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Ezra gently prodded at the skin around the scars that crossed his stomach. Just looking at them again, he could smell the blood that had gushed from him that night in the woods as he lay in the dirt, unable to move. As he carefully traced the length of one of the scars with his finger, he felt a faint tingling in his left shoulder. The scars there had come from the animal’s teeth. The ones on his stomach were from its claws.
Just thinking about the animal made Ezra’s stomach twist and turn. It had been so dark and he couldn’t see it that well, but he’d thought it was a dog. A big dog, but still just a dog…
The door opened and Ezra jumped, pulling his shirt down to cover the scars as Mom walked into the room.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Mom said. “I knocked a few times.”
“I didn’t hear you,” Ezra said, sitting down on the edge of his bed.
Mom sat down beside him, her hand on his back. Ezra scooted closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” Mom asked.
“B—better,” Ezra said. He knew Mom didn’t believe him. Her arm slid around his shoulders, pulling him onto her lap. He buried his face in her shoulder, tears stinging at his eyes as he began to cry quietly into her shirt.
“I thought it was just a dog,” he said, his voice muffled. They’d all thought it was a dog. But what had happened last night had proven them all wrong.
None of this was even supposed to be real. Werewolves were something out of stories and scary movies. They weren’t supposed to exist. He wasn’t supposed to actually be able to be one.
Ezra wanted to believe he’d been dreaming, but Mom and Dad had seen it, too. He’d seen them watching in horror as he collapsed and began to change.
“It’s okay,” Mom said, her voice soft as she ran her fingers through his hair. “Now that we know, we’ll be prepared next time. We can take you out to the woods so –”
“No!” Ezra cried, clinging tightly to her shirt. “I don’t want to go back there!”
“Okay,” Mom said quickly. “We’ll figure something else out.”
Ezra let out a heavy sob and his mother began to gently rock him as if he were a baby. He never wanted to go back to those woods again. Just thinking about it, the smell of blood returned, flooding his nose, making him want to throw up.
“Please don’t make me go back,” he said.
“We won't,” Mom said. “I promise, we won't.”
Ezra shifted in his mom’s lap, curling up against her chest. He rested his head on her shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. She always held him like this when he was sick, and for the first time in his life, Ezra found himself wishing that he really was sick. It would be so much easier if this was all some bizarre dream caused by a fever frying his brain.
“It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” Mom said. “We won't let anything happen to you.”
At her words, the scars on Ezra’s shoulder and stomach seemed to burn, as if they were trying to remind him that his parents hadn’t been able to keep him safe before, and there was no guarantee they could keep him safe now.