Joe looked over at his brother, then at the speedometer. They Were travelling through the woods, along a winding road, and he was going faster than eighty miles per hour. "I can't go any faster, just hold on. Okay? Just hold on."

Joe spared a glance at his brother as they came to a short straight stretch in the road. He didn't notice any changes at all, aside from the fact that Mark was starting to sweat. Nothing to indicate what was coming, but that was how it had always been.

Travelling through the pine and birch forest, trying to make it to Susan's house with enough time to spare, Joe realized that he was sweating, too. Although he knew that there would be no moon tonight, he found himself looking hopefully for even a sliver of one anyway.

"Hurry," Mark said, in an almost desperate voice. Then, in a voice at least two octaves lower, "Hurry."

Joe glanced over again, his dark eyes feeling as though they were about to pop out of his head. Mark still looked pretty much the same, except for a slight broadening of his features. Joe's hair tried to creep in front of his face. He pushed it aside with his left hand and attempted to concentrate on the road. His mind crept back to the first time that this had happened.

Mark and Joe were excited about being left home without a baby sitter. It was something about the word, Joe thought. "Baby sitter", who ever came up with that? Their parents were out celebrating an anniversary, or maybe it was a promotion. In typical teenager fashion, Joe hadn't really listened when they told him their plans for the evening.

The boys had watched TV for a couple hours, eaten a frozen pizza, and were now in their room swapping stories about girls and playing Nintendo. They loved the sports games the best. It was still about an hour before their parents came home that Mark started to complain that he didn't feel well. Not sick, exactly, he said. Just not well. Joe turned, flicked on a lamp, and took a closer look at his brother.

"You're a little pale, but nothing serious. What's wrong?"

"Just my stomach, and my head. They don't hurt, but... I don't know how to explain it." Mark's voice suddenly made that odd octave jump, which would later become so familiar, and said in the lower voice, "It's weird."

Hearing his voice change like that brought concern to Joe's reply. "Want to lay down or take an aspirin, maybe?" Mark only shook his head. His hair waved back and forth. That was the first thing that Joe could Really pinpoint, which made him truly uneasy. Mark always kept his hair short, and they'd gotten haircuts after school just a couple days before. Mark's hair shouldn't have flopped around at all.

It had gotten dark quickly. The small lamp and the flickering light of the TV cast odd shadows around the room. Joe remembered that one of his teachers had mentioned that there was a new moon tonight, and his mind, of its own accord, spat out a rhyme he had learned as a child. "New Moon, No Moon. Full Moon, All Moon." At least werewolves wouldn't be around tonight, he thought. But he had no idea then that there are things just as terrifying.

Mark looked up at him then, but the eyes were those of a complete stranger. They were a flat black color, completely unlike Mark's usual blue. His features were broadened, like those old pictures of Mr. Hyde in the Classic Comic they had in the basement. Joe saw those stranger's eyes and ran for the bathroom. It was the only room in the house with a lock on its door.

"Joe, she's still not there." Mark said, bringing him out of his memory. Joe glanced over and saw that his eyes were darkening, but they were practically to Susan's house. Two or three minutes at the most. He had a key, so it didn't matter if she was home or not. Mark could get into her bomb shelter, and Joe would lock him in until the night passed. Mark stared back out at the waning sunlight, squinting his eyes so that he could look almost straight at it.

The tires suddenly shifted on the road, and Joe nearly lost control of the car. They happened to be on a straight, or he would have lost it completely. He hit the brakes and pulled to the side of the road.

"Flat tire, isn't it?" Mark asked in that low voice. Joe could only nod. His mind was clambering away from this situation and back to that first night again.

Joe practically fell into the bathroom, but managed to regain his balance and slam the door shut. He locked it, both on the knob and with the little bolt lock near the top of the door. He looked around for anything that might be a weapon. He was just young enough then, at only 13 years of age, for what he had just seen to almost make sense.

It didn't make any sense, of course, but his mind was still willing to accept it as real and go on with the business at hand. The business at hand, for the moment at least, was rummaging through his mother's make-up drawer at nearly light speed. If anyone had seen him, he would have looked like a cat burglar on amphetamines.

He could hear footsteps in the hallway. They were getting closer. Not his brother's light, even steps either, but a heavy, pounding gait. His brain was intent on listing the things that he found, "lipstick, bobby pin, eyelash curler thing, cotton balls, tweezers." It kept chattering, even though Joe realized that he wasn't even listening anymore. He gave up the search. He didn't relish facing a monster that had been his brother and using the phrase, "Stay where you are! I've got cotton balls!" He turned to face the door, aware of his heart beat and his ragged breathing. He was afraid to blink.

For a few minutes, which stretched into a near infinite span of time for Joe, there was only silence. Then, whatever, or whomever his brother was started to beat down the door. The wood started to splinter, as Joe watched. He suddenly felt as if he was watching a movie, and he Stood transfixed, even as the wood gave way completely, and a hand came Through the opening. The knuckles had black hair growing out of them, and reminded him of the mustache that his father had been trying to grow. The poor little caterpillar, his mother sometimes called it.

He probably would have stood there until the thing on the other side of the door came through and killed him, he often thought later, but fortunately a splinter of wood from the battered door hit him on the arm and brought him out of his reverie. He looked at the trickle of blood on his arm and then got moving again.

Joe turned to the bathroom window. It was small, but he thought he could fit through it. He was on the second floor, but there was a trellis on the side of the house. Besides, if that didn't work, it was only ten feet or so to the ground once he hung by his arms. It was definitely better than what was on the other side of the door.

He fumbled with the latch, as he heard the door falling apart behind him. He wanted to look over his shoulder, but didn't quite dare. It would be too much like stepping on a crack, or walking under a ladder, he thought. Something that was just tempting fate. Finally the window swung open. He grabbed the curtain rod, lifting himself, and swung his feet through the small opening.

"Mark!" He called, hoping he could get through to his brother somehow.

That deep voice, the one that sounded like the voice of God from all those old movies, answered, "Not anymore." The door buckled, and Joe saw the lock starting to bend like a paper clip. He lowered himself and dropped to the ground, not even bothering with the trellis.

Mark climbed out of the car. He was starting to walk in a strangely hunched over way. "It's 6:45. Only five minutes, man." His voice was desperate.

Joe didn't know what to do. He could lock Mark in the trunk, but that wouldn't hold him once he changed. He could feel the flutter of panic starting in his stomach, but he savagely beat it back.

"Start changing it. I've got a plan," Mark said. Then he turned and ran as quickly as he could into the trees on the side of the road.

Joe understood almost at once. The further Mark could get from him before the sun went down completely, the longer it would take him to get back once the transformation was complete. Joe scrambled to get the jack and the spare out of the trunk.

He was staring into the face of a caveman, Joe thought, the face of evil itself, perhaps. He was reminded again of the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde comic book. His brother was no longer here and all that remained was some sort of giant wrecking machine. The giant started to beat at the window, then turned back inside.

Joe sat a second longer on the lawn, hearing the first crickets of the night starting to make their music. It occurred to him that the giant was going to be coming after him again, but he wasn't sure what to do. He got up to run to the neighbor's house, but just then the front door opened and the giant stepped out.

The caveman started methodically toward him but stopped as the familiar splash of headlights shone across the front yard. Their parents were home. The giant turned his gaze from Joe, to the car, and moved forward more quickly than should have been possible. Joe ran for his life.

Why does the last lug nut always have to stick? Joe couldn't believe it. He had pulled the first four with no trouble at all, but the last one wouldn't budge. He leaned on the tire iron with all of his weight, but it wouldn't move. In the trees, he could hear animals moving about. Birds taking flight, and screeching their anger (or possibly their fright) into the calm evening air. The shadows had stretched to the point now where they had almost taken over the ground. He didn't know what time it was, but it had to be almost sunset. And tonight, there would be no moon. In his mind, he heard that old phrase again. New Moon, No Moon. Full Moon, All Moon.

Sunset held an ominous connotation for him now because that was when the giant came out to play. Once a month for the past eight years, his brother had been transformed into the very essence of evil. Until they met Susan, who was a behavioral psychologist, they had kept it a secret. Joe had never told anyone who had actually killed his parents. Even if he had, no one would have believed it.

Finally, the lug nut turned. Joe spun it loose, pulled the flat tire off the car, and rolled it to the side of the road. I'll come back for it later, he thought. Some darker part of his mind answered, If there is a later. He jacked the car higher and put on the spare. He wondered if a car could drive with only three lug nuts, and decided that he would find out. Something was definitely scaring the animals in the woods. He didn't bother with picking up the hubcap, or the jack. He simply shoved the car until it fell off the jack, then climbed in to start it. It was then that he realized he didn't have his keys.

Susan hadn't realized how late it was until the librarian came by and told her that it was almost closing time. Startled, she looked at her watch, and saw that it was already 6:41. She knew that Joe had a key, but she felt that something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong. She left the book she had been taking notes from and ran for the stairs still holding the tattered notebook.

The librarian gave her a glare, then picked up the book she had been reading and went to reshelve it in the occult section. The title of the book was "Changes in the Tides, Changes in Personality."

Joe spent a frantic few seconds digging everything out of his pockets and dumping it onto the passenger seat before he remembered that he had left his keys in the hubcap. The car had locking hubs, and the weird little key was his key ring fob. He opened his door so he could jump out to get it, and heard a tree crashed off to his right. The giant was coming.

He scrambled out of the car and grabbed the hubcap. As he pulled the keys out of it, he saw the familiar splash of headlights, and for a moment his memories of the past and his thoughts in the present seemed to overlap. His parents were finally home, and this nightmare could end.

Susan had run to her car and cut through the woods on a dirt path that she knew about. Luckily, no one was out for a late jog on it tonight, or she would have been guilty of vehicular homicide. She had flown down that path and careened onto the main highway. She realized that Joe and Mark would be somewhere on it, if they hadn't gotten to her house in time.

She nearly ran into Joe before realizing who he was. Hitting the brakes, she cut the wheel away from him, and nearly lost control. Some part of her mind realized that Joe was moving away from his car. But, why had he stopped?

The passenger door flew open. Joe leapt in and yelled, "Go! Go!"

She started driving again, even before he closed the door. When she had caught her breath she asked, "He's loose, isn't he?"

Joe nodded, and mumbled something. She asked him to repeat it, and he said, "God help us all."

Mark didn't show up the next morning. Susan and Joe had spent a sleepless night, drinking coffee and getting ready to follow any sirens that they heard. But it was a quiet night. Susan told Joe what she had learned about lunar phases, and how some scientists, and many occultists believed that lunar phases controlled not only personality but also the structure of DNA itself.

"If our bodies can be controlled by the tidal pull of the moon, which makes sense, since we're mostly water, then why wouldn't it be able to alter our DNA. At least, in some cases, that has been found to be true. And on nights when the Moon is on the opposite side of the Earth...." She trailed off, letting Joe draw his own conclusions.

After calling a tow truck to bring his car, Joe watched the early news, but there were no reports of anything out of the ordinary. Around noon, he turned the TV to the local station.

"Here's an odd story," the news lady was saying. "Apparently, early this morning, a two local deputies were attacked by what they thought was a bear. Shots were fired, but the body turned out to be a human. The forensics report isn't in just yet, but apparently it's some sort of Neanderthal. Scientists are already speculating that it may have been hiding in the local woods, and that perhaps there is an entire tribe of them in the vicinity. Of course, others believe that this was an isolated Neanderthal, or merely a misshapen person of extraordinarily large proportions. More on this story as it becomes available."

About the author, John G. Nading:

John Nading lives in Boulder, CO with his very supportive wife and three children and spends his leisure time running and enjoying the Colorado scenery. Until the check from Publisher's Clearinghouse arrives, he's working for a software company. This is John's first published work. He welcomes any feedback at: jgnading@yahoo.com