The Blood Of Wolfbane by Joann harris

THE DAWN OF DOOM PHILLIP , was happy now that he had his pint of Old Charter and decided to take a shortcut through the graveyard toward home. He paused every now and then to speak to the headstone or crypt of some poor departed soul he'd known in better days. Then he heard a moaning. He looked around, spotting a huge mound of earth that he did not remember being there the last time he took this shortcut. Phillip decided to take a look. He staggered toward the mound of earth, stopping as he heard a snarling sound. It was muffled, as it came from the grave itself. Phillip decided to take a look. He staggered toward the mound of earth, stopping as he heard a snarling sound. It was muffled, as if it came from the grave itself. Phillip clawed his way up the mound of damp earth and peered over the top, his glases sitting firmly on the end of his nose. And he came face to face with the worst sight he'd witnessed in his life, drunk or sober. A hairy face was staring back at him, eyes red-rimmed and animal-like. The mouth was huge, with fangs bared, drool leaking from both corners of the aperture. And one large hairy hand surfaced from the hole-landing squarely on Phillip's shoulder.

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