Keep moving toward the light

You ignore the noise in the brush and keep walking. The road curves to the right, and as you round the bend, you catch your first glimpse of the light source. At first, it's too bright to look at, but as your eyes adjust, you can make out a large, glowing sphere, eight or ten feet across. The purple light pulses with energy, filling the air with a silent hum that prickles over your skin. Dark swirls and eddies crawl over the surface of the globe, like plasma storms on the surface of the sun. It's beautiful.

Something moves beside the sphere, a dark figure stepping out of the shadows, into the light. You stare, your mouth going dry, as one word springs to mind: werewolf.

Tall, with broad shoulders, the shaggy head turns toward you, pointed ears pricked and alert. He's wearing a brown leather jacket over a black shirt, and camouflage pants. At his waist he carries a black handgun and a hunting knife in a sheath. Lips draw back from sharp, pearly teeth and a snarl emanates from the long muzzle. He points at you, not with a paw, but with a furry hand, each finger tipped in a sharp, black claw.

"Don't you fucking move," he snarls at you.