The devastatingly sad fact is I was only two minutes from home. I wasn't even meant to be there. You know that feeling you get when you have done the same thing day after day, and you get the urge to do something different, and when you do then it feels all wrong? That's what I felt.

I remember that night like it was yesterday. The way the freezing winter winds sliced through my jacket, and the way that the trees bent with the same wind. On my detour born of weariness of the routine, every other streetlamp was out and the meagre light from the working streetlamps cast dark eerie shadows on the path in front of me.

My headphones were on, music blaring into my ears. Drowning out every other possible sound. Mum always told me that one day, the volume I listened to music at was going make me deaf. I wasn't really paying attention but I can still remember seeing movement off to my left and telling myself it was just a dog or feral cat.

But it wasn't.

I only lived four streets away from Henry and regularly took the same route. That afternoon on my way to his house there had been road work and I figured that the construction mess would still be there, so I may as well take the long way. Seemed pretty logical right? One way is difficult, so take the easier way, even if it is longer.

Little did I know, I was being followed, that something had been trailing me since I left Henry's house. God, how could I have missed it?

Looking back, it was so late at night, I should have stayed at Henry's. I'd crashed on his couch enough times to know that both our parents would be fine with it.

But I didn't.

It didn't take long for me to reach my street leaving the darkened roadway behind me but that's when it hit me. I don't mean figuratively either; I'm talking about being tackled by something, something big. I hit the ground hard, face first, and the air flew out of my lungs, my open mouth filled with grass and dirt. My eyes squeezed shut and I struggling to breathe. I coughed out the dirt and grass and pulled in a wheezing breath. I tried to roll over, but whatever had landed me wasn't going to let me move.

I kicked out and at first nothing happened. After a couple of tries, my foot connected with I don't actually know what, but the thing yelped and backed away. I seized the opportunity, got up and tried to run but I didn't get very far. I had taken about four steps when it sunk its teeth into my ankle and I cried out in surprise rather than pain.

It dug its sharp teeth in further and pulled me down. I landed painfully on my hands and knees but quickly turned and faced my assailant. The nearest working streetlamp illuminated me and the thing attacking and for the first time, I saw what it was. My attacker was a massive wolf with a glossy black coat, streaked with grey and eyes that were bright blue. Its fierce eyes were both terrifying and hypnotizing at the same time. It still had its teeth embedded in my ankle; I felt the pain but screamed mostly in terror.

The wolf dropped my ankle as it growled at me. I tried to scramble away, but it moved so fast that before I even knew what was happening, the gigantic wolf was in front of me, its lips were pulled back, baring its canines. A deeper growl rattled through it and before I had time to react it lunged at me. I shut my eyes as it rammed into me clamping its huge jaw filled with dagger-like teeth around my shoulder. I screamed as I felt searing pain and the hot blood spilling out of the open wound the wolf had made. As if to silence me, it then bit into the side of my neck and I could only whimper now as its claws dug into my chest and neck. Pain blossomed from each spot its teeth or claws sliced open.

I began to feel numb, probably from blood loss, feeling myself drifting away. I can remember my last coherent thought, I don't want to die. Then the pain was gone, as was the light and the street, all there was - was darkness.