Gleefully Macabre Tales

by Jeff Strand

  Of course, referring to menstruation as a "minor inconvenience" was why he was single these days. Still, he stood by his comparison.

  Several weeks ago, he’d been laid off when his job at the insurance company’s call center was outsourced to India. He’d been working there seven years, since he was eighteen, and it was the only full-time job he’d ever held. Devastated, he’d wandered around the city for a while, hoping that upbeat music on his iPod would lift his spirits. It didn’t, so he decided to get really drunk instead.

  In the bar, he’d met Garry Ecks. They’d chatted for a while about how much life sucked. Carl had never met a genuine pornographer before, but was too embarrassed to ask most of the questions on his mind, though he did inquire if the cameramen ever had to wear protective raingear (no).

  As Carl officially drank one more beer than he should have, he said "Did I tell you I’m a werewolf?"

  "Are you, now?" Garry looked amused.

  "Yep." Carl held up his palm, revealing the pentagram.

  "Damn. You carve that yourself?"

  Carl shook his head. "It’s real."

  "So did they fire you for being a werewolf?"

  "Nah, nobody at work knew. It only happens on the night of the full moon, but they’d probably have gotten all paranoid about me transforming during work hours and mauling the other employees and stuff."

  "That could be a definite Human Resources issue."

  "Not that it matters now, anyway," said Carl, shoving his half-empty bottle of beer aside. "I didn’t even get a good severance package."

  "I’m sure there are plenty of job opportunities for a lycanthrope," said Garry. "Maybe you could endorse a brand of hairball medicine."

  "You don’t believe me, do you?"

  "Do you mean about the werewolf thing? Not really."

  "Why would I lie about something like that?"

  "You’re drunk and desperate for attention."

  Carl got off the wobbly stool and stood on wobbly legs. "I taped it once. I set the camera down in the basement and made a video of the whole thing. Well, not the whole thing—I sorta smashed up the camera after my transformation—but I salvaged the tape and I’ve got it at my apartment."

  "Is that so?"

  "Wanna see it?"

  Garry stared at him for a long moment. Technically, three Garrys stared at him for a long moment with their six eyes, but Carl figured this was a side-effect of the alcohol.

  "Sure."

  They’d gone back to Carl’s place. Carl popped the tape into the VCR and pressed play. An image of Carl kneeling on the floor of the basement appeared on the television screen. He was wearing a t-shirt and white boxer shorts.

  "Usually I’m naked," he explained. "It doesn’t make sense to put on clothes that are just going to get shredded when I transform. But I didn’t want to be naked on the tape, you know, in case I ever sold this to television or anything, I didn’t want them to have to blur out anything, and I also thought that it would, you know, be kind of embarrassing to have lots of people watch a video where you can see everything. Not that you would mind—I mean, you see naked guys all the time, I guess, not that I’m hitting on you or anything, I’m just babbling because I’m intoxicated, but anyway—"

  "Let’s just watch the video," Garry said.

  "Yes, sir."

  Carl fast-forwarded through a few minutes of him just sitting there, letting the tape resume when he began to twitch on-camera. "See, that’s where the full moon is starting to affect me."

  "Moonlight doesn’t need to shine right on you?"

  "Nope. It happens right at midnight."

  "Ah. Good to know."

  Garry frowned as the tape showed Carl falling into the fetal position. As the first strands of black fur formed on Carl’s chest, Garry flinched. Carl grinned an inebriated grin as the pornographer leaned closer to the television screen, watching every detail of Carl’s transformation. He thrashed around, screaming in pain as fangs grew, bones changed shape, and body hair sprouted like puberty gone terribly wrong. Within two minutes he was a full wolf. The last image was of his jaws closing over the camera lens.

  "Holy shit!" said Garry, jumping to his feet. "That wasn’t CGI! I know CGI, and that wasn’t it! You’re a werewolf!"

  "Duh, that’s what I said."

  "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, this is incredible! This is amazing! You’re not going to mutilate me, are you?"

  Carl shook his head. "Full moon’s not for another two weeks."

  Garry began to pace around the room. "I’m gonna make you a star. Forget the Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson videos—this will be the greatest porn sensation of all time! Picture it: We get the hottest porn star in the business, and she fucks you—yes, you—while you turn into a werewolf!"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "It will be the ultimate event in adult entertainment! The ‘chicks doing dogs’ audience will freak out over it, but the crossover potential is astounding!"

  "I’m not a porn actor," Carl explained.

  "Oh, but you will be!"

  "I don’t think I can do that."

  "Yes, you can. You have a dick, right?"

  Carl nodded.

  "And you’ve inserted it into a vagina before, right?"

  "I guess so."

  "What do you mean, you guess so? That’s an event that most people remember. It’s one of the first things you see when you go south of the belly button. You can’t miss it. You a virgin?"

  "No, no, I’ve been with a couple of girls; I just don’t have a lot of experience."

  "A couple? Two?"

  "Yeah."

  "Just two?"

  "Yeah."

  "That’s it?"

  "Sorry."

  "That’s inhuman. You’d think you’d screw more women than that just by accident."

  Carl shrugged.

  "Are we talking two insertions total, or two long-term girlfriends? Or are you divorced?"

  "Two sort-of long-term girlfriends."

  "All right, I guess that makes sense," said Garry. "Well, no it doesn’t, but whatever. This is gonna be fantastic. One unbroken shot. First you’re inside her as a man, then you’re inside her as a wolf!"

  "We can’t do that," Carl insisted. "When I turn into a werewolf, the animal part completely takes over. I try to kill things."

  "We probably shouldn’t have you kill anybody; that’s a whole different sub-genre. We’ll just strap you down. Muzzle you. It’ll play to the BDSM audience."

  "I don’t know…"

  "You’re unemployed, aren’t you?"

  "Yeah, but I was thinking about applying at Prudential or something."

  "Prudential won’t squash Darla Duncan’s tits against your face. We are going to make adult film history, Carl. Werewolf porn. How the hell can you top that?"

  And now Carl was on the movie set, waiting nervously for his big scene. He’d turned Garry down that night, and the following day, and the day after that. But Garry kept increasing the money offer…and it was Darla Duncan! Carl had spent many a lonely night over the past year pretending that his hand was Darla’s mouth, and now he’d be with her for real.

  "Ooooooooohhhhhhhhhh," Teddy moaned, pulling out and proving that his orgasm was the work of a method actor.

  "Cut!" shouted Garry. "Teddy, good job. Darla, get yourself cleaned up for the next scene."

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

  "All right, let’s get Carl in his restraints and get the orgy people in here! Let’s go, let’s go, midnight is approaching!"

  Suddenly Carl felt like he was going to throw up and wasn’t sure if he could really go through with this. He wasn’t a porn star. His pelvis couldn’t thrust as rapidly as Teddy’s.

  "Right here," said one of the stagehands, beckoning him over. Carl reluctantly walked to his spot, wishing that he’d never gotten drunk, had never shown off the werewolf tape, had never agreed to appear in a porno flick, and had never walked over to the spot where the stagehand becko
ned him.

  A line of attractive and extremely naked people, five men and five women, walked onto the set. Carl wasn’t entirely sure of the plot significance (it was not a tightly constructed screenplay), but they’d all be having sex in the background as part of some sort of ritual, while Darla rode him in the foreground during the transformation.

  "Strip ’em off," the stagehand said, pointing to Carl’s boxers.

  "Now?"

  "Uh, yeah. These days, they try to include nudity in porn films."

  "You don’t have to be sarcastic." Carl removed his boxers and stood there naked, hoping that nobody was staring at his inferior genitalia. He listened for telltale snickers but heard none.

  "On your back," said the stagehand.

  Carl lay on the mattress, which was covered with red sheets that in some way figured into whatever the ritual was (again, the screenplay was not totally clear on this issue). Three more guys joined the stagehand, and they quickly chained Carl’s arms and legs to the floor. The wrist and ankle bands were made out of some kind of rubber that would stretch to fit his werewolf proportions at the appropriate time, but would not allow him to pull free.

  "Are you sure that’s tight enough?" asked Darla, poking at one of the restraints with her toe.

  "Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere," the stagehand assured her.

  "Orgy people! Start screwing!" Garry shouted. "We’re ten minutes away!"

  As the naked people began to touch, nibble, lick, and penetrate each other, the stagehand slid the protective mask over Carl’s head. It was clear plastic, sort of shaped like a lopsided astronaut helmet, and would allow everybody to see Carl’s head transform into a werewolf head while preventing him from biting Darla’s face off.

  "He’s good to go," the stagehand announced.

  "Perfect!" said Garry. "We’ve got five minutes! Darla, do your thing!"

  "He’s not hard."

  "Carl, get hard!" Garry shouted.

  "I’m not sure I can," Carl admitted.

  "What the sweet fuck do you mean you’re not sure you can? Fluffer!"

  The fluffer sighed, marked her spot again, walked over, and knelt down next to Carl. She put her face in his lap and took him into her mouth.

  Carl was so nervous that he could barely feel it. Think hard thoughts. Steel towers. Concrete blocks. Guns. Anvils. Bananas…no, no, bananas are soft, you idiot! Think of marble statues. Trains.

  Or, perhaps—here was a novel idea!—he could think about the blowjob-in-progress. That seemed like a much more efficient course of action.

  "Goddamnit, I’m not seeing any bulges in your cheek!" Garry shouted.

  The fluffer opened her mouth, and Carl’s limp penis flopped back against his testicles. "Nothing’s happening."

  "So suck with more enthusiasm and skill! What the hell are we paying you for?"

  The fluffer rolled her eyes and resumed her head-bobbing.

  Relax…just relax…enjoy the way her tongue swirls with expert precision, despite her surly attitude…

  "We’re running out of time!" Garry screamed. "Get that thing in a fuckable state in the next thirty seconds or you’ll never fluff in this town again!"

  "You can’t build the Empire State Building out of wet noodles," said the fluffer.

  "It would actually kind of help if you didn’t say things like that," Carl pointed out.

  "Darla! Get down there and help out!"

  "That’s her job!"

  "I don’t give a rat’s ass! We need a goddamn erection here! Orgy ladies, get over there! Everybody take a quadrant!"

  Carl lay there, not quite able to believe that he now had several hot naked women running their tongues over him…and he couldn’t get it up! He should have suspected that this would turn into a cruel joke. His penis had always hated him, and now it was wreaking its penile vengeance.

  "What can I do?" Garry asked. "Would it help if Teddy went down there, too?"

  "Hey!" Teddy protested. "I’m not queer!"

  "You’ll be queer if I tell you to! This is more important than your homophobia! We’re making cinematic history here! Get over there and suck his cock!"

  "I won’t do it!"

  "The hell you won’t!"

  "That won’t help!" Carl insisted. "It’ll make things worse, I promise. Lots worse."

  He closed his eyes. Relax…imagine that you’re on a desert island, surrounded by naked women…

  He opened his eyes so he could better see the naked women that were right there. God, this was dumb.

  "I felt a twitch!" one of the orgy ladies proclaimed.

  "You mean it?" Garry asked.

  "A definite twitch!"

  "I felt it, too!" said the fluffer.

  "Keep doing what you’re doing! Don’t lose the momentum!"

  "It’s growing! It’s growing!"

  "Perfect!" Garry rubbed his hands together in glee. "Orgy ladies—back to your original spots! It’s almost midnight!"

  As Darla and the fluffer continued to vigorously work on him, Carl grew and grew. Yes! Nothing cured impotence like seven female tongues!

  "Fluffer! Get the hell out of the shot! We’re gonna start filming!"

  The fluffer left. Darla squatted on top of Carl and eased herself onto his mighty erection. It felt pretty darn good.

  He’d expressed concerns about the upcoming size increase, but Garry had assured him that Darla could handle it. "Are you bigger than a fire extinguisher?" he’d asked.

  "No."

  "Then it’s cool."

  Carl lay there, watching Darla bounce, thinking that maybe he could get used to the porn star life, even without the whole werewolf angle.

  "It’s midnight!" Garry announced.

  For a moment, Carl was too distracted by the feeling of being inside Darla Duncan to notice the familiar tingles. But then the tingles quickly turned to pain, and he helplessly watched his chest become much more hairy.

  "Ooooh, baby, if I have to shave, so you do," said Darla, reading off a cue card.

  Carl’s nails extended and there was the usual agony as his bones began to change shape. Darla bounced faster.

  She giggled as his penis transformed inside of her.

  The band holding his right wrist snapped.

  Oops…that’s probably not good…

  The band holding his left wrist snapped.

  Bad…really, really bad…herpes bad…

  He tried to call out a warning, but it came out as a growl.

  Shit!

  Darla was gasping with pleasure and thrusting so hard that she didn’t seem to notice the major safety issue.

  Is nobody paying attention? Any second now the wolf is gonna take over and—

  Carl slammed his paws against Darla’s head, jamming five claws into each side. She stopped bouncing as he twisted his paws, giving her a makeshift facial reconstruction. Blood poured onto his furry chest and he could smell it even through the plastic mask.

  Hungry…so hungry…

  He released his grip on her head. Darla, still impaled upon him, slumped forward as Carl tore off the mask. Jaws free, he took a great big bite out of her face.

  Lots of naked people screamed.

  ««—»»

  Garry figured his career was pretty much fucked as the werewolf pounced onto the orgy participants. The men’s erections had all vanished, and within a few moments so had three of the five penises. He stared in shock as the werewolf rapidly mauled them, sending blood, chunks of flesh, and silicone implants flying into the air.

  "Do something!" Teddy cried.

  "What the hell do you want me to do?"

  "Kill it! You’re the director!"

  "With what?"

  Carl the Psycho Werewolf bit off somebody’s arm, which looked like it really hurt. He swallowed it in two gulps.

  "A silver bullet!"

  "Did you bring one?"

  "No! Why would I bring one?"

  Garry cringed. One of the cutest asses in the porn busi
ness wasn’t quite so cute anymore.

  "I don’t know! Foresight, maybe?"

  "How could you be so irresponsible as to bring a live werewolf in here with no way to kill it?"

  "It wasn’t supposed to get away!"

  "Well, it did!"

  "I know that!"

  Carl was dining on the intestines of one of the actresses. Garry thought of a really funny "eating her out" joke, and then felt guilty about it.

  "So why weren’t you prepared?" Teddy demanded.

  "I was prepared! Just not prepared enough!"

  "I’m gonna sue your ass!"

  "Why are you gonna sue? You’re not the one getting devoured!"