Yet another story I wrote for English class

God save his people

Father John is sitting at his desk; the room is quiet save for the drumming of his pen against his notebook, the footsteps echoing from the upper floor, and the soft buzzing of conversation he can overhear from the house across the road. The grandfather clock in the corner to his left strikes twelve, the sound making the church dobermans bark from outside. He flinches and covers his ears, cowering into himself to muffle the madness. If that wasn’t enough, someone knocks on his door, and he flinches once again.

“Not now, Sister.” He says, but doesn’t recognize his own voice.

“Father…?” Sister Mary, he now discerns, inquires from outside.

“I said not now!” 

He hears her hesitate at the door before her footsteps resonate from further down the hall and he sighs with relief. He can’t risk being seen this way—with his nails scratching his scalp and the blood he feels trickle down his neck. He’s hidden it for so long, this won’t be the night someone sees him. The dogs finally quiet down outside, and John is able to relax enough to uncurl his body and set his hands down on his lap, fearing he might scratch the antique wood if he sets them on the desk. 

Moonlight shines into the room through the sheer curtains he’s certain have been on these windows for decades. The glow insults his eyes, radiating into his soul and he can feel the loss of himself. It won’t be long before he can no longer control his instincts, and the transformation fully takes place. He must prepare. John stands up and, with some struggle, makes his way around the desk and toward his bed to his right. Shoving it to the side, he reveals the trap door he’s kept hidden from the church. He grabs the worn-down silver skeleton key from his pocket, it burns his hand, the pain radiating up his arm, but silver is the only way to guarantee he won’t escape. Using the key, John unlocks the door, the also silver door handle making his entire side throb at the touch. 

He pulls open the trapdoor, howling with pain, and begins descending the creaky ladder. As he’s reaching to lock it behind him, he hears the click of the lock on his bedroom door. Before he can react—lock the trapdoor or scream at them to leave, he sees Sister Mary enter, a concerned look on her face. John feels his body freeze in fear, he looks monstrous, he’s sure: a slack jaw showing immense fangs, drool dripping down his chin, coarse hair all over his body, and glowing red eyes. He wants to tell her to leave, but it’s too late, the beast has already taken over, and only God can help them now.