The Nightly Storyteller Chronicles: The Wolf Man (1941)Monsters Within, Monsters Without
Monologue The moon's eerie glow permeated the room, an almost palpable presence that deepened the constant hum in the background of my mind. Some nights, I'd swear it spoke to me in pulses, my blood moving in rhythm with its gentle beat. Hunger, rage, and memory tangled like vines, clawing for sunlight. And when the moon was full, something deep inside me howled back, a primal scream that echoed through the chambers of my heart. Snap. The sharp snap of fingers dragged me back to reality. My eyes, which had been fixed on some unseen point, blinked rapidly. The scent of Rhett's stale coffee and the hum of the old studio lights slowly replaced the moon's haunting melody. “Hey,” Rhett said, his voice calm but laced with concern. “You were spacing out again.” For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I felt present. Not just moving through the motions. Not on autopilot. No hum. No buzz. Just... silence. The kind that comes after a storm. My limbs weren’t shaking. M...