In my family everyone always says I have my mother’s eyes. Everything else is from my dad or some distant relative. I think it’s my best feature, and it’s kind of nice now having everything else covered.
“I am the funky mummy...” I say, and sure enough I sound like a chain-smoker. It’s hard to believe she can’t tell who I am, but with my whole body covered and only my eyes and hoarse voice to identify me, maybe it’s possible.
“It sounds like the funky mummy needs some punch.” She brings me to a table in the middle of the party.
We knock people out of the way trying to get through. Carolina’s house is full of black lights and lava lamps and other funky stuff, and the music is really loud, especially the rumbling bass. Dancing actually seems like a good idea all of a sudden.
We get to the table and she pours me some punch. Then she looks around and pulls out tiny bottles from inside her costume. “Don’t let Carolina’s parents see, but it’s better with this.”
She pours the contents of one little bottle into her drink and the contents of another into mine. She hands me a glass of punch.
“Cheers!”
It burns my throat, and then my stomach. The alcohol itself, though, is tasteless. All I can taste is the punch with its artificial fruit flavors and a little bit of orange from the slice floating in the cup.
“What is this?” I ask her. I feel loose.
“Vodka,” she whispers in my ear, bumping me with her potato costume.
“You are one hot potato,” I tell her, my voice husky, looking her straight in the eyes.
She smiles and flushes a little. “Let’s dance, funky mummy!”
So we start to move on the floor. I can’t get close to Meredith in that costume of hers. She knocks people out of the way as she shakes herself around.
I look my part of the funky mummy, dancing to the hip-hop with slow controlled movements, doing some robotic mummy shtick. A few hip gyrations every once in a while, but mostly just freezing myself every other second. My mime training from sixth grade summer camp is coming in handy. And that dance class my mom had me take last summer. I just need some more punch; my throat is parched.
“I’m going for some more punch,” I tell Meredith, and she nods at me with a smile.
People are talking behind me. “Who is that guy? Did you see him dancing?”
A guy says, “Freak.”
“I thought it was cool,” says a girl. “It’s hard to dance with a baked potato.”
But for my ego, the damage is done. I stand in front of the punch bowl for a moment, and get a cup. Someone taps me on my back.
I turn around. It’s Carolina. I think. She’s got this big dragon costume on and her face is painted green.
“Are you enjoying the party?”
I nod.
She squints at me. “Who are you, anyway?”
My voice is a throaty rasp. “The funky mummy, they call me.”
She laughs.
“We’ll unmask you soon enough.” She pulls a little bottle out of her costume. “Here, have some of this.”
More liquor. I hold out my glass of punch and she pours it in.
“Thanks for dancing with Meredith. She was really upset before. People just don’t find baked potatoes appealing.”
“It’s not the baked potato that makes the woman, it’s the woman that makes the baked potato.”
I’m not really sure if that came out right. Carolina just stares at me.
“I think she looks wicked cute,” I continue.
Carolina shrugs. “Anyway, thanks. She was kind of despondent.”
I’m not sure I remember what “despondent” means, but I’m glad I can be of help. I take another sip from my cup. The punch cools my throat, and I’m beginning to feel very pleasantly numb.
I take another sip, and smile like an imbecile.
“Come on,” Carolina says. “Let’s go dance with Meredith, she’s all alone over there.”
We make our way through the party. Meredith shakes her baked potato booty around to the music.
For a moment I just stare. She is an aluminum foil goddess, all shiny and round and reflective. I want to slather her with sour cream and butter and bring her to my hungry lips. Meredith Luna has permanently changed my mind about the sexiness of the baked potato.
I just have to say something. I can’t keep it in; my feelings just want to come out. I try to keep my mouth shut but it’s greater than me. She turns her luminous body towards me, stops for a moment, and smiles.
“Shake and Bake!” I shout out.
Shake and Bake? What is she, fried chicken? I am such an idiot. No one should ever let me drink.
Meredith pushes past me through the crowd. Carolina gives me a little shove. “You idiot, you embarrassed her.”
My body is frozen like a popsicle. But if I’m a popsicle, how come my face feels so hot?
There is a moment of silence as a song ends and everyone looks at me.
Here’s when I make a big mistake. Instead of going to find Meredith and apologizing, I just stand there. Carolina stares at me.
“Go talk to her,” she says.
I have to pee. I’m wrapped in athletic bandages from head to toe. And everyone thinks I’m the biggest jerk in the freshman class.
At least they don’t know who I am.
I feel a shove from behind. “Dork!”
I stumble, try to steady myself, overbalance, and push back hard with my legs.
And slam into the table. Which turns over, pouring punch all over the floor. Someone screams; someone yells. But it’s hard for me to concentrate on the punch, the table, or the noise, really, because I’ve fallen on my face a couple of feet away. My side hurts, too, where I smacked into the table before I fell to the floor.
“Are you all right?”
I look up and Carolina is reaching out to me. My bandage loosens, and falls away from my face as I take her hand and stand up. I flex my knee, ever so slowly. Still no pain. But my hands are shaking; my lips swelling, I can taste blood.
“Oh my God, it’s Stanley.”
She backs away from me. Everything goes silent.
Blood pumps in my ears. The desire to growl and bite and slash, to howl and rip and tear fills me up and threatens to overwhelm. I’ve got to get outside.
Everyone moves out of the way for the mummy, the pretend monster, the geek.
If they only knew what I really am, they would run for their lives.
Chapter 17: A LATE NIGHT SNACK
Out in the cold street there is no one. From inside music plays once again. Is it just my imagination, or can I hear Meredith crying, too?
I pop a pill and my shaking subsides, but it’s not enough to quiet me. My hunger and rage build with every step I take away from the house. I walk under a tree and let my anger out. I kick the tree and clench my fists. My jaw locks, and it’s a wonder I don’t bite off my tongue.
First Karen, and now Meredith? What is wrong with me?
From above me I feel a pressure. I look up, and my eyes are caught.
A huge, solid globe glows red above me. The full moon.
My skin itches, my hands grow and my joints pop. I’ve got to get out of these clothes. I rip off the bandages with hands that seem more like claws with every passing moment. I pull off my shirt, trying unsuccessfully not to tear it.
Because it’s too quick. I fight the transformation, fight the hunger and the rage, try to think of the calming night air. But it’s definitely too late to relax. My hands claw at my jeans, then my eyes focus on the moon as I rip off my shoes. I throw everything in a pile under the tree.
It’s too late to count to ten, too late to think calming thoughts. I can’t. Inside, the stereo blasts pop music. Outside, I bring my head up and howl.
Behind me a dog growls, deep and low. My new aching canines want to turn and rip into its soft throat, but first I growl a warning, and as I turn around it runs off, its tail between its legs.
My h
airy limbs stretch; my mouth expands into a snout full of sharp teeth.
I run through the suburbs between houses, and their lights hurt my eyes. The air is cold around me, but my blood is hot and steam comes out of my snout.
What is it like to run with four legs instead of two?
When I was little I used to run up the stairs on all fours. But my legs are longer now, and my back doesn’t hurt. At least not from the running. Everything feels kind of raw and sore and itchy. I want to run my claws through a tree, or bite a deer in half.
I need to get off these suburban streets. The asphalt hurts my paws. I can smell the forest, not so far off. My body is dark and gray and sleek. Kids are out walking, but I elude them; if they see anything they’ll probably think it must have been a big dog, running in the night.
But I’m no dog.
I hear a scream then.
Never before did I realize that human fear has a smell.
I come upon an old woman and an old man. I can smell their rancid sweat and their panic. The woman screams again.
“Be careful, Mildred, he looks rabid,” the man says.
Forget them. I can smell the woods. They aren’t far away.
I growl once at the man, probably six times my age. Then I leap away, and I’m off toward the woods, leaving the people and their fear behind.
But what if they call the police?
Then the police better come prepared, because I’ll snap in two anyone who comes at me now.
In a moment I’m in the forest, running at full speed. There are evergreens all around me, and I run between them. My hot blood keeps me warm, and I sniff at the moist air; from far off behind me I can smell the old people and their fear. But that’s not all. I can smell everything. With a little imagination, I can almost smell Meredith crying back in her room at the party.
My fault. All my fault.
But I smell something closer. Something small and tasty, full of tender flesh and hot blood. Something to sate the hunger that has tortured me for weeks, months now.
A rabbit.
It runs, but it’s hopeless.
There is no way a rabbit can outrun a wolf.
My pursuit is relentless; we run through the evergreens lit by the light of the moon until the poor beast can run no more. It stands quivering in front of a tree just behind a house. The rabbit is so close, I can almost taste it. But there are also people in the house, and I can almost taste them, too. They are too close; they make it hard to concentrate on the rabbit.
I need to focus on the task at hand. The hunt. The hunger. My prey.
But what am I supposed to do now to this defenseless rabbit?
My mind says, Let it go.
My body leaps forward and my jaws snap, breaking its neck with my teeth.
Something so easy to do, and just as impossible to take back.
Blood flows into my mouth. So there is a way to quench the thirst. Finally something that isn’t cold. I rip it apart with my claws, my teeth, crunching on bones and raw meat. Part of me wants to run again, find a deer or a moose. Yeah, right, you’re thinking, a moose in the suburbs? I was lucky to find a rabbit.
Maybe there are deer nearby. Can I smell wild turkey? My nose is keen, but dulled again by...
People, nearby.
The rabbit consumed, I sniff, my snout up in the air.
There is something familiar in the smell.
It’s the party. In my chase of the rabbit I’ve come full circle, back to Carolina’s house where Meredith and Carolina are still dancing the night away.
Except somehow I know Meredith isn’t dancing. She’s probably in Carolina’s room, crying.
All my fault.
I bring my snout up into the air and howl at the moon.
The change begins again. It would be a lie to say it feels any better in reverse. My face twists back, my claws retract into what already resemble long hands and feet. My body is tortured, squeezed into itself, as I straighten up on my hind legs, as my spine rearranges, shortening and straightening, and then I am a boy, standing.
Alone, naked, in the cold forest.
Chapter 18: BACK TO THE PARTY
My arms pump as I run furtively between the houses. Let me tell you, it’s a lot harder to run as a naked boy than as a naked werewolf. Embarrassing, too.
Although I run fast.
Now I huddle underneath the tree again, wet ground under my bare feet. From inside Carolina’s house, music plays on. I am still hungry, but not for blood or meat. My clothes are on the ground and I put them on in the dark. My human hands feel clumsy, like ill-fitting mittens. Luckily my clothes, protected by the tree, are only damp. I walk up to the door, clothes steaming against my hot skin, and knock.
No answer. No one comes to the door.
There’s nothing left to do but turn away and walk home.
Behind me, I hear the door open.
“Snowball?” a girl calls. “Snowball!”
I turn, hoping to see a baked potato. But instead there is just a girl, with brown eyes turned red and a black t-shirt and jeans, shivering in the cold. Meredith.
“Have you seen my rabbit?” she asks. “Snowball?”
“Your rabbit?” I ask.
“I brought him with me for the sleepover, but he was freaking out with all the noise. So I took him outside with me to get some fresh air. But then he ran off.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Which is true. But kind of inadequate, don’t you think?
“You changed your costume,” she says.
I nod, starting to shiver, despite myself. My blood may run hot, but the air around me is New England cold.
“Stanley, come on in. It’s wicked cold out there.”
I nod and move toward the door. Meredith holds the door open and for the second time tonight I have to squeeze past her, and I feel her warmth against me. How can I compare her to Karen? Where Karen is hard and cold, Meredith is soft and warm. Here there are no blood red roses, no prickling thorns to overwhelm my senses. Just the faint smell of her perfume, and the sweet smell of something rancid.
She must notice me making a face, because she says, “I threw up. That’s why I left the party, because I was feeling sick. The room is still kind of spinning.”
I reach out and put my hand on her arm and she grabs my hand. Again, how can I not compare her to Karen? Meredith’s fingers feel warm and safe, entwined in mine. So why do I yearn for the cold prickling tingle?
“Let’s go to Carolina’s room, I want to talk.” She smiles at me and wobbles a bit. “Hey! You do have nice eyes.”
Her hand is so warm, so soft, so nice. So why can’t I forget Karen’s cold fingers that burn?
The music is loud and some people are still dancing. If I was expecting everyone to look at me and hiss, nothing of the sort happens. No one seems to notice Meredith and me at all, and then we are in Carolina’s room.
Have I ever been in a girl’s bedroom before? I don’t know what I expected. It’s kind of a room in transition. There is a hammock full of stuffed animals and a lava lamp, and then there is teenager stuff, like posters of some alternative rock bands. Meredith flops down on the bed and pulls me down with her.
“Everything’s spinning,” she says.
“Do you need to throw up again?” I ask.
It’s time to be nice. After all, I may have just eaten her pet. She feels really warm against me, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.
She shakes her head. “Just hold me.”
“Okay,” I say, and I hold her. I feel kind of strange, but she is really warm, especially compared to the air outside. Especially compared to Karen. And then we are kissing. My whole body seems to explode, and I rub my hands back and forth on her back. All my hunger and thirst is forgotten. I just have this wicked urge to bite her, just a playful nip on the neck.
I resist, though.
There is a knock on the door. Meredith jumps up and I stand, and then the door is open and Carolin
a looks in at us.
“There you are.”
She smiles. Carolina staggers in and throws herself onto the bed with us. “I am so tired,” she giggles. “And everything is spinning, spinning, spinning.”
We sit back on the bed and then we are all talking. My punch wore off a long time ago, when I changed. I feel sober now and just a little hungry. Apparently a rabbit wasn’t enough to completely sate my hunger. The girls giggle and talk about guys. I need to get out of here. But Meredith has my hand again and she’s playing with it. Her fingers are so warm.
I stay.
Carolina rolls over Meredith for a moment and she stares at me. Her eyes take a moment to focus. “Are you okay there, Stanley? You look like you got attacked by something.”
I forgot about the rips in my shirt.
“A tree. But I’m all right.”
But for all the alcohol in her, she must notice something in my face. “What?” she asks me.
“I am a little hungry.”
Carolina gets up, a little unsteady on her feet. “I should eat something, too. Otherwise my parents are going to realize I’ve been drinking. What do you want, a sandwich?”
I nod.
“Turkey okay?”
I can already smell it in the kitchen. I can almost tell you what shelf of the fridge it’s on.
I nod again.
“Boy, you’re easy to please.” She smiles at me.
“Merry?”
Meredith nods, and sits up. “I’ll come with you.”
I sit up, too. “Maybe I should go home.”
Meredith pushes me down on the bed. “Not until I find Snowball. Besides, I thought you were hungry.” She jumps on top of me and pushes me down again. She wrinkles her nose prettily, looking at my muddy clothes. “Gosh, Stanley you do kind of smell. What have you gotten yourself into?”
If she only knew.
But she giggles then and holds me down with all her weight. “You can’t leave until we feed you.” Out of the corner of my eye I see Carolina smirking at us.
“Mercy,” I say.
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
Kiss her? Can’t I at least bite or even nip at her? My fingers curl, and I feel an itch on the backs of my hands.
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