And there it was.

“What?” Vincent said, stifling a laugh, feeling himself smile in a weird way. What in the world was going on? This had to be some sort of prank. Maybe his parents had called ahead, letting this teacher know to pull his leg on the first day or something. It was pathetic. Infuriating. He wasn’t going to have any of it.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, letting out a little chuckle. “Good one, Mr. B. But I’m not falling for the joke.”

Vincent didn’t want the same old crap from elementary and middle school to follow him. And now a teacher was seemingly in on the joke. Why was this happening to him? Why! No one said anything, and Mr. B kept his eyes on Vincent, which led to a rise in agitation.

“Stop joking around,” Vincent said, feeling his fury rise with his voice as he slammed his hand down on his desk. “And tell me the truth!” What was going on? Sure, it was frustrating to be dragged along like this, but it was no reason to just lose his cool.

“This is no joke, son,” Mr. B said with seriousness. “I’m telling you the truth. Do you see anyone laughing?”

Vincent took that in, realizing that no one was laughing, except that punk Alacard whom held a surly smile. He gulped, feeling a concerned confusion set in as he tried to piece together the truth.

“I suppose seeing is believing,” Mr. B said, shoving his desk backward with a quick grunt as if it was as easy as sliding a chair backward. He then moved his head around and tensed his body, slowly taking off his shirt and removing his pants folding then neatly on the desk, revealing some sort of gym wear of tight spandex shorts and a wetsuit like shirt.

“W-what are you doing?” Vincent said, feeling himself frozen on the spot.

“Wait and see, son.” He looked intent for a moment, focused on no point in particular, his stance reminding Vincent of someone straining in the gym as they lifted weight.

Vincent watched in horror as Mr. B’s body began to change shape as he let out a low growl. His body violently snapped and shifted and turned and twisted in ways that made Vincent’s stomach turn. Vincent leaned away, almost slipping out of his seat, his eyes wide and jaw slack at the horrible sight.

Vincent’s heart sank, his blood running cold. An overwhelming woody and husky scent slapped him across the face as a monstrous and menacing werewolf stood in place of Mr. B.

It was like the creature from his nightmare. Something that didn’t exist, except for the fact that it stood right in front of Vincent, its hungry eyes watching him.

“Holy crap,” Vincent said, wanting nothing more than to frantically scramble away, to run and save his skin. But he was too terrified to move, frozen on the spot, like a prey animal in the sights of a predator.

The beast stood there, its broad chest rising and falling slowly as it let out a low growl. Then it did something that in the current circumstances was oddly ironic. It spoke in Mr. B’s voice. Granted, it was guttural and low, bestial even, but it was clearly Mr. B’s voice.

“This,” the beast said with a gravelly growl, lifting a hairy hand and pointing a long finger with sharp claw that could easily clasp around Vincent’s head. “Is what you are, son. You’re a werewolf, just like me.”

“I,” was all Vincent could get out as he stared onward at the beast. A cold sweat covered his body as he shivered with intensity.

Thump-thump-thump went his heart. As the shock overwhelmed him, his eyes rolled backed into their sockets, his head bobbling limply, and he fainted.

                                         .           .           .