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Werewolves are real.

It is a fact that people had not known, yet existed. They had been featured in books, movies, games, you name it. Have you ever heard about that Lon Chaney movie 'The Wolf Man'? If you have watched it, have you ever think about the phrase in the movie? I think it goes like this. 'Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright'. That is true in many ways, except maybe the 'wolfbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright' part. You just need a little of that werewolf's essence to become one.

But what about if I say that the movie was not entirely fiction? Well, I can't blame the makeup department of that time depicting Lon Chaney's werewolf being closer to a monkey. It's 1941, so no one would think that werewolves had completely discarded their humanity and became a new being, right? (or maybe the actors did not like wearing a wolf mask because it's limiting their expressions, which happens a lot of time with mascots). I commended the Landis movie, though, to the point where I suspected that Landis himself met one, or maybe the makeup department was secretly a werewolf. Or...they simply imagined it correctly.

Okay, let's get back on track, shall we? Speculations aside, werewolves are as real as you and me, but they decided to keep for themselves for obvious reasons. No one would just look at them and think that they were anything other than the werewolves depicted in movies and TVs, right? (well, except 'Teen Wolf'. That might happen). Also, their world is completely different than ours, with their own hierarchy and their own feuds. And, another reason why their secrets were never out was because of many reasons, but the most common one was that anyone who knew their secrets were never heard of again.

So, in a sense, this expose will possibly the last of what I'd write. By the end of it, I might choose to let my editor publish it or simply keep it hidden. Either way, I am ready for things that would happen next, as I know what fate befell those who stumbled upon this world.

The story started rather cliched, to be honest. I was a journalist who found herself in a world of hurt because I got in the wrong place and at the wrong time, though the real reason was that I got an unhealthy reputation for being a factual person. Basically, I wrote what I actually saw, and most of the time, what I saw was wrong not just to me, but to everyone who cared. At the time of the start of my investigation, I was being sent to the middle Eastern war zone as a war correspondent. The middle Eastern conflicts were mostly between coalitions of opposition against the extremist group that was infamous for destroying archaeological sites as they deemed it to be sacrilegious. This destruction caused worldwide outcry that led to this conflict. Also, they were also infamous for executing journalists and send the videos to tell the world that they were serious. Well, I personally thought that doing that would be akin to shooting themselves in the feet, and what happened was...well, truly gruesome.

No, it was not a personal vendetta against them or just a secret military operation. Some days after the video was sent, a live broadcast by a middle Eastern news network depicted a graphic image of violence dubbed 'The Monster of Syria'. The base of the extremist group was not well-known and it halted US operations until recently, but apparently when the area had been found, it was nothing short of a massacre.

At least a hundred or more extremists were killed in a gruesome way. Don't ask me how gruesome, it's just too graphic to describe. The attack was, of course, the catalyst of the conflict, as it was apparently blamed on the Americans. Still, anyone who saw the carnage knew that US soldiers would not tear people's neck apart and decapitate people sloppily (and sloppy was that it was not done by a sharp knife). No, the carnage was more akin to an attack by a wild beast, but no one would be able to explain how the attack seemed planned. So, it was easier to just blame their enemies than to investigate it themselves.

Then it happened again, this time in the aftermath of the archaeological site destruction. When an American drone surveyed the area, it captured one of the most gruesome massacres ever done in the Middle Eastern region. Just a week ago, that area was swarming with extremists. When the drone came, it was nothing but flesh and blood everywhere. The archaeological site massacre shocked the world, but as of late, it was unexplained.

I was not there, however. I was somewhere in Syria on behalf of Aquarian Times accompanying the US soldiers engaging the extremists. I was accompanied by my cameraman Blake Stills and my partner Anson Lane, taking pictures and reporting what we saw. We were the only people in the office to have experience doing this stuff. He was usually just a regular old journalist who had quite a scoop of anything that happened in Aquarian City, our base of operations. Still, our editor told us that two were better than one, and he did say that we were the best risk-takers in the Times, especially since I knew my way around war zones and he knew the city like the back of his hand.

Good thing Aquarian City had nothing to tell aside from maybe shootings and stuff, which happened all the time and people got tired of the government's reluctance on gun control. One of the office's people would be good enough for it, so Anson and I were assigned as war correspondents.

Now, about Anson. Anson's a mild-mannered man who gave out a commanding persona. He was a basketball athlete in his college years and he enlisted in the army as war journalist. Some of the photos in the Iraqi conflict a decade ago were his. I liked to tease him if he was secretly Superman due to the similarities (he was well-toned, clean cut, wearing glasses, and his 'Lane' surname), and well, he jokingly denied it. But then, like Superman and Lois Lane's relationship, there were some parallels to what I was going to tell. Except...he's not Superman.

Back to our work. Anson, Blake, and I were in an army humvee and we were talking with the soldier driving when the car in front of us got blown up by a rocket launcher. The driver shouted, “Contact!" and told us to take cover. I had been a war correspondent for a while, but this was the first time we had been ambushed.

While Blake looked a little worried, Anson was not and tried to protect us. Well, he had experience, after all. The car was well-armored, but it was clear that it would not withstand explosives, and the soldier knew it. Staying in the car was nothing short of suicide. The soldier then got out and shoot the attackers. But, before he could tell us to get to safety, he was shot in the legs and fell to the ground. Anson tried to help him, but it was too late, some people carrying AKs came to our position and shot the soldier in the face, killing him instantly.

He spoke to us in a foreign language, one that the three of us did not know. From the gestures, they apparently wanted us to follow them as hostages. We complied, knowing that it was useless to resist when we were already surrounded. Still, we would die like the journalists in the video anyway, so why not a little rebellious attitude?

Then what happened next was too fast to comprehend. Just as we were being taken away, a furry hand grabbed the man's head escorting us and, with a swift movement, snapped his neck. As the body fell, I saw the person who saved us. However, he was not a person. In fact, his face was more like a jackal abundant in the wilderness of the area. He was wearing a similar clothes with these extremists, but his head betrayed his non-human physiology.

He clearly tried to communicate, but with broken English. However, one thing was certain. He was telling us to run. I wanted to ask this individual about why he looked like a jackal, but Anson empathetically called us to run. We ran and helped some wounded soldiers to safety, and saw the truth behind the two massacres.

A group of similar-looking people ambushed the extremists and attacked them like ferocious beast. I happened to see someone getting his neck bitten off by one of them, causing me to scream. Anson also looked at them and shielded me from the carnage as we were escorted away by the soldiers.

“Whoever they are, they sure saved our asses today," said one of the soldiers. “Never thought they would be real."

“You know about them?" I asked.

“Someone in the camp joked about werewolves killing the extremists. We laughed, thinking it's a joke. But I think he's still joking. I mean, they are not wolves, right? I know a wolf when I see one."

We got away safely as the carnage was happening behind us. I did not want to see. There was a reason why those broadcasts warned us why it was so graphic. This was more graphic than seeing someone got shot in the head. Getting mauled by a beast was far more gruesome than getting shot in the head because animals would not use machines of deaths to kill other. No, they relied on their claws and teeth to finish the job, and that's what they did.

Then I heard the most peculiar thing from Anson. When the soldiers went away, he said, “Blake, Karen, you need to keep this secret. Please, I beg of you."

“But we finally know who kill those extremists," I said. “You can't expect us to not say anything, right?"

“Just write that the US soldiers do their job. Don't write about the werejackals. Blake, give me your camera."

“What?"

“Give me your camera," insisted Anson. Blake reluctantly gave him the camera where he proceeded to delete some videos that Blake captured recently. Blake tried to protest, but Anson just returned the camera and said, “Just do as I say if you wish to survive."

“Anson...what do you know?" I confronted him.

“Something I have tried to keep secret for more than 12 years," said Anson. “This happened back then, too, during the Iraqi conflict. I vowed to them to protect their secrets and I will do so now, so I beg of you. Keep their fight alive. If not...well, our problem will not finish."

Of course, as a good journalist, I would not be able to be satisfied until I know the whole truth, especially about what happened 12 years ago during the Iraqi conflict. I wanted to know, and I would do anything short of illegal to try and get the truth out of him.

That's when we decided to go out together. To be honest, despite of being a man of secrets, Anson was not reluctant to ask me out, especially after our experience together. I saw Anson in a new light after he tried to protect me from gunfire, and to be honest, even if he was not as buff as football players, he was still a brave man, and I liked men like that.

Anson seemed to know why I was so close to him. He knew the risks of being the holder of secrets and being less secretive to me and Blake, and he did not deny that he was trying to protect the werejackals as they fought the war secretly in their own ways. Again, I must emphasis on my journalist's instinct. He knew more than he should tell, but like a bloodhound, I would not stop until I got the whole truth.

So, I asked him many things about the werejackals. We were basically in public, so anything he said, even if it was drowned by the restaurant's noises, would still be caught by someone who happened to hear it. He tried to avoid the questions by changing the topics, but I would not stop pestering him. Well, I'd know later why my actions were wrong and unfair to him. But until then, we had this little feud where I would try to ask the man something and he would find a good reason to avoid me.

This became more apparent to the point where Anson tried to avoid me whenever he could. When I tried going to his desk, he would just walk away without even looking at me. When I send him a message on the computer, he would not reply. Instead, he would write an article from something he had gathered locally.

Our little feud caught on others, too. First, Blake asked me if Anson was still reluctant to say anything. Then, our co-workers started to know something was up between us two. Take Kimberly, the news anchor and a friend. She noticed our manners towards each other, so one day during break, she came to me and said, “Having a fight with your boyfriend?"

“First, he is not my boyfriend. We just had a date, that's all."

“So, a disastrous date, then?"

I sighed. “Something like that. It's like he's trying to get away from me. He has a secret and I could not know about it."

“Oh-ho." Kimberly looked around and whispered, “Maybe he's a playboy."

I laughed after she said that. “Playboy? Anson, the silent guy who likes to write his article more than flirting like Diamonds from sports? Why did you suspect that?"

“You don't know what a guy is capable of, Karen. Or...he's secretly gay."

Again, Kimberly was not there when Anson told me and Blake to keep the secret between us. At this point, Kimberly's speculations went wild. Still, I simply denied the fact Kimberly said. So, the news anchor just sighed and said, “You...really should find a way to reconcile, you know. I mean, you two are friends, right? Why can't it be easy? Maybe invite him to another dinner."

“That's the thing. I tried asking him about things and he is reluctant to talk about it in public."

“Then why not invite him for a private dinner? Or maybe come to his apartment instead? Now he has no other way to run."

Why did I not think about it? A private dinner! Now that would be a grand way to talk about the secret he was so keen to keep about.

Still, I really hoped that was as easy as I thought. I thought that he would understand my need to find out what he was hiding to the point where I asked for a private talk, but he did not want to. As direct as my message to him, his rejection was also direct. I then found out that I neglected something important. Anson also had feelings, so what I practically did to him was to see him as nothing but a source of information and not someone who wanted to talk. So, I changed my strategy slightly, starting with saying sorry to him. I was a little reluctant to say it, but at least it was done, and he accepted it with a smile.

We slowly mend our earlier missteps, first by having lunch together, then another dinner together. We also had a date going to the cinemas, and believe me, it was fun, unless if it was a werewolf movie. He really hated them.

Then a month had passed, and we started to know each other better, including favorite foods. Anson had no reservations on food and he liked going to a steakhouse every time he invited me to dinner. While our little rivalry in getting the best scoop was apparent, it did not turn into a bitter feud, which was great.

It was then I asked him for a private dinner. Now he was more receptive, though he seemed secretly reluctant when I heard him whisper, “I guess it won't stay secret forever." I wondered about that remark all day. He invited me to his apartment.

Now, I know that a good boyfriend would know how to cook, but he did not. In fact, he burned the food he cooked when I got to him that night, with him giving me the most innocent look I've ever seen coming out from him. We then decided to order some takeaways.

The private dinner seemed more intimate than a regular date. It felt as if he would pop the question sooner or later. Still, he knew why I wanted a private dinner, so before I could ask him about the same question I was trying to ask him every time I met him, he simply said, “Tell me, Karen. Are you willing to keep a secret? Are you willing to bet on your life that the secret will stay a secret, no matter what happens?"

“Why the secret? Is it really that important?" I asked. “And yes. I know how to keep my sources anonymous. If I do not, my sources would end up dead in front of the building's door."

“I also have anonymous tippers, so I know that feeling. However, once you know about this, you will no longer be able to return to your old life. So...once you know about this secret, you cannot back away. Otherwise, they have no choice but to make you disappear."

“Disappear, huh?" I contemplated on that word. It usually meant either given a new identity or...dead. Anson's secret was so secretive that if I slipped, I would die to keep it safe. Part of me wanted to back away, knowing that losing a life over a secret was not worth it. But, my instinct told me that I would regret backing out. I had been a journalist for ten years. Backing out of a story would be like suicide.

So, I steeled myself, grabbed Anson's hand, and said, “I will keep the secret, Anson. I mean it."

“And I believe you." Anson smiled and said, “Follow me. I have something to show you."

We walked to a dark room with dim red light. I instantly knew that this room was where he processed photos from films. Nowadays, people used digital cameras, so connecting the camera to a USB port was far easier than buying a roll of film and do all sorts of things.

But, then, Anson was a traditional photographer who used film cameras. I had once saw him using an analog camera from the 80s when he was taking a scoop. It made him look like a professional doing that, while I looked more like a bystander taking photos with only a nametag detailing my name and profession the only way to indicate that I was a reporter.

Anson took a dried up photo he processed and got out of the room, with me in tow. He then said, “12 years ago, during the Iraqi conflict, I was not just a war correspondent who happened to be in the US army. I was also...a liaison. Given my tour of duty and my proximity to the Middle Eastern community, my community told me to ask for these people to do what the US had been doing: declaring war on terror. However, unlike the open warfare the soldiers did, they did the opposite, just like what they were doing now."

“As a liaison, you mean…"

“Yes. I am not I seem to be, Karen." He then took off his glasses and his tie, but then he said, “Well, uh...I don't really want to rip my shirt, so...do you mind if I change?"

I did not mind. He simply got into his room for a while and got out wearing a slightly loose T-shirt and pants. I wondered if he wanted to get comfortable, but then, I realized why he did so.

I always thought that werewolves changed under the full moon. It was a bad misconception in my part. The full moon only made them more powerful than usual, bordering superhuman. Werewolves called it 'Wolf's Night', as it was the time where they found their mate, or just to mate. Of course, with the advent of extramarital sex problems, they also use contraceptions like regular humans did.

Of course, what I did not realize was that Anson Lane, my co-worker for several years and current boyfriend, was actually a werewolf. His transformation seemed so surreal, unlike the painful ones I usually associated with a werewolf transformation. He seemed to be slowly morphing and growing fur all over his body, while his legs slowly turned into a digitigrade and his face turned from a human form into that of a wolf. He also gained body mass, and the previously loose clothing he wore became tight. After his whole body turned into a different form, he pulled out his tail from his pants.

He was...different. Just a minute ago, Anson was a mild-mannered, well-toned human. Now, he became a well-toned, brown-furred werewolf with a pair of bright blue animalistic eyes. Everything about him changed. He even became taller.

“Y-you're a werewolf," I said in disbelief.

“Yes, I am." His voice even lowered in octave, giving it a deep voice. He then took the photo that he took from the red room and gave it to me.

“Also, yes, some of the US soldiers currently on duty were not what they seemed to be. So, the extremists' accusations against the Army was half-right."

On the color photo I saw a group of people were army getup and smiling to the camera, along with several locals. Except, the 'people' in the photo were not human, and they consisted of different kinds of animals, not just werewolves. One of them was not canine, but ursine.

“Oh, that's Boris," said Anson when I seemed to notice the sole bear in the group. “He is a third generation Russian-American. He does not even have an accent even if his name was Boris. Still, his blood was still Russian, and werebears are common there."

“How about our werebears?" I asked, out of curiosity.

“Mostly mountain men. They do not like mingling with the city folks. Everyone in that picture is still alive and well, and for a good reason. Werebeasts are hardy people."

“And as intelligent as humans are. God, now I realize why you hate werewolf movies. You have how they portrayed your kind as mindless beasts after your transformation. But how about, uh...I hate to say this, but how about…"

“No," said Anson with a shake. “You do not compare us with 'Twilight' werewolves. I think the closest Hollywood ever got on our werewolf form would be 'Dog Soldiers'. Ever watch that movie?"

I shook my head.

“For a low-budget British movie, they have good werewolf costumes. We should watch is sometimes."

“So, I guess you like some werewolf movies, huh?"

“Just that one. Anyway, movies aside, anything you want to talk about?"

“O-oh." I cleared my throat and asked him. I wanted to pull my notepad, but he stopped me and shook my head. The way he looked at me was far more expressive than a dog would be. It was as if I could see Anson's face beneath that werewolf face of his.

I started asking him many things, such as the werewolf community, how their presence influenced everything, would their ability had anything to do with Native American shamanistic rituals, and how long had they been around. Anson, unfortunately, did not know anything about werewolves outside of America, but he knew about Native American shamans and gave a very simple answer: they were different werewolves, but nevertheless had a better relationship than the humans throughout history.

“There are also tribes where everyone in it are a kind of werebeasts, depending on the spirit animal they identify with. Many of them chose to stay out of the human tribes like us werewolves, but they did it because of a reason. Unlike us, they do not have a human form. The legend about shamans wearing pelts to become a werebeast was, unfortunately, a myth."

“So, how do these non-transforming werebeasts cope?"

“By dealing with fellow werebeasts, of course, ever since the time of American colonization."

“So, basically, since you're caucasian, you're descended from those colonists, then?"

“Yup, and so is my blood. European werebeasts have human forms to blend with human. Unlike humans, we don't plan to conquer others. Like animals, we have territories we need to protect instead of expand. If we are like humans, I think this world would have less werebeast varieties."

“Like animals."

“Yeah. Also, we try to defend our territories as best we could, just like those werejackals we met back in Syria. I know it sounds stupid, but it was just coincidence that the journalist killings and the temple destruction were linked to werebeast attacks. The area where the journalists were killed was near a village of werejackals, and some infiltrated their ranks to stop them from knowing the whereabouts of werejackals. Also, the temple was also near another village, and they killed the group there knowing that they would find out. I guess their ways are a bit...extreme."

“Yeah. Killing won't solve things, you know."

“Except to keep a secret. It's not surprising if our existences would be known from the Middle Eastern and African conflicts, but...I think our existence has been out there in plain sight and no one could not draw a line connecting the dots."

“What do you…"

“Why do you think the Egyptian gods have animal heads, hmm?"

I realized that the secret was already out a long time ago, but no one could draw any connections. The werebeast community was so secretive that even the Egyptian gods were dismissed as polytheistic gods with sacred beasts as their herald.

I got some more questions before I just exhausted everything I had. It clearly was a big secret for a very good reason. Still, I wonder. Would humans just accept the fact that their world was not their own, but instead shared with secretive groups of people who happened to be part beast? Would they reject them? It was always in human nature to fear the unknown, and some would simply overcome that fear and strike it without knowing the consequences of doing so. But, like any historical facts, people learned from mistakes to be better. It would be an inevitable part of history, and in modern times, even if acceptance was already a thing, this is far more than just color.

“So, I told you everything I know," said Anson when we finished talking. “Now, let's get down to the business of keeping a secret."

Yes, I had been expecting this. I had claimed that I could be trusted in keeping a secret, but I could one day slip after a good drink. There were many ways to keep it that way. Either I never drink in public ever again, or Anson had something to wipe my memories about this like 'Men in Black'. Of course, that memory wipe was not the option. If not, I would be writing this expose. So, it's either being a teetotaler or...just try to be as good as keeping tips anonymous. They were the choices I got short of being killed.

Instead of those, Anson gave me a choice. He had wanted to do this to Blake, but Blake was not as interested as I was. In fact, he did not even think about what Anson said in Syria after we did not discuss it for a month. He might slip, but no one would believe him. Blake was...not a decent journalist, even if he was a good cameraman.

“So, Karen," he said while putting his hand on my shoulder. “Do you fancy becoming like me?"

This was the only way to keep a secret: to be integrated in the werewolf community. That way, I had a burden to keep it a secret, knowing that this new life was a responsibility I must bear. Anson had told me that there were many American werewolves who started their lycanthropy origin not from birth, but from being turned. Unlike vampires in fiction who tend to look down on turned vampires (there might be a vampire community in the world, but that's a different story to tell), werebeasts accepted people who were no longer human, and this was the one that helped keep this community a secret.

Of course, as my knowledge of being turned into a werewolf were from movies and books, I only assumed that it would leave a big scar, given that I was going to be bitten by a werewolf twice my size. Even the lightest bite would be too deep for a human flesh to not leave a scar.

Then, he gave me an alternative that was less painful, but it involved unprotected sex. Now this was the part where things got really serious. Either I got turned by conventional means, or I risk being pregnant. He told me that, like sexually transmitted disease, sexually transmitted lycanthropy was also a thing. Of course, I asked him if he was positive of any STDs, and he shook his head.

Then he became cheeky and said, “But I'm positive with that sweet werewolf juice."

If it was not dirty, I did not know what.

Anyway...things went and time went on. I really contemplated on getting bitten, but I guess love prevailed. We dated for a while as I became close to his family, who, unsurprisingly, were werewolves, too. Each member of his core family were successful in their own way, and I was surprised that Anson actually came from a well-off family. Of course, there was a slight tension as first as they did not seem to think of me as a good oathkeeper, but to my relief, they did not object Anson's relationship with a human. I was particularly close to Anson's mother, who tried her best to ease up the eventual responsibility I must bear. I knew that they were not trying to scare me, given that if I refuse, I would be killed by one of the community's hitmen. While the Lane family was pretty open, not everyone in the American community was keen of having humans intermingle with them. It was for a very good reason. There were many examples in history of opportunistic people taking advantage of local tribes.

The only thing I was not keen upon was their diet. Look, I know wolves are carnivores, and werewolves are not different. They had adapted to be omnivores, too, but their primary diet was meat, and in every family gathering, meat was always on the menu. It was like a Thanksgiving dinner every time we went to the family home. Don't ask me how big their actual thanksgiving dinner was.

If you're asking about halloween, well...no. Even if there are stories about cryptids walking around in their true form in halloween masquerading as their costume, they don't do that. Someone will be suspicious if they realize how realistic the werewolf 'costume' are. There are differences between a synthetic fur and a real fur, you know.

Anyway, things went pretty well for us. Anson was a lovable werewolf who understood that I was not ready. Even if our work did not change that much, our love bloomed to the point when I decided that I was ready to bear the responsibilities. We got engaged three years after we first hooked up.

Then, three months later, we got married, and guess what we did on our honeymoon? Of course, this sex was not the first we had between us, but in those other times, we try to be safe. I must say. He was big. I mean, he's big! You'd think a human female would be able to take it. Oh, you haven't had a werewolf boyfriend, then.

As Anson and his family had warned me, a werewolf needed to learn how to turn without the full moon, and to learn how to hold back my animalistic hunger. A turned werewolf was different from someone who was born a werewolf. Basically, it felt like I was trying to learn how to walk after I was a full-grown adult. Still, I adapt well, and as a result, we could resume our old lives as reporters to the Aquarian Times without any changes (except maybe Kimberly commenting that I smell like a dog for some reason, which Anson explained was a side effect of being a werewolf).

Still, as I write this expose, I think it's best if I keep it hidden. It may be better for our community to stay the way it is, maybe for a while longer. Things may have been progressive now, but I think it is not as progressive as I think it is. I just wish that, by the time my children are adults, it is time for us to introduce ourselves to the public. It will be hard, and there are moral implications that I once contemplated 5 years ago. But...if we want to move forward, we have to adapt, even if it means opening up to the people who will not accept us.

So, for whoever is reading this in the future, I hope that by then, the werebeast community around the world is part of our community. If not, well...keep it a secret, alright? Unless you want to join us? There is no other reason for you to read this if you are not chasing us. Also, I am sure this expose is somewhere in my family's estate, presumably in a safe. I told Nathan to keep it safe until it is time for it to be sent. Of course, if you're a thief, I suggest you run.

You know what happens if you don't….