This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/LiquidDongorong on 2026-08-14 23:05:46+00:00.

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I was fourteen years old when I decided I was a werewolf.

My parents divorced six months earlier. The house got real empty, real fast. My active imagination came up with inventions to fill the space. Nothing intentionally malicious.

At first it was that I could see ghosts, then I started pretending to have a stronger sense of smell. I said I could hear frequencies on the radio that nobody else could. I said I was starting to feel more and more active at night.

Soon enough, I was breaking it to all my closest friends the "horrible truth;" that I was subject to the curse of the full moon, and that it took everything within my power to hold the monster inside.

Spencer bought it immediately, the dope. He transferred to the school in October. Long-limbed, athletic, looked like he could be one of our star basketball players if he wasn't so obsessed with Adventure Quest. He believed in everything. Crystals, hauntings, you name it. When I told him I was a werewolf, he didn't laugh or anything, just nodding, like I confirmed a suspicion he had for a long time. Moments later he was going through his phone, listing off potential cures for my condition.

Becca was a bit harder to convince. Sure, she was a bit loopy, constantly wide-eyed like she was on the brink of a life-shattering revelation. She loved horses and the kind of anime where nobody had to die. She thought I was just being really weird at first when I tried to explain things to her. That's when I decided to buy a pair of prosthetic fangs, the kind that you can mold the inside to specifically fit your teeth. I figured out how to slip them on with my tongue between sentences. She went real quiet after noticing. Looked more like she was going to cry, now.

"I always knew there was something different about you," she said. I was elated to hear that.

At the time, Eric was also there. He just watched, impressed by the trick, though I don't think he bought it in the slightest. He was a goth, one who obsessed over autopsy photos in the back of class, quoting The Rocky Horror Picture Show like it was scripture. One day, he just started carrying around a little glass vial of red food coloring, introducing himself as the vampire of the group. I think he was just bored. My lie must have been way more interesting than his truth.

We called ourselves the Specter Society, and dedicated ourselves to solving our small town's many local mysteries and urban legends. We got a reputation. Not a particularly good one. People didn't make eye contact with us in the halls and teachers shook their heads as we passed. Weirdly enough though, it was the first time I felt like I was the center of attention, and it felt good.

We built a base in the woods, close to the train tracks. It wasn't much, just a few tires for chairs, a hut made out of sticks, you know. Kid stuff. Our weekends were dedicated to library visits, renting various cryptozoology books and newspapers of old.

For months, we would log strange local sightings. I would disappear during full moons, usually convincing my mom via ipecac to get out of going to school those days. We didn't really find anything interesting of note, beyond an abandoned building at the edge of town. Exploring it didn't really turn up anything though…not unless you want to count the soiled pair of pants after a rotten light fixture collapsed next to Becca.

Things didn't really pan out interesting until we discovered a "pocket guide" written by a local author. It was mostly a history of the area we lived in, with historic photos and letters written from family to family. I wondered why we were reading through this when Eric told me to flip to the back.

There we saw an entry on the Lying Man.

The version depended on the letter you were looking at. Our common consensus seemed to be that it was a wives tale told to scare rowdy children who told too many fibs. A man who would appear to children late at night and make their tallest tales come true. Then, after making it true for a little while, he'd "collect" something from the children. The details on what that was never really lined up, but all of them were equally grim.

We decided that weekend to hole up in our fort late at night, in hopes that we can catch the Lying Man. They each came up with little white lies as bait, but nothing that we were genuinely keeping secret from each other. Nothing beyond what Eric and I were doing.

Becca brought her flashlight, Spencer came with a bag of crystals, and Eric came equipped with his usual vial of "blood."

The fort was colder than it normally was. We sat in a circle, shivering, waiting. Spencer lit a fire. All was quiet until we heard a branch snapping just a few meters away.

A cop walked out into the light, though none of us could name him. If I had to describe him, I would say he was a composite of every cop that worked in our town. There were familiar, discernible features but nothing that came together in a recognizable image.

Spencer cussed beneath his breath. We were most certainly busted.

But the cop wasn't confrontational. Mostly just curious.

"What are you kids doing out here?" he asked.

"We're looking for the Lying Man," Eric said matter-of-factly. He nodded toward me like I was the one who came up with the idea. I knew he had to be fucking we me at that point.

The cop smiled.

"There's no such thing as the Lying Man." He looked me right in the eyes.

"Well…we don't know that for sure," I said. "I mean, there's plenty of evidence—"

"Tall tales," said the cop. "Like the ones you've been spinning to your friends, Berin."

How did he—?  I immediately seized up, heart jumping into my throat. I tried to apply my fangs, but remembered I had left them in my pocket. The cop laughed.

"What's that look for? Did you think I wouldn't hear tell of your stories?"

"They're not stories," I growled. "Leave us alone. We're not doing anything illegal."

"Show them."

"What?"

The cop's grin split wider.

"You've told them what you are. Show them."

All three of them looked at me with anticipation. A sweat broke down my forehead. I stammered.

"I-I don't want to hurt anybody. I can't control myself when—"

The cop drew his weapon and pointed it at me. The woods went dead silent.

"Show them," he cooed.

I limply reached for the fangs in my pocket, only now realizing how small they were. My hands backed out, fingers fumbling over the edge. There was no fur waiting beneath my skin or claws beneath my nails. I just wanted to feel special.

Everyone waited. They stared at me. They just stared. The silence grew unbearable. I could feel tears welling. I could feel their eyes, filling with gradual resentment.

The cop's expression softened. He looked satisfied, like he'd figured out how to unlock a stubborn door.

His joints cracked. The skin on his face stretched. His teeth fell out, one after another, onto the floor, replaced by growing, snarling fangs. Fur sprouted, in too thick of patches, enough to break through the skin. Blood and viscera slopped to the ground, the man's joints bending backwards and forwards, snapping into the place of a creature.

His bloody jaws snapped, a maw wider than a yard.

Spencer, the poor bastard, was standing closest to him at the time. The thing struck him once and he folded. I heard a snap like soaking wood snapping under the weight of a truck. Becca screamed.

We turned and ran. Becca tripped. She turned around, putting her hand out, trying to tame the beast.

The thing ate her up in two big bites.

Eric grabbed my arm after I froze up, watching this. He dragged me along, my feet eventually catching up with his pace. We made it to the very edge of the woods. I thought we were in the clear.

CRUNCH.

I looked, and Eric was choking on his own blood. The thing had grabbed him by the base of his spine, fingers going right through his soft flesh. I heard a loud pop as the creature closed its hand. Eric's legs buckled out from beneath him. He let out a loud shout and fell to the ground.

I don't know why, but I tried to fight it in that moment. I ran up to the creature, punched it, kicked it, tried to shove it away. It struck me upside the head hard enough that I was kissing the ground before the pain registered.

"Thank you," the thing chortled. "I haven't been fed like that in sooo long."

I tried to rasp out a "please don't." Didn't even have the strength to beg for my life anymore.

It didn't matter. The creature had no intention of killing us.

"Mmmgh," it moaned. "Do keep up whatever it is you're doing. Your stories were mmmost satisfying…"

Patting its belly, the creature turned and left us both in the woods, bleeding out and losing consciousness.

We both survived. Eric was in a pretty sorry state, though. The doctors said things like "permanent" and "paralysis from the waist down." He never accused me of anything, never exploded, none of that. The last time I saw him was in the hospital hallway. I could tell, just by looking at his eyes, that he never wanted to see me again.

Sometimes, I'll rehearse in my head the way the night was supposed to go. There's a version where my fangs were real, and I put myself between that thing and my friends. That story never holds, though.

When I see the full moon these days, I wince.