Creative Writing: Werewolf Gregory Lycaon shivered as a slow chill crept across the room. He could feel his muscles tensing; he clenched his fists and shut his eyes so tightly they hurt--please, don't let me remember. Gregory slowly opened his eyes and glanced out the window at the thankfully black, moonless sky. He tentatively uncurled his fists and began to examine his hands. The long, thin fingers, which now appeared to be quite elegant, had not or could not have been responsible for the ghastly scenes that kept recurring in his nightmares. Oh, the nightmares! The vivid images of running through the dense woods, in search of p