Werewolves are easier to spot than you'd think - the wolf doesn't sit deep inside their souls but a few inches beneath their heavily wrinkled skin made to stretch over fragmented bones that slide and lock into place every full moon.
The wolf isn't some ancient bloodline curse - it's just the decompression of a cousin species who've spent countless centuries perfection their human form so they can hide and hunt easier. If it weren't for our campfire tales and hastily snapped photos they might have stayed stories.
Now we know that you never need to suspect the tall dark stranger on the outskirts of town whose breath always smells like fresh meat. Look to the sweet old lady with sharp amber-brown eyes and sharper teeth. She'll call them prank dentures but you both know they're real.
You won't call her out and she'll let you live until the next full moon. You'll try to stay inside but they're your neighbours and they know how to get you out of the safety of your home and into the anonymity of a busy street.
Anyone can trigger enough fire alarms to cause enough pandemonium to cover up a murder.
And who'd ever think to check a nursing home or the quint house of a retired couple?
If they find your body they'll only blame bears.
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