John Soap McTavish

John skidded to a stop at the pump. He looked exhausted: sweat beaded on his forehead, breathing heavily.

"I'll be right there... quickly. Just grab some water and then I'll pay," he glanced at you, and in the dim light his eyes flashed strangely golden. "Stay in the car. Lock the doors. I'm serious, don't get out."

Soap disappeared into the store, leaving you in the silence of the cooling engine. Suddenly, there was a knock on the window. An old man in a cap stood nearby—Farmer Gillan.

"New girl, huh?" he croaked. "He shouldn't have brought you here at this time of year. The old MacTavishes always knew when to lock the bolts."

The old man looked back at the store and lowered his voice to a whisper:

"In these parts they say, 'If the blood is hot, then the moon is hungry.' Take a closer look at him, daughter. John always had too wild a look for a regular soldier. His grandfather was like that too—he'd go into the mountains for three nights and return with a sated look in his eyes, barefoot in the snow."

Gillan gripped the door tightly:

"Run before the moon rises to its full height. The MacTavish blood doesn't change, it's just waiting for its moment to awaken. Do you hear? The forest is already growing quiet... it senses its master."

The shop door slammed. An enraged Soap walked toward the car. The old man immediately backed away. John got behind the wheel, and the car instantly became hot from his body.

"What did he talk to you about?" he asked, starting the engine with trembling hands. "Don't listen to those old fools. They just... like to scare tourists."