I KNOW what I saw...

I parked, killed the lights, and together we sniffed at the twilight air...
A deliciously feral stench this shadow had left.
Silently we slid to the edge of the undergrowth, and crouched there for some minutes, listening. Then you flashed a glance with excited yellow eyes, and together we began to move forward in a quickening jog.

Don't know if I'm playing it right but I'll try.

Five strategically placed street lights lay ahead for the race of my life. My legs heavy with lager, my head light with laughter. The advantage was with him; he never drank or laughed. Running, running, running - he teased as he caught me with each street light then dropped back. I gasped for breath and he is always with me; silent.

JJ

I turned, the fear was gone. The stench, the odor, all gone. The rain left the air cleansed. The howl of wind replaced with the low thunder of the harsh rain.

But the forest, the forest became alive and the magic inside me grew.

By this metamorphosis I was healed, the tormented depths of my spirit comforted. The beast was not what I had become, rather what I had left behind. With outstretched arms and loud howls I made my worship to the forest, and the shadows shrank to reveal new life.

*I'll give it a try*

Life, life to which to this point had been denied. The primeval animal that evolution had quashed was suddenly free. Instinct denied assaulted me, ravished me with desire to hunt, to feed.

It was not to be denied.

I now fully embraced my true bestial nature. No longer would I restrain the violent impulses churning within my belly. I would breathe life into every savage thought and feed every monstrous desire. And when I would finally emerge from the shadows of my former repressed life, all those who have spit upon on me and laughed at me will feel the sharp edge of my avenging sword...but ah! I must not be hasty. I must set a trap and show to the world a pleasant and charming face to disarm all who may suspect...but first I must shave my palms...

A female scent of ferocious pheremones and cologne tinged with Earl Grey tea hung heavily in the torpid air. The beast reared his head, sniffed and roared. He liked the scent. It stirred his loins and stimulated his passions. It made him feel that he was not only smelling her, but devouring her too. A shadow appeared. The scent grew stronger. The female was approaching.

As if she were listening intently for predatory sounds, she cocked her head to one side, paused and stood motionless. In that instant, the beast saw in her eyes his other half completed. She was the female who was and would be his counterpart--the only other living creature who could make him whole. But just as he was about to approach and nuzzle her snout in a non-threatening way, and show her that he meant no harm, she bolted like a frightened deer and ran off into the dense forest. The beast was crestfallen. He feared he would never see her again.

(I'll give it a go)

That fear was shoved roughly from his consciousness by the roar that could only be an angry crowd. They had found his latest victim! Individually they would be no threat, no match for his cunning and strength. But a mob, banded together by hate, withinin their protective circle of torches; he felt a new fear--the fear for survival.

Where was she? Two together, they could face the enemy, and win. In the forest ahead all he could sense was darkness, and quiet, and stillness.

Three police officers had already cordoned off the area to prevent any further onlookers from witnessing the aftermath of the grisly attack. As Inspector Murdock arrived at the murder scene, the young ashen-faced man who had made the grisly discovery only minutes earlier was still wiping the remains of vomit from his chin.

"Are you the one who found the body?" asked Inspector Murdock. His tone, though official and impassive revealed a note of concern for the young man's state of mind.

"Yes sir," said the young man, visibly trembling. "I was on my way back home after hiking with some friends when I...saw her...it. I don't know...I...those eyes...they're not...Oh God!" The young man broke down sobbing, unable to speak any further.

"That's ok, son." Inspector Murdock placed one hand on the boy's shoulder, and while he was trying to calm him, he allowed himself to take his first studied look at the corpse. It--or she appeared to have been a young woman, perhaps twenty-five or thirty. She was naked and most of her body--or what was left of it was streaked with rivulets of blood from the numerous stab wounds inflicted upon the body. Her breasts had been crudely hacked off, as had her left leg from just above the knee. Though her arms were intact and virtually uninjured, eight of her fingers had been cut off, leaving only two thumbs. And perhaps the worst, most hideous violation had been done to her eyes--for there were no eyes--they had evidently been gouged from their sockets with the same crude knife that had been used on the rest of the body. When Inspector Murdock stared into those empty blood-soaked cavities, his first thought was that perhaps it was a blessing to have not witnessed the expression of terror and agony that must have reflected themselves in those eyes before the end came. Scanning the midsection of the mutilated torso, Inspector Murdock knew from experience--even though lab tests would later confirm it, that this girl had been sadistically and violently raped before being killed. Murdock rarely allowed his emotions to get in the way of his job, but kneeling over the savagely violated body of this young woman, he could feel between his two ears, his own blood pulsing in rage. And he vowed in that moment that he would never rest until he found the monster who committed this heinous crime.

Instincts pulled him further and further away from the dangers of the mob, and sadly, further and further from where he knew she was last.

He begged and pleaded with himself to turn back to find her, to couple with her and give in to the raging passion that boiled up the moment he laid eyes on her smooth, burgundy coat and gaunt, tall body rippled with muscle.

But survival pushed him onward for miles until he crouched by the muddy banks of a trinkling stream, the light of the full moon dancing on its surface like the waltz of lovers.

His eyes caught the sight that the shimmering water held for him, and he turned his head immediately to avoid the shame that the face of a monster could only hold for the one who wore it.

But for the briefest of moments, what seemed like an hour ago, he felt the years of shame melt away the moment his eyes met hers.

Without hesistation, he rose up to his full height, rearing his head to the sky and released a howl that echoed and shattered the gentle balance of the serene evening.

Come whatever may, but he was damned if he was going to live another day in shame. He spun around and took off, full sprint on all fours, senses on edge for any trace of her. No more shame.