To Kiss a Werewolf

by Molly Snow

  Stella rolled her eyes back like they were reaching for the ceiling. Bizarre. It was so bizarre, and so not the time to be confessing to something that monumental, when she was already trying to cope with the possibility of all things paranormal being true. She just needed to focus on Gordon’s scanner and find out if it everything else was bogus, too. “Maggie, do you believe in ghosts and witches and werewolves…?”

  “Yes, I do.” She wiped her sniveling nose. “I swear, it’s the honest truth I do. Lying has just become this nasty, nasty habit of mine, you see. And when I set up the field trip, I just picked a creepy location. This place isn’t rated in the Top Five in the nation for paranormal activity, if it rates at all anywhere for that. You read every brochure on the place yesterday, Stella. Did any of them mention ghosts?”

  Stella knitted her brows together and recalled each of them, boasting the seaside, the fresh woodland setting, hearty breakfasts, and more. But nothing paranormal whatsoever. Nothing. How could Maggie take things this far? She shook her head, her eyes settling on the scanner’s red light that still blinked. “So…, did you just say all the stuff about Mrs. Partridge to freak us out or something? Or do you really believe she could be a witch?”

  Maggie shook her head, and finished wiping her nose on an arm. “In the moment, I really did believe it. But I don’t know any better than all of you, so take it for what it’s worth—not much. Sometimes I even fall for my exaggerations and lies.”

  Another creak in the hall, and the fact that the scanner’s red light now started blinking at a faster rate, stopped Stella’s heart, and she didn’t care anymore about Maggie. Her back tensed and her hands fisted against Kit who clung to Caleb.

  All was completely silent again, and Caleb reached for something. Light glinted off its base, and Stella could make out it was a lamp. Caleb was arming himself for a fight?

  Maggie moved an arm through everyone and Stella heard her turn the lock. Stella wondered why they hadn’t thought of that in the first place. But if the scanner was correct, and something paranormal was outside the door, then would a lock on a door really make a difference? Or what about a crazy person, Stella’s thoughts raced through all her memories of creepy Mrs. Partridge. Would a lock stop a crazy person? She knew it wouldn’t.

  “Who’s out there?” Kit suddenly burst. Stella smothered her friend’s mouth in fear.

  There was another creak, closer. Then silence for a long time. Then there was a definite sound of feet coming back down the hall, to them. Stella glanced at the window, considering it as a possible escape route. Fear trickled down her spine.

  Then there was a knock on the door, even and steady. Not once, not twice, but three times. This made everyone scream and bumble away from the door. The doorknob jiggled and another couple jiggles later, the door opened. A silhouette of the old woman in the dark hall stood there hunched and thin. “You disobeyed me,” she said.

  No one answered, and Stella couldn’t miss the fact that Caleb still held tight to the lamp, ready with it in front of everyone like a weapon.

  “Throw it at her,” Kit screeched to Caleb.

  Caleb didn’t move an inch out of his frozen, but ready, position.

  Stella couldn’t believe what happened the next second. Maggie grabbed the lamp and pushed Caleb to the ground, then flung the thing at the old woman. There wasn’t a scream, not even a yelp, or gasp, but Maggie’s aim was right on. Stella had covered her eyes, but there was the unmistakable thud of a body to the ground.

  It all of the sudden got very loud, as each other’s voices competed to be heard. Maggie went and turned on the light, and it got silent again. Stella flinched her sights away from the doorway. She did not want to see the lifeless body and splattered blood, no matter the victim. This was real. It wasn’t one of her horror movies or books. There was a murdered old lady lying a few feet in front of them. Stella’s hands shook as she pressed them to her temples, wishing she could erase this day from her history.

  “You guys,” Maggie said, with a tone of discovery. “Something’s wrong here.”

  “No, duh, something’s wrong here.” Gordon blew up again. “She’s dead, killed, dead, kabloweeee!”

  “No, you stupid little genius,” Maggie emphasized each word, “she is not like us. Check out her brains.”

  It was Kit’s turn to blow up. “We don’t want to check out her brains! This is crazy, guys! Someone call the cops. It’s gone too far. I want to go home!”

  Stella made to speak, but Maggie was ready with a hot response herself. “Shut up! Shut up, all of you. I am telling you that Mrs. Partridge is not like us. We were right, or I was right. She is a witch or something. She’s not normal. Someone else look at this to confirm I have not gone completely mad.”

  Stella squeezed her hands together and took a deep, deep breath. “I will look.” She had to know for herself. If she wouldn’t look, she knew she would have regrets. She stepped forward and willed her eyes to stay open, her knees shaking the whole way. The lamp laid on the floor, its base cracked. Mrs. Partridge’s body lay crooked beside it, the top of her skull completely knocked off. Her head was empty. Maggie stepped around the body and turned on the hall light to inspect further.

  “She’s twitching,” Caleb shrieked like a little girl and hopped on top of the bed, like when someone spots a mouse.

  It was true. Stella watched as the dead woman’s frail old hand lifted off the ground first. Next her arm, then her whole back peeled itself off the floor, her neck and head drooping back as she sat up.

  Maggie went for the lamp again, but fell flat on top of Mrs. Partridge, or whomever she was. Everyone screamed, and Stella yanked on the heavy girl to help pull her off the moving corpse. Maggie finally stood, winded and white. They stepped backwards together in shock.

  Mrs. Partridge stood, cracked her back, and finally adjusted her head straight up. Her cranium was still missing. Everyone waited with wide eyes as she opened her mouth to speak. “I’m suddenly very hungry… Who wants hotcakes?”

  “What the…?” Caleb freaked, holding a pillow out like a shield in defense.

  Gordon sprang into his grasshopper Karate stance. His hands moved in swift chopping motions, while mimicking all sorts of “Whaaw” Karate sounds.

  Kit threw a dirty sock from off the floor at her. “What are you?”

  “I’m Mrs. Partridge,” she said with a lovely, sing-song tone.

  Caleb said, high-pitched and frantic, “She thinks she’s going to fool us with a Mary Poppins voice!”

  FOURTEEN

  When Stella awoke the next morning, she wished the whole freaky episode with Mrs. Partridge had been a nightmare. Then she could just place it on her figurative shelf with other nightmares, like being naked in class during an oral report. If only it was just that—a nightmare. But lying there on the beach, exhausted mentally and physically, she knew it couldn’t have been more true. The bed and breakfast hostess would have killed them all, but they got away after Gordon successfully used his ninja skills. Gordon. Ninja skills. Yeah, things were definitely strange.

  Stella rolled to her side and stretched. At least the beaches here were warmer than back home. Kit and the rest were still sleeping, fully clothed as well in what they had been wearing when they slipped through the window and ran out of there.

  Damien sat on a rock. Stella didn’t remember seeing him at all last night, so he had found them. Their spot on the beach was at least a few miles from where she found him sprawled out asleep yesterday morning. He sat there, staring at the gray-blue sea rolling forward and lapping against the shore. She smiled at the surprise, just watching his profile. He was a sight for sore eyes after last night, his pretty skin and muscles that formed beautiful hills and valleys. …They almost kissed.

  They almost kissed. If only that memory could erase the one of the walking corpse. She rehearsed the time they shared in the kitchen, this time embracing every moment, not letting confusion rip the wings off one butterfly in her stomach
. As her eyes settled more on him, she recalled him showing off for her his pizza dough skills, she recalled the flour on his chin, him stepping close to her and taking her hand in his, brushing his face with her fingertips… Butterflies.

  As if sensing her thoughts, Damien turned and looked right at her. He gave a small wave and stayed in his position. A sea breeze swept through the air, moving his dark hair.

  Stella closed her eyes a moment, took in a deep breath of the salty fresh air, and stood up. Damien’s eyes were still on her as she rubbed the sand off her arms and jeans. She went to the rock and sat next to him. They both stared out to the ocean together, until Stella felt the warmth of his hand settle over hers. She looked up to him, and he looked down to her, and they both gave a smile that said they missed seeing each other.

  The two walked along the shore together, just holding hands, silent for a long time. They let the roar and purr of the ocean do all the speaking. It felt like they had walked for nearly a mile, when Damien sat on the wet sand and Stella came right down with him, still holding his hand. There was something really gentle about him. Yet another side she hadn’t seen before.

  With Stella’s free hand, she caressed his forearm while leaning into him. “I’m sorry I judged you,” she said.

  He looked down to her with his deep brown eyes. Somehow she knew this time they weren’t going to almost-kiss. This was different. A time to reflect and reveal. A time to share.

  “In my mind, before yesterday, I had compared you to every other popular guy I knew,” she said, feeling terrible. “I always considered myself non-judgmental, but that bubble burst yesterday.”

  He kept looking into her eyes, this time with seeming sympathy. “What do you mean?”

  Stella sucked in some salty air before laying the ugly truth out further. “I used to be really popular.”

  His eyebrows raised to that in amusement. “Really?”

  “Really. It was Freshman and Sophomore year, back when I lived in Idaho. And, I know, I know, Idaho’s population is pretty dismal, but there are schools that actually have more than five-hundred kids in attendance, especially if you live in Boise. So anyway, I did it all: volleyball, acting, dance team.”

  “Dance team?” He smiled.

  “Well, I am a klutz. I dropped out of dance, because I am that terrible. I was a really happy-go-lucky girl, loved all things girly, could giggle with the best of them.”

  Damien’s smile broadened at that.

  “I dated quite a few guys. Popular guys, I mean. And I soon found they all were cookie-cutter copies of each other, the only real differences being physical traits. I dated the guy with the dimples, the guy with the hair, the guy with the mischievous smile. They all just lied to me, used me, hurt me, made themselves out to be something they weren’t. Basically, they told me what I wanted to hear.

  “And it sucked, because before long I would find out one was cheating on me, one dated me to get another girl jealous, another wanted to change me. There was no depth, no difference. They all did what their friends did, talked like their friends did—a bunch of lemmings.

  “After my last boyfriend, I was so shaken up by his huge, huge lies and possessive behavior, I moved back in with my mom in Oregon to get away and make a completely brand new start. I didn’t really want any reminders of my past choices, so I also changed quite a bit.”

  “What huge lies did he tell, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Um…, okay. I haven’t told anyone else about this, but Billy was his name.” She had to clear her throat to continue. “For one, he said he was seventeen, but he was really twenty-five.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “It was at a B.S.U frat party.”

  “What were you doing there?” He quirked his eyebrows.

  “My friends liked hitting on college guys. I wasn’t interested. I just wanted to dance. But when Billy asked me out and I turned him down, he wanted to know why. I told him I was just sixteen, and wasn’t interested. I was too embarrassed to admit I was actually fifteen at the time. Well, he said he had graduated early through homeschooling and was only seventeen. We ended up talking a lot that night and we left the party together.

  “Anyway, I soon found out everything Billy told me about himself was a lie. And this happened after I fell in love with him. With who I thought he was, anyway.” She shuddered, and Damien rubbed her arm affectionately. “One night, after walking me home, I turned on my heels and followed him. He didn’t want me to know where he lived for whatever reason. He said it was embarrassing conditions and he had lots of annoying roommates anyway. I was going to surprise him, show him that I didn’t care about all that, and I wanted to give him one last kiss before the night was over.”

  Stella took in a deep breath and squeezed Damien’s hand tighter. “Well, he didn’t go back home. Instead, I caught him entering a morgue through a window. I snuck up and watched him through the glass. I saw him open a large metal door, tinker around a bit, and then slide a dead body out. It was so disgusting, seeing him grab a scalpel and other tools, like he was in ecstasy.

  “He must have felt my eyes on him or something, because he glanced to the window and caught sight of me snooping. The mortification that glazed over his eyes was undeniable. I took off running, and he caught up to me, grabbing me by the arm, and insisting that he explain himself. So, then he came clean. He spilled about everything. About how he was really a freezer technician for bodies awaiting autopsy, and how he was really twenty-five.

  “I didn’t care what his true story was. He shouldn’t have lied to me about who he was.”

  Damien sat still as if soaking it all up, a thoughtful expression across his eyes.

  Stella wiggled her arms to rid the thoughts away, and forced herself to perk up. She was so excited to tell Damien all the reasons she found him to be different from the rest. “Damien, you don’t talk like the average surfer or jock, for one,” she said, putting up a finger. “Two, you really are into paranormal stuff, I can tell. Three, you like The Deathheads. Everyone knows they’re not a band jocks listen to. Four, you aren’t needy of your friends. You’ve taken this trip, leaving them to surf alone, to go after some of your own interests, no matter how weird they may think that is. You’ve also confessed proudly that you are a reader, and in doing so, you’ve shown a very intellectual side other guys our age lack if they have a body like yours.

  “So, Damien Capernalli… you are your own person. You’re authentic, and it makes me automatically want to trust you. That is what intrigues me, and why I’ve let my guard down now. It’s been a long time since I opened up to a guy.” There. She said it. And it felt good.

  His eyes left hers and stared back out to the sea. She could tell he was having all sorts of thoughts, but it wasn’t the reaction she expected. He was so serious, and even sucked in his lips and closed his lids tight for a long moment. When his hand slid out of hers, her heart dropped.

  “What?” she asked.

  Damien said barely above his breath, “…You deserve better than me.”

  “What do you mean? Damien, if it’s about how many girls you’ve dated, you can call me out on the fact that I’ve dated lots and lots of guys.”

  “No, that’s not it,” he said sternly. “Though it does sicken me to think about all the girls I’ve dated.”

  That only made Stella like him more. “We share similar stories.” She smiled and went to affectionately sweep some bangs away from his eyes.

  He flinched to the side, hiding his face. “No, our stories are very, very different, Stella. We’re nothing alike.”

  Stella’s heart dropped to her stomach. “…I don’t get it.”

  His brown eyes centered on her, dead-serious. “Get this—I’m not what you think. Don’t ever let me be this close to you again.” He stood up, and walked the shore, wiping his hands over his face and through his hair.

  She was not going to cry. She would not cry. This did not deserve tears. Instead, she force
d herself to stand and walk away, up the beach toward the road. Shaking her head, she said, “He was right. I don’t know him. I never knew him. And I don’t want to get to know him.” That was it then. But when she got to an especially rocky area, she sunk down in a crevice for privacy and let out a few sobs.

  FIFTEEN

 

  Damien headed back to where he had surfed last night, back to where his jeep would be parked in a turn-out of the road. It was completely stupid what he let himself think, let himself do, when it came to Stella. Sure, it was fine to learn from the PAA about werewolves, for his own sake, but leading its president on was just wrong. Totally wrong. A jerk thing to do.

  All the guys Stella mentioned, all her former boyfriends, just reminded him of what he sees when he looks in the mirror. He had been a terrible boyfriend many times over, to a plethora of giddy school girls. He hurt them really bad. …Maybe he was cursed. That would definitely explain his situation. Karma came back to bite him big time.

  Why had she and the others come down to the beach to sleep, anyway, instead of staying at the bed and breakfast? And why were they miles down the beach from the typical spot, the spot they knew he’d be staying at? He could hear them last night making raucous sounds miles away. A bonfire had sparked high in the sky. It hurt to think maybe he was purposefully uninvited to their party.

  He still wasn’t sure what Kit saw in the kitchen. He still wasn’t sure what they all thought of him. Could it be, Stella knew about the animal part of him and just didn’t mention it? He shook the thought away as if ludicrous. It didn’t matter how much Stella was into paranormal creatures, it didn’t mean she could actually fall for one. Falling for a werewolf was definitely limited to fiction… wasn’t it?

  Who’s to tell? The world could be filled with others like him, for all he knew. There could be secret relationships going on all around him. Don’t even play with the idea, he told himself. He couldn’t let himself get back in that mental trap.

  *

  Back in his jeep, Damien let down its convertible top, turned on some music really loud, and squealed his tires onto the two-way road. He tapped a hand on the steering wheel to the beat, hoping to drown out thoughts about anything really. He sucked in the scent of the woods and the beach contending for top spot, and felt the wind whip through his thick hair and tickle his scalp. He was so outta there, back to Shoreline.