Wereduck

by Dave Atkinson

  He’d been careless that morning. It was his own fault he’d been discovered by those kids. He would have to pay for his carelessness with patience: a whole month’s worth. But the story of a lifetime was within his reach. It was worth waiting until the next full moon.

  Across the room on the countertop, he spotted a mouse. It chattered and waved its front paws at him, scolding Dirk for invading its space.

  Dirk took a bite of banana. “Home sweet home.”

  Kate drew further into herself as sunset approached. She didn’t feel right. This was her wolf night, she was supposed to feel—how was she supposed to feel? She looked at the faces of her family. They were becoming giddy and animated as the evening wore on, like the coming night was some sort of drug.

  Kate didn’t feel those things.

  She stole away from the fire to spend a few minutes alone in the forest before she began her new life as a werewolf. A burst of laughter from the group followed her into the canopy of the woods.

  That’s what I’m going to be, thought Kate. What’s wrong with that?

  Everything seemed wrong with it.

  It was like growing up in a family of plumbers, and being told your whole life that when you grow up, you have to be a plumber too.

  Maybe she didn’t want to be a plumber. Maybe she wanted to be a carpenter. Or a used-car salesman. Or a sheep farmer. Or a ballpoint pen repairman. Anything but a plumber.

  It just would have been nice to be asked what she wanted to be.

  Kate sat on the trunk of a fallen tree and tried to decide if it was worth crying. It probably was, but she couldn’t find any tears.

  Being twelve sucks, she thought.

  She remembered it was her birthday.

  Being thirteen sucks, too.

  “I thought I saw you sneak off in this direction,” came her grandmother’s voice from just up the trail. Marge strode into view. “Mind if I join you?”

  “It’s a free forest,” said Kate, moving over to make room on the trunk. “Thanks for the card, Grandma. It was really beautiful.”

  “It was just a small thing,” said her grandmother, dismissing her with a gentle wave of her hand.

  They sat a few minutes in silence. Kate thought about how that made her grandmother so great. There are lots of people who are good company when you’re talking. There are very few who are good company when you’re not talking.

  “So you don’t want to be a wolf,” said Marge finally, as if picking up a conversation they were already having.

  “I really don’t,” said Kate. “And it’s not like I haven’t tried. I just don’t. And I hate that I don’t have any choice about it.”

  Marge nodded. “It’s not an easy life,” she said. “Your grandfather never liked it much.”

  “Really?” Kate was startled. She couldn’t remember her grandfather, but she’d always assumed he was just as enthusiastic about being a wolf as the rest of her family.

  “He never looked forward to a full moon the way your mum and dad do, or the way I do.” She smiled. “I really enjoy it. I feel like we’re all our true selves when we’re wolves.”

  “Even the howling?”

  “Even the howling,” she said. “I like how we treat each other when we’re wolves.”

  “Like wrestling and biting each others’ ears?” asked Kate.

  “Some of that, yes,” she said. Marge’s smile extended to her eyes. “But we’re a lot more affectionate when we’re wolves, aren’t we? Humans have wonderful words to tell each other how we feel, but we don’t often use them. Wolves don’t have words. So we touch noses. We nip playfully. We howl in joy.”

  Kate stared into the trees.

  “I know you don’t think you’ll like it,” continued Marge, sliding off the tree trunk. “But tonight, when you become a wolf, I think you’ll discover a voice you didn’t know you had. When you do, come find me. We’ll talk like wolves.”

  Kate’s grandmother turned and walked back up the trail towards camp.

  Kate finally found her tears, but she wasn’t sad.

  Kate walked slowly through the woods to the clearing. She could only just see the sky through the trees, but she knew sundown would be soon. From somewhere overhead, she heard the whistling of wind through wings. She looked up and saw the silhouette of a pair of ducks passing overhead. It was too dark to tell what kind.

  Kate knew her family expected her to show up in the clearing as mopey as she’d been that afternoon. Kate: The Reluctant Werewolf. Kate: The Heartbroken Teenager.

  That wasn’t who she wanted to be. That wasn’t how she wanted to be seen.

  Kate forced a smile onto her lips and made up her mind.

  “I am a werewolf,” she whispered.

  She decided she would walk into that clearing as a confident teenager. She would hug her parents, her aunt, and her grandmother. She might even be polite to John. Teenage boys were stupid anyway.

  She paused at the edge of the clearing, straightened her posture, took a deep breath, and strode in. As she entered, the heavy forest air became cool and refreshing.

  Her family stood waiting. She hugged her mum first.

  “Are you ready?” asked Lisa.

  “Of course,” she replied. “I love you, Mum.”

  She hugged her father.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said.

  “For turning thirteen?” said Kate dryly. “Yeah, that was tough.”

  She hugged her grandmother.

  “My beautiful girl,” said Marge, smoothing her hair.

  She hugged her aunt.

  “Are you excited?” asked Bea.

  Kate’s face beamed. “Definitely.”

  “Sun’s going down,” said Marcus striding into the clearing. Beside him walked John.

  “Hey. I’ve decided I may not nap all night,” said John. “It being a special occasion and all.”

  “Big of you,” she replied, not looking him in the eye.

  “We’ve only got a minute,” said Bea. “Kate, it’s your wolf night. I think you should be the first to answer the call.”

  “I like it,” nodded Brian. He reached his hand out to his daughter. “Come stand with us.”

  Kate stood arm-in-arm with her parents, feeling the last rays of the setting sun on her face. She looked briefly to the cold white face of the moon. Something fluttered in her stomach.

  The colour of the western sky faded from deep orange to red to pink as the sun slipped below the trees. When it finally disappeared, they all turned to face the moon. All was silent for a moment as they waited for the call.

  “Whooooo,” came a low voice through the still night air. It seemed to echo from the trees, the earth, the sky.

  “There it is,” said Lisa, squeezing her daughter’s shoulder. “Can you hear it?”

  Kate nodded.

  “Whooooo,” came the call again.

  “Are you going to answer it, or what?” said John.

  “You’re being called, Kate,” said her father. “You’d better answer.”

  There was something in that call. A tone Kate didn’t expect.

  “Whooooo.”

  “Answer it,” said Marcus firmly.

  Kate’s eyes darted from Marcus to John to her parents. The pressure of being told who to be was stronger

  than ever.

  “Whooooo.”

  The confidence she’d felt moments earlier was fading. This wasn’t right. She was in charge of her life. Not her parents. Not Marcus. Not John.

  But that voice made her feel different. It sounded—she wasn’t sure what it sounded like, but it didn’t make her feel pressured to become anything. It wasn’t telling her who to be.

  “Whooooo?”

  It was asking.

  It was asking her who she was and who she
wanted to be.

  She knew exactly who she was. She had always known. And here she was, finally being asked.

  “Quack,” she replied quietly.

  Then, with a new confidence she’d never felt before: “Quack! Quack! Quack!”

  Kate felt a chill ripple through her flesh as her entire body broke out in goose pimples; each gave birth to a tiny brown feather. She could feel her body becoming smaller and lighter.

  She ran her tongue along her teeth to find they were being sucked into her gums. Her lips and nose stretched in front of her face—the skin becoming tough and yellow.

  She held her hands before her and watched as the fingers on each hand melded into a single point. Her arms flopped and turned at awkward angles before folding neatly upon her back.

  Her legs shrank and became as skinny as twigs. The skin between her toes stretched and pulled until she had two perfect webbed feet.

  She looked up and saw six pairs of eyes staring at her in disbelief.

  “Quack?” she said.

  Kate was a duck. A beautiful, if unassuming, brown mallard.

  Her family was so transfixed by what had happened, they had forgotten to answer the call themselves. Bea remembered first.

  “Way to go, Katie!” she cried. “Ah-wooooo!”

  The others joined in the howl and began their own transformations. Not that Kate stuck around to watch.

  She only questioned for a moment whether she’d be able to figure out the mechanics of flying. She stretched her wings, took a few rapid steps, and flapped herself into the air.

  Kate flew straight over the heads of her family as they changed from human to wolf form. Gaining altitude, she skimmed the tops of the trees at the fringe of the clearing. She leaned to the right, making a wide sweeping arc, flying higher with every beat of her wings.

  “I’m flying!” she tried to yell. “Mum! Dad! It’s me! Flying!”

  The only sound that came from her bill was a series of excited quacks.

  She flapped harder. She loved the feel of the cool night air through her feathers: the quiet whistling of her wings as they carried her fast and far.

  Flying over the camp, from this height, her home and belongings looked strange and unfamiliar—like scenery in a model train yard. She flew over the forest, noting the textures and smells of the different trees as she whizzed just above the canopy. She soared over the river, watching its water gush and flow over the contours of the land as it rolled slowly toward the sea.

  She turned back toward camp. As the lake came into view, she flew lower. Her wings filled with air like feathered parachutes as she glided the last dozen metres to the water. She stretched her feet before her like a pair of webbed pontoons.

  Kate skied briefly on the surface of the water before she lost her momentum, then bobbed mid-lake, her wings folded gracefully across her back.

  I am a duck, she thought. I don’t know how it happened, but I am a duck.

  As the joy of a thousand Christmas mornings settled in her stomach, she knew exactly what she needed to do next. She paddled toward shore and waddled up onto the beach.

  She began to shake her rear end. Slowly at first, then faster. Her tail feathers sprayed water about her as they made the whap, whap, whap sound she’d admired so many times before.

  She’d waited her whole life for this moment.

  Kate waded back into the water and made slow circles in the lake. She dipped her face into the water and felt her backside tip into the air. Her bill sucked and filtered tiny bits of green plants and goo from the water that she had seen the ducks on the lake feeding on before. She came back up for air, and swallowed.

  Interesting texture, she thought, smacking her bill to examine the flavour. Must be an acquired taste.

  Something was rustling the long grass across the lake from Kate. Out stepped a gangly wolf with reddish-brown fur. Wolf or not, Kate would recognize John anywhere.

  With his front legs stretched before him, he lowered his head and wagged his tail high in the air. He looked less like a wolf and more like a dog asking to play a game of fetch.

  Kate quacked a few times just to prove she could. She paddled in circles, pretending she wasn’t bothered by John’s presence. He whined.

  With slow kicks of her webbed feet, she swam toward him. John cocked his head to one side as she closed the gap between them. Kate held his gaze as she inched closer. His tail gave an involuntary wag as her face approached his.

  Peck!

  Kate drove her bill into the bridge of John’s nose. As he drew back in shock, she turned and kicked a small wave of water in his face.

  He stepped into the lake, and swatted at the water with his paw in a futile attempt to splash her back. She made a second approach, readying her bill to strike again. He was, after all, on her turf.

  John knew when to quit. He retreated to the long grass.

  Kate dipped her head into the water and sifted for more of the green goo. It didn’t taste so bad once you got used to it.

  Kate turned to face the wide expanse of water.

  Okay, she thought. You can do this.

  She didn’t fancy the idea of John seeing her crash into the reeds on her very first water takeoff, but she sighed a long whistling breath and started paddling her feet. She extended her wings as she gathered speed. As her body rose out of the water, she pulled up her feet.

  Flawless, she thought, soaring over John’s head.

  The camp lake was connected by river to a series of several smaller lakes. Flying north, Kate had only a few hundred metres to go before she’d come upon another lake. Bingo. She spotted about a dozen ducks sleeping in the shadows of the willow trees along the shore—likely the same ducks John had tossed bits of sandwich to earlier.

  Kate touched down on the lake and glided to a stop. She kept her distance from the ducks. She didn’t know whether they’d take kindly to a new female hanging around their flock.

  She paddled idly, mid-lake, trying to look cool: dabbling in the water, filtering bits of grass into her bill. Her third mouthful turned up a wriggling bug. Gagging on a water beetle didn’t strike her as the sort of thing a cool duck did to win friends. She swallowed it whole.

  Not bad.

  The other ducks had certainly noticed her arrival. A dozen pairs of eyes followed her as she swam and dabbled.

  Kate wondered if ducks have small talk, and how she might go about saying, “Hey, nice lake you’ve got here.”

  “Quack?” was all she could muster.

  A few of the ducks quacked in response. The largest male in the group waddled into the lake. The rest followed. They swam in formation like a navy flotilla intercepting an unknown ship.

  Why am I so nervous? thought Kate as they approached. They’re just ducks. Butterflies fluttered in her tiny tummy.

  The ducks bore down on her in the darkness with the big male in front. A wake of ripples streamed behind him like a large V.

  “Quack!” said Kate as they came nearer. “Quack, quack!”

  Maybe she appeared too eager. Maybe she hadn’t hit the level of cool she had been shooting for.

  The ducks just sailed past as if she wasn’t there. They didn’t even look at her.

  “Quack,” she repeated as the last duck swam past. The butterflies turned to stone and rested heavily in her gut.

  The flock picked up speed and took off. They circled the lake once and flew north.

  Rejected, she thought, by ducks.

  She looked down at the water, resting her bill and chin on her breast. She felt very alone.

  “Wacka,” came a voice.

  Kate looked up.

  “Wacka.” A small brown duck eyed her curiously.

  Kate must have missed this little female. Kate wondered if this was the same little duck that had been snubbed earlier by the big mal
e.

  “Quack?” said Kate.

  “Wacka,” replied the duck, nodding slightly.

  Kate had no idea what she and this duck had said to each other, but she was pretty sure she’d just made her first duck-friend.

  Dirk squinted through the last bit of light of the flickering candle on the table. An unfinished game of solitaire sat on the table before him.

  “A black three…” he said just below his breath. “Three, three, three, three….”

  He scanned the stack of cards for the fifth time. There had to be a black three somewhere. He went back to the remaining cards in his hand. It was cheating to dip into the deck like this, but Dirk wasn’t above that.

  “Three, three, three, three…” he hummed. “Damn.”

  He dropped the cards on the table and shuffled them into a pile. He considered dealing another game, but he’d already played seventeen rounds and lost twelve.

  His candle had just a few minutes left before it would burn itself out. He blew it out in case he needed it in the night.

  Dirk pushed back his chair and walked to the front door. A chorus of crickets announcing the arrival of late summer greeted him as he stepped into the cool night air. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

  Today hadn’t gone well, but he was so close to something great he could feel it. He’d chased down many false leads before, but this was the real thing. Earlier tonight, just after the sun had gone down, he’d heard them. Wolves were howling in a place where they’ve been extinct for more than a hundred years.

  Yes, he could wait here for a month. He’d talk to Sandra tomorrow. She’d understand. She always understood when there was promise of a juicy story.

  A faint sound drifted from the woods. As it became louder, he recognized the individual quacks from a flock of ducks in flight. They passed over the house, flying north.

  Dirk looked at his watch. Why would ducks be awake so late?

  He got up and walked back into the house and crashed on the musty living room couch.