The Change

Where are thee sweet little girl o' mine?"

(cackled the whisper on a dried out lisp)

Wyck heard  footsteps rustling the vines
growing in abundance about the crypt.

"Come on now, where are thee wee scallywag?”

(impatience sharpened the hag's voice to a razor's edge).
Wyck nestled even deeper into the hawthorn hedge.
Her thin arms were scratched and bleeding;
threadbare clothing torn and drenched.

The wind was rising ... more rain on it's way.
Perhaps a storm would save the day...
They say a witch abhors the rain...
Hoping "they" were right, Wyck began to pray.

"The wee bitch is dead meat ..."

 (The old witch uttered)

Watching furtively through dense thorny branches
Wyck shivered upon spying the crone's muddy feet.
(her blood turning into ice as the  beldam muttered)

Holding her breath she willed all thought away...
Suddenly lightening cracked and thunder roared and
the graveyard was deluged in a furious downpour.

It was hard to remain neutral when hiding from the old hag.
Even harder to accept the abomination was her maternal grandmother.
Wyck was proud she prevented the bitch from reading her mind.
She felt some of her tension sag as the witch ran for cover.

Wyck was pretty good at doing the mind block trick her mom had taught her.
But fear and the freezing cold was making it difficult to concentrate.
Wyck sent a quick prayer of thanks to mother gaea for the blessed rain,
even more determined now to derail her fate.

She would not sacrifice her mother!

She would not bear evil spawn!
The very idea was vile, obscene!

She would not be Satan’s pawn!

A part of her hated her mother for caving in.
But the other part ... the good part,

loved her mother with all her heart and soul.
Wyck was proud she still had one... for now at least!

When she heard the village church bell began to toll

she knew it was the time for the change ...

...time to meet the beast.

He was waiting in aspen stands near the frothing lake.
His thought ran over her like a hungry lover’s tongue,
reaching into every crevice of her young body.
It was almost more than she could take ..

...but her choices were few.
And above all else, when the time was due,

there was the prophesy to break.

Looking up at the moon she wondered if he take her as animal...
or man ...

the wind sceamed as as she ran.

Rain plastered whatever tattered clothing remained.
She appeared nakes with it plastered to her small shapely form.
Her heart thudding madly; she felt as wild as the storm.

Ahead the willowy aspens bent and swayed in the gale.
Stepping out from the trees, it was clear he was male.
In fact, he was all man ...
Tall and muscular, gloriously naked and lean,
Long narrow eyes glistening a feral gold-green.
Smiling he smiled revealed his glittering white teeth.
(a wolfish smile, to be sure).

In reckless abandon she met his embrace...
As the change began he gazed upon her small upturned face.
Looking skyward he savagely howled at the storm-ravaged full moon.
Then bending down to bite her neck murmured thickly,

“You’ll be running with me soon.”