George Washington Werewolf
found himself obsessively checking his pocket watch every few minutes from six-thirty on. There was a profound sense of the unreal in that cold, windowless stone basement. After all, here he was, standing in the dark inside an iron cage, waiting to… to change . He still found it nearly impossible to believe, especially since his wounds had practically healed by now, not even leaving any scars. But he had seen it with his own eyes; he had felt its teeth pierce his flesh. Washington shuddered, and then he heard himself laugh as he imagined what the Continental Congress would think. Surely if they saw him as a werewolf they would give him anything he wanted!
    And then he heard the door upstairs, the footsteps across the wooden floor, the sound of the padlock locked tight. But he waited until he heard Hamilton leave before he removed his clothing. Then he locked the cage door and placed the key in his waistcoat pocket, and then he folded his clothes gently and placed them on the floor in the far corner. And now all that was left was to wait for the full moon. Another hour. He wanted to make sure that Hamilton was well away by the time it happened.
    At 8pm the clock upstairs began to chime, loud peeling bells like in a church. But before the clock struck four George Washington felt the change coming on. At first his body was covered with sweat, then what felt like needles piercing his skin all the way to his face and into his eyes. Then he started tearing at his own flesh, as if to rip out the pain that was growing more intense with every second. A sharp cracking sound as he felt his spine moving, shifting its position within his back. His arms and legs began to distort as well, the muscles, the bones expanding, mutating into new and terrible shapes. And his eyes became inflamed, burning into his head, so hot as if they’d come out the other side. And at this, Washington’s mind was no longer his own but had become that of a beast. He was unaware of the fur that sprang out and covered his skin, of the hump on his back, of his teeth becoming fangs, of his fingernails becoming claws. All this happened in the mind of the werewolf, and when the transformation was complete all it wanted was to be free. The monster clutched the bars, it tried to rip them out, but the cage was sound. Washington’s instructions to the ironsmith had been specific. And unable to escape, the beast looked upwards towards the sky, where the moon was beyond this ceiling, these walls, and it opened its mouth and howled like a wolf, but with the indescribable pain and unutterable sadness of a man trapped inside.

 
11 April 1778
9 pm
The Musgrave Farm
The first night of the full moon
     
    The house was dark when Aaron Burr arrived. And after a brief search he found the door to the basement. Another padlock. No matter. His pistol was drawn and fired, the lock blasted apart. Opening the door he saw the darkness that lie in wait, so he lit a lantern and held this in his hand as he walked downstairs.
    The room had a musty smell, of mildew and damp, but something else—a kind of musky, cloying, animal scent. When he came to the foot of the stairs he took another step onto a dirt floor. It was soft, and for a moment he smelled the earth as well, but then that strong animal smell again as he took another step and saw the cage. At first it seemed empty, but then he heard a low growl getting louder. And as he took another step he heard a terrible scream and into the light appeared a beast so foul, so repugnant, so startling that Aaron Burr stepped backwards, lost his footing, and tumbled to the floor. And from the ground he heard the rattling of the bars, as if any minute the monster would break through. Burr’s hand shook uncontrollably as he reached for the lantern, all the while the screams and growls grew more desperate. But a moment later the lantern was relit and Burr looked back at the cage. The beast’s eyes glowed red in the dim light, and when they

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