Excerpt: The Wolfman Journals

My name is Jacob Darrow. I now sit here an old man, telling my tale to those of you who would follow me, in the hopes that I will be believed. What I am about to tell you is not myth, legend, fiction, superstition or lies, but the unadulterated Truth, with a capital T. At my last birthday I turned 142 years old. Most people looking at me would guess me about 24 (or so I’ve been told). And even though I don’t LOOK 142, I assure that I FEEL that old.
I’m sure that most of you will probably disbelieve that I am anywhere near that old. I mean, who lives to be over 100 besides George Burns or Shao-lin monks? You know how people think of canines as having “dog years”? I, and my kind, think a similar thing of humans, as in “human years.” And before you scoff, once again, I must tell you – no, I must ASSURE you – that I am NOT human. I am of a race older than humans known as the LUPUS HUMANUS MAIORIBUS in Latin. Today you would probably call me a WEREWOLF.