A Change of Vocation (Horror)

It has been a fortnight since I was attacked by the beast. It was dark, but even in the inky black, I could sense its mass before the assault. I was staggered by the blows of sharp claws and a gaping maw. Luckily, the night watch heard my pained cries before I was terminally wounded. They drove my assailant off as quickly as they drug me back behind the city walls.

For days, a fever tormented me. They feared I had contracted the rabies, but unbeknownst to me, it was something more malignant. Still, the town surgeon thought once my chills broke that I had beaten this malady. I suspect he just wanted to prove his foul-tasting chemicals were a sign of his genius.

I, too, was fooled. Over days, weeks, I recovered quickly and went back to tending the fields. I was more comfortable with growing life than taking it. I left the hunting to those who enjoyed that particular form of violence.

Then, one evening, as the clouds parted to reveal the moon, I felt my skin tingle as if I had been in the ivy. The tingle gave way to itching; the itching gave way to peeling. Something deep inside of me desperately wanted to slough off my exterior. And so it did.

Skin gave way to fur. Bones shattered and reformed misshapen, elongated. The pain was horrific, but also exquisite. I was transforming, and a new spirit inside me was filled with joy.

Aside from the joy, I felt a new emotion rising. I felt a hunger as I had never had before. I knew I had to be satiated immediately. I knew I had to...

...devour.