Jackson Lane

• Aideen Gallagher, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2009

The moon sits in the centre of the dark sky, sitting there In silence. Old Jackson lane used to a popular tourist spot, now only a dark ally. A spot that used to be full of laughter, now the only sound is dry leaves blowing along the path. As the moon sits in the sky it gives a light gleam which sparkles in the murky puddles among the abounded street.

Small foot steps eco around the cottages and destroy the reticence. a harsh looking werewolf emerges form behind the empty school. Large scrapes stretch along his face, creeping into the sides of his bloodshot, thirsty eyes. Not only anger, but wisdom and experience also loom in the depths of his hungry broken eyes.

His ears are like a piece of raw meat thrown in to a loins cage, very little is left. His fur, a dark black-brown, is messy and chaotic. His mouth is wide and parched for blood. Oil and water make the fur damp and have an ethereal smell of onions. Skinny yet very powerful arms are placed just above his chest and five razor sharp finger nails extend from the ends of his fingers. He stands on his strong hind legs, ready to kill.

The werewolf stands there, waiting, in silence. It slowly gets darker, and the bright, ghastly moon stays standing in the lonely sky. Not even a mouse move, not even a leaf blows, everything is still. The leaves rattle and twirl in the trees as a bigger, stronger looking werewolf walks along the road towards the other. He has darker fur with a larger mouth and teeth, longer claws and a set of frightful deep black eyes. Everything about him simply seems more intimidating.

Nothing moves or makes a sound. The silence is a heavy weight, when the wolves’ growl if feels like the weight is slowly been lifted. They look deep within each others eyes, just staring at each other. Then, suddenly, before you could blink, the smaller wolf pounces up, aiming for the others ear. The bigger wolf shakes and gives a screeching howl and immediacy trows the smaller wolf five feet away. His pain is obvious; he lies there like a helpless dog, laying his head down. The other werewolf comes closer. Half his ear has brutally been torn off, yet his face shows no pain. He looks down on his helpless opponent and smiles because of his victory. Slowly, the small wolf closes his bright red eyes.

No one ever goes down old Jackson lane any more, no one human at least…