“The Moon Wanes, But I Do Not” – The Nightly Storyteller & Werewolf of London (1935)

"The cure is the curse. The beast...might be me."

Opening Monologue

The whispers from the necklace have grown louder.

Not just words now, but visions. Flickers of impossible transformation—skin tearing, bone twisting, eyes burning with a hunger that feels… familiar. A terrible kind of déjà vu I can't shake.

This morning, Val asked if I was alright. I said I was just tired. She smiled politely, but I saw the worry in her eyes.

She doesn’t know the truth: sleep doesn’t bring rest anymore. It brings visions. Pain. I wake up drenched in sweat, my sheets twisted like they were trying to bind me. And the worst part?

My body aches as if I’d been torn apart.

My arms feel elongated, stretched like some cruel god of anatomy played tug-of-war with my limbs. My legs throb with a soreness that isn’t from overuse—but from overextension. Something is pulling at me from the inside, like my very form is betraying itself.

And when I look in the mirror… I swear my eyes look brighter. Wilder.

I see it now. In shadows. In reflections.

And in the movies I watch.

---

Werewolf of London (1935): The Curse of Knowing

There’s something tragic about Dr. Wilfred Glendon.

In Werewolf of London, he’s a brilliant botanist, fixated on discovering the mythical Mariphasa lupina lumina—a rare flower that blooms only under moonlight, rumored to cure werewolfism. He finds it, of course. But by then, the curse has already taken root.

Glendon’s descent is painful to watch, not because he becomes a monster… but because he knows it’s happening.

The horror isn't just the transformation—it’s the awareness of it. The scratch. The shift. The slow realization that no matter how rational, how intelligent, how civilized you are—there’s something animal inside that will win.

I watched him change, and I swear I felt it in my bones.

Literally.

Every snarl, every pulse of lycanthropic pain that wracked his body onscreen—it felt like an echo of the aches I’ve been feeling lately. The necklace around my neck grew warm during the full moon scene. My skin itched. My fingernails throbbed.

And I couldn’t look away.

---

A Flower in the Dark

In the film, the flower Glendon seeks is not just rare—it’s nearly extinct. A fleeting chance at salvation.

But here’s the thing…

What if the flower isn’t a cure—but a catalyst?

What if Glendon wasn’t fighting off the beast… but inviting it?

I found something this morning near the alley behind the theater downtown. I was wandering, drawn by that now-familiar pull behind my ribs. My shirt clung to my back. My legs moved like I’d been sprinting all night—but I had no memory of running.

And there it was. A strange flower. Pale. Unmoving despite the breeze. Familiar. Just like the one in the film. I picked it up, and the necklace thrummed with approval.

I don’t remember much after that. Just a low growl—not outside, but within.

---

Reflection: The Man, The Monster, The Mirror

Dr. Glendon didn’t want to hurt anyone. Neither do I.

But like him, I’m beginning to understand something deeply uncomfortable:

The change isn’t always a choice.

Sometimes, the monster wears your face. Sometimes, you smile at someone you love and feel your teeth ache, your jaw shift. You pretend it’s a cramp or a bad night’s sleep.

But deep down…

You know.

You’re changing.

And worst of all?

Some part of you likes it.

There’s a thrill in the pain. In the strength.

In the freedom.

Glendon tried to hold onto his humanity by locking himself away, but the beast always found a way out. I wonder now if I’m doing the same. Wandering in blackout fugues. Waking up sore and bloodied. Craving the moonlight like a drug.

I didn’t think I’d identify so closely with a 1930s monster movie.

But here I am.

---

The Shelf of Secrets Grows…

A new item now joins the shelf:

The pale moonlit flower—wilted, but pulsing faintly under glass.

It doesn’t dry. Doesn’t rot.

Just waits.

And so do I.

---

Final Thoughts: The Lurking Howl

What Glendon feared… I am beginning to accept.

The monster isn't coming.

It’s already here.

It whispers in the necklace.

It howls in my spine.

And when the next full moon comes…

I wonder if I’ll still be me.

Or something… freer.

Stick around. Subscribe. Share.

And if you dare… drop a comment and tell me your favorite scary movie, urban legend, or horror memory.

We’re just getting started—and things are about to get dark.

Stick around. Subscribe. Share.

And if you dare… drop a comment and tell me your favorite scary movie, urban legend, or horror memory.

We’re just getting started—and things are about to get dark.

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