by Adam Millard
Great, just what I need he thought.
“We just need to ask you a few questions about what happened last night, Mr. Myers, and then we’ll be on our way,” Rex said.
Rich adjusted his position and felt a shooting pain from toe to forehead. He winced in pain, grabbing the hand railing for support.
“Right then, so you were attacked last night by an animal. Can you give us a description?”
“It was big, had sharp teeth, and ran off with half my ass. Did the doctor tell you that I have to get skin grafts? That my ass will never look the same!?” Rich yelled.
Rex lifted his hands in a placating manner and watched as a nurse came in to see what caused the elevation in her patient’s heart rate. With a sigh she looked at the police officers as she hit the button on the morphine drip.
“Your friends said you mentioned something about a bear,” Rex said.
Rich had a nasty retort on his tongue, but felt something warm flow through his veins.
“Might have been a bear, or a dragon. Not really sure…did you know they gave me a rabies shot, and something else, titsandass I think?” Rich slurred.
“Right, well I think we have what we need.” Rex motioned to his partner and the two left the room.
Rich smiled and sailed off into a nice dream.
*
Night Day Two –
Rich woke in a sweat. Bits and pieces of a dream ran through his mind. He was running through a forest. Being chased. Something snarling in his ear, and then pain.
He glanced around the room squinting when the nurse turned on the light as she entered.
“Mr. Myers, are you feeling alright? Your fever’s spiking.” She put a hand on his forehead, but he pushed her away.
“I’m fine, just leave me alone.”
The nurse hit a button and left the room after making a note on his chart. The desire to choke the woman almost overwhelmed him. He needed her to get the hell out of his room, something bad would have happened to her if she stayed.
He curled up, careful of his backside and fell asleep. This time his dreams were dark and hurried. Something ran in front of him and he needed to catch it, his survival depended on it. A meaty fur paw reached out and sliced the back of the woman in front of him. The smell of blood filled his nostrils and instinct took over as he tore into her back with his teeth.
*
Twenty-six days later –
Rich took a swig and finished his beer. Today was the last day of medical leave and he planned to make the best of it by getting loaded. The last thing he wanted to deal with was all the ass-crack jokes.
Thankfully, they would not be as bad as he thought. His doctors were surprised at how quickly and well he’d healed. Minimal grafts would be needed, though Rich planned to wait since insurance did not cover ass implants.
He let out a sigh as he scratched an itchy spot on his neck. Part of where the animal had scratched him left an irritated area of skin that, and Rich knew it sounded crazy, seemed to grow more hair than normal.
A glance out the window let him know the day was coming to an end and tomorrow he would once again wield his stupid stick and pick up other people’s garbage. The worst part, the month off did not work against his community service hours. Total crap, he thought, he almost died and they refused to reduce his sentence. No wonder people were going mental and hacking up random strangers.
Absently he reached a hand up and felt the scar on his face. He knew he was lucky to be alive, the animal that got him had killed at least nine other people over the last few months. Problem was they had no idea what it was, and he was the only survivor thus far.
He trembled a bit as he thought of having to go back to the park tomorrow, but pushed it down. He was a man. He was macho. He was a bad ass, no pun intended. And plus, he made sure he got an extra-long, extra sharp stick this time.
The alarm went off far too early for Rich. He slapped at it and glared at the time. Noon, who gets up that early on purpose?
He ambled out of bed, already dressed for work, and stumbled out the door. He caught the bus just in time, and twenty minutes later he reported an hour late for work. Mike stood surveying the men in front of him, his clip board in hand like some sort of status symbol.
“You’re late.”
Rich bit his tongue for a few seconds then responded, “Sorry, bus broke down.”
“Whatever, get your ass in gear,” Mike chuckled at his joke. “If you can that is.”
Rich grabbed his stick and bag, and put on the ghastly orange vest they were forced to wear while working. He poked and prodded his quadrant until every used condom, gum wrapper, and coffee cup had been picked up. Around sun down the rest of the crew started to wind down and head towards Mike to fill in their hours.
Rich felt a surge of power run through him, like some sort of electrical jolt took over his body. He spasmed a few moments, then felt blinding pain inside his body. He glanced down at his chest as it began to crack and protrude out in front of his eyes.
He looked around terrified, wondering if he was still in some sort of morphine coma. When his leg buckled and bent backwards he ran as far away from the others as he could. The ground hit his face with a thud, though how it happened he had no idea. He’d no recollection of falling, so obviously it had to be the other way around.
As his body trembled he felt and heard his skin splitting as bones jutted out and broke, only to re-knit within seconds in a different shape, canine like. A particularly strong jolt caused his back to arch to the point of being at a ninety degree angle.
His nose began to spread, then in a burst a snout jutted out of his face. He lifted his hand to try and stop the carnage occurring, but realized he now had a paw with extremely sharp claws. A dazzling realization hit him; he was not a were-wolf. He was the ultimate man. From here on out he wasn’t taking any more crap from people.
A second later, he hit the ground on all fours. The pain finished, at least for the time being. Rich looked around, his sight at a lower level than normal, and his vision crisper than it had ever been before.
Then something happened, another sense kicked in and took over. More of an instinct really, the need to hunt. Rich prowled around the park as the community service people called out for him. He ran away from them as fast as he could, there were too many for him to take on.
Rich loped at an easy pace, impressed with his speed and the fact he didn’t get winded in the least. A whiff of something caught him up short and he stopped to sample the air. A wonderful aroma filled his nose and he followed it until he was mere feet away from a woman sitting on her back porch reading a book.
The part inside of him that was Rich knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the part of him that was wolf, the stronger part, knew it was so right. He flew out of the bushes and enjoyed the change in the woman’s scent as fear took over. Sharp fangs about to slash her throat open and silence her, stopped when he heard a growl to his right.
He rotated his eye to see what dare threaten him and let out a wolf-like laugh when he saw a Chihuahua. Problem was his lack of attention to his victim gave her a chance to grab her cigarette and jab it in his eye.
Rich fell off his prey and made his way out of the yard using one eye. Stupid smokers, didn’t they know it was a bad habit? He roamed around, trying to ignore the pain. Finally, about an hour before sunrise he caught a rabbit. The small animal barely satiating the hunger he’d built up running around all night.
As soon as he swallowed the tail a jolt of power shot through him again, and he knew he was about to reverse transform, or whatever the hell it was called. He didn’t really care; he just didn’t want it to hurt.
No such luck, after a few moments he lay on the ground a quivering mess of flesh. Rich had a good idea when it felt like to spend time in a blender, and he could honestly say he wasn’t a fan.
He struggled to his feet realizing he was naked when a woman walking her dog s
creamed and fell to the ground. Torn between helping her, and covering himself, the dog made the decision for him. Wrestling itself loose from the leash it chased after Rich. He ran through the woods all the while barely avoiding being bit and losing any more of his rear end.
A pile of clothes seemed familiar, then he saw the Day-Glo orange vest he wore and knew it was the remnants of his outfit. Great, that was his favorite shirt. The dog gave up chase three blocks ago, so he could put on his tattered clothes and grab his wallet and keys.
He mumbled to himself all the way home, oblivious to the looks people gave him as well as the wide berth. He slammed his door shut and grabbed a beer from the fridge.
“Right then, I’m a werewolf that got spooked by a three pound dog. Wonderful”
Rich wandered into the bathroom knowing he would have to tend to his eye, but was surprised when he saw it healed. He grinned to himself; perhaps there were perks to this after all. Then a pain began in his ear, and smoke rose from his earlobe.
What the hell?
Then it dawned on him, his earring was silver. He ripped it out of his ear, burning his fingers in the process. Why didn’t it bother him last night, or earlier for that matter? There were other questions too, but he had no idea where to go.
He figured sleep was his best bet for the time being, but found himself to amped up. Instead he showered, shaved, and threw on some clothes and went to the café down the street. On his way a newspaper headline caught his eye.
“Woman claims giant poodle tried to attack her”
Rich took a good look at the victim and recognized her, his suspicions of who she was were further confirmed when mention of Chavez the Chihuahua were made.
Okay, the woman was obviously insane, and traumatized. He was a massive werewolf, and she mistook his gnarly matted fur for that of a poodle. He sighed in relief and ordered some breakfast, runny eggs, bacon barely seared, and raw sausage.
The waitress looked at him oddly, but he ignored it. The poodle comment kept coming back to him. He spent the rest of the day expecting to wake up with some doctor prodding him. Telling him he was lucky to be alive.
Sadly, there was no rewind button, there was no waking up, and there was no way to get out of community service because you were having body issues, literally.
Rich walked the five miles to the park in an effort to burn off some energy; he felt electrified by something but had no idea what. He knew from looking at the calendar, tonight was the actual full moon, so he assumed that played a big part in his current situation.
“Myers, you’re late again, and you didn’t turn in your stick or vest yesterday. That’s going to cost you. I’m adding extra hours for you to do, and charging you for the stuff you stole.” Mike said.
“I didn’t steal your damn vest or that stupid stick you moron, I lost them when I changed …” Rich thought it better he didn’t yell to the world at large he was a were-wolf.
Mike looked at him with a questioning expression. “When you changed what?”
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter. I’ll pay for it. Just add it to my tab.”
Rich grabbed the new items and took the quadrant as far away from his boss and the others as possible. As the day dragged by, the more amped up he got. When it was an hour before quitting time he turned in his tools and vest and feigned being sick. Seconds later he was bolting through the woods, a primal need kicking in. The change was quicker than last time, but no less painful.
He shook himself and could feel how massive he was; though without a mirror he had no idea how terrifying he looked. He wandered around searching for something when he ran into another beast as large as him.
They circled one another, and as they did Rich noticed something peculiar about the animal in front of him. He recognized it as the one that attacked him, but it didn’t seem as terrifying now.
He hated to admit it, but it was the poofy head and pom pom tail. Then it struck him like a bolt of lightning, the beast in front of him was a damn poodle, more specifically a were-poodle. The animal was shaggy and matted to be sure, but there was no mistaking the fact it was a poodle! A shiver rand down his spine, and all of a sudden he needed to see his reflection.
Rich ran around looking for anything reflective, after an hour he came across a small puddle. He took short hesitant steps towards it and let out a howl at what greeted him. A white pom pom on his head, poofy ears…the rest was too horrid to imagine.
He turned his face away and moped around. Several people approached him asking if he was lost, someone offered a bit of food which he scarfed down. Then the anger kicked in and he felt the instinctual need to kill something take over.
Loping around the woods he sniffed the air for anything, he didn’t care if it was a squirrel or a mouse, he was going to kill it. If he was going to be stuck being a stupid were-poodle, shit was going to die.
He felt his masculinity falling off in great big chunks as he plodded along the pathway. In the morning when he changed back he stayed on the ground, not caring if anyone found him. What would they say? What would he say?
Oh, sorry about that, I’m a were-poodle you see. God, how lame is that. Of all the things to happen, if he was going to lose almost half an ass he wanted to at least be a were-wolf. His anger rekindled as he stood and stomped through the woods, all the way home – naked.
Images of the night he was attacked came back to him and he could see the jerk that bit him had let his looks go to hell. No wonder he didn’t see the poodle-like qualities. Now that he knew, he needed to find a cure. Needed to find some way to reverse or stop what was happening to him.
Rich showered, dressed, and headed to the library to use their internet. He searched every variation of were-wolf he could think of and came up with nothing but myth, and stories basing sightings on ergot.
He cracked the keyboard in frustration and left before he was asked to pay for something else. On the street smells were stronger, and certain aromas were more appealing than others. As he passed people with dogs, he heard them growl or look up at him in a menacing way.
Great, and he used to be a dog guy.
The scent of the other were-poodle hit him and he followed it. He found the guy in an alley curled up in some papers. Obviously homeless.
Bending down he nudged the man awake, the smell of alcohol almost knocking him over.
“Hey, you, hunk of nastiness wake up. I need to ask you some questions.”
The man opened one eye, and Rich watched as it rolled into the back of his head. He kicked the man again, this time getting a reaction.
“What the hell do you want?”
“I want to know how the hell I get rid of this stupid curse you gave me. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life turning into Fru Fru the Dancing Poodle three times a month,” Rich said.
The man laughed, “You think I’d still be doing this if there was a cure? Smarten up, moron.”
“I refuse to believe that, have you even tried to do find a cure?” Rich asked.
“Of course I did, but after three hundred years I gave up. I’ve talked to every shaman, witch doctor, and anthropomorphic specialist out there. There is no damn cure, now leave me be.”
“But you kill people, dozens of people have been slaughtered by you.”
The man scratched himself as he rolled over, “I have never killed anyone. That is the work of something else, something you need to stay far away from.”
Rich thought about what the man said. He had no idea if he could believe him or not since this was coming from a man who thought urinating on himself was okay. Rich thought back to the night he saw that woman and how much he wanted to kill her. The more probable truth was the guy had pickled his brain, or just didn’t want to take responsibility.
Oh, how he wanted to be a were-wolf instead. Then at least he could justify the blood lust, but as a poodle it just didn’t work. People referred to this as a curse in the books, but Rich was t
rying to look on the bright side.
He watched the man pull some papers over him and crawl under a box. Okay, so no cure – that sucked. The living forever thing, a nice surprise. For the rest of time he was going to change into the worst ever mythological creature.
He sat and leaned on the wall next to the bum. Grabbing the half empty bottle of whiskey, he drank. The guy had it right, if this was his life now, spending it drunk was likely the best thing for him.
US 20
By David Naughton-Shires
Lester and Hank swayed from side to side as they clung tightly onto the rusted steel bar that cut across the rear of the cab window of the pickup. Below them, sat in the cab, Bill swung the steering wheel which in turn swung the huge vehicle sharply to the left to avoid another tree.
The two men rocked from side to side as they stood in the pickup flatbed wearing the ‘uniform’ of the male residents of the small town of ‘Wookie Hole’. They both wore fading plaid shirts, one red and the other blue, worn work pants, Lester’s not quite covering the crack of his rear end, and mud encased boots. On Lester’s head was an old fishing hat with ‘Wookie Hole Fishing Tackle Emporium’ embroidered onto a badge sewn onto the front with thick red cotton, and Hank wore his very favourite hunting hat. His hat was now a faded sweat-stained mustard colour, but it had been bright orange when it had been first purchased over ten years ago at the ‘Wookie Hole Dry Goods and General Store’, which according to its half page advert in the local newspaper;
‘Stocked everything, and if we don’t we’ll git it for ya!’.
In a growing puddle of thick, black blood at their feet was the evidence of their evening’s entertainment; they had so far managed to hunt and literally run down a stag and two large hares. The stag was still pretty intact but the bull-bars at the front of the truck had almost pulverised the two hairs to a point where it was hard to tell where one ended and the other started. Their grey-brown fur that had once stretched over the taut muscles of the creatures was now matted and black with their blood and entrails.