Hybrid

by Wild Wolf Publishing

  He’d never understood my need to pretend to be a werewolf. And it was something I could never explain to him. It was something I’d never understood myself but I’d never questioned it. Why had I always wanted to be something else so much? I didn’t know. But from an early age I enjoyed playing games with my sister, or the few friends I had, that involved me pretending to be an animal. I’d always loved werewolves and other shape shifters. I’d always wanted to be something else, be it an animal or a horror movie monster. But never someone else. I blamed the years of bullying for creating the desire to be something more powerful than a human. Or maybe it was the fact I’d never been truly human to begin with. If it was true some men had somehow evolved from wolves as Lady Sarah had said, I was clearly one of them or, according to her, it wouldn’t have been possible for me to become a werewolf, even after being bitten. Of course, that thought was not one I could share with others, but to me it seemed to make a lot of sense for some of the traits I’d always had and my obsession with werewolves to begin with. Maybe it even went some way to explaining why I’d been so tormented by bullies in the first place, if on some level they’d sensed I was different from the rest of them. But even if I could have shared those ideas with Dad, he still wouldn’t have got it. He barely understood me as it was.

  Physically my Dad and I shared a few things in common though. I got my dark hair from him and, at least when I’d been mostly human, we’d had similarly bad eyesight, though his eyes were dark brown. I don’t think he hated wearing glasses like I had, as he was always changing the frames so he had the latest fashion, whereas I couldn’t have cared less what frames I’d had, I just didn’t want them in the first place. He kept his hair shaved short like me and he was always clean shaven. He wasn’t much taller than either me or Mum. If I had another growth spurt I might just be taller than him. But he didn’t need physical height to tower over us. He could be really intimidating when his anger and aggression got the better of him, and it might as well have added another foot to his overall height because he seemed so much taller for it.

  It wasn’t just the frames of his glasses that he liked to change often; he was always buying new clothes. He was a bit of a snob and insisted on having the latest designer labels, refusing to buy clothes in the sale because he thought he was too good for them.

  He had a fairly plain face, not ugly by any means except for when anger made it that way, but not strikingly handsome either. He wasn’t as skinny as I was; he was better built and more muscular since joining the gym. He also played golf every Saturday which had helped keep him in shape over the years.

  “So what’s for breakfast?” I asked Mum, changing the subject before anyone could say anything else.

  “You’re feeling better then.” It was a statement rather than a question. “You had us all worried yesterday, must have been that twenty four hour bug that’s going round. And you know what’s for breakfast Nick, it’s just the usual.”

  She sounded slightly exasperated when she told me about breakfast. I asked the same question every day in the hope that just once there’d be something other than cereal, which I’d always hated. So most of the time I went without eating till lunchtime, unless it was one of the rare occasions when Mum did a cooked breakfast. Then I’d eat as if I’d been fasting for months. But that day I was so ravenous, I had to eat something. I still couldn’t bring myself to eat cereal, but there was no way Mum would let me have anything else while I was at home. Maybe if I set off early for school they might have bacon or sausages in the canteen. I’d never had breakfast there before, mainly because it meant going in early and I hated school, but I had to do something to satisfy my hunger. It had already had me on my hands and knees ready to dig down to the rotting corpses beneath my feet; there was no telling what else it would do if I didn’t eat something soon. It would only get stronger, and if I gave into the craving for meat and started to hunt in broad daylight, the Slayers would soon put me down as if I was no more than a rabid animal, judging from what Lady Sarah had said of them.

  “Hey, how come you’re not wearing your glasses?” Amy asked while I silently cursed her. I thought I was going to get away without having to explain that one after all. I still hadn’t come up with a good lie. What to tell them? I couldn’t say I’d got contacts, since that would have involved a visit to the optician and probably my parent’s permission for the prescription. It was a believable lie for my friends who wouldn’t know any different, but I needed another excuse to tell my family.

  “I dropped them and they broke,” I said, choosing to give them a partial truth.

  “So what are you going to do now?” Dad said angrily. “How are you going to manage at school? It’s your GCSE year; you can’t afford to mess it up!”

  He was always shouting at me, usually for little reason, but I understood it that time. He regretted having not done so well in his own exams all those years ago and as a result he was stuck in a job he hated, though the pay was good. He didn’t want me to make the same mistake.

  “Well they were giving me headache anyway,” I replied, fighting to keep my voice calm. Whenever he had to shout I couldn’t just stand there and take it, I had to argue back and that usually made matters worse. I couldn’t afford to set him off that morning though. As a teenager I was more concerned with the thought of being grounded, thinking myself lucky they hadn’t done so for staying out late the night I’d been bitten. Nobody had really mentioned it other than Mum asking if I was feeling better. The blood had never really been mentioned either; Mum just washed the sheets and it was forgotten. But there was also what Lady Sarah had said about strong emotions being able to bring on the change, and it seemed I couldn’t afford to let my anger get out of control. “I think my eyes are getting better. I’ll just have to sit near the front and ask my mates to read anything I can’t make out.”

  It wasn’t the best lie I could have thought of, but it would have to do since I hadn’t had time to think it through. I decided that was a good time to grab my bag and return to the privacy of my room to pack it for school, where I could avoid any more awkward questions.

  I closed the door behind me and leant against it with my eyes closed, wanting to shut out the strange new world I had found myself in, but the thin piece of wood wasn’t a strong enough barrier against the barrage of sound that pounded against my sensitive eardrums. Moments later the argument started downstairs.

  “What the hell was that all about? Did you see the way he was looking at that joint?” Dad said.

  “I don’t know, John. Probably just his idea of a joke. I’m sure it was intended as a harmless bit of fun, that’s all,” Mum replied.

  “Well I don’t like it! And you don’t help, Emma! It’s your fault, encouraging him all the time, letting him watch those bloody horror films! And what about his glasses? How’s he going to cope at school without them? He’s so bloody clumsy; he’s only had that pair for a few months!”

  “Keep your voice down John, he’ll hear you,” Mum hissed, too quiet for a human to hear. No mention of Amy so I guessed she’d retreated to her room too. They rarely argued in front of us, though we could often hear them shouting at each other anyway. It was usually Dad who started it.

  “And it’s alright blaming me, if we banned him from watching that sort of thing he’d only go and watch more films round at his mates’,” she said. “Be grateful he doesn’t watch eighteens yet! He’s nearly sixteen; we can’t stop him watching anything under an eighteen. Besides, it’s not real and he knows that. He was always into monsters, even before he was allowed to watch horror films. He’d probably still be the same, even if we didn’t let him watch them. As for the glasses, there’s no point staying angry over it. What’s done is done. We’ll just have to take him in for a new pair. If they were giving him a headache then he may need a new pair anyway; we might as well get his eyes tested again while we’re there.”

  e

  Dad grunted disbelievingly but let it drop for the time
being. My stomach was gurgling again and I quickly packed my bag. I retrieved the ripped clothes from under my bed and hid them under my books while I was at it, then I ran back downstairs and pulled on my shoes to leave for school, in the hope of getting a decent breakfast.

  “How come you’re off to school so early? Keen aren’t you,” Dad asked, as if nothing had happened. He seemed to have his temper under control again and he sounded almost jovial, but it was strained slightly, as if he was forcing it.

  I shrugged and told him I’d arranged to meet up with my mates before school started.

  “See you tonight then,” he said, satisfied with my answer.

  “Yeah, see you all later.”

  I walked out of the door before anyone could say anything else. I didn’t want any more awkward situations, and the hunger was becoming unbearable.

  I could feel his eyes on me as I set off down the street, probably watching from the window. I felt a sudden urge to run, not for any particular reason, just because I could, but Dad would know something wasn’t right if he saw me running to school (running home sometimes maybe, but never to school, even if I was late), so I forced myself to keep walking at my normal pace. I was sure I’d read somewhere before that wolves like to run. It reminded me nothing would ever be the same again. Was the wolf going to affect every aspect of my life? It seemed so.

  Lost in thought once more, I hardly noticed where my feet were taking me, until I suddenly found myself in the canteen, surrounded by the smell of food. I was relieved to find they did indeed have bacon and sausages.

  The dinner lady gave me a scathing look when I asked her to pile my plate high with the meat, as if to say there was no wonder our generation were growing fatter by the day, despite my skinny frame. But she didn’t comment as she served ten rashers of bacon and five sausages. Almost visibly drooling, I nearly forgot to pay with the distraction of food playing games with my senses, controlling my mind. Another dinner lady on one of the tills shouted out and I paid up. That was all my lunch money gone and the plateful of meat wouldn’t fill me. I’d have to hope I could find Mum later and get some more money off her, or go hungry, which didn’t seem an option that day.

  I sat down at a table on my own and made quick work of my breakfast. There weren’t many others in the canteen at that time; school wasn’t due to start for another half hour, and it was the quietest I’d ever seen it. Possibly a good thing, since it would have led to yet more awkward questions. I didn’t normally eat much at school – the food was that bad. But that day I didn’t care, I was just glad of the meat to fill that empty feeling in my stomach. I soon finished the plateful and washed it down with two cups of water from the jug on a table next to the wall, the only free drink available since I didn’t have any money left for anything better. Then I reluctantly headed for my form room minutes before the bell rang to signal the start of school, when the corridors would become awash with a river of students, fighting and pushing against each other, channelled between the two walls towards their own forms.

  The classroom door was unlocked so I let myself in and took my seat at a table at the back. There were four rows of tables going down the middle, each made up of two tables pushed together, and four single tables on either side. I sat at the end of one table and my fellow classmates soon joined me. Becci sat next to me.

  “Feeling better today, Nick?” she asked me.

  “Yeah, a bit,” I said. “Actually, I feel great. Pity we’re stuck in school today, wouldn’t it be great to go see another movie? It was a right laugh. We have to do that again sometime.”

  Becci shifted uncomfortably as she remembered the night of the cinema. It wasn’t until later in my life I was able to retrieve the memories from the first few months after becoming a werewolf, which is how I am able to recount them to you now, but back then everything was confused, and if I vaguely remembered anything it was hard to make sense of it, and it was even harder to sort out the real memories from the nightmares. She was about to say something else but thought better of it and kept quiet. If I’d remembered the way she’d run off and left me to die the night I’d been bitten, especially when I’d risked my own life to help her, I don’t know what I’d have done.

  There was a reckless energy inside of me, and while it was a positive energy at that moment, I felt it could turn negative at any minute. It’s hard to describe to a mortal, but it was like I’d been struck by a bolt of electricity and now I was charged with it, and I just had the sense that it could change my mood as quickly as Dad’s had that morning. I felt that if anybody angered me I might do something stupid, something that might lead to the Slayers discovering what I was. And according to Lady Sarah, if that happened my life was over. I didn’t even know if I could trust her, but what reason was there for her to lie to me? As unbelievable as some of it was, I was already experiencing things to evidence some of the information she’d given me about my kind. Whether the rest of what she had told me was true or not, I had to believe it, because if I didn’t and I was wrong, I was doomed. And even if the Slayers didn’t really exist, if I started acting strangely I might end up in a padded room or worse, and eventually someone would discover the existence of the undead. And I doubted whether humanity would be understanding enough for me to remain a free man. At the very least they’d keep me locked up, but I knew they could well take my life if I was perceived as enough of a threat to the world.

  An uncomfortable silence had fallen between us and I decided it was time for a change of subject.

  “So Becci, would you ever fuck a corpse?” I asked, grinning.

  “You’re sick,” one of the girls in front said, having overhead me.

  Becci, on the other hand, looked thoughtful for a second, before replying “It depends on whether it’s a fit corpse and how long it’s been rotting. Might be a problem for a woman though, if the corpse was limp. I don’t see how it would be possible.”

  “It’d be possible if it was in rigor mortis,” I said and we both laughed. Others were looking at me, wanting to know what was so funny, but I doubt they’d have got the joke, even if they’d been listening.

  She was about to say something else but just then our form tutor, Ms Brooks, entered the room, cutting our conversation short. Silence fell as she sat behind her desk, ready to take the register.

  After she had given out messages from the Head of Year, she handed me my new timetable and planner, the rest of the class having already been given theirs the day before. I scrawled my name on the front of the little book they referred to as a planner, which was like the school’s own version of a diary, with little enthusiasm, feeling I was signing away my freedom for another year. While I was momentarily distracted, Kerri seized her chance, snatching my bag from under the table.

  Mischief resonated at the very core of her being, and it was this that led her to dig through my backpack in search of the most treasured possession she knew I would be carrying around school. With her prize clutched in her thick, chubby fingers, she dropped my bag and tauntingly danced out of reach, heading for the other end of the room. In a rush of anger, I stood so quickly I knocked my chair over, ready to give chase, but Ms Brooks quickly intervened before things got out of hand.

  “Kerri, pack it in, Nick, sit down,” she said calmly, her tone betraying a hint of impatience and a warning in her eyes. Most of the time she wasn’t too bad as teachers went, and she was friendly enough, but she could control the class when she needed to.

  Seething with anger, I glared at Kerri, my lips curving slightly to bare a few teeth in a partial snarl, remnants of the wolf I had been just hours earlier. Some part of me tried to make itself heard, reasoning that a trouble maker like Kerri wasn’t worth starting to slip down the disciplinary slope before school had even truly begun, yet it was all but drowned out in the roar of emotion rushing through my veins. This annoying girl had taken the one source of escape available to me from bullies like her and the school itself, a horror story I was reading at that time.
I spent most of my spare time reading back then, preferring to keep my head down and lose myself in a good book, in the hope I would go unnoticed by the rest of the school. Kerri knew how much my books meant to me and my reaction only fed her need for mischief.

  “This is your verbal warning you two, I won’t ask again,” Ms Brooks said sternly.

  Still I grappled with the desire to cross the room and physically retrieve my book from Kerri’s thieving, grubby fingers, but finally my reason won out, if only because of the thought that losing control could cause me to transform, and the anger subsided enough that I picked up my chair and sat back down as I had been told. Kerri was slower to respond to our form teacher’s authority, causing Ms Brooks to lose her temper.

  “That’s it Kerri, give me your planner. Now!” she shouted.

  Finally Kerri gave in, handing me back my precious book and accepting the negative comment without complaint. After a verbal warning, the first stage of the disciplinary system was a comment in our planners, two of which in the same lesson led to detention. Detentions led to isolation where you had to work all day in silence, cut off from anyone else as the name suggests. Next came suspension, and eventually removal from the school, though if the offence was bad enough teachers could skip the lower levels of the system. Much to the dismay of her teachers, Kerri hadn’t quite given them cause to kick her out yet, though she was getting closer by the year.

  Though I appeared outwardly calm again with my book returned to me, I could still feel the anger just beneath the surface. It had surprised me. Yes Kerri was annoying, but she had never invoked such a strong reaction in me before over something as petty as running off with my book, especially when I hadn’t even been trying to read it at the time. The feeling I’d had moments earlier that I might do something stupid had been justified. I realised with a jolt I’d been ready to fight with her over it, right in front of a teacher! And much as I hated Kerri at such times, she wasn’t worth that. I’d have been straight in detention at least and probably grounded at home by my parents, neither of which were particularly appealing prospects to my teenage self. The anger had been stewing inside me for years; anger at Dad, anger at everyone who bullied me, anger at myself for not doing anything about it. But I’d always kept it in check. Suddenly it seemed to have intensified, no doubt as a result of the wolf awoken and lurking within, and I knew I was going to have to work harder to keep it under control. I didn’t want to think about what could happen if I didn’t rein it in, but I knew my survival depended on how well I learned to do just that.