greeted by the taxidermy wolf who stood before the door. Harry remembered from the tour guides he heard about how she was found at the base of Ghost Cliff nearly one hundred years ago. She was in good condition when she was found, her sandy-coloured fur perfectly groomed.
Anxiety and fear filled Harry was he continued to walk. he held his flashlight with both hands, as if it were a weapon. His senses seemed to be dialed up, the silence was suffocating, only his footsteps and his heartbeat could be heard.
Harry avoided looking at the Werewolf exhibit as he walked by it. The last thing he need right now was a reminder of the bloodthirsty monster. He waved his flashlight around frantically, scaring himself with the shadows he created.
Harry finally reached the end of the room, which showed the main attraction of Natural Mysteries.
The stone artefacts.
The nine stone artefacts had only been recovered a couple of months ago. Researchers believed that they were once an important piece of an ancient religion, representing nine gods: fire, water, air, geo, herbal, ice, sun, moon, and stars. Each stone had unnatural carvings that seemed to correspond to a god.
As Harry took a moment to admire the stones, he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that one of them were missing.
Fire.
Harry was about to call the police when he heard footsteps behind him.
Harry spun around on his heel and shone his flashlight at a wolf.
She had dark brown fur, and her amber eyes seemed to glow.
Harry was scared out of his mind. Is it the ghost? Is she going to haunt me?
Wolf suddenly transformed into a tall woman with curly hair that went to just below her shoulders, which seemed to be on fire. She had a malicious glint in her ember eyes.
Even though the woman seemed to be nearly on fire, and warming up the room, Harry felt cold.
She’s a werewolf.
I’m going to die.

***

Leave no witnesses. Is what she told Ember. Get Ash’s stone and be unseen. No matter the costs.
Ember took a step towards the man, who stumbled back in fright. Coward. She thought.
The man seemed to have found his words: “Who are you?” the man shook like a leaf.
Ember didn’t respond as she revealed a dagger.
The man fell backwards, he grabbed at nearly everything he could reach as he fell, knocking over displays. “What are you?” more fear filled the man’s voice.
Ember pressed a button on her dagger and the blade extended, turning into a sword.
Ember loomed over the man tears were in his eyes. “You’re a monster…” his voice was hoarse. “A werewolf.”
Anger fueled Ember like a fire and smoke escape her nostrils.
She hated that word. Werewolf.
To humans, werewolves were terrifying monsters, out to seek prey, with no morals.
To the Moontribe, the werewolf they knew was a hero’s ally. Someone trustworthy.
To Ember, a werewolf was the one who escaped her fire.
And that werewolf was going to suffer for it.
She gazed calmly into the man’s eyes as she lifted her sword to his neck. He whimpered quietly.
Ember spoke softly, as if she were comforting a child: “I am not a werewolf.”
Then she swung the sword.