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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. |
| The hardest part of my plan was honestly getting everyone on board. I had to explain it more than once to Kris and Shawn, both of whom was very skeptical of turning our home into a death trap. “What if Crash comes home” came up more than once. I promised Mitch, and well, everyone that if Crash came home, I’d be the one to stop him from coming inside before we disarmed the traps. Then there was the manner of traps we could use. I’m not certain a claymore would stop a werewolf, though it would slow it down and piss it off. That’s what we would be going for. Slowing them down, at least until we could do something a bit more to them. Unfortunately, silver doesn’t work like it does in the movies. A simple touch or glance at it does nothing. It has to get into their blood stream to hurt or kill a werewolf. I wasn’t desiring to kill any of them. At least, not yet. This did feel a bit like kittens protecting the den from a lion. In the end, there wasn’t much we could do if they decided to, say, forgo all subtlety and jump from the ground to the second-floor windows to literally bite our heads off. But it was better than sitting and waiting for them to come get us. Plus, being pro-active against a problem feels better than waiting for your problem to come and maim you in the middle of the night. I’m not much of a sportsman so I stopped by the store to pick up some fishing line. It makes a great trip line that’s hard to see. I stretched the fishing line across a few of the stairs and in one door way. Then I did a couple things you’d expect. A nail or two on the stairs, some trip hazards in a small hallway, Soapy floor in the kitchen, then we set inside upstairs, and waited. If we had the home set up the same way the kid did in the movie, I would have definitely set up some paint cans to the face style traps. But as it stands, I felt confident in our ability to at least piss off our attackers before they killed us. That made me feel a little better. When we had completed the trip back to the house, all the shopping, and were upstairs in Kris and Shawn’s room it was almost morning. Mitch was downstairs preferring to have a bit more open room to fight, especially if he was going to “get his claws dirty” he said. Although all of us had seen Crash shift more than once between human and wolf, Mitch preferred privacy to do it so we let him perform that feat alone. Getting The Nobility to walk into our trap after we had set everything up, we thought would have been a challenge. However, as we worked setting the house up, I had an epiphany. Instead of hoping they might happen to show up to get us, I just texted Crash and asked him when he was coming home and told him that everyone was worried here. There wasn’t much more that could be sent. “The party’s here”? “Don’t forget we’re hunting”? Anything of the like and we might as well just text them, “bye the way, we know you’re not actually Crash and we’re setting a trap.” As it stood at that moment, I still wasn’t sure that I had done exactly that. Expectations were non-existent. After all, were they going to just show up in black SUVs like in the movies? Maybe a few old Cadillacs or something like in a Scorsese flick? We didn’t know. We certainly didn’t expect three colorful, expensive and very out of place European SUVs. They waited until nightfall before they showed up. We ate, we talked, we planned, and we jumped at every little shadow and vehicle that rolled down the road. Tension is like pulling on fishing line. After a while, it starts to cut into your skin, leave lines. It can even cut you if you keep it tight enough, long enough. It started to cut us a bit. I won’t go over everything that was said, but to sum it up: Kris at one point said this was all my fault for starting this little blog. Shawn of course backed up his man. Zack tried to point out that fighting is stupid when everyone was about to show up. And I said…. Well, I’m ashamed of it. But I didn’t start this blog to sugar coat anything or make myself feel any better about the world. I really started it to try and make sense of the insanity that was happening, to try and screw my head on right. To also try and get a little bit of therapy through these words on the screen, cause anyone who’s ever attempted to get mental help from the VA can attest to, they ignore you till you almost die, then they treat you. And when they treat you, you go back to wishing you’d just been ignored. What I had said was “Well, I guess instead of just helping Crash with things perhaps I should be more like you free loaders and do absolutely nothing.” That was the most hurtful thing I could come up with on short notice. Yes, there was more curse words in it, and maybe the word wasn’t exactly “free loaders”, but closer in tone to a curse word. Hell, this blog isn’t censored, I don’t know why I’m doing it now. The words used was ‘useless fuckers’ not ‘free loaders.’ I’m still ashamed I said it. Though it did give everyone a pause. The one good thing that came out of that fight was the silence. It allowed us to hear the engines running outside. One individual stepped out of the lead vehicle, a blue Mercedes of some kind. He was in human form, talking on his phone. I couldn’t see more than that thanks to the encroaching night. Front and back door slammed open under the heavy feet of the werewolves. Zack, Kris and Shawn all jumped out of their skins and into each other’s arms, a cry dying in their throat. I didn’t blame them. Experiencing this sort of thing was frightening at first. Heck, I can’t really count how many times I’ve seen it whether it’s with training or through real life situations in my previous occupation, and it was still frightening for me. My fear response had just been trained to be pulling a pistol instead of crying out. Crash in wolf form has a brown and black fur pattern that blends in with the night. So, if he wants, all you see in the darkness is his two eyes shining and his teeth glistening in the full moon light. He pulled this little prank on me when I was going to the pisser on one of the first nights living with him. That’s why I saran wrapped his toilet seat by the way, I did literally wet myself because of that. Mitch’s fur pattern is pure nightmare fuel. A mix of silver, white and grey, so it almost glistens in the light, making him seem even larger than his already humongous frame. He looks like a ghost of a monster come to life in order to rip you to shreds. When the door kicked in and the first wolf came barreling through, he pounced, twisted and chomped their shoulder. They crashed to the floor and into a wall, with a snarl and a wail. Then after tackling them, he leaped through the dining room over to the kitchen and landed on the kitchen table, which creaked under his weight. Two came in through that side door, and launched themselves at him. The soap beneath their claws slipped, and they hit the floor, their jaws snapping shut in a loud clop! Mitch leaped off the table, landed on them. Digging his claws in he leaped forward throwing them into the table and wall behind him. As he was doing this, the first wolf made it to the stairwell, stepping on a nail and yelping loudly. He snarled something, then tried to take the stairs two at a time. He missed the first trip wire, then like an expert hooked the second, landing face first on the stairs and got tangled in the third. That made a perfect path for the other two. They had just finished sliding around our kitchen and just about destroying it and was racing upstairs, with Mitch in tow, literally snapping at their heels. The first of the two brown wolves leaped up the stairs, landed on the first wolves back, then leaped into the doorway, snarling at me. I glared back at them through the site of my pistol. “Far enough,” I growled. The first one of course, didn’t listen. He smiled at me, his ears twisting back as he did to make it look more vicious and stepped forward, drool dripping onto the floor. He growled some sort of threat that I couldn’t understand. Mental note for everyone out there. Threats only work if people understand them. If you try to threaten someone in a language they don’t understand, all they’ll hear is gibberish. I understood the pointing with claws and snapping of teeth, but the language barrier just left me feeling confused instead of scared. “Hey moron!” I shouted. “I think I can blast your buddy in the eye through your nuts. You want me to try? We live with a werewolf; you want to bet this isn’t loaded with silver?” That’s when he said the first thing I could understand. “You want to see your friend alive? You come with us.” “Bullshit,” I growled. “Either he’s dead already, or soon will be.” I didn’t see the looks everyone exchanged when I said that. I didn’t have to. But it was a fact. If we left Crash’s life, Crash was effectively dead. Loneliness is the biggest killer of werewolves out there. It also does a number on people as well. Loneliness breeds depression, which breeds despair, which breeds death. First the death of any desires and joys in your own life, the death of your hopes and dreams, then your own literal death. It had nearly killed me when Crash came and pulled me out of there. It nearly killed him all those years ago before we moved in. I wasn’t about to let it finish the job on him. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I have a gun aimed at your jewels,” I said. “Release Crash.” “You’re under arrest,” he snarled. “I don’t think you get this, but I’m American. I’m also a combat veteran. Which means, I’m hurting. Which means I’m already pissed off, and you just invaded my home in a state that says I’m allowed to kill you for that. You know the only cure for cheering up a combat vet? Killing. And buddy, you ain’t giving me many reasons to keep your dumbass alive.” I pulled the hammer back on my pistol for effect. “Try me.” He grinned viciously. “Look out the window.” I didn’t move. Zack took a moment and peered down. “Holy shit,” he said, “They have Crash.” “What,” I asked. “Yeah. Two of them have Crash by the throat,” he said. “Either you come with us, or he dies,” he said. “So, we die and then he dies slowly, or we all die now, huh,” I said. Then raised the pistol at his head. “I choose,” “Don’t!” Kris shouted. I sighed, and looked over at him. “What?” “Just don’t,” he whimpered. “Crash can’t die.” I sighed and nodded. “Alright,” I conceded. “You go first, then we’ll follow.” It was slow going, but we made it out onto the lawn. There were very few stars out, but we did have a beautiful moon above us. I looked at it and thought about how strange it was that the moon should be the last thing I saw before I died. Crash snarled at his captors, thrashed in their claws to try and free himself, but could not. Two werewolves could very easily restrain one. I wish I had beautiful words to tell him but could only stare like the rest of us. Don’t look, I thought, Don’t watch. Please don’t watch this. It’s here that I must say thank God for our lovely neighbors. I am sincere in saying that. Cause if it weren’t for them, I certainly wouldn’t be typing this out for you now. Zack, Kris, and Shawn would be long gone. They said they owed us more than one and that’s why they interfered, even if it was interfering in the affairs of werewolves. Honestly, I’m just surprised that they could come up with such a complicated plan. I guess you should never underestimate them, even if they do seem simple. |
| I never thought I’d see Mitch so soon. The fast-food werewolf I figured would go back to his life and his family or whatever he was doing with his spare time. So, it was a bit of a shock when he turned back up unannounced with a hangdog look on his face. It was as if someone had kicked his puppy and peed in his cornflakes all at once. “I just want you to know,” he said, “I’m really sorry about how things are gonna go down. And I’m doing everything I can.” “What,” I asked. It was early morning. Crash hadn’t arrived from work yet. He was on night shift, and it was a bit late for him, but not late enough for us to worry about anything. “I just…” he began. Then sighed. “How much do you know about werewolves?” “That you shed enough in wolf form to make another one of you. It’s a pain constantly sweeping all the time,” I said. My intention was to lighten the mood. However, those things rarely ever go the way I’d like them too. Instead of even getting a polite chuckle, I got a glare. “This is serious,” he said. “I know a bit, I guess.” “Well, then you don’t know much about The Nobility then. Grab your bugout bag and meet me out here with your roommates. I think we can get you all to safety before they come.” “I’m kind of lost,” I said. “Can’t this wait till Crash gets home?” “He won’t.” I head tilted at that. Darn annoying habit I picked up from Crash. “What?” “Get your roomies. Get your bag. Let’s go.” I did what he asked, grabbing Kris, Shawn, Zack and each one of us grabbing a small bag with a couple changes of clothing in them and what meds we needed and got back outside. Mitch’s SUV was large enough thankfully to house all of us. Though it was pretty old butdurable, as durable as an old Suburban could be, I suppose. We left town in relative silence, and headed south, reaching the state line in a few hours. After a fast-food lunch, and wasting a couple hours, we headed over to a cheap motel beside the interstate. I collected our phones, turned them all off and placed them in the freezer. Kris turned on a mindless reality TV show of some kind and turned the volume up. My six-hundred-pound mother’s dog’s boyfriend’s life or something like that. All of those shows are the same, anyway so who can really keep track? Kris crossed his arms and glared at Mitch. “Start talking.” “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, looking around. Despite Mitch’s massive frame he was looking smaller and smaller now, looking around the room in a few nervous glances. “We’re about as secure as we can be. Tell us about The Nobility.” I replied. “And where the hell is Crash,” Zack added, glaring up at him. “I’m missing GTA for this.” “And I’m missing work, dude.” Shawn replied. “Look, I know you’re all a bit confused about everything,” he said, “but I promise it will be alright.” “Mitch,” I said, stepping forward. I patted his cheek, and smiled. “Our friend needs our help. For one reason or another he’s saved all of our asses at one point in time. Mine multiple. So if he needs our help, we’re going to help him. Now, you can either tell us what we require, or we’ll go find him. By handing out flyers and shouting his name out the car window like we’re looking for a lost dog, if need be, but we WILL find him.” “Yes, but how the hell are you going to rescue him from five werewolves,” Mitch asked, his face growing dark. “Oh.” It was Mitch’s turn to cross his arms. “Oh.” “The Nobility.” He snarled it like it was a curse, then began to talk. “There are two theories to the origins of werewolves. One is evolution. Hunters/gatherers worked better when one had better hearing, sight, smell, was stronger and faster. A tribe with a couple werewolves could dominate other tribes much easier in theory and take whatever territory they wanted. The other theory is The Nobility. The original bloodline. Their family name would be quite familiar to, well, just about everyone. So among the rest of us ‘mutts’ as they call us, we just call them The Nobility. They say they were blessed by the direct hand of God himself, who reached down and dictated them to rule. A couple hundred years ago, right when America was having its civil war in fact, there was a bit of a civil war among werewolves. The secret war was fought in plain sight among humans and treated as random political killings or just regular murders. I won’t go into great detail of every battle, but the result was, we lost. The Nobility kept their power in Europe, and we fled here.” “I don’t get it,” I said. “What does this have anything to do with Crash?” “Well, The Nobility deems werewolves to be automatically part of their nation, whether they want to be or not. It’s membership by birth and only revoked by death. This is part of the reason why we fought. The other reason was xenophobia. You see, The Nobility sees humanity something to be protected, kept, guided. You know, like a pet. You’re never supposed to know about us. You’re never supposed to live with us. And you’re never supposed to be in a pack with us. Since Crash has all of you as his pack, then by their law, he’s supposed to die.” “How did they find out about Crash, anyway,” Zack asked. “Because,” Mitch said, “someone decided it was a smart idea to start a blog.” I smiled sheepishly, then shrugged. “It’s not like anyone reads the damn thing.” I got a couple of glances, but no glares. “They probably already knew about all of you anyway,” Mitch said. “Can’t say for sure, though. My family fought against them to the last wolf. Finally my grandmother fled here so our family name would live. She met a human, she fell in love with and well, here we are. The Mutts. The Nobility has Crash. They’re having a ‘discussion’,” he threw air quotes around the word, “about his life choices. Their choices will be to kill all of you and Crash. Or to just kill Crash.” “Great,” Kris grumbled. “Those fuckers will kill him either way.” “Crash could be lucky. They could tell him to just kick you out,” Mitch said. “So, kick us out or die. Mitch, you do realize kicking us out will kill Crash, right,” I asked. He nodded. His eyes were watery for a moment. He looked out the window. The cracked parking lot stared back up at him. I was smart enough to ensure we had something on the second floor in the middle. That way we wouldn’t be easy to grab. I didn’t ask why Mitch chose the rundown Motel over a nicer hotel though, despite us being able to pool or cash together to afford it. Cause in a pinch, he can easily go through the walls here and make us an escape route. At least that’s what I choose to believe. It could also be because he’s really cheap. I don’t know. According to Mitch The Nobility are a funny bunch. They expect ones like Crash to either just marry the first werewolf they run across or live in solitude forever, even if solitude is what kills most werewolves. They consider werewolves of those from a human parent to be “mutts.” When he said this, he spat the word out. We had been sitting in that Motel room for the longest time, as the sun began to set, it was Zack of all people who finally put things into perspective. “We all have jobs and lives to get to. I understand hiding out in this motel if they’re after us. But it sounds like they’re after Crash instead.” Kris nodded. “Besides, Crash really can’t live without us. We don’t want to live without him. And who says it’s their damn business anyway who he chooses to have as a pack, anyway?” “They do,” Mitch said. “And their thousands of werewolves they can call upon to fight for them at moment’s notice. If The Nobility chose to, they could literally wipe your town and any memory of it off the map.” We sat there for a long time, listening to the sounds of the people on television talk about their frustrations living with this 600 pound dog’s wife’s girlfriend’s brother or whatever they were going on about. As the mindless monotony droned on, we all stared at the floor. Or the wall. Or the ceiling. Kris and Shawn held each other for comfort. But a single thought kept running through my head. In guerrilla warfare, those who know the home have the advantage. They’re the ones who understand every shortcut, every nook, every cranny. They have the memories of the people who lived nearby, of dead-end roads, of which paths through the forest twists around in circles and which one leads directly to the other side. Or to the creek. Militaries in the past have studied local maps, interviewed local people, have fought hard to mitigate this advantage, but no amount of satellite photography, of talking to other people could eliminate the boon of having the home field. “We could go back,” I said. Everyone looked at me. “How,” Zack asked. “Well, easy. Mitch gets in his surburban and drives us. Then we might have enough time to get ready,” I said. “You know this will be incredibly stupid,” Mitch said. I grinned. “Well, I’ve been accused of being brave before, but never of being smart.” “What’s the plan,” Zack asked. “We follow Kevin McCallister’s example,” I said. “What are you talking about,” Mitch asked. “What? Haven’t you ever watched Home Alone?” |
| It’s my theory that everyone is magnetic of some magnitude. Meaning, they naturally attract certain things. Some people attract riches and wealth, others attract fun people and parties, still others attract nothing but trouble. I try to stay away from those that do attract trouble, and stay near those that attract goodness and kindness. Those are the qualities I need, after all. The qualities we all need in our lives. I don’t need trouble around me. Charles had done every bit of those things. He was the kind of personality that attracted trouble. It’s not his fault, I suppose. Being hulderfolk, he rather enjoys human company. Even if he doesn’t fully grasp or understand it. Nancy does as well. These blond haired, blue eyed chiseled beauties could have before been seen just about everywhere about town if they weren’t at home. Working outside together, working out at the gym or going on runs. Doing all sorts of things. Until the divorce that is. After the attack, strange threats, and subsequent break up I thought I was done with those two. No amount of curiosity could make it worth chasing them down to find out what exactly happened to these tailed and crazy kids. But I suppose just because you maybe done with someone, doesn’t mean that they’re exactly done with you. Charles didn’t take the break up well. I could see that from the first moment I laid eyes on him outside of the grocery store. His face looked more broken up than the ancient, sun-bleached parking lot out front. He wasn’t in his Mercedes. He was staring longingly through the glass at the front door, like a kid at an amusement park that is just two inches shy of getting on the rollercoaster. “Charles,” I asked. “Jason,” he said, snapping his attention to me. There was a half-crazed look in his eye. “Look, if you attack me,” I said, starting into a standard threat. Charles cut me off as he turned, grabbing my shirt in both hands. “Look, I’m sorry, okay! I was grief smitten and bitten down by the terrible tragedy that had occurred at my domicile.” I held back a gag when he embraced me like this. Charles had undergone many things in the past several weeks, but it smelled like a shower wasn’t one of them. Neither was a clean change of clothing. His over priced designer pants and shirt looked as if they had rolled around in the dirt and been dragged behind a car. “Okay, okay. Apology accepted,” I grumbled, pushing against him to try and get some space and clean air between us. “What are you doing here?” “Nancy’s in there,” he said. “She doesn’t want to see me.” “Okay,” I said. “So?” “I don’t want to see her.” See what I mean about these head scratcher statements these hulderfolk always seems to give you? “Then, I have a great solution. Why don’t you, I don’t know, just go away. Let her shop in peace and you won’t see each other.” “But,” Charles said, “I have to see her.” I sighed. “I’m going to regret this. But why do you have to see her?” “Because, I love her.” “Charles, my sweet dear friend. Then why do you not want to see her?” I asked. His face darkened a moment. “Because I hate her.” He snarled. “I will piss on her toes if I see her again.” In as patient of a voice as I could muster, my anger rapidly increasing from the proximity of his stench and the strangeness of the conversation, I asked, “Charles? Is that why you have to see her again? Cause you need to pee?” He gave me that look he gives me sometimes as if a strange wart had suddenly sprouted out of my nose. “No! You humans are so weird. Why would you ask me that?” Why indeed. I slid my hands into my pockets to keep me from crossing my arms in annoyance and anger. After staring at him for a few moments, he finally said “I don’t know why. I hate her but I love her. Most of my kind mate for life, you know.” I didn’t, but I guess that makes sense in a…Charles sort of way. “Why don’t you go talk to her?” His eyes welled up for a moment, emotion breaking through on his face. “I tried that. She ignored me, made me run across five yards and through a ditch to just get her attention while she drove away. No amount of pontificating or vocalizing my emotions could over come the destructive volume of her audio equipment in her vehicle.” If you’re as tongue tied as I am about that mouthful of monstrosity, don’t worry. I’ve figured out what he was trying to say. He was chasing her car, and she was blasting her music. She probably didn’t even see him. “I followed her here. Shouted her name, but she didn’t even look around,” he said. I sighed. “Look, I got groceries to get.” Crestfallen, he slunk away from the door. “My life has no meaning without my Nancy,” he said. “Even after she betrayed me.” “Okay,” I growled. “Fine! I’ll talk to her. But, I want you to promise me, if I get her to agree to meet you, that you’ll stop staring through this door like a lost puppy. Okay?” Confusion painted his face for a moment. “I’m no lost puppy,” he said. “I’m Charles.” With a heavy sigh, I nodded. “Of course, you are. Give me about twenty minutes.” If he started literally counting the seconds when I left, I wouldn’t have been surprised. However, he simply nodded then stepped back, walking over towards my car. Turning, I stepped into the cool air of the super market, and grabbed a cart to begin shopping. The grocery store wasn’t some hi-tech marvel, but it had everything I was coming for at reasonable prices. Shelves stocked high with goods in crowded isles that were placed with just the right amount of space between them to get two carts to barely squeeze through: all so they can bring more goods to you the consumer. I rounded through the produce isles with their fresh fruits and vegetables stacked in as many arrays of pyramids and slanted display cases as they could possibly hold and grabbed a couple things. Then, maneuvering my way through the next isle, I found her. Nancy’s blonde hair was brushed backwards and allowed to fall down the back of her pants suit. She had selected one that, to me looked as if she was trying to be a stand in for Hillary Clinton at an appearance somewhere, but I guess made sense for her. She was staring at a list as if it seemed to mystify her with its’ confound nature. “What are you looking for?” I asked. “I cannot find this,” she said, pointing to the top item on her list. “It was nowhere in produce.” It’s not good to make fun of Hulderfolk. There has been more than one incident that has occurred when someone had been foolish enough to make fun of their unique nature. However, at times it is REALLY hard not to do it. “That’s because Apple Jacks is a breakfast cereal,” I said. “Come here, let me show you.” We went a couple isles over and I grabbed the familiar green box off the shelf. “Here you go.” “Jason, you are always such a great boon to one such as me when I’m in a time of calamity,” she said. It seems to me that hulderfolk will purposefully use larger words when they feel dumber. A sort of safety mechanism against a world that is, in all honesty, a bit harsher against their kind than seems reasonable. Anyone could make a subtle joke about them and laugh at their expense, but to me that is a bit like kicking a lost puppy. Especially when they’re so good at the lost puppy look. “Charles used to do all the shopping. May his toenails grow fat and fall out,” she cursed. I nodded. “You pay the bills?” She smiled. “Yes. I used to feel his was unworthy of my attention and time, but I see that shopping can be quite difficult.” She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Perhaps you’d like to help me finish my shopping list? I can make it worth your time.” At some point in time, that would have been an easy yes. Accept her offer, help her shop, go back to her place, bring in the groceries, and well, you know. But seeing the lost look in her eye, it awoke the protective instinct in me, I guess. Or maybe I’m getting softer in my old age. “It sounds like you and Charles make quite the team,” I said. “Please do not speak his name.” She snarled. “So what if I had intercourse with the mailman, and the gardener. And the pool boy. So, what! It’s not like he hasn’t had his flings either. To hear him talk, you’d think it was my fault for having sex with so many people.” “I know I’m going to regret this,” I said. “But how is it not?” I looked down and rubbed my eyes in preparation for the batshit insanity that was coming. I wasn’t disappointed. “Cause Charles was always too tired to give a good performance. I like more,” “Okay!” I interrupted. “Let’s not go that far. I don’t need a picture.” “What. It’s not shameful. I like it when a man gives me his full attention. And full,” “But all I am saying,” I said, talking over her. Look I know it’s rude, but standing in a grocery aisle next to the kids cereals is just NOT the place to be talking about how you enjoy having sex. “Charles seemed to handle more things than you give him credit for. One half of a whole team doesn’t work.” It wasn’t Shakespeare, I admit. Still, she paused in thoughtful reflection. “I believe you maybe right. Let us talk, me and Charles. You bring him to the house, tonight.” “Seven o’clock,” I asked. “Sure,” she replied. With that, she was done; walking away from me down the isle, staring at her grocery list as if deciphering it could give her the keys to life itself. I finished my shopping and to my complete lack of surprise, Charles was standing by my car. “There was some lawn gnomes who tried to come by,” he said. “I made them flee in fear, though. Told them that they’d better not mess with my friends’ transportation mobile or they would have to answer to me.” “Okay, well thanks.” I wasn’t sure what he was talking about at the moment, but I didn’t ask. I was afraid I’d get an answer. “Tonight, at seven. We will meet at her place.” “It used to be ours.” Charles whimpered. His bottom lip quivered a moment, then he snarled. “I will bite her thumbs!” “You’re going to need help tonight, aren’t you?” He nodded. “okay,” I sighed. “Charles, I’ll go with you tonight. On one condition.” “Name it,” he said. “If it is within my possibilities to make this come true, I will.” “Stop with the weird and creepy threats.” “Done.” Charles nodded. “I will not threaten my beloved beautiful Nancy. Even if she betrayed me.” As I began to load the groceries in the trunk, he opened my passenger door and sat down. Remembering my zombie adventure, I grumbled, “I should just start a damned super natural taxi service,” and climbed in next to him. When we got back near the house, Charles insisted on climbing out in front of the drive way. “If I go back onto your property,” he said, “werewolf will eat my head.” I didn’t doubt that in the slightest. The last meeting between Crash and Charles didn’t go all that well. So, I let him out, and he sat at the stop sign at the end of the street, staring fore longingly at his own home, waiting. What did I do? I brought in groceries, then gave him a couple bottles of water. Saying our goodbyes, I told him I’d meet him there. I expected him to go back to where he lived, but he just sat there. When I asked why he didn’t go home, he said “I couldn’t figure out how to pay the rent. So, I lost my home.” Not much more I could have done from that point. And no amount of asking would get him to come into the house. Crash was on one of his day shifts, so he wasn’t around to give Charles permission – so there he sat. I did check on him every couple of hours, stepping out and having a conversation with the man. After a couple of refills on the water, a few strange conversations that would make any passerby believe he was dying of heat stroke or something, and a candy bar that he got somewhere, seven o’clock finally came. And with it, the dreaded meeting. Nancy, for her effort looked beautiful. Her hair was pulled back behind her head in a beret. She was wearing a blouse that complimented her hair and eyes. A skirt that seemed perfectly cut, and a smile that made you feel more at ease. However, Charles looked as if someone kicked him in the gut. They stared at each other for a bit, then both looked away. “Alright, I guess we should start this off with,” I began. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t perform.” Charles said. “But the scent of other men in here, on you. It made me ill.” “I grew bored Charles,” she said. “I just don’t want to perform intercourse the same way over and over again.” “But, I thought you were pleased!” “I was, but I wanted to try new things.” I held my hands up. “Okay! Before we go down that little road. How about this. Why don’t you Nancy write down some of the things you want Charles to do.” “That part is easy,” she said. “I wanted you to go away. And never come back.” Charles face fell at that comment. “But!” She shouted, looking at me. “It’s like what you said, Jason. One team cannot do what one person makes.” “Yeah,” I replied. “Or, something like that.” “We’re a team, Charles. I thought I was smarter than you cause I pay bills and you take care of the house. But maybe I’m wrong. It is very difficult to take care of this place without you.” Charles nodded. “Exactly! We are a team. We cannot do what one person makes. We must do together.” She had a pen and paper in front of her. To take notes with, I guess. She wrote down some, well, let’s just say explicit things that she happily showed me before she showed Charles. He didn’t seem to mind one bit. Charles added one addendum that seemed to be apropos on his part. “The only thing I want, Nancy,” he said. “Is for you to respect me. Not hate me because you have a better job and pay bills.” A tear formed in her eye for a moment. I sat there unsure of what was about to happen. But she walked around the table, and kissed him. Deeply. Then said, “I will, and always will respect you.” I think they forgot I was even there. The shirts started coming off next, and that’s when I turned and left. And that’s how Charles and Nancy re-united. Two halves of the same coin. They seemed to work out a system thanks to that little notebook. If she wanted to try something different, she wrote it down and kept it in that drawer next to their bed. If he did, it was the same thing. Communication on a different, yet strange level that seems to work for them. This little mis-adventure stuck in my mind for a bit, due to the strangeness on the surface. Yet, after a while, like anything with hulderfolk, it began to make a strange sort of sense. She cheated on him because she was bored. But really it was because she didn’t respect him. Didn’t think Charles was, well, troll enough because her job and role seemed more important than his in the relationship. Mutual respect is a earned and given thing. It’s not something you just automatically have. One party has to prove themselves to be worth it. And then the other party has to give it, and sometimes more than their fair share of it to see things through. Just because your role in a relationship may seem more important to you doesn’t automatically make your role better, or make you the better partner for having it. It’s that kind of ego and pride that erodes and destroys a relationship. And that’s what I see broke Charles and Nancy up. Ego and pride. Not just hers. Charles’ too for not talking to her, for not listening to her. Nancy’s for not talking to him. For placing herself upon a pedestal that shouldn’t exist between them. They do really seem like they’re happy together again. Charles is back at it, mowing in his boxers, trimming the occasional hedge. And Nancy is back at it as well. Occasionally, I do see someone enter their house at night and either Charles or Nancy or both answer the door. The way I look at it, it’s not my business. I don’t ask questions. Not because I’m afraid they’ll get offended. But because I’m afraid they’ll tell me. |
| I have a rule about war stories. I don’t repeat war stories unless the person who owns that story gives me permission to do so. Even then, I’m not likely to talk about it. Simply because, it’s not my story to tell. I’ve heard my fair share of these kinds of stories. IEDs. Friend stepping on a landmine. Schoolkids being used as human roadblocks. Those images and scenarios that stick with you, and demonstrate the depths humanity can and will go to at times to bring a version of hell to life here on earth. I am not relaying those stories here. Those stories belong to those individuals who lived them and I’m not going to betray them by stealing their thunder. Instead, I’ll tell a story that I do have permission to tell. One that shows even werewolves can have those moments of weakness, doubt, and pain. Crash came home that morning in a mood. Normally when Crash comes home in “wolf-mode” as I’ve called it, he starts to shift back to human, will maybe grab a cup of decaf coffee or something then go to sleep. This day was different. A thunderstorm was pouring down Armageddon upon our little county. The rain formed puddles and streams in our yard, pooling and pulling in directions that grabbed leaves and loose grass and twigs toward ditches and the forest. Crash stepped through the door, soaking wet. He went to the shower, and shook himself off, his fur slinging water droplets every which way. When he had gotten himself reasonably dry, he toweled himself off as best as he could, then came back in. Dry, but still very much dark. At this point, I’d already poured him a whiskey and gotten myself a glass as well. It wasn’t a time to drink alone. He took the proffered glass, and took a small lap at it, werewolf version of a sip. His ears were folded and his eyes downcast in the worst bout of depression I’d ever seen. Picture your dog when he looks as if he was thinking over all of his life decisions, all of the bad ones. That’s the look that Crash had on him then. The weight of the world had dragged his nose, ears, and tail to the floor, and he wasn’t fighting back. “I messed up,” he sighed. He looked out to the woods. “Look at me. I’m strong, quick. I can almost leap over the second floor of this house. Yet, I still couldn’t…” he drifted off for a moment, his face scrunching up in pain. I put my arm around him as best as I could. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just sighed and said, “let me tell you how this happened.” “It was an ordinary assignment. Just a simple stalk and check. I sniff around the property, make sure nothing is going on and disappear before the homeowner ever knows. A cop was called over thank to a nosey neighbor who kept close tabs on all the comings and goings of the couple and noticed that for the past week or so their habits had changed. Instead of going outside to do the yardwork every Saturday or so for a couple of hours, the man seemed to avoid it. A new guy showed up and did it every day. It looked as though he had lived there, never leaving the house and even sometimes driving the man’s car. When the cop went to check, he said the woman seemed nice enough, the husband to, but the new guy and their relationship just felt, ‘strange.’ This new guy was massive, neighbor’s words, not mine. He had this wife beater on, showing off these huge arms of his. Cop was pretty green, didn’t know the ins and outs of what we did as much as the more seasoned officers, so instead of reporting it back like he should have, it was an almost end of the shift thing. So, it was almost midnight when I got the report. The home sat in the middle of a new suburb being built. Blue paint, white shutters. A literal white picket fence. The all-American dream, being lived out by a couple whose only crime was running into the wrong person. I could see a light on when I went around back. Stepped by their perfectly selected patio furniture for their perfectly landscaped lawn. It was more than cared for, it was cultivated, sculpted. Looked like a work of art. That was my first clue of what I was dealing with. You see, minotaurs have their own way of doing things. Part of their religious expression is in lawncare and gardening. It’s part of the way they give back to their deity so to speak. Another part is being outdoors. When I was told that the new guy was always outside and seemed doing something, I should have raced over immediately. But I don’t know if it would have been soon enough. Their religion also dictates that being outside is better than being in, so they tend to be outside almost all the time. Plus, minotuars are always nice, pleasant creatures. Still, it just didn’t click when I ‘clocked in’, I guess. Or maybe it did and I knew it was too late? Who knows. Second guesses. Regrets. These are the things that destroys a werewolf. Silver bullets and second guesses.” He took another sip, then set the glass back down on the counter and stared out at the storm. “I don’t try to destroy property. It makes it messy with paperwork, which is I can’t stand doing, and leaves a bad impression of what we do. So I walked over to the sliding glass door in the back and just lifted it off the rails and yanked it open. It slid open easy. The scent of copper and fear hit me like a sledge hammer when the door opened. When I stepped through the door, I heard a snort from my left. Looking over, standing by the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room was him. His fur was as dark as mine, with gold glowing eyes. His horns glistened with red blood dripping down. A thick growl built in my throat. I twisted and was hit when the guy charged me, horns down. I crashed through an expensive dining table behind me. Tables don’t splinter like they do in the movies. They crack, snap, and break. Jagged edges slicing into you like knives. He lifted his head, and thrusted it down, on top of my head, stunning me. Then he stood, his tail swishing a bit as he walked away, a chuckle in his throat. “I knew you’d come,” he said. “I told them you’d be here. You’d be far too late, but you’d be here.” We heal quickly, us werewolves. The pain from the broken boards stabbing through me had already begun to subside. The blood loss didn’t bother me much. I wasn’t even dizzy. The wounds had begun to close and heal already. “You want to see them?” he taunted. “I’ll bring you to them.” Then he walked over and grabbed my foot. The dining room slid by, then the hallway. The coppery scent that I smelled when I first opened the door had reached a fever pitch. When we got to that room, I planted my other foot right at his tailbone and kicked as hard as I could, knocking him into it. He stumbled forward, his foot hitting the pool of blood that I knew would be there and slipped. His head crashed through the wall. Standing up, he snorted, then shook his head. “Tricky vicious beast,” he growled. “Angry that I stomped on your pets?”” He paused a moment, then looked at me. “Do you want me to go into the gory details?” “You know, I’ve seen, done and heard far worse,” I said. “There’s no judgement here. You go as deep as you like.” He nodded. “They were brutalized. That much I’ll say. Most minotaurs are peaceful creatures. They stay outside more than in, are the ones who will be first to invite the whole neighborhood to a party, are generally mainly vegetarians though they’ll eat meat here or there. But this guy, he was none of those things. I could tell from his laugh, from his stance, from his growl. I could see it in his eyes. Hell, I could smell it on him. He was insane. He stomped his foot, then dragged it on the ground, like a mad bull. I stood, my claws in front of me. He bent his head down charged forward. I stood still, prepped, ready. A growl rising in my throat. Everything happened in slow motion. His horns bent down, I jumped, grabbing them, then landed on his back, and wrenched. The snap sounded like a board breaking in half. First his neck went. Then, I took his horns. He lay limp beneath me with me holding his two bloody horns in my paws, growling, snarling. “Do it,” he snarled. “Do it for Gaia’s sake. Just do it.”” He paused again, taking another lap at the whiskey. “Well, did you?” I asked. “I already did,” he sighed. “Your sentence,” I growled down at him, “is to live the rest of your miserably long life knowing that those you despise enough to destroy will be the ones who are caring for your every need. They’ll be feeding you. Washing you. And making your every decision for the rest of your days. And you’ll have no power to move or hurt anyone ever again.” I stood to leave, to call this in. I almost left when I heard a chuckle. “You think I did this because I despise them,” he asked. “No. I did this because I love them. I love humans so much, but they just never love me back. Like that couple. Absolutely adored me until they saw what I was. Now, they can never leave me. They’ll always be apart of me, no matter what.”” I had a hunch. “He ate their hearts, didn’t he?” Crash nodded. “If I had just come earlier. If I’d just went directly there. Would they be alive? If I hadn’t waited. If I had been told earlier. If, if, if. During the waking hours, before the sun dawns. When I’m walking through those woods making my way home after a long, hard day’s night. No matter how much I try, I’ll still have all of those ifs. They’ll always haunt me.” We finished our whiskeys in silence, staring out the kitchen window out the porch and the storm. After a refresh of our drinks, we both made our way onto the porch as the rain slacked, then thinned. The drops growing thinner. “Look,” I said, “here comes the sun.” Crash gave me a look. His ear twisted in that way as if to say ‘really?’ “You were waiting to say that, weren’t you?” I smiled. “Yes. You started it, Mr. ‘hard day’s night.’” There was another brief pause as we both watched the beauty of the coming day grow and slowly cleanse a piece of that hurting part of our souls. “Dude,” I said. “You’re a werewolf. You can almost leap over this house. Stronger than any creature I’ve ever seen probably. Faster than my car.” He laughed. “You drive a Topaz. Turtles are faster than your car.” “Very funny. You bought me that car, remember,” I said. “Still, you can do all of these things. But you’re not God. You can’t be everywhere at once and see everything. There’s still only so much even you can do.” Crash nodded. “I know.” “But still the ifs,” I asked. He sighed. “Still the ifs.” “Come here,” I said, throwing an arm over his shoulder. “You see that sunlight over there?” “Yes,” he said. “That’s what you’ve been for my life. Always remember that. I was literally committing suicide with alcohol. You saved me. No matter what ever else happens in your life. You did one thing right. You saved my life.” He smiled, “thank you,” he said. “You know, you saved me too.” I shrugged. “All I did was talk to you on the phone.” “Yes,” he said. “That small gesture, it meant so much. The small things you do and the small things you don’t do in life matters.” I nodded. “True. But if ‘If was a fifth, we’d all be drunk.’” “Huh,” Crash replied. “You can’t be everywhere, Crash,” I said. “You can’t do everything. Despite all of your natural born gifts, you still can’t save the world.” He smiled. “I saved you.” I smiled back, raising a glass. “And I saved you.” The glasses made a small tink as the collided. “You know, that makes us family,” I said. “More than that,” Crash replied. “That makes us a pack.” |
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