The Werewolf (final part)

The werewolf hunt had begun. 

We sat in a huddle in a half empty carriage on the 3;23 to Marylebone. I was terrified that every adult we saw would challenge us about the whereabouts of our responsible grown up. Everything that we were doing would land us deep deep doo doo. Just sitting on the train to London was a serious transgression.
We sat in a Wimpy bar on Baker St and held a council of war. Now we were in London all the things we should of worked out buzzed around the table. Getting into the museum would be no problem, it's free you just walk in, but how do you find the black vault. What is the black vault? What do we do when the museum closes? Should we try to get locked in? I was getting to the end of my quarterpounder with cheese before Patrick spoke.
"It doesn't really matter. We wait until dark. We'll patrol outside, the moons close enough to full. There's nothing to eat in a museum so we let it come to us". He hadn't just bought us on a werewolf hunt we were the bloody bait.
We waited 'til after six before getting the tube to Kensington and by the time we reached the museum daylight had been replaced with sodium yellow stain. Trying to stay in shouting range of each other we spread out to patrol the perimeter with Martin about 100yds ahead of me and Podge about the same behind. The day had been unseasonably warm and now a patchy ground mist began to grow. As Martin rounded the corner and disappeared into the mist I heard him scream. I didn't think, I just ran to the sound fumbling with the catapult as I went. As I made it  to the corner a massive dark shape loomed out of the mist and I slammed into it falling back on my arse. My face registered the roughness of its coat as I fell. I was about to scream when it shouted, "Sarge, I've got another one" and that was the end of the great wolf hunt. It was the start of me.
There were repercussions to say the least, starting with being escorted home on the train by a uniformed WPC attracting looks that made us feel like a chain gang. Patrick was sent to a catholic boarding school and we just didn't see him again. I heard much later that he'd become a priest. None of it really mattered. In going to fight evil I had discovered my personal sense of courage and it never went away. I kept my silver bullet.
When I was 16 I left school. I had the little lump of silver put on a cheap chain, placed it around my neck and walked into the army recruitment office. I joined the green.
You see I thought that little lump of argent would always keep me safe, and it did. Through the Falklands and through three tours of Northern Ireland until they gave us blue helmets and sent us to a place called Scevrenicia.
They had us stand picket as men in full body white suits dug around in a pit. Magic died and my talisman lost all power. Monsters don't grow hair and teeth when the moon is full, they put their faces on banknotes and children in pits and the soldier I had become could not, would not, be part of it any more. 
I was a warrior created by a werewolf. Now I am a wordsmith searching for peace.

happy Halloween Cosmofunnelers.