30 Jun The Wolfman of Willow Lane
“The Wolfman of Willow Lane”
Written by Corpse Child Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/ACopyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on CreepypastaStories.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 18 minutes
I’m afraid of the moon. Stupid as I know that sounds, I am, I’m afraid of the moon. I’m afraid because of what it can do to people.
“Lunacy,” “Lunatic,” both have two things in common. They both mean insane or crazy, and they both have SOMETHING to do with the moon (well, they did back in the day; BEFORE they were just two more words to get thrown around wildly). But just think about it, so much of what we associate with insanity, we attribute to some effect of the moon.
We’ve wondered for years if there’s any sort of truth to it. “Is there?” I hear you asking. Well…I can’t really say, though, I’m definitely considering the possibility. Whatever it is that does it, one thing has been made very painfully clear to me; there are forces in this world that, at any moment, can make themselves known to each and every one of us and bind us to their will and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it.
I want you to remember those words as you read this. I wish someone could’ve told me this when it all happened just a few months ago. It had been a thing for at least a year or two, but it was only a few months ago that things really took a one-way trip to Bizarro Land.
“The Wolfman of Willow Ln;” probably one of Weeping Willow’s greatest headlines since 2019, when a bunch of the kids apparently used to go missing.
I moved into Willow Ln. back in late 2020. The place was exactly what I needed; an affordable roof over my head inside a quiet (well, quiet at the time) neighborhood. People weren’t much the type to throw block parties or neighborhood barbecues or even the types to come out and shout, “Hey there, neighbor!” I know that might put some people off, the utter silent solitude, but not me.
No, I loved it. I moved in from Dallas, and I was in one of the main residential areas; the ones you see closest to the grocery stores, which meant I might as well have been living in Times Square with all the noise and traffic that flew by every day (and would only get worse at night). This, in short, was a perfect match for me. A dream home, if you will.
Well, this dream lasted until at least mid-2021. It was last summer when I started hearing the howling at nighttime. It was loud, too, enough to where I began having trouble sleeping. Thing is, though, I couldn’t just blame the dogs for why I couldn’t sleep. I HAD measures to help against noise — how do you think I made it by back in Dallas?
ASMR, rainfall ambiance, podcasts, stuff like that were things I’d utilized regularly to help me sleep. Occasionally, I took pills as well, though I was told to watch how much of that stuff I used (apparently, it can mess with my natural melatonin AND even serotonin output, according to my doctor). But neither one was working this time.
I had no idea why at the time, but I just couldn’t go to sleep. For whatever reason, my brain just WOULD NOT turn off. And so, after feebly attempting to shut my eyes and get some sleep, I smashed the “fuck it” button and decided to do what any other person in my situation would do; brew a pot of Maxwell House and browse the Internet till dawn. I couldn’t find any real interesting articles on Google to read about or any interesting posts on Facebook or anything, so I eventually settled for binging Hulu.
Thing was, though, even with this, I still couldn’t relax. I felt jittery (and no, it wasn’t the coffee). I felt on edge the entire time, you know? Eventually, I gave up with Hulu and decided to turn on one of my playlists and see if maybe I could just relax that way; just some background noise to stir my brain enough that my body could relax. Well, it kinda worked.
I was still wide awake, but not to a point where I looked like an alcoholic around the coffee pot, if you take my meaning. I couldn’t help but look outside, listening to the dogs howling at the night sky. Looking up at the sky, I could see the big, bright, waxing moon glaring down back at me. I remember thinking how bold it looked, raised high in the sky like that. It looked like a lion who was fighting vigorously to break the confines of the night sky. Desperately trying to expose its full auroral beauty for the world to see.
It was hypnotic in a way. Eventually, the constant howling sort of blended into my trance the way an alarm clock does when you’re asleep, traveling into your dream and becoming a sort of background noise. That’s what happened with me. I was in a dream, essentially. A waking dream. I was fully conscious, yet the world around me was gone. There was me and the moon (and the damn dogs).
I guess I “fell asleep” that night. I guess you could just say I woke up at some point, regardless of whether or not I actually went to sleep, to see it was daylight out. I was still on my couch, in front of my laptop like I was the night before. I’d actually stared up at the moon all frickin’ night. I felt exhausted, obviously, but at the same time, something made me feel somewhat…somewhat invigorated. Like mentally, I was tired as hell, but my body felt like it wanted to go run a 5K or some shit. It didn’t make any sense to me.
Regardless, I managed to slug my way through the morning. Fortunately, I didn’t have to work the next few days, so I thought I could maybe make up for the lost sleeping time. But nope, I couldn’t even settle down enough for a mid-afternoon nap. My body was just too damn primed. Not only that, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t take my mind off of the moon.
Every time I’d close my eyes, even for just a second, I’d see it. It would be looming down, lording over me, almost like it was watching me. I could almost hear it, in a way, if that makes any kind of sense. Probably just an exhausted brain, sure (it’s what I chalked it up to anyways), but I actually felt like somehow the moon was speaking to me. I know that makes no sense — it wasn’t any easier for me to try and understand, either — but that’s what it was like. The moon was calling to me.
“Eh, whatever,” I thought, “just a bad run with insomnia, that’s all. Just grit your teeth and get through the day. Maybe down a few shots of Jack, or hell, glug some Nyquil. Things’ll go back to normal tonight.”
Well, joke was on me. Yeah, I had a few shots of Jack. Yeah, I went out and picked up some Nyquil and took some before bed (even downing almost twice the recommended amount per dosage). No, it didn’t do fuck all that night. I was still too energized for whatever reason.
And the next two or three nights following were absolutely no better. By the end of the week, I was looking and feeling like a 65-year-old man who’d had a hip replacement — despite the fact I was only 20 at the time. I remember it was actually while I was on hold on the phone that Saturday morning, making an appointment with the doctor about this problem, that I would first hear about it. I had the TV on ‘The Today Show’ while on hold when a breaking news broadcast came on.
On the screen was a photo of two teenagers splayed on the ground looking like they’d been mauled by a fuckin’ lion. Their faces were censored, but just judging from their height, I’d have to say that neither one of them could have been any older than maybe 17. The headline read, “Teen couple found dead outside of local park.”
According to the report, they’d been found only about an hour and a half ago. They said police were canvassing the area for any possible suspects who they believed may have been/ may STILL BE lingering in the woods nearby. This caught my attention, sending my heart racing. That park was only about a few miles down the road from the neighborhood.
The broadcast then went on to detail how, evidently, there had been an unusual amount of dogs barking nearby all through the day as well. “It is unknown at this time whether the sounds have any sort of connection with the murders,” the reporter continued, “but animal involvement has not been ruled out. At this time, authorities have advised that residents keep any dogs inside their homes or inside of an adequate shelter. Police are also temporarily closing the park to visitors until further notice. We will inform you as the situation develops…”
I muted the TV after that. I didn’t wanna hear anymore. I was on edge. “What if that maniac’s still out there?” I remember rushing to the window and frantically throwing the curtains shut before realizing that, in my panic, I was still holding the phone in my hand. Sure enough, right as I held the phone to my ear, I was taken off hold, and I heard a middle-aged woman’s voice say, “Hello, Johnsonville Urgent Care, this is Linda, how may I help you?”
“Uhh…yeah…” I answered, starting to feel queasy. “I-I’d like to make an appointment.” “Alright, sir, can I have your name and birthdate?”
As I was starting to answer, I started to hear the dogs from outside riling up again, barking loudly, viciously. “Yeah, uh, Quintel Pierce. August 5th, 199–”
“I’m sorry, sir. Could you repeat that for me?”
“Uhh…my name or—”
“Hold on, sir; I can’t hear you.”
This time I shouted into the receiver. “I said my name is—” “Sir, are there any pets in the room?” I barely heard her ask this.
“No!” I shouted. “N-No, it’s the dogs from outside! Look, my name is Quintel Pierce and—” “I’m sorry, sir, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to put you on hold for a moment.” “Wait, don’t—” But it was too late. Before I knew it, I heard the “Please Hold” message followed by the stock elevator music. I decided to give up after that. Honestly, after the news report, I didn’t feel safe going outside, even to the doctor’s.
So, there went another night; restless, unable to relax at all. Of course, this time, on top of feeling unusually hyperactive (physically anyways), I was also anxious about the deranged freak out there, likely not far from the house, who had just mauled two kids in the park. See, I don’t have a gun or anything — not even a Louisville slugger. I’d never needed one, even as noisy as it was back in Dallas; plus, you know, my WHOLE POINT of coming to Willow Ln. in the first place was to live somewhere with peace and quiet. But now, things were, in multiple ways, louder and more chaotic than ever.
Regardless, I powered through that night and the next. As well as the next after that. The bad — well, worse — news was that I actually had to work that Tuesday morning. Just for a second, imagine what it’d be like to try and sit for eight hours straight, answering phone calls for tech support when you’ve had literally NO SLEEP whatso-fucking-ever for the last eight days straight, all while your body feels like it’s on a constant ‘roid-rage. As funny as that sounds, let me tell you right now, that was TRULY a pain in the ass day to have to get through.
By nothing short of a miracle, I actually managed to slug my way through; helped, no doubt, by the fact that most people’s problems were fixed with a simple “try turning the device off and back on again.” On the way home, I stopped by the CVS and picked up the strongest nighttime meds I could get my hands on. I also took the liberty while I was out to get myself a pocket knife. It wasn’t much, granted, but it made me feel a lot safer than having nothing at all.
That night, the meds actually seemed to work a little, at least in terms of not feeling quite as energized. I still ended up having to take almost three times the recommended dosage before, for the first night that week, I finally got some damn sleep. That said, that was when a new phenomenon occurred. In my dreams, there, leering down at me like the terrifying, enraged eye of God, was the moon.
Though, here, unlike what you’d normally expect of the moon, I could feel some sort of heat, like from a blazing star, radiating from it. It wasn’t overwhelming, but instead…instead it was alluring in a weird sort of way. You could probably go with any number of “scientific reasons” as to why, but I couldn’t help but want to reach out and touch it, hold it even. Like I was a moth, flying towards a 1,000-watt lightbulb.
It didn’t move, yet, it was alive! Actually, looking hard enough directly into it, I saw that it seemed to vibrate, resonating quicker and quicker by the second. Then, in the voice of easily the most beautiful woman I’d ever heard, it said to me, “Come, join the pack.”
I say nothing. Obviously, for one thing, I don’t know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. But secondly, because I’m still speechless in awe of this gargantuan cosmic marvel, this terrifying yet gentle colossus of the cosmos. From around me, I see black shapes begin zipping around me. Circling me. Black, bestial shapes with glaring yellow eyes and long, jagged, ivory fangs; all racing around me, growling.
They get closer and closer. “Come, I call you to come. Join the pack, and we’ll take what’s ours.” The beasts then swarm me, covering me in darkness. I snapped awake after that, only to find that I wasn’t in my house anymore.
Looking around, I found myself sprawled out in a patch of grass just outside of the gate of the park. “What the hell?” was my first reaction. I looked down, and my eyes widened further, seeing that my clothes were all raggedy and unkempt. I looked like I’d passed out after getting shit-faced. Even more alarming was how dirty my hands were. Dirt was covering them all over, in and under my fingernails, and there were multiple splotches of dirt all over my shirt as well.
I looked around. It was still just hitting daybreak; no one else was there. I began picking myself up when I found something that made me both scream and puke almost simultaneously. Underneath me was a half-eaten carcass of a squirrel!
Almost out of some delayed reaction or cue, I immediately began noticing a foul taste in my mouth (and it wasn’t the vomit). It tasted metallic as well as slimy and furry. I gagged again. “Oh my god… What’s going on?! Did I…did I EAT THIS SQUIRREL?!”
Suffice to say, I was well beyond freaked the hell out. Taking one last scan of the area, seeing no one was around still, I scrambled back to my house. Though the walk was only just down the road from my house, like I said earlier, my entire body felt so incredibly sore that the usual 3-4 mile walk ended up feeling more like a 10-mile one while having a 180 lb. Brick of lead strapped to my back. When I finally did make it back to my house, I locked the door — again, something I wasn’t ever used to doing before — before slugging my way into the bathroom for a bath.
As all of this was happening, my brain was caught in a typhoon of questions. Questions like “What was going on with me?” and “What happened last night?” were just the itty-bitty tip of this iceberg. The most frightening of these being the question of what really happened to those two kids the other night?
This was only made worse when, as I was getting out of my clothes, a closer look at the stains on my shirt revealed that they weren’t dirt at all. They were splotches of blood! This made me sick yet again. It was true; I’d done it. I’d eaten that squirrel alive!
More than queasiness, I felt myself become more and more anxious. If I had done that to an animal, then could I have been the one to murder those kids? This inevitably led me down a seemingly endless rabbit hole for the whole rest of the week. Each day, on top of feeling jittery every night from whatever had been making me feel as such before, which was already leaving me mentally exhausted, now I was also feeling paranoid that someone was gonna notice. I was especially worried, though, about the possibility that the police would catch up to me.
I mean, sure, I said nobody was around when I woke up in the park covered in blood. But even still, if I was the one who’d murdered those two before, then I knew it wouldn’t be too much longer before they connected the dots to me. That was probably the worst thing about this whole mess; the fact that I knew, at any moment, I was gonna be discovered. I thought about wanting to turn myself in, you know; spare the extra drama and trouble. But that was the other thing about this whole mess that made it all the more confusing to me; how did I know it actually was me in the park that night?
Yeah, okay, the squirrel was my doing, and sure, the victims had been found in basically the exact same condition, but were the both of them my fault? None of it made any sense to me. I tried thinking about each night prior, about how constantly full of energy I was, despite being half-dead mentally. But no matter how hard I tried, no answers came to me. None that made any sense to me, at least.
That is, except for one that lingered in the back of my head. The events before, the abnormal insomnia, the dogs barking, the murders, the freaky ass dream, the incident with the squirrel; all had ONE THING in common: the moon. I thought again to the times I’d stared at it, hypnotized by it.
In doing this, I realized that each night I looked at it, it became more and more full. This got me wondering. As stupid as this is about to sound (believe me, I was slapping myself just as hard for the suggestion back then), I began to wonder if I might be some kind of werewolf or something. Granted, the only sort of “logic” (and again, using that term VERY loosely) behind this theory was the animalistic behavior and, again, the whole “squirrel” thing. But at the same time, what was it talking about in the dream about “joining the pack?”
I decided to look online at the sleeping medications I’d picked up the night I blacked out. I thought maybe there could be some sort of psychotropic or hallucinogenic properties which might explain the dream — even if the question as to why I had been so restless before would still be a mystery. As I figured, though, nothing. They were just regular sleeping medications, although, seeing that they actually weren’t any more potent than the NyQuil I’d taken before, I was left with yet another question: was it actually the meds that put me to sleep that night?
Like I said, it was a FAR-fetched notion. About as far as you’ll get. But at the same time, I had no rational ideas either. All I had were pieces but no picture, outside of the possibility that I’d murdered two innocent kids without even knowing it and did it again with a live animal. With no other leads, I caved internally and started searching up articles and videos talking about werewolves, their different mythos, strengths, weaknesses, and ways of becoming one and whatnot.
Most results that weren’t about the Lon Chaney Jr. movie just detailed the usual werewolf schtick. “Big,” “Extremely strong,” “Superhuman speed, agility, and senses,” “Extremely hostile,” and the whole “Comes out under a full moon” routine were essentially the gist of them all. Some listed different variants or “breeds” of werewolf, such as the ‘Loup Garou,’ ‘Vrykolakas,’ and even a few mentions of the skinwalker from Native folklore. All of this proved essentially useless, though, for one big thing. All of these detailed the ways in becoming a “werewolf” as either having some sort of contact with another one or having performed some satanic ritual or some shit — neither of which I’ve done.
So, with no kind of leads and starting to feel the onset of a bad headache, I end my search there for the time being. That night, the TV played another breaking news broadcast regarding the case from the other night. This time, though, was different for a couple of big reasons, the first being that this was a report of another body being found half-devoured in the park. This time was an elderly man who was apparently out late walking with his wife and dog when it happened. Apparently, out of nowhere, “Some giant animal or beast jumped from one of the nearby trees and snatched him,” according to the wife’s statement on the camera. She had apparently called the police when it happened — which was only a few days ago at that time, by the way — who then began searching for him. It was only an hour before the broadcast that night, though, that they found what remained of him in the hedge grove, only about three or so feet from the spot I’d woke up with the squirrel.
Now I was panicking. That was on the same night, the night of the attack. That was the same night I blacked out! The room began spinning, causing me to feel lightheaded.
That was it. I’d done it; I’d mauled at least one person to death. Even if I COULD’VE denied it with the kids from before, who else could it be this time?
The broadcast went on to display a composite sketch of the creature based on the wife’s description. Looking at it, I noticed it didn’t really look much like a dog or wolf. In fact, it looked almost like a regular guy, just perhaps a bit hairier. According to the report, the wife claimed the beast was 6’ 4” tall with ragged-looking clothing. She also claimed it was growling at her like a dog or wolf, and she could see it bearing what she described as being “Sharp, ivory teeth and canines like needles…”
The report ended with the beast being dubbed “The Wolfman of Willow Ln.” My heart was racing, beating dangerously quicker and quicker by the second. “They’re looking for me!”
As well as this, though, I felt agitated. Excited. I was shaking violently like I did before, feeling like I wanted to go outside and just start running. Just run and run, not having any direction or destination in mind. Just running.
It felt primal, like an ingrained instinct. It was like something was compelling me to run outside. A force that I couldn’t, nor wanted to, resist.
“…Join the pack, and we’ll take what’s ours.”
I heard the dogs begin barking again, creating a uniform ambiance that ended up making me drowsy. Before I knew it, everything went black for me. I found myself in the same dream from before, staring at the moon leering down at me while black, shapeless beasts swarm around me. This time, I hear them speak, growling as they run, “Run with the pack, brother…” The dream ended as before, with them all swarming me, engulfing me.
When I woke up this time, I was laid out, buck ass nude, in the middle of the alley between the coffee shop and the hardware store downtown. Like before, the muscles and joints in my body felt tight, and I felt nauseous. I ended up having to hide out in the alley dumpster for a while, being that it was broad daylight when I woke up and therefore, people would be out and about. I figured it’d be best not to draw any kind of attention by walking out in the open, presenting myself in the buff.
That said, it was damn near sundown before the activity outside died down, and I’d finally be able to come out and make my way home without being seen. By that point, I was beyond giving a rat’s ass about what’d happened that night or where my clothes went. I only cared about going home and collapsing in my bed. Hell, I didn’t even care about showering this time.
It was on that long walk home, though, that a thought occurred to me. These things, me waking up in random places after blacking out, are happening as I fall asleep. Not only that, but again, it’s always as I’m staring at or thinking about the moon. But why?
What was the moon doing that could cause this, if anything at all? How was it able to do so, and for what purpose, if any? The biggest question, though, was if and/or how could I make it stop if it was something with the moon?
At about the point where I’d exit the downtown area, toward where the park was, I heard a noise, like the growling of a giant dog coming from one of the trees overlooking the street outside the main perimeter. I started looking around, already panicking. Whatever was making that noise was no ordinary dog. It sounded much bigger, much more vicious, and I could tell it was close.
By then, the sun had mostly set so I had trouble trying to see or distinguish much of anything around me. I looked towards the tree from where it seemed to be the loudest. Squinting my eyes, I just barely saw what appeared to be a set of bloodshot eyes glaring at me from behind it, glimmering in the glow of the approaching moonlight. That was all it took for me to turn and start trying to book it the rest of the way back to my house. It was useless, though, as I heard the thing give chase behind me, quickly catching up with me and pouncing, pinning me to the ground.
The creature wasted no time and immediately sank its teeth deep into my shoulder. I felt excruciating pain shoot through my right arm before going limp. I shrieked and howled in pain, frantically clawing at him from behind with my good hand to try and pry him off of me. I finally succeeded by jabbing my thumb into his left eye, causing him to let out a dog-like yelp of pain and recoil. I turned around and saw the beast for the first time.
Sure as hell, this was the same creature that was described in the sketch on the news. But this wasn’t a beast or werewolf at all standing in front of me. This was a man. Just an average (albeit rather tall and hairy and a bit more muscular) man, likely no older than 35. Despite this, his behavior was like that of an animal. He glared at me, growling as he clutched the eye I’d put out. Before I could try and make another break for it, he was on me again.
With a hard swipe of his left hand, like it were a giant claw, I was knocked once more to the ground. He then straddled me and began clawing and scratching viciously at my face. With every swipe, I heard him growl and roar to the air, his own howls joining the chorus of the dogs.
Everywhere across my body felt weak. My vision began to blur with each crushing blow dealt to my head. “I’m done for…” I thought as I slowly slipped from consciousness. That, I think, was the first time in those couple of weeks since all that shit started that I slipped unconscious without dreaming of the moon.
I woke up, surprisingly enough, I don’t know exactly how much later, to a police officer shaking me awake. “You okay, sir?” he asked. I groaned, stirring awake painfully.
“Wh-What the hell happened?” I asked. I raised my neck up to look around. I was still outside the park perimeter where I’d been attacked. As well as this, I was still completely naked. “What happened, what’s goin’ on?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
I told him I’d been attacked by a mugger who must’ve taken my clothes after beating me to a pulp. When asked for a description, I kept the details as simple as possible; tall, strong, fast, and hairy. For obvious reasons, I didn’t say it was ‘The Wolfman’ that attacked me. I knew they wouldn’t believe it. Not only that, but in all honesty, I didn’t really believe it, either.
Not then, anyway…
I didn’t see a ‘Wolfman’ attack me. He was just a guy, right? Just a deranged freak with an animalistic bloodlust driving him, likely due to some split personality. But then, that begs the question about me, doesn’t it? Could I also be suffering from something similar?
For the record, I’ve never once been known to exhibit any sort of symptoms of mental illness. Sure, certain ones were known to begin almost spontaneously, almost out of nowhere. But that wasn’t the case here, something I realized a while later after returning home from the incident.
See, after all of that, believe it or not, all my sleeping problems were gone. From that day onward up to the present as I’m writing this, I’ve been able to sleep just fine. I also noticed the dogs weren’t barking anymore. It was quiet again, just like when I first moved to Willow Ln.
It was this past Monday, though, that it started happening again. All through the day, I’d felt just fine. But come nightfall, I felt more agitated and energized than a 10-year-old hopped up on too much caffeine. I began having the dreams again, too, not long after. It, the moon, keeps calling out to me, summoning me to “Join the pack.” I still don’t entirely know what that’s supposed to mean, but one thing has occurred to me.
Whoever this ‘Wolfman’ is, could it be possible that he was just like me at one point, a sane, normal, and stable individual? Could he, too, simply be a victim of the same sort of psychological avalanche I was? This brings me to the bigger, and much scarier thought; could someone else be next to fall under the moon’s influence, turning them into a deranged animal?
Regardless, I’ve locked all of my doors, and I’ll be locking and pulling the curtains on all the windows, too, when I finish. The dogs have started barking again. I don’t want to see the moon tonight, or any other night, really. It’s too bright, too full.
I-I’m scared of the moon…
🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available
Written by Corpse Child Edited by Craig Groshek Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek Narrated by N/A🔔 More stories from author: Corpse Child
Publisher's Notes: N/A Author's Notes: N/AMore Stories from Author Corpse Child:
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