I’m not usually very territorial. Not that there’s anything wrong with being territorial! Some of my best friends are super territorial. It’s just a me thing; I’ve never been too protective of my hunting grounds. Though… That might just be because I’ve never really run into anyone that upsets me too much.

God fucking dammit. I hate this girl. She reeks of humans, fast food, and perfume. It clogs my nostrils and I can barely think straight. Who the fuck does she think she is, hanging around my hunting grounds this late at night and stinking up the whole bloody place?!

God, I oughta jump her right now. I oughta run right up behind her and shove my arm right through her vertebral column. Maybe the smell of her blood will finally drown out her stench.

I run up behind her. My arms begin swelling. Normally I look skinny, almost anorexic, but I hide my strength. No one ever suspects me. I’m dead silent. My friends always compliment me on how good I am at ambushing. I’m so quiet. No one knows I’m

“Hey!”

She turns around and raises her eyebrow at me. I stop dead in my tracks. Who the fuck yelled? I’ll kill them. I’ll break their fucking legs and rip their fucking arms off. I look around to see a tall man wearing a gaudy pink and purple suit and a theatre mask. He has his initials, JLS, embroidered on his breast pocket. I take it back. I wanna tear him to shreds.

“What the fuck is your problem asshole?!” I scream at him. The girl starts asking me questions, but I scream at her to shut up.

“I just was thinking something along those lines about yourself. Go on. Let us be.” He said smugly. He was almost singing. He’s such a punk fucking kid. I hate his stupid fucking mask. I begin stomping over to him.

“That’s not FUCKING okay! You can’t just come to my hunting grounds and tell ME to leave! Fuck right off you shit-eating—” He looks at me. Dead in my eyes. There’s nothing behind the mask. God, those are his eyes. I look into them and I see so, so much. I think I can see everything. I can’t move. He lifts up his hand.

My god, what is he going to do to me? Please, God, please save me. He places his hand on my chest. It’s so, so cold. It makes my entire body tense up. He’s going to fucking kill me. He walks forward. He carefully takes every step, and keeps his hand gently in the centre of my chest. He places his face right next to mine. My cheek rubs ever so slightly on his mask. The mask feels just like his cold flesh, but hard, like bone.

“Do you feel that?” He whispers into my ear. “That is fear,” He chuckles, “Tell me, do you have anything you’d regret if you died here and now?”

Yes. God yes I’d regret everything. I stutter and sputter trying to respond, but I just can’t.

“You may run away now.”

---

What the hell just happened? Was that bloke trying to ambush me? He did a bloody bad job. I heard his massive feet clomping behind me ever since I left work.

Sara couldn’t pick me up tonight. She’s incredibly ill. She tried desperately to make me let her drive, but I made her stay in bed on the stipulation that I wouldn’t drive myself. I believe she thought that meant I’d stay home, but I am more than willing to walk to work.

Why would this bozo stalk me to kill me? Just fight me in the street like any other monster. He must be stupid. Or super weak. Which would make him stupid for trying to pick a fight with me.

And who is this cosplayer? Is there a con in York right now? I doubt it. I don’t care too much, anyway. I need to get home. I turn back around and begin walking, but he interrupts me.

…

How did he get in front of me? I didn’t see him move. I turn to look at where he was, and he’s not there anymore… Obviously. He’s fast.

“You’re strange, you know that?” He says to me, “That’s rich,” I respond.

“Ouch!” He chuckles to himself, “Most people at least say ‘hi,’ you know.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Hi? Can I go home now?”

He sighs, “I’d like to chat for just a little bit. Please, entertain me.”

I groan, “Fine.”

He chuckles again. “Splendid. Do you know why we’re named the Wolves?”

Ah. So he’s one of them. Did Muffins send him…? No way. This bloke’s definitely from York. He’s way too strange to come out of a small town like Fifelthorpe. I tell him I don’t know.

“The Wolves go far, far back. Way before Christopher Columbus ever set foot on the American shores. However, the name “Wolves” only really came around in the 1800’s. Now, this is just a tale we tell around York, but it’s said that the head of the York division said ‘We are wolves, because we’re the humans’ best friend, even if they don’t want us to be.’ A lot of them hate us, the humans do…” He keeps on babbling, but I stop listening. He said the only thing I cared to listen to, anyway. I think he’s divulging his MO. I don’t care. I think he realised, because he stopped talking. He chuckles. Yet again. That tic of his is getting annoying.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, “I don’t mean to talk your head off. One last question, I promise I’ll let you go. Who are you? What do you want out of life?”

That’s two questions. I guess I’ll go along with it, as long as it means I get to go home.

“I’m Madison Cartwright, and I want to chill and take it easy.” I begin walking, with the intent of walking around him. He chuckles and steps out of my way, allowing me to walk straight. How courteous.

“Do you honestly believe that that is who you are, Madison?”

I stop. What the fuck kind of stupid question is that? Is this guy some wannabe psychologist?

“And who the fuck are you?” I ask, turning to him. He isn’t there. He’s on top of a nearby building.

“Struck a nerve, haven’t I? I’ll see you again soon enough! Good night, dear Madison!”

I watch him sink into the roof as if it were a deep pool of water. Or maybe he just ran away. I must be tired and seeing things. What a pompous dickhead. I hope he’s not right. If I hear him laugh again I’m going to scream.