Gathering a few battered books on mythology and the occult in front of him—ranging from dusty tomes on possession to thin booklets on vampirism and lycanthropy—William settled at a secluded table in the university library. Around him, silence reigned, broken only by the rustling of pages and the occasional footsteps of the librarian somewhere in the distance. Propping his chin on his hand, William stubbornly flipped through the pages in search of answers.
There weren't many books on these topics here—just a couple of obscure editions clearly not intended for a wide audience. Probably for the best, he thought; it would be strange if the university had an entire section labeled "Monsters and Curses." He had to make do with what was available and hope for luck.
"Lower-ranking vampires and newly turned ones can't walk in daylight," he muttered, tracing a finger along the line. He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and turned the page. "Well, that's clear, so we can rule out vampires… Too bad," he smirked to himself, "I thought I'd get a cool Eastern European accent."
He made a note in his notebook and, lost in thought, momentarily fixed his gaze on the window, where rain was beginning to drizzle. A gust of wind made the branches of a tree scratch against the glass, causing William to flinch involuntarily.
Turning another page, his eyes landed on a faded title: "Therianthropes." He straightened, feeling something stir within him at the mention of the word. The book detailed creatures that combine human and animal traits, claiming that therianthropes could be associated with any animal—from eagles to hippos—and often hide among ordinary people. Examples were drawn from the myths of Ancient Egypt: Anubis, Set, Bastet.
"So…" he whispered, jotting down quick notes. "They are born, not made… Traits can manifest in childhood or adulthood… Some are weak, some are strong… Origins unknown…"
He reread a passage: "Therianthropes are more dangerous than any werewolf, as they are not dependent on the moon and are invulnerable to silver. They can hide among humans, waiting for the right moment. However, beware of insulting them, for the beast within does not forgive slights; it will seek revenge."
William froze, his hand trembling as the pencil slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with a dull thud. In the quiet library, the sound rang out sharply. He quickly picked up the pencil, but his hands shook slightly.
"If I'm one of them… should I now fear my own feelings?" he whispered anxiously, staring at the table. "Am I going to sneak up on those who don't say 'hello' to me every night? What a prospect…"
He tried to smile to lighten the tension, managing a crooked grin:
"Although if I accidentally take out my old chemistry teacher, I doubt anyone would complain…" He shook his head, scolding himself. "What a thought, Will. She's a person too; enough of that."
At that moment, a cheerful voice unexpectedly rang out behind him:
"What are you reading, Will?"
William jumped, nearly falling over. He turned sharply and saw Grace, who was already lowering herself into the chair beside him, grinning slyly. His heart raced in his chest, and he exhaled in a flustered manner:
"Grace! Are you crazy? What's with the sneaking up? I almost had a heart attack!"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she replied playfully, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
Grace reached for one of the books and, smiling even wider, read the title aloud:
"Monsters for Dummies? William, are you planning to howl at the moon?"
"Give me that!" he snapped, snatching the book from her hands and hurriedly covering his notes with his palm, as if fearing she would read more.
"Oh, come on," Grace laughed. "I was just asking. Or are you really hiding something?"
"No, I'm just…" he hesitated, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Just curious. That's all."
"Max said you suddenly got interested in all this mysticism," Grace observed, casually flipping through the pages of the book as if searching for something for herself. "Honestly, I didn't believe him at first."
"Is there anything that blabbermouth doesn't tell you?" William shot back irritably, quickly putting his notes away in his backpack and stealing a glance at her. "Like a little dog… always bringing things back."
Grace set the book aside, adjusted the rubber band on her wrist, then her bracelet, and replied nonchalantly, "No, he shares literally everything. Once, he spent an entire week discussing his flatulence with me—in detail. And diarrhea to boot."
William grimaced, as if he had just heard something particularly unappetizing.
"Tough luck for you," he said sympathetically.
"Yeah," Grace nodded, leaning back in her chair and staring intently at William. "So why are you into this? Don't tell me you watched a horror movie and now want to study monsters. There has to be a better reason—come on."
The young man gritted his teeth, mentally cursing Max and trying to come up with a plausible excuse on the fly. He stared at his hands, nervously squeezing the pen, and finally blurted out, "I… want to make a movie. Well, by myself. I'm looking for inspiration."
He said it in a way that even he didn't believe himself. Grace squinted, assessing him from head to toe, and then leaned forward, almost close to his face. Her earrings jingled slightly, and she smelled of lavender and something sweet, herbal.
"Really? That's pretty cool… if you're not lying," she said, pausing for effect. "But honestly, you seem more like someone trying to figure out what's happening to you after being bitten. Is that it?"
William choked on his breath, looked away, heat flooding his cheeks.
"Grace… I… well…" He tried to organize his thoughts, but the words tangled.
Grace didn't back off; instead, she slowly ran her fingers along her neck, making the golden light of the lamp dance on her skin, rendering it almost translucent. William suddenly realized he could hear the steady rhythm of her pulse—and that strange, intoxicating scent of lavender and lemon balm became almost overwhelming. He swallowed and tried to turn his nose away, but couldn't.
"So, William," she whispered, "Have you felt like you want human blood lately? Or maybe to tear someone apart and then sink your teeth in?"
He leaned back abruptly in his chair, nearly crashing into the bookshelf behind him.
"You're too close," he whispered, trying to sound calm, though his voice trembled.
Grace suddenly smiled wider, noticing the change in his expression.
"Oh, so you have amber eyes!" she exclaimed curiously, removing a silver cross from a thin chain around her neck. "Will you hold this for me?"
William hesitantly took the cross in his palm. The cold silver pleasantly pricked his skin, and he felt relieved when nothing happened.
"Um… it's a beautiful cross," he mumbled, examining the intricate intertwining of Gothic lines.
Grace watched his reaction closely, then with a light sigh, took the jewelry back, quickly fastening it around her neck.
"Here's the thing: I was hoping you'd turn out to be a real vampire or, at the very least, a werewolf. That would have been interesting."
William jumped in surprise, his eyes widening.
"What?!"
Grace laughed brightly, almost childishly, giving him a playful slap on the shoulder.
"Relax, it's just silver! I didn't put mercury in your hand."
He was about to argue when a cautious voice came from behind. A shy girl with long chestnut hair, carefully styled, stepped closer and, nervously fiddling with the edge of her sleeve, said,
"Excuse me, William… you're being called to the dean's office. It's very urgent. They ask you to come immediately."
Grace immediately turned to Layla with interest, raising an eyebrow playfully.
"William, what did you do to get called in? Did you accidentally make a hole in the girls' shower? I heard someone broke it recently…"
Layla barely suppressed a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.
"Grace, I hope you bite your tongue one of these days," William said through clenched teeth as he jumped up from his chair and began gathering his things.
"Whatever they accuse you of, deny everything!" Grace shouted after him, waving her hand and winking playfully.
He didn't turn around but gave her the middle finger, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him, twitching into a smile as he headed down the corridor with Layla.
******
Next to the dean's office, an elderly woman was already waiting for William—stern yet clearly anxious. She wore a dark blue blazer with gold buttons, and her gray hair was neatly gathered in a bun. Upon seeing him, she stepped forward, clutching a folder in her hands and speaking in a quiet, slightly trembling voice:
"Mr. Farrow," she glanced around and lowered her voice, "I called you because two detectives have been asking about you. They're in my office right now and want to speak with you… privately."
The woman gently patted him on the shoulder for encouragement and gestured for him to follow her. William obediently moved down the long corridor, feeling a wave of nausea and anxiety rising in his throat. Just a moment ago, he had been thinking about his upcoming class, and now… images of his less-than-stellar actions flashed one after another in his mind.
"God…" he whispered, barely audible, struggling to control his panic. "What do they want? What if they know everything? Should I just run now? Push this woman away and jump out the window…" His inner voice pressed on, the suggestions growing more insane. He gripped the strap of his backpack so tightly that his fingers turned white.
The woman noticed his state and, stopping at the door, said softly,
"Mr. Farrow, don't worry so much. The police just want to ask you about the recent… um… events that happened on the road you usually take to the university."
She tried to smile, but it came out strained. Opening the door and letting him go ahead, she whispered,
"I'm sure it will be fine."
"That's what I'm afraid of…" William thought, forcing a smile as he stepped into the office. Inside, under the dim light of a lamp, two people were already waiting for him: a woman and a man, both in dark, formal suits.
William's eyes nervously darted around the room. He felt like a cornered animal: there was a heavy oak table, a massive cabinet over there, and the window was covered with a thick curtain. "Trapped," flashed through his mind.
The man was the first to rise from his chair, extending his hand with a smile.
"I'm Detective Sam," he introduced himself cheerfully, "and this is my partner, Detective Anna. Nice to meet you… William, right?"
The young man paused for a second but quickly replied, almost shouting,
"Y-yes! I'm William Farrow, very nice to meet you!" He shook the outstretched hand, feeling a sticky sweat on his palm.
"Good grief, William, you might as well say, 'I'm the psycho who bit two people, come find me!'" his inner voice mocked him. Anna slightly tilted her head but didn't extend her hand—she simply looked at William intently, trying to peer into his soul.
Sam clapped him on the shoulder and, with a playful smile, seated him in a hard wooden chair.
"Relax, kid! We're not here for you… unless, of course, you want to confess to something?"
He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his eyes playfully.
"Ha-ha, no, nothing like that, just… I suppose I love pizza with pineapple," William tried to joke, scratching his cheek and forcing a nervous laugh.
Anna, maintaining her intense gaze, asked calmly, "William, tell me, have you lost your wallet in the last few days?"
William felt a growl stir within him. He clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. Thoughts raced through his mind: "They know! No… just the wallet. Stay calm. Don't lie too much. Act dumb… I mean, behave like usual!"
He took a deep breath and, feigning surprise, cautiously replied, "Um… actually, it was stolen a couple of days ago near Castle Street. But I didn't report it to the police… didn't think it was important."
The detectives exchanged glances, and a tense pause filled the room. Sam pulled a photograph from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of William.
"We found your wallet on the bodies of two victims near that street. You probably heard in the news—a man and a woman, a married couple. They were killed… brutally. Did you see them that night? Or did they rob you?"
Anna leaned forward, closely observing William's reaction. He stared at the photo: it showed the faces he had seen just recently—only then they were alive, and fear shimmered in their eyes.
Time seemed to slow down. William swallowed, feeling cold sweat trickle down his back. He pushed the photograph closer, trying to hide the tremor in his hands.
"I… I'm not sure… Maybe it was them… it was dark… I just remember someone approached… then I don't remember anything," he mumbled.
"I'm sorry, I… don't really remember that evening," William managed to say, rubbing his tired eyes as if trying to extract something useful from his memory. "I was feeling unwell… and I had a ton of homework," he added, forcing a pitiful smile.
"Nothing to worry about," Sam replied casually, already putting the photograph back in his pocket. "But we can't return the wallet yet; it's considered evidence in the case. I hope you didn't have anything particularly valuable in there?" he asked, scrutinizing William.
"No, just a couple of small bills and a transit pass," he replied hurriedly, trying to feign indifference. "And… a student ID, I think."
The detectives exchanged glances, and something like unspoken agreement flickered in their eyes. Anna nodded slightly and finally smiled,
"Thank you for your time, William. You can go; we won't keep you any longer."
The young man quickly jumped up, nodded, and practically rushed out of the office.
"If you remember anything, be sure to let us know," Anna called after him, handing him a business card. "Our numbers will be at the dean's office."
"Of course, of course," he mumbled, hastily pocketing the card and disappearing through the door.
******
A heavy silence hung in the office. Sam let out a loud sigh, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his neck.
"With this wimp, we won't get anywhere. He's clearly not the type capable of such things," he said with a dissatisfied grimace. "We've just wasted our time."
Anna, thoughtfully staring at the closed door, shook her head.
"I don't know, Sam… He was too nervous. Even for a student who was questioned for no reason. Too fidgety, too… uptight. I think we should keep an eye on him."
Sam snorted skeptically, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
"Oh, come on. All students act like that when they see the police. They always have something to hide: someone slept with someone, someone's dealing weed… You were a student too, right?"
Anna smirked, recalling her carefree years.
"Oh, I wasn't a goody-two-shoes," she admitted with a slight smile. "But this guy's nerves are clearly not from cheating. I'd at least watch him for a couple of days."
Sam sighed dramatically and lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag.
"Well great, now I have to keep an eye on this wimp too… You're going to drive me to the grave, Anna."
"At least it won't be boring," she winked, getting up from her chair.
******
Meanwhile, William raced down the corridor, feeling the blood pounding in his temples. It seemed that every passing student was looking at him suspiciously, and he half-expected the police to pop out from around every corner.
"Damn, damn, damn!" he muttered to himself, nearly knocking over a freshman by the bathroom door. "I've screwed everything up! Can't even lie properly, idiot…"
He burst into the empty restroom, slammed the door behind him, checked to make sure no one was following, and rushed to the mirror. His reflection greeted him with a cold, distorted gaze. His pupils had transformed into narrow vertical slits, and sharp, almost translucent claws were emerging from his fingertips.
"Perfect…" he hissed under his breath, barely recognizing his own face. "Come on, William, get it together! If they call me in again, what then? Pretend to be sick? Run away from the city?"
In a moment of panic, he ran his claws across his face, miscalculating the force. Blood immediately welled up on his cheek, trickling down to his chin in thin streams. The pain was sharp—almost sobering—but he didn't stop, gripping his face with both hands.
"Get a grip!" he growled, scratching harder. "Don't lose control, you hear me? Don't you dare!"
At some point, he felt the claws dig too deep, his fingertips pressing into slick, warm flesh. He jerked his hands back, gasping, and stared in horror at his reflection. His cheeks were mangled, the skin hanging in tatters, and his face had turned into a bloody mess.
"Damn, I look like Freddy Krueger," he croaked, struggling to catch his breath. "What a sight… just what I needed."
He turned his head, watching the blood run down his neck. But in the next moment, the wounds began to heal right before his eyes. First, the deepest cuts disappeared, then the skin slowly started to regenerate, returning to its former color. Within a minute, there was no trace of the wounds left—only a slight tingling sensation and blood on his fingers.
"Well, at least something good," he said with relief, examining his clean, almost renewed face. "Claws and regeneration… Turning into some kind of freak superhero."
He struggled to wash his hands and face, meticulously wiping away the remnants of blood, and looked himself in the eyes. His cat-like pupils gradually blurred, returning to a human form.
"Alright…" he sighed, drying his hands with a paper towel. "I need to get it together. I can't let them catch me again. No way… and for that, I need to come up with a plan!"