Copyright 2012 Florence Cardinal
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From a knoll he stared down at the ice. Daniel's friend, Pat O'Hara knelt there, feeding his line down the hole he'd just made with his ice auger. Pat had his back turned. He was old, weak, oblivious to the danger that lurked above him. The watcher grinned, showing stained and broken teeth.
Then he dropped to his knees, coughed and shuddered. No! He bent over double as pain ripped through his entrails and twisted his body. For a few moments he fought the change. Yet he knew it was inevitable. It always was. Nothing could stop it. All he could do was prepare.
He hastened to strip off his shirt. Buttons popped. He struggled to get out of his jeans and the zipper closure almost defeated him. Already the change was well underway. His claws caught in the metal teeth.
He snarled, jerked the offending claw free, and pulled the tab down. Kicking the ragged moccasins from his feet, he rolled the clothing into a compact ball and dropped it to the ground.