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I returned home that night, sneaking among the bushes to conceal my nakedness. Without my fur coat I was shivering and probably turning blue, but it was still too dark to tell. I glided past my still slumbering wife and closed the door.
I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. The sight gave me no pleasure. The wolf was again gone, but what I saw looking back at me filled me with shame. I was repellent. The thought that I could have murdered my wife and son filled me with a revulsion that failed human expression.
I didn’t smash the mirror in with my fist, or sink to my knees and sob. Nothing so melodramatic as that. I simply swore to myself that I would never touch another piece of chocolate.
I gathered up my tattered clothes, got my pajamas and underwear, then stepped into a hot shower. When I was done, I went to Joey’s room. He was asleep, curled up and breathing normally. The memory of how I had contemplated his murder was like a punch in the stomach. Never again. I would stake Jesus himself before harming my son.