Ep.199 – Cruel Moon - You Are Changing... and HUNGRY

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The moon is full and your feeling
different. Something about you isn't quite right

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ever since that odd encounter with that
creature with its fangs and claws. So

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what happens to you now? What's
that you want to be scared? Come

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with me. You will experience tales
over opera, ghosts and death. It

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is not recommended at the foot the
weak at heart listeners in the dark.

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It's more fun than waya. This
is weakly speaking. Hello, my spookies,

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It's Wednesday, and you know what
that means. It's time for a

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little spooky in your weekly I'm your
host and narrator, Enrique Kuto, and

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we have a very special episode.
I wanted to do something extra extra for

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one hundred and ninety ninth episode of
our program, So we have a story

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submitted by one of you, a
story sent in by one of our dear

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listeners. And over the course of
last one hundred and ninety nine episodes,

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this has only happened maybe five times, and I love when it does.

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So if you have a story you
want to share, as long as it

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has a minimum length of two thousand
words, send it to Weekly Spooky at

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gmail dot com. But before we
get to all the hair raising fun of

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tonight's story. I want to say
thank you so much for listening, and

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I want to remind you that next
week is the two hundredth episode of our

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program, and to celebrate it,
I've written a very special episode all by

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myself. But I'm not accomplishing it
all by myself. Oh No, many,

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many wonderful Weekly Spooky alumni are going
to join me to perform our first

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ever weekly Spooky audio drama of sorts. So don't miss next week on Wednesday,

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when we do the two hundredth episode. And if you'd like to see

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us make it to another two hundred
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Help us bring in more people and
spread the spooky. But now,

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my friends, the moon is full. Right after these words The Cruel Moon

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by Anonymous, I woke this morning
with renewed energy. I haven't felt in

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a long long time. This is
surprising considering my circumstances. The recent event

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of being attacked by a dog or
dogs should leave me with both physical and

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emotional scars. I was out for
a run last week at night, in

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the last part of the full moon. My family think I'm strange, but

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I enjoy being in the wild at
night. I've always felt closer to nature,

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more primal, animalistic, if you
will. When the moon is full

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and it's cloudless, this allows light
to be perfect for some degree of visibility.

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The attack happened so quickly I was
unable to react other than instinctively cover

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my head with my arms. This
is likely what saved my life, as

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instead of the fatal bite to the
neck, the beast bit into my arm.

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I got thirty seven stitches, and
two days later the wounds appeared completely

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healed, leaving the sutures dry and
irritating. The physician had no explanation other

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than luck and dismissed me. Not
only have I healed in an accelerated fashion,

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I'm now feeling emotions I'm unaccustomed to. I can go from a relaxed

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nature to absolute rage over trivial things. Smells, sounds things no normal mind

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would ever register. I don't seem
to require my glasses for reading, something

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that I've been using more and more
as of late. My bad knee hasn't

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hurt since the attack, and my
evening runs have been longer and faster than

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I can rationally explain. Other oddities
have been happening as well. A week

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after that, I smelled what I
thought was a cat, which is strange

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as I don't have a cat,
nor have I noted any neighbors owning any.

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It became overpowering to me, to
the point that I had to find

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its source. I suddenly and uncontrollably
jumped up and sensed it was close and

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that I had to get it.
I sprang from the dinner table, knocking

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over glasses and dishes, sprinting out
the door, and what others said was

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a screaming rage. I didn't know
what I was doing, temporarily blinded by

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an unfounded anger, and when I
became aware of my actions, I was

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a considerable distance away from my home, and I was laying half way under

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a porch of some house I didn't
recognize, frantically clawing and yelling at a

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poor frightened housecat. The homeowner was
terrified, asking what was the matter with

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me? As a gentle soul,
I can't explain why I would do this

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or how I even knew it was
there. As the owner continued to yell

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at me about the ruckiss, I
growled at him. I actually rowled.

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I realized what I was doing and
ran an utter embarrassment. As another week

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had passed, more changes seemed to
occur. I began to eat voraciously in

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quantity and manner. Again. I
became unaware of myself at times, and

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now seemed to wake up to a
mouthful of raw meat while I was hunched

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over on my knees on the floor. I felt my abdomen tight and distended,

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with juices and druel dripping off my
face, and my brother yelling at

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me to stop. I shrugged him
off and made another growling noise before I

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fully regained my faculties. After apologizing, he said to me I should think

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about seeing a doctor before leaving the
house. I slept more and more,

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and one evening woke to smelling something
novel and very disagreeable. I slunked from

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the bed and crawled to the door, low and silent smelling. As I

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went, the scent drew me like
a moth to a flame, and it

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was coming from the first floor.
The hair on my back seemed to bristle

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and raise as she came around the
corner from the kitchen. I sprang from

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the second floor with silent agility and
landed directly in front of her. I

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could feel the tension in my muscles
as they quivered. She began to scream

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as I breathed in and out,
smelling her hair and neck. As I

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began to interrogate who she was and
where she had been, my brother came

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running and jumped in between us,
pushing me away. I lunged forward,

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snarling and growling just as he had
done that, and I bit at him

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just as he moved in front to
my actual target. As he yelled out

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in pain and shock, I straightened
up, realizing what I was doing,

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and broke into tears and ran to
my room. I felt as though I

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was losing my mind. Sometime later, I woke to footsteps approaching the room.

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As I sat up in bed,
my brother entered and sat next to

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me. He looked at me with
some surprise, asking why are you letting

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your appearance slack. You should clean
yourself up, shave, and take a

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bath. You smell like an animal, and you will never act that way

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to my wife or in this house
again. We discussed my bizarre actions at

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length, and I have no excuse. I can't explain why I would act

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this way. While I begged forgiveness, I signed multaneously wondered how I would

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control something I didn't know I was
doing or even capable of. I don't

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know what's happening to me. My
soul cries and laments with fear and remorse

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for such thoughts of my insane,
rogue actions. I'm dreadfully afraid that this

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is getting worse. I had a
startling revelation as after a number of days

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without any issues, I was becoming
something else, an abomination, a monster,

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something sinister and unrelenting had taken over
all that is me. The description

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of the following few days will illustrate
my evolution. I had gone to bed,

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comfortable and warm, after reading for
the evening, and even managing to

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eat a normal dinner of only half
a prime rib roast and three bottles of

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red wine, as my appetite had
expanded the last few weeks to the nearly

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legendary volumes, including one meal which
was nearly a case of wine and a

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quarter hog in one sitting. The
meat was barely cooked enough to be considered

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warm, let alone actually cooked.
Sometime that night, I woke up cold

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and wet. As I became more
awake, I found, to my horror

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I was outside in the woods,
laying on the ground. I was covered

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with mud wet, and I had
no clothes on save one sock which was

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torn on the sole, leaving the
foot bare on the ground. I was

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covered with small cuts and bruises,
as if I was running through briars or

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hawthorns. I had what appeared to
have been puncture wound or bite marks on

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my hands and arms. As though
defensive in nature. God is my witness.

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I do not know or acquiesce to
what I am doing during these fits

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I'm having. As my mind focused
in on my situation, I rubbed some

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muck from my lips and realized some
of what I had all over me was

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blood. I reactively spat and reached
a pull what seemed like some kind of

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stringy tissue like substance from in between
my front teeth. As I began to

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vomit from this wretched event. I
rolled over on my back and saw the

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full moon. Everything faded into the
background at this moment. As the beautiful,

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haunting moon hung low on the horizon, the soft glow mesmerized me as

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I suddenly lost myself in the sea
of tranquility. The solitude. The depth

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of its magnetism was undeniable and completely
intoxicating. I fixated on its rapturious light

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and dark grays. It was magnificent. I longed to touch it, and

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suddenly I let out a mournful howl
like I have never heard before and would

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have denied could have come from a
man had I not just done it.

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By the time I mentally came back
to reality, all the blood and mud

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was dried and the sun was beginning
to light up the eastern horizon. Being

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naked and covered with the filth of
whatever aberrant action I had committed, I

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did not want to be found in
such a state. I jumped up up

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and sprinted along until I viewed some
familiar landmarks and was fortunately able to get

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back to my house unseen. I
had been two or three miles from my

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home, and after hearing daily gossip
from neighbors. There had been a mountain

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lion killed in the area where I
had woken up. Authorities had concluded it

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had been slaughtered and partially consumed by
another unknown predator. All of this brought

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into stark contrast and idea that made
me laugh out loud to myself. Yet

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I recoiled at the very idea that
it could be possible that I knew what

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was happening. Everyone hears and reads
about the legends, but of course they

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don't exist. Separate cultures from all
over the world tell stories of a man

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bit by a wolf and undergoing change
is to eventually become a wolf himself or

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a wolf man. Even in the
world of science, psychiatry has a DSM

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diagnosis like cantherapy. Could I have
this rare disorder of myth and lore?

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I didn't know, But I did
know that I'm becoming less and less tolerant

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of people of society, of thinking
about all of this. Even this place,

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my long time home, seemed to
change from a place of refuge to

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confining, restrictive, and oppressive.
I longed to be free in the open

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forest, running, breathing, and
inhaling. All there is to be had

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to smell the dirt, and more
than anything, the exhilaration of the hunt.

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The following week brought about new changes
which were rather unpleasant for me.

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As I lay in bed one night, I suddenly and inexplicably became frantic about

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the enclosure of the room around me. I could hear my pulse quicken,

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feel my breath speed up. The
physical changes began. It came on slowly

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at first, but started to accelerate
to a point beyond comparison. I felt

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the tips of my fingers begin to
feel hot and drew to a sharp piercing,

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as though I was being stabbed in
the tips of every individual digit.

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This grew with every breath, as
my hands felt as though they were also

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extending and somehow becoming longer and narrower. My bones were cracking and splitting.

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The pain was unbearable, and just
as I thought I may lose consciousness,

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my skin began to tear. The
agony was indescribable. Blood and fluid was

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oozing no dripping from the emerging wounds. I tried to lick and writhe to

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escape the pain. I bit and
tore it, strips and chunks of flesh

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in some vain attempt to lessen my
agony. Before I realized the depth of

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my newfound purgatory, my feet,
knees, and hips had also metamorphosized.

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My spine and rib cage had changed
as well. My organs felt as if

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they were swelling and retracting. Just
as I thought the sweet relief of death

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had to be near. My skull
began to elongate. The skin thickened,

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and my nose became suddenly sick.
With the fetid smells coming from my own

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changing flesh, I was nearly insane
with a pain not known by Prometheus.

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My teeth began cracking and falling from
their sockets, seemingly pushed from the roots

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by new sharp replacements. I was
choked by the blood from my tongue as

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the new teeth were cutting while emerging. As I attempted to draw breath in

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between screaming and vomiting from the seemingly
endless horror. At some point I lost

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consciousness. I woke as the bright, hot afternoon sun was roasting me.

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I tried to open my eyes,
but they were crusted shut. One nostril

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role was plugged with some obscene material
and also partially dried across my mouth.

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I became aware of a stream next
to me, and I rolled close to

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it and frantically scrubbed my face.
I searched around me to ensure I was

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alone again without clothing covered in vulgarity
and filth from the previous night's unknown events.

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It's now been eight months since that
terrible attack. Every month, as

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the moon shines in its waxing gibbes, I know what's approaching in the next

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few days. I know that the
pain will drive me mad and I will

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do terrible things, things that my
brain fortunately doesn't recall. I only know

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because of my state upon awakening,
which reveals the grim result, and of

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course hearing the awful fate of local
livestock or unlucky hooligans caught nocturnally carousing.

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I believe in God and ask for
forgiveness, as this is not my choice

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to be this abomination or commit these
heinous acts. I also feel this monster

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growing every moon. I am absent
longer every month, the effects are more

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profound and increasingly permanent. I can
hardly go out in public anymore because of

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it. I am increasingly animalistic in
my manner and appearance, and even if

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I did. I'm so volatile that
I don't care. I do not want

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to harm anyone or anything. I
am more like a wild animal than a

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person now, And this is just
when the moon is new. These characteristics

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progress with the phases of the moon. The changes are easier only because I

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grow accustomed to them, not because
they are less difficult. I know soon

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the wolf will fully consume me,
and I fear I will be no more.

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I pray I will just die before
the next cycle, to spare whoever

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or whatever unfortunately lays in my path. This power, this curse, this

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new change is consuming me. It
rules over me like an unbreakable law,

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This unrestrained jungle law is a terrible, final and unforgiving place to be deep

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down, even though I try and
try to deny it, I can't wait.

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If that wasn't a perfect slice of
terror, I don't know what is

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A big thank you to our anonymous
contributor. I love the story, and

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I think many many others do too, So don't be a stranger. Use

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that email address weekly Spooky at gmail
dot com and send us another story.

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We can't wait to air it now
before I get out of here, because

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I am working on that big two
hundredth episode and I really can't wait to

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release it to you. I just
want to say thank you again for supporting

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us. Ninety of you over on
Patreon and thousands of you listening on the

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00:22:56.480 --> 00:23:00.200
podcast feed. Really do make a
difference, and you've made a huge difference

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in my life. Don't worry.
I'm gonna get a lot more mushy on

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the two hundredth episode, so look
forward to that next week. But now

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it's about time for me to get
out of here, but not before I

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thank our Patreon podcast boosters, folks
who pay a little bit more to hear

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00:23:18.680 --> 00:23:25.240
their names at the end of every
show, and they are Bobbletopia dot Com,

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00:23:25.279 --> 00:23:30.279
Megan Hua, Julia Kirsch, Brent
mccallaugh, Steve King, Karen Wee,

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00:23:30.279 --> 00:23:33.680
met Jack Kerr, and Craig Cohen. If you want to hear your

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00:23:33.759 --> 00:23:40.160
name on every episode and know that
you're guaranteeing the spooky comes every single week,

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00:23:40.599 --> 00:23:45.079
just go to Weekly Spooky dot Com, click on Patreon, and if

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00:23:45.119 --> 00:23:48.839
you select the tier of fifteen dollars
or higher, well, I'll be saying

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your name every single week, and
hopefully I might even pronounce it right But

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now, my friends, it's time
to get back to work. I hope

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you're all having a wonder full week. I hope you're staying cool if you're

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somewhere where it's hot like I am
here in Ohio, and I cannot wait

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to talk to you next time.
But until then, for myself, for

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00:24:10.000 --> 00:24:14.119
my producer Dan Wilder, for my
executive producer Rob Fields, and my composer

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00:24:14.200 --> 00:24:19.799
Ray Madis, I will talk at
you next time. Audios, thank you

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00:24:19.880 --> 00:24:26.519
for listening. Make sure to find
your way back next week. But for

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00:24:26.640 --> 00:24:30.440
now, you are safe, trust
me,