The massive cast iron pot hoisted over the hearth started to rumble and shake violently, waking the dog and causing her to bark suspiciously at the sound. I groaned, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and sat upright peering at the source of the Norwegian Elk Hound’s agitation. It only took mere second for my brain to catch up with what was going on — the egg must be hatching! It’s never been this restless…

“Shh, Dagmar,” I coo softly at her, reaching out a hand to give her some soothing head pets, “Thank you for waking me up… that’s a good girl, good dog.”

Content with the praise I’ve given her, Dagmar huffed through her snout and ceased her barking. I threw my feet off the couch and slipped on my house shoes before cautiously approaching the sputtering pot. It shook with such ferociousity, threatening to upturn itself. I quickly grabbed a nearby oven mitt and used it to peek inside.

Within the smoldering depths was that same egg: thick aubergine colored scales lined the ovoid shape and there was a sizable crack running from its tip to its center. It continued to shake and stir around in the pot, but, after deciding it probably wouldn’t hop out, I placed the hot cast iron lid in the brick flooring of the hearth and squatted down in front of it. Dagmar sniffed nervously at my shoulder, whining a little as she eyed the egg as well.

Then there was a loud crackle, followed by a hiss as a chunk of eggshell flung across the room, leaving a small hole in its wake on the egg. Dagmar growled and shushed her again, eliciting another soft, worried whine; she sat down and continued to watch with me.

Over the course of ten minutes it was more of the same: cracking noises and eggshells being sloughed off or thrown across the cabin. It was only when a small, scaled amethyst claw poked out of the egg. This was followed by another claw, then a little serpentine tail… before, finally, the little drake’s head popped out. It blinked open its bright emerald eyes and cried out, scampering out of the remnants of its shell and into the pot proper. I scrambled to get the oven mitts and scoop the baby into my hands, which it thankfully allowed. The little dragon gazed up at me, only about the size of a large breed newborn puppy, its forked red tongue tasting the air, investigating its surroundings.

My heart lit up with adoration for the tiny fella.

“Hey, little guy…” I breathed, awing at the tiny drakeling as it unfurled its small, leathery wings and gave them a experimental flap. It continued to watch me, those big green eyes curious and full of newborn wonder.

Dagmar huffed beside me and I let out a small chuckle, turning to the dog. I presented her the tiny dragon and she sniffed it, her wet nose brushing against the little one’s scaled snout. Thankfully, the dragon wasn’t piping hot anymore, so the temperature didn’t bother the hound; she even gave him a tiny lick, which garnered her an appreciative hiss from the drake.

“Yes, they’re a little baby, Dagmar. Your new sibling! Isn’t that exciting?” I spoke to the dog and she just stared at the little creature, her curled tail wagging. I turned my attention back to the dragon and juggled it carefully as I eased the oven mitts off, letting the tiny drake feel my body heat.

“I know it’s not as warm as a mama dragon,” I began as the little purple dragon padded its clawed feet over my palms, “But it’s all I’ve got. Dagmar and I are gonna take good care of you, okay?”

Then the drake chirruped; it was a bright, bird-like noise. I smiled at the baby and nodded, “Good. Now we’ve got to think of a name… something fitting those pretty purple scales and big green eyes.”

The dragon started scaling my arm, its claws poking through my knitted sweater. I held back a yelp as it explored my body like a jungle gym, finally sliding down my front and causing me to fall back, into a sitting position. It curled up in my laugh and all I could do was chuckle.

“You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?” I stated that more than asked. The drakeling snuggled against my belly and chirped. I scritched lovingly on its little head, thinking. What name could possibly be good enough for this baby dragon? I didn’t know the gender of the little beast, and I was wanting a more unisex name anyway. I wasn’t sure how to even tell male and female dragons apart… until they, well, either laid an egg or didn’t.

“What about… Zurple!”

Dagmar whined in distaste beside me and I frowned at her, “Oh, everyone’s a critic. What’s wrong with Zurple?”

She stared at me, her judgmental brown eyes were more than enough for me to drop the name.

“Okay, okay… no to Zurple. What about… Zephyr?”

Dagmar didn’t react, which was a step in the right direction. I looked back down at the cuddly little dragon, “What do you think? Do you like Zephyr?”

It looked back at me with those big shiny emerald eyes. It slow blinked and then let out a tiny yawn. Adorable.

“Well go with Zephyr for now, then. Hatching is hard work! You deserve a little snooze.” I picked up the tiny creature and nodded to Dagmar as I stood, “Come, girl. Let’s go snuggle and get warm in the bed.”

Dagmar barked softly in agreement and we made our way to the bedroom. I fussed one-handed with the radiator until the ancient thing turned on and plopped the little drake onto the head of the bed, between the two pillows. Sleepily, it watched as I climbed under the covers and Dagmar joined, tucking herself close to the little dragon. I reached over and stroked the dragon’s spine, coaxing it back to sleep and helping it maintain a nice body temperature.

“Goodnight, little Zephyr. Goodnight, Dagmar.” I yawned, closing my eyes and falling back into a deep sleep.

It has been weeks since the attack. The gnarled wound has only gotten worse — where it first wept blood it now leaks black ichor; part of it is always open, always shedding that foul liquid. Some of the wound has healed in warped, scaled scabs… the veins surrounding the slash are dark and bulging. It has an odor akin to rotting meat mixed with something acidic, sour.

But it wasn’t all bad. I no longer need my glasses. Everything that was once blurry I see in unmistakable high-defintiton. Colors are brighter, too; almost more vivid, even on a dreary day. It’s not just my sight, but every other sense has heightened. Yesterday, I was able to correctly guess what Alan had for breakfast based on his breath from across the room at around 4 o’clock. It’s not like he stank of coffee, sausage, and eggs… but I could smell it with such clarity. Some foods I can tell are fresher than others, too. It’s like I’m becoming hypersensitive. The most annoying had to be my hearing. Everything was so… loud, no matter what time of day. I can hear my neighbors bicker with each other before bed through my walls; I can hear someone’s tv playing reruns of old sitcoms above me at a level of detail I just do not care for.

I wasn’t expecting the teeth, though. I had first discovered my newfound fangs about a week in after some near migraine-inducing pain that ended with my canines just falling out into the sink while I brushed my teeth one morning. I panicked, of course… dentistry is expensive, plus I hadn’t done anything to provoke losing two teeth at once! As I squabbled with myself I noticed blood pooling in my mouth… I spit, rinsed, and checked my mouth to find two pricks of teeth rapidly pushing through the gums. In awe I watched them quickly fill in the gaps left by my old teeth within a span of maybe two minutes. I’m used to them now, for the most part… lets just say biting your tongue is now twice as fun with fangs.

Taking care of the wound is tricky. I can’t go to a doctor again after visiting the ER weeks ago and getting laughed at point-bank because I said I was attacked by a monster in the woods. Stupid, I never should have admitted that. They tried to put me in the psych ward and label my wound as self-inflected. Um, no? It hurts, though. Like a burning ache that drills into the bone and sinew. I go through multiple wraps a day as the black blood seeps through the bandages at a rate I can barely keep up with…

Just what attacked me?

I don’t remember much about that night. It was late and I took the woods as a short-cut to my apartment complex after having a few drinks with my coworkers. It wasn’t a big deal, I did it all the time — I knew the woods like the back of my hand. Or at least, I thought I did. I wasn’t exactly drunk out of my mind… but I was a little more that buzzed. All I truly recall is making my way about a third in, hearing a twig snap near me and then a big, shadowy figure appearing behind me when I turned. It was amorphous, like liquid night, with two piercing yellow pin-prick eyes. It stared at me and I stared at it. Then I screamed and everything happened so fast.

I was thrown to the forest floor with such a force all the air within me escaped me. Sharp, wet claws gripped my sides, anchoring me to the ground as I struggled violently albeit uselessly against the monster. I kept screaming until a slimey goo-ridden hand was slapped over my mouth, muffling any noise I made. Then there was a sharp pain in my arm and like the wind it vanished… leaving me bloody and covered in black tar in the dirt.

I’ve rolled around the memory in my mind multiple times, but I can’t really pin-point what the monster was. Werewolf? No, not exactly. Alien? Perhaps, but I can’t be too sure.

All I know is that I’m changing… and with each passing day I learn something new about the predicament of my new life. I will never be the same.

I’ll never be human again.

But is that such a bad thing? If you were to ask me how I’d react to slowly turning into a creature I’d probably say I’d panic… but, I’m not panicking. At most I feel mildly inconvenienced, mostly due to the wound on my arm. Did the monster in the woods even mean to attack me? Maybe I could find it again and ask… who knows?

All I do know is I’m changing and fast… and if there’s any more physical traits associated with this change — like turning into a slimy shadow monster — I’m going to have to find a way out of town.

My life is changing and I need to adapt.

I’m no longer human, but my will to survive is still strong.