“Get out of here!” Tammy yelled again.
Another growl. Tammy wondered if Russ had been right that it was a bear. She didn’t know how it was possible. They’d taken precautions to prevent attracting one. Plus, the thing outside was walking on its hind legs. She could see its gait through the flimsy walls, the shapes of its legs—narrow and arched, walking like a man.
But it has a tail.
Its fluffy length was curled like a smirk.
The thing reached the rear of the tent and stopped. Its heavy breathing trembled against the vinyl wall.
What’s it doing?
A hairy hand with elongated fingers tipped with claws ripped through the vinyl. Before Tammy could react, the tent was torn wide. A long, rigid snout pushed through the shreds, its long fangs dripping thick goops of slobber.
Yellow eyes glared in at her. She recognized them from the woods, when they’d been watching her earlier.
Tammy couldn’t scream. She stared at those eyes, unable to believe what she was seeing.
It’s a…
Werewolf.
It looked so much like any of the creatures she’d seen in any horror movie—a muscular, silver-haired torso and thick arms with long hair hanging from the underside like dingy tassels. As if to prove its species, it unleashed a howl that rattled Tammy’s insides.
She rolled over and slapped at the tent floor while she crawled to the flap. Her palsied hands struggled to unzip the flap. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the werewolf, hunched over, entering the tent through the shredded wall. If it got in before she could escape, she would be trapped in here with it.
Her eyes glimpsed the slug-like appendage sprouting from between its legs, a dark sheath of foreskin folding back as the pink, sliming tube expanded.
“No!”
Tammy got the flap open far enough to squeeze through. She spotted Russ’s mangled corpse off to the side, his intestines splayed and scattered. His throat had been ripped out. Then she was on the ground, crawling, knees digging into the coarse dirt.
She got to her feet and started to run. She wasn’t sure what direction she was going. Didn’t matter to her, so long as it was away from the beast.
Behind her, another howl tore through the woods. She felt it at her back, felt the gust of putrid, meat-stained breath on her neck.
Oh, God! It’s right behind me!
Tammy tucked her chin, bent forward, and pumped her legs. Her bare feet slapped the earth. She ignored the jabbing bits of forest debris and pushed herself to move. She could no longer hear the deep breaths and rugged breathing behind her.
She stole a glance over her shoulder. In her bouncing vision, she saw the dark woods were clear. Streamers of fog was all that was there.
It’s gone!
She wouldn’t let the small victory slow her down. She’d seen enough movies. About the time she thought she’d made it to safety, the monster would attack. No, she had to keep moving. Couldn’t stop until she was certain she was in the clear.
Tammy continued to run for a long time. Eventually, she reached a small clearing. She spotted a ruined tent, and a dwindled campfire that was mostly red glowing sticks. Confused, Tammy stopped running. Her lungs felt tight and cold as she panted.
Tammy walked into the clearing. On the ground was a dead body, its guts pulled out and the throat had been gouged into a fleshy gulley.
At first, she thought she’d found another site that had been attacked by the wolf. Then she realized the mangled remains was what was left of Russ.
I’m back at the campsite!
“Oh, shit…” Tammy grabbed a handful of her hair and held it. She’d run a complete circle. “Stupid, Tammy. So stupid!”
She looked around. She couldn’t remember what direction she’d run off in the first time. She picked another route and prepared to run.
Then was slammed from the side.
She went down, sprawling. Her back pounded the ground. The large wolf came down on top of her, its gray fur smearing across her. Strands went into her mouth that tasted like mold. She felt the sticky firmness of its cock prodding her belly through her shirt.
Screaming, Tammy pounded her fists on its head. The wolf didn’t seem to notice. She snatched back her arms to avoid its snapping snout. Teeth clacked together, spattering her with foamy drool. Claws ripped her shirt and bra in a brutal swipe, exposing her breasts. She saw a red puddle beginning to spread between the two mounds from a single, half inch rent in the slope of her left breast.
Its claws swiped her again, ripped a chunk of her shorts and sent it flailing away. She slapped and hit and kicked, bucked and thrashed as the wolf snapped its jaws, teeth clacking. It bit and clawed at everything she put it in its way to protect herself: hands, arms, knees, and feet.
It forced its way between her thighs, spreading its legs to hold hers open. She could feel the tacky plumpness of its cock against her groin. The wolf reared back its head, howled, and was about to thrust.
CH-CHK!
The wolf paused, its wedge-shaped ears, discolored with gray hair, perked up. It turned. Saw something it didn’t like and peeled back its narrow black lips and growled.
A loud blast shook the night. The wolf’s head exploded in a mess of fur, pulpy clumps, and blood. Tammy’s face was splashed in the chunky spray.
The werewolf was now headless, its neck a jagged stump spouting blood. Its thick arms still reached out, hands opening closing as if squeezing something invisible.
The body toppled forward, hitting the ground beside Tammy. Its neck continued to spurt across the dirt.
“You all right?” A man’s voice.
Tammy blinked blood out of her eyes. The man stood over her, staring down. He wore an orange hunting cap, pulled down far enough to push out his ears. He looked to be in his sixties, with a light brushing of gray stubble on his face. He held a shotgun, finger on the trigger. Smoke curled out from the barrel.
Tammy tried to speak, but couldn’t stop crying.
“Ma’am?” The man cleared his throat. “Ma’am?”
“I’m…sorry…” She sniffled, wiped her eyes. Instead of drying the tears, she smeared more blood, turning her vision a splotchy red. “I don’t mean to cry.”
“It’s okay. That fella over there in pieces belong to you?”
Tammy nodded, using what was left of her sleeve to wipe her face. “Boyfriend…”
“My condolences. That damn werewolf’s been causing all sorts of havoc out here. Got a bunch of my cattle. Killed some hikers a month back. One of them was my granddaughter. Been coming out here with my dogs ever since. I’ve almost gotten it once or twice before. I’m all that’s left. Bastard got my dogs.”
Tammy sniffled. “So…it really was a…” Even after everything she’d endured, she still felt silly knowing what she was about to say. “A werewolf?”
“Matter of fact,” said the man. “Yep.”
“You saved me.”
“Just doing my part.”
Tammy felt more tears welling in her eyes. They spilled over, trickling down her cheeks. She was safe. Poor Russ didn’t make it, but somehow, thanks to this man, she had. She would never forget Russ. She would make it her mission to ensure that no one forgot how wonderful he was.
“What’s that?” asked the man.
Tammy noticed he was staring at her chest. She looked down and saw why. Nothing but shredded rags draped her crimson-slicked breasts. It looked as if she’d smeared herself in strawberry syrup. She tried to cover herself better, but there wasn’t enough shirt left to do so. She noticed the slash on the side of her breast. Above that, between her collarbone and the top of her breast, a chunk of skin was missing. She saw circles denting the skin around the wound.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t really hurt.”
She noticed the wound was starting to shrink.
“What the…?”
The man’s eyebrows curled, the tips intersecting at the bridge of his nose. “
You’ve been bit!”
“Have I?” she said. She didn’t feel as if she’d been bitten. In fact, she felt pretty good. Probably better than she had all day. The soreness in her muscles was gone. She felt no pain from her injuries, either. The slash on her breast sealed before her eyes.
Strange.
She looked up at the man to ask him if he knew what was happening to her but her words choked in her throat when she saw she was gazing into the barrel of his shotgun.
“Sir…?”
“You’ve been bit.”
“But…I…”
“You’re going to change.” He jacked a round into the chamber. “Never takes long. See? That one I just shot. That was my granddaughters’ fiancé. He killed the one that attacked him and my granddaughter. But he was bit, too.”
“For the love of God,” she said. “I’m not going to change into a were…” She stopped talking when she lifted her hand and saw how it had begun to stretch. Peach-colored hair was sprouting from her wrist, spreading up her arm like moss. “Oh, no…”
She looked up at the man again.
He jacked a round into the chamber. “May God have mercy on your soul, lady.”
Before Tammy could respond, the man pulled the trigger. The last thing Tammy saw was the flash. She never heard the shot.
Story Notes:
Another story that was originally written for an anthology with a monster-in-the-woods theme. This time, the anthology was canned before I could submit it. I later adapted the story into a script for a short film that I wanted to shoot, but that was also canned. When I first began talks about this collection with the original publisher, I knew it would be one the stories I wanted to include. It’s a bit silly, with an ending that might upset people, but it’s a lot of fun and I had a blast writing it. In my mind, I was paying tribute to Gary Brandner, one of my favorite writers of all time.
The Wager
I’d been playing Xbox for about an hour when Claire came home. She walked into the living room of our one-bedroom apartment, her keys dangling from her fingers like bulky jewelry.
“Hey, Paul.”
“Hey, babe,” I said without tearing my eyes away from the TV.
“Is that the new wrestling game?”
“Yeah…” At least that’s what I think I said, though I can’t be sure. Couldn’t take my eyes away from the screen. I was playing as The Mortician and had been battling Brain Damaged Dan inside a steel cage.
“Want to go against me?” she asked, tossing her keys on the coffee table. They slid to a stop in front of me, reminding me of westerns where the drifter enters a saloon and tosses a coin on the bar.
Pausing the game, I looked at her. I saw flashes each time I blinked from staring at the screen for so long. “But I’m in the middle of a match.”
She puckered out her bottom lip. A trick that usually worked on me, because it meant if I caved, I’d probably get some reward sex for it. “Please?”
“All right.”
“Yay!” Clapping her hands, she trotted to the couch and plopped down beside me. “Want me to join in this match, or start a new one?”
I decided to start a new one. With the game still paused, I scrolled down to End Game and selected it. I did a pretty good job of hiding my irritation for having to stop the match early.
Now before you start blaming me for being an asshole husband, let me point out that the reason I was dreading our match was simple—Claire was better than me at games. Didn’t matter what game we played, she had a natural ability for kicking my ass. I could apply years of acquired strategy, and she’d simply defeat me by pressing buttons in no particular order, following it up with hours of pretentious sportsmanship afterward.
So imagine my shock when I actually won. And not just the first match, but five in a row! I was very humble about my success as I pointed at her and laughed in her face.
“Let’s play again,” she said.
That was when I should have had enough intelligence to call it a night, but I didn’t. I was on a roll. “Aren’t you tired of me making you look bad?”
Anger flashed across her face, intense and scary for a moment. Then it was gone. I wasn’t too stupid to see she was getting upset with losing so much, but I was too stupid that I didn’t stop when I was ahead.
“You’re not making me look bad,” she said. Strands of wavy red had fallen out of her ponytail, sprigs hanging by her eyes. Sweat had beaded above her lip, and her blue eyes were glossy with frustrated tears, but to me, she’d never looked more adorable. “I’m just getting warmed up. I think I’ll kick your ass this time.”
How could I back down from that challenge?
I stuck with the Mortician, and she chose Red Devil, The Mortician’s revenge-obsessed brother. It was a good match, but she lost. Again. When the number three flashed on the screen, signaling the end of the match, I hopped up and strutted around the apartment like Ric Flair, even throwing out some of his prevalent Whoos!
Again, she challenged me, and again I beat her. We kept this up for a long time, only stopping long enough to heat up some microwavable dinners and guzzle a couple of sodas. We returned to the living room with a bag of chips and a two liter for us to share.
We played three more times.
“One more,” she said as I stood up to shut off the game. “Just…one…more.” Her shoulders rose and dropped with each heavy breath.
“No more after this,” I said. “I’m starting to get a headache.”
“Okay,” she said.
I sat back down on the couch, ready to beat her one last time.
On the game, the bell rang. I made my character run at her. My fingers clicked the buttons, making the character’s arm swing out. This time, Claire ducked it. I heard her fingers tap in a combo.
On screen I watched her character duck down, reach his arm through mine’s legs, and catch him. Then he pulled back, rolling my character up. The ref dropped to his knees and began to pound the mat.
I hit the A and B buttons to kick out.
The ref slapped the mat a third time. I was stunned.
It was her turn to hop up and strut. Her large breasts bounced under her shirt, and when she leaned over her pants pulled tight against her rump.
I enjoyed the show, just not the motives behind it.
“Want to play again?” she asked.
Damn right I did!
She won again. What the hell was happening? I’d be damned if this would keep up.
We played again.
I lost again.
Her little victory dances became annoying.
She challenged me again, and I accepted. This time, I came up victorious, just barely. It had been by count out, so Claire argued that it didn’t count. But at the end of the match, my hand was raised, so to me it counted just fine.
“Let’s play again,” she said.
“I’m tired of playing…”
“Tired of getting beat, you mean.”
“I won that last one!”
“That hardly counts as a win. A real win is putting me down for a three count.”
“Technically, I put you down for a ten count.”
“Don’t give me that shit. You hit me with a chair when the ref was down, then crawled back into the ring as he was waking up. That’s bullshit.”
“It happens all the time in real wrestling. Besides, I’m getting tired. It’s almost midnight. I’m off the day after tomorrow, so we can play all night tomorrow night.”
Claire gnawed at her bottom lip for a bit. Then she excitedly snapped her finger. “How about we have one more match.”
“I just said…”
“Hear me out. One more match, and if I win, you have to do exactly what I want in the bedroom…”
I liked where this was going. “And if I win?”
“I have to do exactly what you want.”
“Deal.”
And fuck it all, I lost. I didn’t really care she’d cheated to win, because I still fel
t like I was the real winner because I’d soon learn what secret fantasy she’d been harboring. At times, we could get aggressive and freaky in our sexual festivities, so I was looking forward to what she would say.
Claire turned to me, crawled up on the couch. I felt her warm breath tickling my ear as she said, “In ten minutes, meet me in the bedroom with your cat.”
Before I could respond to her odd request, Claire hopped to her feet, twirled around to face me, and removed her shirt. She tossed it at my head, missing by an inch. Her busty chest was being smothered behind her bra, so she removed that as well. Her breasts fell out, full and springy. Her nipples were tiny hard points. “Ten minutes.”
“Um…”
Claire hurried out of the room. I heard some clattering in the kitchen as cabinets opened and closed, then the quick trample of her feet as she headed to the bedroom. Then I couldn’t hear anything at all.
As if knowing her company was required, Vivian Purrbox appeared and rubbed against my leg. I picked her up, then sat back, placing the fluffy cat on my lap. She immediately lay on her stomach, and I stroked her orange and white fur.
What was Claire planning? I tried conjuring up explanations. All of them were gross. Was this her fantasy? A bestiality threesome?
Maybe if I pretended it wasn’t my cat…
I shook my head.
How could Vivian Purrbox and I look at each other the same?
Ten minutes finally passed. I carried my purring cat with me down the hall to the bedroom I shared with my wife. The door was closed and I didn’t want to just barge in if she wasn’t ready, so I lightly knocked.
“Come in,” Claire said from inside, her voice coy and mysterious.
I opened the door. The room was inundated in an orange glow from several candles that had been placed throughout the room. It felt ten degrees warmer in here than the rest of the apartment.
I looked around as I stepped inside.
“Shut the door so she doesn’t run out,” added Claire.
I obliged.
Naked, Clare lay on her side, on top of trash bags she’d spread across the bed. The improvised tarp made crinkling sounds as Claire stretched. Her skin looked milky in the candlelight. She was hairless from the shoulders down, with her crimson-colored locks hanging around her shoulders like spiral curtains.
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