Waking with a gun aimed at my head, you’d think I’d fear for my safety. But bullets stopped hurting in 1908. Since then, any sleepwalking I do ends in a blood bath.

I tried chains. They failed. I tried a coffin. The henges crack too easy. And then it hit me. Vampires and werewolves have it easy.

At first, I thought I was a werewolf, but after I found dead bodies through each phase of the moon, I realized it had nothing to do with the bodies. And boy—bodies were the least of my issues.

After a certain number of people died, a bounty graced a well drawn picture of my monstrous figure on the local billboard near the city hall. And I’m sorry about the leg sticking out of my mouth. That tends to happen when they get stuck. I like to eat them whole.

But this evening feels different. A new moon is in the sky, and that just feels like a call to a new me. Maybe the deaths have softened me up, but man— I feel buttered up!

And so, with a gun to my head, and enough firemen to shoot my own calendar, I think I’m going to enjoy myself for the first time since it happened. They won’t stop trying to kill me. I might as well play along. When you can’t beat them, eat them.