The Man-Beast

Last night, I took an evening stroll like I did every night, when a man ran out of the bushes, screaming "Help me! I need a cure!" The man frothed at the mouth like he had rabies and wore a shirt that was ripped at the ends. Then, he started to change. "Run, before it's—" First, his speech got cut off. Then, hair grew all over his body. Finally, he grew three times his height and hunched over toward the ground. He then snatched me up and I rose toward his mouth—slowly, ever so slowly—and I felt my bones being crunched and shattered in his mouth. The next day, the police were investigating a murder where the killer only left one, single arm on the ground in a pool of blood. It wasn't a murder however. It was a werewolf attack. How did I know all of this if I was dead? I am still out there, and ready for revenge.