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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. |
| Crash doesn’t do restaurant reviews or ratings. In fact, he doesn’t eat out all that much. He’d prefer to just catch it, he says. Or to just have something here. So, him asking me if I’d like to go out for barbecue was a bit strange. What was stranger was when he told me “Bring your pistol.” “So, this isn’t something you’d like the rest of the gang in on,” I was strapping my shoulder holster on when I spoke. Crash shook his head, still in human form. His beard had been trimmed up for this, making it look like a dark chin strap across his chin. “No, I’d rather they stay home. With you next to me, they should play nice. But we’ll see.” “So, myth owned, then.” “Yes,” Crash shrugged. “Rougarou.” “Rou ragu?” “No, Rougarou. Louisiana. Cajun country shape shifters. They’re weregators kinda, but the locals attribute their legend to us werewolves.” “So, a shapeshifting gator. Like Elouise.” Crash slipped on a jacket as he spoke. “Like, her. Come on. We got a booth to grab.” I followed him out the door and took his cue to wear a jacket. We were taking his Cadillac, and he never drives that thing with the top up. At least the weather was cooperating. It may have been cold, but it also was sunny, which gave us that nice paradox of a beautiful sky with a few fluffy clouds to go with our almost subzero temperatures. Crash never seems to feel this sort of weather, but he wears the jacket like a perfunctory type of thing. Everyone expects him to be cold and wear a jacket so he wears one. I have seen him shiver, but that was usually from pain, not the cold. But what would you expect from someone who will run through the snowy woods at night ‘in the fur’, so to speak. The trip was to the next town over, which was thankfully short. We took backroads the entire way, Crash letting the V-8 sing out a little bit, revving the engine up as if he was mentally preparing himself for something. His unnatural quiet shifted my demeanor, and by the time we pulled up to the shack, I was glad to have my pistol with the silver rounds in it. It was the kind of rundown shack on the edge of town that everyone local knows is trouble. A converted hay barn of sorts that they had purchased from a big box hardware store like a Lowe’s or Home Depot, the interior left little to be desired. The flooring was finished though, the tables were old, and the walls had insulation and cheapest paneling they could get away with. In the back outside was a smoker, and you could smell the sweet scents of meat and fat sweating long hours over hot coals. When we arrived, there was a few people there, but quite a number of tables were empty. It could have been the odd hour we arrived at, the dead zone between lunch and dinner, or it could have been the place just hadn’t caught on yet. Behind the gravel parking lot was more trees that perhaps would one day be bustling businesses, but chances are, would just be more trees for years to come. We took a table near the door, sat and waited. It was a counter service type place, with an old-fashioned eighties style register on it near the back by the smoker. Green LEDs stared out the number 0.00 at me, as if attempting to beckon me to make a sale. Two beautiful women were working the counter, with someone else outside working the smoker. I couldn’t see him but could occasionally hear a gruff Cajun voice mention about serving this or that up. The wait didn’t last for long. The door opened, and a very gruff and disappointed Elouise came, twisted a chair around, and sat down over it, glaring at Crash from across the table. “I’m here,” she growled. “I suppose this is the thanks I get for doing my civic duty.” Crash arched an eyebrow. “No, this is the thanks you get for holding back information.” “I told everything I know,” she snarled. Crash tapped his nose and smirked. “I can smell when you’re lying, you know.” I watched as one of the women from behind the counter walked towards the table. Elouise growled deep in her throat as the woman approached. “Elouise, as I live and breathe, how are you sugah,” the woman said. “Why, I thought you said, ‘I’ll never step foot inside your hellhole again.’ That’s what I remember hearing. Yet hear you are.” “Hello Marissa,” Elouise snarled. “Still pretending you’re a blonde, I see.” It was a pretty bad dye job. You could see her brunette roots. Her eyebrows were still brunette. It looked as if she dyed her hair blonde to look like she dyed her hair blonde. “Blondes have more fun. I keep telling Tarissa that, but she keeps dying her hair brunette. You know how sisters are.” Elouise rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything. “Meet my friends. This here’s Jason,” she said nodding towards me. “And that’s Crash,” she said. Marissa looked towards me, “You’re the blogger,” she said, then smiled at Crash, “and you’re the cop,” Marissa threw her hands up, ‘Don’t shoot! Don’t chew, I give up,” she said, then chuckled. “Why’d you bring the popo here, Ellie, you trying to blame us for something? The meth was your idea not ours, and it’s why we had to leave Louisiana in the first place.” “I was younger. Dumber,” Elouise said. “I don’t do that stuff no more. I’m clean.” Marissa looked from Elouise back to Crash. Annoyance began to break through her pleasant ‘how do ya do’ smile. “And I run a respectable establishment. Go ahead dog, sniff around. You won’t find nuthin.” Crash laughed. “You gators are all the same. You look at me and think that I can’t possibly, oh, I don’t know, smell the human blood from the blood stain you bleached out then tried to refinish. Two people, I do believe. Man? Woman, I think? Now, if I shifted and took a big whiff, I’d find out more, but, I mean, why bother? Who needs to scare all these good people here?” Hands on her hip, a glare in her eye, Marissa said “Well, that’s the sorta stuff I’d like to see a warrant for, isn’t it?” It came out all jumbled together, with the words ‘isn’t it’ sounding more like ‘idn’t it’. “Order something, or get out.” “I thought this was a counter service,” I leaned on my fists, resting my elbows on the table. She glared at me like she wanted to bite my head off, looked at Crash, then stomped back to her counter and glared at me from the other side of it. “How much you want to bet they’ll spit in our food,” I asked Crash. He smirked. “You wouldn’t get that lucky. Rougarou spit has been known to have healing properties.” “You’re kidding,” I said. “Spit in my old neighbor’s stew in Louisiana all the time. Helped her with her arthritis,” Elouise said. There wasn’t a hint of a smirk on her face. “You’re kidding,” I said to her. “Am I,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. “Are we,” Crash said arching his own. It was right about then that my brain betrayed me. Images of the cook in full gator form began to run through my head. In my head, I could see him spit into a to-go box full of BBQ, then put the dish into the window so both waitresses also in gator form of course, could spit into the dish. In the scene in my mind, Marissa smiled sweetly as she placed the dish on the counter. “That’s a half pound of pulled pork, extra saliva, sugah. Anything else,” she asked, grinning. The elderly woman reached in and grabbed a big handful and took a bite, saying “no deary, that’s perfect,” between bites. Both began to laugh at my full body shiver as I tried to shake the thoughts from my brain. “Alright, I’m out of here,” I grumbled, “let’s go to Micky D’s.” Their laughter followed me out the door. Most of the trip back was made in silence. I didn’t bother asking Crash why he even invited me. I think I know. His office probably doesn’t have a lot of humans in it. But he needed a human near him for this. That exchange between the wait staff, Elouise and Crash was particularly icy. I didn’t have a lot to say or do there. Normally it’s me ramping up the tension with some stupid flex or threat. But this time Crash was the one talking. So, it’s like he wanted me there as a check. To keep them or himself calm. That exchange with Elouise and Marissa too, that was something else. If I hadn’t had been there, would they have started fighting? What does Elouise have to do with them? Obviously, there is some history there. I have no idea what’s going on, but I can tell when things are getting out of hand. This time, I can honestly say I have nothing to do with it. But if I’m going to start going on jobs with Crash like this, I hope I’ll at least start getting paid for it. I could use the money. |
| It’s always nice meeting new neighbors, isn’t it? It’s great to get to know the nice couple that buys the house down the street from you with the picket fence and the dog house in the yard, the ones who keeps smiling and waving at you, making those subtle jokes and hints that you only later come to find out are insults. The one’s who usually drive something American like a Dodge and isn’t one of them a shoe salesman? Okay, so that’s the Bundy’s from the TV show Married with Children. These days that nice couple down the street (not the shoe salesman on TV or anyone played by Ed O’Neill) will drive either an SUV or a mini-van, and come in all sorts of flavors and sizes. From starter families of all flavors and sizes to single families to just single people. Couples who are past the point of kids and frankly don’t want any. Couples who have enough kids for everyone in the neighborhood to take a couple and they wouldn’t notice. They could be Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, or a mixture of all of those. Straight, gay, bi, whatever. Whatever shape, size, culture or mixture the family comes in, it’s still nice to meet the neighbors. Even when one is six and a half feet tall and looks like she could bench press a Buick. Elouise Thompson reminded me of Chyna from the WWE who died tragically. Crash claims to have seen her first, but I saw her on morning jogs through the neighborhood days before he claims it. I didn’t try to catch up to her and say hi though. Running hurts now. I ain’t running. But I’ll cheer you on from the sidelines if I see you. Blonde isn’t her natural hair color, but it’s the one she chose and despite the color looking closer to something you get out of a bottle in the house hold cleaners’ section and not in the health and beauty section, it still works for her. I guess. I’m not one to judge on appearance these days, really. I once conducted an experiment to see how long I could go without bathing before the roommates try and throw me into the shower. That official count is four days if you’re curious. No, it wasn’t Crash, his sensitive werewolf nose says we all stink. It was a team effort between Kris, Zack and Sean. And they wouldn’t have succeeded without that coconut oil and the slip and slide. But I digress. A few days later, Crash was up early for a night patrol. It wasn’t even dark yet. His dark fur glistened in the dying daylight. He grabbed me in the kitchen just as I was getting ready to cook. “Remember that old cemetery the Zombies cleaned up? Could you go out there with a stop watch and wait?” I almost head tilted in that confused dog manner Crash always does. “Stop watch? You need me to count pushups and sit-ups too?” Crash shook his head. “Please, no. Don’t even make that joke or you’ll give her ideas. I’ll call you when we begin.” “I think I still have the stop watch app on my phone,” I said. “Used it during PT all the time. What’s this about?” “Elouise,” Crash said. “New girlfriend,” I asked. Crash laughed, “No. New friend. I think. Unless this is a secret plan to kill me.” “That could still be one of your girlfriends,” I said with a grin. Crash waved a paw. “No, no. I gave up dating psychopaths.” With that, he headed out the door and I followed. I drove up to the cemetery and stepped out, pulling my car off to the side of the road. Like Crash, I didn’t expect much traffic and didn’t see any. There wasn’t any houses on that particular stretch of the highway. It was a place one went when they wanted to push their car a little harder than what they could do in city limits without having to worry about speeding tickets. I stood by my car amidst the growing shadows remembering when the Zombies brought me out here so they could clean the place up and have their little party. Before I could ask myself dumb questions like ‘what are they doing now?’ (Answer: rotting of course), Crash called. I shouted go, in the phone and started my timer. Werewolves run fast. Before you ask, no I don’t know how fast. And, no I don’t know the route or the distance they ran. All I know is that I was staring down the roadside expecting to see Crash come blazing up the highway, and instead I heard a rustle through the trees. A guttural growl and a snarl echoed through the forest, one that chilled my blood to the bone. Two creatures exploded from the woods. One, of course, was Crash. The second was what I can only describe as an Alligator man. Woman. Or whatever. Pausing a moment, I stopped my stop watch, and swallowed. “Hi,” I said, reaching out to the gator lady. “I’m Jason.” “Elouise,” she huffed. “Pleasure. Who won?” “Excuse me,” I asked. “Our race. Who won?” Crash made a motion, behind her back. I glanced at him, then back at her. “I-it was you,” I said. She grunted, glaring at me. “If you’re lying,” she started. “You ought to know better than to threaten a wolf’s human,” Crash said with a slight grin and a tail wag. She turned back to him. “Best two out of three,” she snarled. “Perhaps,” Crash said. “I’d be willing to trade another race for a cup of coffee and a conversation.” “Thanks,” Elouise said her thick tail tip twitching, “but too much fur, not enough scales for ma taste, sugah.” “Wasn’t asking for a date,” Crash stepped forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I want to know what you can tell me about the Grey’s.” “I…” she began, then looked down. “I think I may try runnin on my own first.” “Go ahead and try,” I said. “I know he was holding back. I also know that he can have four other mythicals faster than him here with a single phone call to catch you.” “Now don’t you go threatenin me, human,” she snarled. “I’ll rip your skin off before your dick hits the dirt.” “Wasn’t a threat,” I said, with a slight smile. “Just stating a fact. Now, me telling you that I’ll put…” “Enough, Jason.” I looked over at Crash. “Please,” he said. His ears tipped in a way that I translated to a dog begging for help. I sighed, “I’ll be at home,” I grumbled then climbed back into my car. I didn’t hear the rest of that conversation. I’m not sure I want to. As I drove away, I could see in the rear-view Crash was talking very animated to Elouise, who listened for a few seconds before she dashed back through the woods. I don’t even know who the Greys are. A new family? A mafia crime family of mythical monsters? Space Aliens that look like E.T. coming to eat our brains in the cutest ways possible? Any of these could be true. Given my luck, they’ll all be true in some weird twisted hybrid set to a dance number written by Elton John and Alice Cooper with a guest verse by that guy from Creed. Not too long ago I had made a New Year’s Resolution to stay out of trouble. Stay out of other people’s business and just mind my own. I was going to be the quiet neighbor. The good neighbor. The sort of guy who stood in corners at parties who politely sipped his beer and said “no officer, I have no idea why they rode naked on a horse down main street. Why, I have no idea where they even got the lime Jello. Let alone the boom box blasting Aphex Twin.” Instead, it feels like I’m being dragged kicking and screaming into werewolf business. Again. Why me? Why does this always happen to me? |
| Sometimes life is like a slow-motion car wreck. You turn the wheel; you apply the break. Everything begins to skid. You try steering into the skid so you can steer out of it, but instead your car careens towards disaster almost of its own will, dragging you along with it. This slow-motion car wreck was the home of Charles and Nancy. This year for the holidays Charles and Nancy had a large group of people over. They appeared to be family, more of the hulderfolk variety, and by my best guess was related to Charles or Nancy in some capacity. These people weren’t exactly running amok around town. In fact, I think Charles would have preferred if they did run amok around town. Cause at least then they’d have left their home for five minutes or so gave them a moments peace. The family arrived a day or two before Christmas. They stayed through New Years. Then the week after that. “I think their calendar doesn’t have the necessary functions of keeping dates,” Charles told me outside of our local grocery store. “Cause I swear, they said that they’d stay through New Years, now they’re staying through Chinese New Year. How do you say ‘I love you but you need to leave?’” “You say, ‘Get out’,” I replied. “If that don’t work, ‘Don’t let the door hit you where the good lord split you.’ If that don’t work, ‘I’m going to call the cops.’ If that don’t work, take a page from my book and play Mariah Carey over and over again.” “Who,” he asked, head tilting a little. I shook my head. “Never mind.” “Still, Nancy loves them, and if we’re mean to them, they’ll not speak to us again. Plus, it’s her mother, her father and older brother. They’re loaded! She loves them, and she wants the money.” I arched an eyebrow. “You don’t?” “I just want peace.” “What do you want me to do,” I asked. “Talk to Crash. Tell him it’s an emergency. Tell him we’re breaking an ordinance, we’re violating a Ginova Contention,” “The Gineva Convention,” I corrected. “That too. Anything!” A troll trusts you when he’ll let you correct him once in a while without stomping you into giblets. Still though, part of me watched for the side eye. The subtle look of anger that would mean I’d need more than a pistol to defend myself. He just smiled, “If you could save me from my strife, I’d be most obliged.” I think he meant to say if I could help him, he’d be very thankful. I didn’t correct him on that one. I’m not pushing my luck! But such as hulderfolk goes, they don’t always know the correct words but are more than happy to whip out a ten-dollar word in a fifty-cent conversation if it means you’ll think of them smarter for it. This is why I call the guy Charles after the guy in MASH, after all. In a way, he reminds me of that character. The conversation meandered on for a while but as much as I kept trying to steer it away, it kept coming back towards me helping him. Finally, bitter cold from the chilled weather and desiring to just get my groceries and get out of there, I said “I make no promises, but I’ll look into it. I swear.” Of which I got a thousand thank yous. All the way into the store, in fact. I spoke to crash about it later on that day. He was wearing his suit and tie, and had the hang dog look of a man who had spent the entire day trying to catch up on paperwork. “I remember why I don’t like office days,” he grumbled as he came through the door. “Well, how about a night gig,” I asked. Then I explained the entire thing, to which Crash just chuckled. “Better you than me,” he said smiling. “What am I supposed to do, walk over and ask them politely,” I asked. Crash shrugged. “I have no idea. Politely is a good start, cause otherwise you’ll get pounded into mush and I’ll have to get a pack together to avenge you, and that will be terrible for everyone. Besides, I still have a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.” “Well,” I said, “then maybe you can deputize me.” “What?” Occasionally when I make a statement Crash thinks is truly stupid, he’ll head-tilt like a confused dog. He head tilted after that statement. “Yeah, I can better sell the official law routine if I have some sort of official badge. You deputize me and then I can clear them out of there.” He shook his head. “First of all, no. I can’t do that. Second, if I could deputize you, it would only be so you can do my paperwork so I can go out on patrol again. Third, they’ll see the badge, see you’re human, and eat you alive. No.” “What am I going to do then,” I grumbled. “I promised this guy I’d try to help. I don’t want to do it, why do I always get involved in this troll’s family affairs, why me?!” He laughed. “Cause you’re so good at it!” “I don’t want to be!” Then Crash gave me some sage advice that I had come to regret ever taking, because it has since proven to be true. He clasped me on the shoulder and said “You’re like the troll therapist or something. You have this gift of getting through to them. You’re better than me, even!” I rolled my eyes, which caused him to smile. “I’m serious! You’re pretty good at this. Just do what comes natural.” Just do what comes natural. Piss everyone off? That seems to be what comes natural to me. But I thought about it a bit more. I did eventually get to the bottom of Charles and Nancy’s whole marital problem thing. They seemed to be doing much better now that I spoke to them and gave them that whole notebook idea. Maybe what comes natural in this case is just listening, not belittling, and giving the best advice I can in the moment. Perhaps that’s most of what mental health really is? Listening, not belittling, and giving the best advice you can. I went over to Charles and Nancy’s house the next day. Snow had drifted down a bit, giving the neighborhood a clean look. Nature had done her own version of cleaning up. By which I meant she just covered everything and pretended it never happened. That was a house I never thought I’d ever see full. It was an entire house filled with air-headed beautiful people with tails. I’m sure there’s a schoolboy fantasy buried in this somewhere. Conversations kept wheeling and spinning around this and that. Presents had already been unwrapped and handed out. An occasional troll kid or two would chase each other around with a toy air plane or car powered by child energy and imagination. An elderly couple sat at the head of the table in the dining room. Nancy was next to what I assumed was her father. If a therapist has a nightmare about their job, this has to be it. To literally try to do the entire thing in front of an entire family. “So, uh, hi,” I said, with what I hoped was a soft smile. “Who are you,” the old grandma troll said. “Why are you smiling like idiot?” Nancy gave me an apologetic smile. “Mom, can I talk to him for a moment? This is my neighbor; he must want something.” She stood, grabbed my hand and dragged me to the bathroom. “Help,” she whispered. “I am drowning in my family. They won’t leave.” “I have a great idea,” I whispered back. “Just say ‘go home.’” “That will hurt momma and papa and my brother. I do not wish to do that. You’re good at these sorts of things. Can you help us?” Her pleading, pretty face led me to make my next move. And no, it didn’t involve a Bluetooth speaker and Mariah Carey. Though I was tempted. Weaving my way back through the crush of people, I sat down in front of Grandma and Grandpa troll. They both looked like the elderly Smiling Bob people. If they weren’t spokesman for a scam artist that is. “Why are you still here,” I asked. “You’re rude,” Grandma said. “And mean,” Grandpa said. “And what business of it is yours,” they said in unison. What can I say? My blunt nature don’t always work. “Well,” I said smiling again, “you see I was just curious cause you know Christmas is over, I came to visit my friends and they’re still in mid Christmas party like its….” They both rolled their eyes and looked at each other. Then they began to speak in troll, filled with grunts, and occasional eye rolls towards me. Nancy blanched at a couple of the comments, and began interjecting, shouting at the two of them who turned towards her shocked. “I love you both,” she said finally in English. “But I have a life to live.” “We’re here to help,” grandpa shouted back at her. “Your marriage has been in such trouble. Every troll can see that. You began to live in such a strange way. We must put things right.” No. This must be every therapist’s nightmare. Settling a Christmas party argument amongst family members that aren’t even yours! I wanted to pull my hair out. The volume began rising, shouting started swirling between troll and English. Eyes glanced more towards my eye, getting angrier and angrier. I was beginning to feel less like a helper and more like future Christmas dinner. Or a punching bag. Or something. In times like these, I have an old standby that has gotten me into more trouble and made things a lot worse most of the time. But still, closing your eyes and jumping does occasionally work out. Occasionally. “ALRIGHT!” I shouted. They kept right on shouting. “ENOUGH!” More shouting. They began to grow louder than me. A loud what I can only call a roar echoed through the house. I turned towards the door. There was Crash in full wolf form. Sun wasn’t even down yet. Locals didn’t seem to care. Guess they’re getting used to the werewolf stuff around here. I wonder if that’s a good thing? His dark fur struck fear in the heart of every troll there, who turned towards each other, then back to him. “He is in charge,” Crash said, pointing at me with a furred and clawed finger. “Listen to him. No one is to harm my human.” Then he turned and left. Gee. Thanks Crash. All eyes turned back towards me. A new look of respect and fear. It’s good to speak softly. To carry a big stick. But occasionally you must be prepared to speak loudly. To strut. “So,” I said, “what is the problem?” The grandma lifted herself up with as much dignity as she could and said, “they do not live the troll way. They live in a weird way. Sharing things that should not be shared. Doing things strangely now. Everyone hears it. We all hear it’s because of you.” “What business is it of yours,” I asked. “She’s my daughter!” I pointed at Charles in the corner. “And she’s his wife. They decide how they’re going to live their lives. You can still love them. No one wants to take that away from you. You’re allowed to love them, just like they’re allowed to love you. But you can’t tell them how to live their lives. Just like they don’t tell you how to live yours.” “B-but, she’s my daughter, and I’m afraid for her,” the grandma said. “They need our protection.” “You can’t smother them! You prepared them for life. You’ve given them all the tools they need to survive. You’ve given them morals and principles that they stand upon. I can tell you Charles and Nancy are two very good and very proud trolls. You have to let them be who they are. Who you helped make them to be.” They paused a moment. Everyone looked at each other. “You are right,” the grandma said. “But,” she leaned in closer. “They still need our protection.” She whispered. “Something is coming,” she said in hushed tones. “Bitter thing. Dark thing.” The grandpa almost rolled his eyes. “No one believes me,” she said, giving a dark glance to her husband. “But occasionally I see things. Very occasionally they come true.” “What is it this time,” I asked. “More vampires?” She smirked. “Ha! You wish. Much worse. We stay. We protect. We fix their marriage.” I said, “You remember that werewolf that said I’m in charge? He’s the one who protects this area. He’s got to,” “And he’s going to fix their marriage,” she rolled her eyes. “No. He just make things worse.” “So are you.” She sighed, then sat back. “No I am not. I am guiding them.” “Did they ask for your help,” I asked. She didn’t answer. “That’s what I thought. If they’re not asking for help, as much as you love her and Charles too, you have to let them go. Trust me, the morals and principles you instilled in your daughter are still there. You’re felt.” She turned to Charles, then back to her daughter. No words were spoken, but a lot was communicated in the glance they gave each other. The communication only close family can give. “Okay,” she sighed. Then she smacked me. “Go get your master.” “He’s not my master,” I grumbled under my breath, but I left and grabbed Crash. What happened after I’m told was lots of hugs, a few tears and apologies, and then everyone went home. The troll party finally broke up and ended very successfully. Though, I will not blame neither Charles nor Nancy if they both decide to never hold another Christmas party. Crash came home that night and gave me a smile. He tried to be brave but I could see a brief look of worry in it. “Come along slave,” he smirked burying the look with humor, grabbing my shoulder as he did so. “Yes massta,” I mumbled, arching my back and pretending to be the hunch back from a Mel Brooks movie. As he turned to go inside, I threw a snow ball at him. “What,” he began. “Fleas masta,” I growled. “Slave must attack fleas that attack masta!” What commenced was a snow ball fight that devolved into Crash snapping at snow balls, and ended with me getting buried in armloads of snow. Never have a snow ball fight with a werewolf. “Uncle!” I cried “Uncle!” I was pelted with an avalanche of cold wet stuff as more began to come down. “I think we’ll be okay,” he said. I nodded. “I hope so,” I huffed. Out of breath. “Those silver bullets you have? Get more. Lots more.” With that, he went inside. I still don’t know what that meant. But whatever it is, I’m preparing. If it’s enough to freak a werewolf out, it’s enough to put the fear of God in me. But at least Charles and Nancy are okay in their marriage. For now. I swear, I do another of these things, I’m going to start charging them therapist rates. |
| Google has just did this whole "sensitive subject" clause on their properties, including blogger, which is what I currently use for Life With A Werewolf. This has frustrated me to no end. Life With A Werewolf is escapism, pure and simple. I take elements out of my life, friends lives, things I hear, etc... and make a sort of adventure horror story out of it. But there is occasional blood and violence. I've written about crime scenes and riots. Does this mean that those posts are hidden? So, I'll move the blog again. (Sigh.) If anyone has any ideas, I'm open to suggestions, but as of right now I'm thinking perhaps Kindle Vella. Update should come tomorrow on a lighter note. But it maybe afternoon or evening. |
| Those that know me know I’m not one for New Years resolutions. I’m the type of guy who typically says “My resolution is to not have a resolution.” Those usually go well for me. For some reason that’s a new year’s resolution that’s easy to keep! I know there are others out there who take a different approach. Gyms are stuffed right now with fat, sweaty, hungover bodies all trying to get in shape and get healthier, at least until beach season gets here when they all become fat, sweaty and hungover again with sand in embarrassing places. There’s not a problem with someone trying to make themselves a better person. But a small resolution like getting in shape can end up with someone taking on WAY too much too soon. Sure, it sounds simple, doesn’t it? Eat right, exercise. Wow. Not that hard in theory. However, it’s a bigger under taking than you might think. Cause when you choose to eat right, what you’re actually choosing is a lifestyle change. Think of every fast-food place you visit. I bet you have a common item you always get there. Probably cause that item has never let you down. Now, you have to either A) stop going to fast food, which means cooking. And let’s be honest, who has the time to do that right now? Especially with everyone getting a second or third job just to make ends meet in this economy, who has time to prepare home cooked meals anymore? So that means, B) finding something else on the menu that’s healthy. The problem with that is typically the “healthy” option is also the most expensive one, or one of the most expensive ones. And since fresh and healthy go hand in hand, you’re taking a gamble on whether they actually inspected the salad that day, or just shoved it in the back with the others. And that's not to mention sometimes the "healthy" option is only healthy in comparison to their other delightful heart attack inducing delicacies. Exercising is the second part of the equation. This actually goes pretty well. For the first two or three days or so. Afterwards parts of your body begins to hurt that you never knew you had. Parts of your self esteem you never knew you had begins to hurt as well as you see the guys who live in the gym walk around with the bodies of Atlas, and there you are looking at yourself in the mirror feeling like the globe Atlas lifts. That’s why I’ve always said the person who has the most will power on the planet is that chubby runner. That person who is overweight but sticks with it anyway. Despite feeling as if the eyes of every friend and neighbor out there is staring at them. They’re getting at it anyway and keeping it up, through body pain, through bad weather. I am cheering you on. Silently. From my room. Cause rain sucks and it makes my hip and knee hurt. Of course, I could always take the route Crash recommends. He says if I want to lose weight, amputate something. If his in wolf form, he’ll grin and snap his jaws in that way he does. Of course, I know he’s kidding. Though I still sleep with my pistol near my bed at night. I swear, I'm not paranoid. When you’re already injured certain things are out. Running, for one. Jogging for another. After my sprint through town when the vampire horde was chasing me, I hurt for the next week. Given my personality, I try to not gobble down handfuls of pills, and alcohol is just out. Which leads to drinking lots of water and increasing my sarcasm. Everyone just loves it when I’m in pain. Cause I’m a super nice guy and share the pain with everyone around me. If you’re losing weight or getting healthier in general, I applaud you and give you all the goodwill and credit that I can send your way. I do hope you get that goal, whether it’s to lose five pounds, or become the first ninety-year-old Olympic swimmer. Keep your goals small, keep after it every day and you’ll be amazed at what you can accomplish in twelve short months. I actually do have a new years resolution this year. Stay out of other people’s business. I’m going to keep my head inside, not say a word to others, let Crash do his job, and only help if it’s absolutely necessary. Yes sir, I’m going to not get involved in other people’s lives like that unless they truly want my help. You can count on me, I tell you! The way my neighbors carry on however, I know that resolution won’t last. Truly, I don’t go looking for trouble. I don’t have to. When trouble looks over the fence at me with sad puppy dog eyes and begs me to go intervene on its behalf, it doesn’t take long to find yourself in the middle of it. When I told Crash of the situation, he just chuckled, clapped me on the back said something to the effect of “better you, than me,” and walked off. Thanks Crash. I really appreciate the help. Yeah, that rant is coming next week. Trolls, I swear. Haven’t heard from Kris, Shawn or Zack lately, I know. Their latest updates are the usual. They go to work. They come home. They keep their heads down. You know, like I should really learn to do. I’d update more on them if there was more to update. But the gang keeps out of the entire werewolf and supernatural thing unless a certain vet is there to stir the pot up and get everyone involved. There is an art to leaving well enough alone that they have that I just don’t. If you’ve ever lived in a major city like New York, Pittsburgh or Atlanta, you know what I’m talking about. The ‘Not my house, not my problem’ attitude that keeps you out of trouble. Not lingering too long, not asking any questions, not stopping to help. Nope! Go about business, go home, ignore the random stranger streaking down the street claiming he’s Waffle Jesus. (Or is that Florida I’m thinking of, now?) One resolution that I’ll actually keep is to stop beating myself up about past mistakes. Those what if’s and if I’da’s. I’ve spent far too long pondering over how things might have been different if I’d only have done something as simple as go left instead of right. If I’d have said more to my ex-wife or if I’d have…. well, you get me. Those are endless roads to nowhere. They travel in circles, have you twisting over every mistake in your life and constantly trying to think of ways you could have fixed them. Past is meant to be remembered, yes. However, mistakes are meant to be forgiven. One thing I’ve learned this past year is forgiveness begins with yourself, and you can't rely on others for self-forgiveness. This past year has been very hard and at times therapeutic for me. This coming year, I’m hoping will be even better. But to make it better, I have to begin with today. Cause this day is all we’re ever given. The past is history the future’s a mystery as they say. Or used to say. Or something. I don’t know, I’ve heard it said somewhere. Maybe it was a tag line for a Scooby Doo cartoon? Point is right now is all we have. If you want a better life, what better time is there to start than right now? |
| A brief list of why I'm typically not invited to too many places around Christmas: 1) "No grandma, you have a thinking problem. Which leads to a talking problem. which leads me to drinking." 2) Telling kids the truth about Santa. 3) Telling kids the truth about Santa's reindeer. 4) Telling kids the story of Krampus. 5) Starting the Krampus movie for the kids during the Christmas party. 6) Getting a werewolf sized flea collar then giving it to Vic (the vampire doctor) and tell him it's an engagement ring. Putting Crash's name on it. 7) "Accidentally" scratching my cousins brand new SUV after she went on and on for over an hour about how big of a loser I was and how much better her former high school quarterback turned oil change jockey is than me to the rest of the family. 8) Turning all of the special toys on in my cousin's bedroom, setting them free from their hiding spot, then letting the dogs in the room with them. 9) Turning the TV to Foxnews in my liberal relatives house during Christmas dinner. Stealing the batteries out of the remote, hiding the remote, then leaving. 10) Turning the TV to CNN during Christmas dinner in my conservative relatives house during Christmas dinner. Hiding the remote after stealing the batteries out of it, then leaving. 11) Swapped the sugar out for salt in the sugar bowl. Made fresh coffee for everyone on Christmas morning! 12) Hid a bluetooth speaker in a return vent in the A/C system during a Christmas party. Started a music marathon with it. Two straight hours of "All I Want For Christmas Is You," by Mariah Carey. Followed by "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth", then back to Mariah Carey. Party broke up early while people searched for the devilish device. (I'm still not allowed back at my Uncle's). Everyone's family drives them a little nuts at times over the holidays. I've not always had the most mature responses to these events. It's a wonder I haven't been shot yet! Some of these things I'm ashamed of. (Though that Mariah Carrey one was hilarious and worth the scorn, heh). But I do have my reasons. Well, I suppose you can call them excuses. These are the things that run through your head at night when the sleep doesn't come. The "I wonders" and "if I'd a's". I am convinced that's what kills more people than cancer, drunk driving and splinters combined; the "I wonder's" and "If I'd a's". I hope your holidays went over well. If they didn't, I hope your holidays went better than the ones I usually have with my family. Don't give into "I wonder". Don't give into "if I'da". All you ever have is now. Looking back on past mistakes with friends at times can be a laugh, but when you do it alone all I've ever known it to bring is tears and heavy drinking. This day is the only one you have. This moment is the only one you got. Please don't waste it looking back at past mistakes. Cause, like Crash says, "if you spend too long looking back, you can't see where you're going." |
| Khied made his way towards the little girl’s house. He wasn’t trying to be secretive. Didn’t feel much of a need to be secretive. “She entrusted herself to me,” he told his new assistant, “So I’ll turn that little girl. She’ll be the new Faenie.” With a touch and a little concentration, the large door at the back of the property opened. The assistant’s eyes looked wild, afraid. But he followed. In a jerky, manner as some unseen power pulled him along behind Khied. He looked between the houses as he went. Several of the lawn gnomes watched with anger and horrified disgust on their faces. Help me he mouthed to them, before he was pulled along inside. The inside of the house was much the same as the last. Large white walls, wood beneath, painted ceiling above. It was filled with familiar and unfamiliar materials. A strange and alien world for the taking. Khied moved through the area with all of the cabinetry, the stone ground and the large metal boxes towards towards the front. He heard the bus arrive. He waited. A dog came bounding towards him, his hackles raised, snarling and yapping. Khied touched him and forced a bit of power into the canine. It yelped one last time as it shrunk, fur hardening into a statue of a ceramic dalmation. “Much better,” Khied said and smirked. “I’m getting pretty good at this.” The little girl walked through the front door. It opened and closed with a slam. She threw a back pack on a piece of furniture in the front then stopped and stared down at the lawn gnome. “Uh…” She began. It was all she got out. Light emanated from Khied’s fingertips, enveloping the girl. She was pulled off the ground and began to float in the air. “Now,” Khied growled to his assistant. “We’re going to have a little transference. Sorry about this.” His hands glowed, the light began to pool and change colors. She wanted to scream but the words and sounds were trapped inside. All she could do was float and feel funny…fuzzy. The light grew blinding, then…it stopped. It reached down to his assistant and grabbed him, lifting him slowly from the ground. It grew brighter, almost painful. The assistant felt a tugging he said later. As if something was being pulled out of him. Then, it stopped too. Junith stood behind Khied. The entire gnome community behind her. She was pushing the light, manipulating it. The assistant was thrown backwards, towards the wall. His ceramic began to grow, it grew softer. It puffed upward and out until the cop lay where the old assistant was. “Don’t! It’s her only chance,” Khied shouted. He looked over at Graffur beside Junith. “Please! I’m doing this for us! Can’t you see, all of us!” Graffur snarled at Khied, a tear in his eye, then held his own hands up towards the light. He pulled more out with Junith, pressing and manipulating it. It exploded in a shower of sparks. A yelp like a dog could be heard from the other room. The girl fell to the floor. She shrank back from the gnomes, a look of terror on her face. “She’s dead! It’s your fault! She’s dead,” Khied shouted, charging Graffur. The older gnome grasped him, and twisted, throwing him down. Khied struck, punching him. The sound of ceramic slapping against ceramic echoed through the house. Several hands grabbed Khied. Junith walked forward then, and slapped him hard. Tears in her own eyes. “Where’s Khied Faenie,” she demanded. Khied glared back at her. “She gave me all she was,” he snarled. “I was about to bring her back.” “You,” Junith snarled, “was about to kill that girl.” “Necessary sacrifice,” Khied snarled. “You know nothing,” Graffur snarled at him. “You can’t be doing this! They protect us, and we protect them. It is our job to protect them from the baddies and the beasties, just like they protect us!” “They weren’t there to protect us from the dragon! From those little terrors next door smashing us to bits for fun. From their clumsy vehicles that occasionally roll over one of us, or one of them! They’re not there for anyone but themselves!” “How have I raised such a fool,” Graffur said. “They cannot protect you from yourself, Khied Falkurk. You chose to break into their home and you paid for it. You called the dragon and we paid for it. When you choose pain and death, Khied, you find it.” Junith held her own hand up. It glowed red hot with power. The other gnomes hold Khied backed away. For such a power is enough to smash a gnome. “You have until sundown to be gone from this community. Or I will make it so you no longer exist.” Khied maybe angry. Perhaps even quite a bit crazy. But he is not stupid. He scrambled backwards, fled through the remaining gnomes in the house, and towards the woods. He did not see what happened to the girl, to her dog. Though at a distance days later it could be seen they were playing happily in their back yard, and even talking to one of the lawn gnomes as if it could hear her. He never returned to the community. Graffur and Junith never saw Khied again. With each misadventure, he grew angrier. More twisted. Though at night sometimes, if you’re in the wood, you can occasionally hear him talking to Faenie. And asking her why. Please understand meaty ones, that not all lawn gnomes are such mean creatures as Khied. And perhaps it might do you good to have one. Signed, A gnome. *** After reading all of this, I must admit. I was surprised, shocked and wondered how much of it was true. I walked towards the woods. It was early morning. Crash had been on day shifts handling paperwork. Twin beady red eyes glared at me from the woods. “Not hard,” I said holding up the letter, “figuring out just who wrote this Falkurk.” “Falkurk is dead,” the voice replied. “There is only Khied.” “No,” I said, “what’s left of Falkurk I think is what wrote this letter.” “Why do you speak to me, meaty?” “Look,” I said. “I’ll go my way, you go yours. Live. Let live. Don’t touch my property. Don’t touch my friends.” “I cannot do that,” he said. There wasn’t a snarl in his voice. It sounded almost…sorrowful. “The world will be ceramic. It must be ceramic.” “Then I will give you the only kindness I can. Next time we meet, I won’t pull punches. I’ll shoot to kill.” “Next time we meet, you will be ceramic. And you will thank me.” I turned and went inside. The entire sad affair playing over in my head. I still wonder what had any of this accomplished? What will any of the conflicts actually do? I sat on the back porch staring out at the woods drinking coffee when Crash walked up. “What’s got you up so early,” he asked. I showed him the letter. Told him of the conversation after. “You can’t rescue some people,” he said. “You know this more than I do.” I nodded thinking of a few things from my last job. Things that I will not discuss in this blog. “Some just choose destruction.” He shrugged. “Some just choose themselves above others. Destruction always follows that.” I nodded, then clapped him on the shoulder. I wished him a good day, then watched Crash leave in human form and a shirt and tie. “Can’t wait to be back on nights,” he grumbled heading out the door. I smiled. “Yes, but when you’re on nights, you’ll wish you were on days.” “Paperwork sucks. How would you like a job?” I laughed. “You remember my last office job? How would you like to be fired?” He chuckled as he walked out the door. I watched him leave then took another sip of coffee and looked towards the wooded clearing near hour home. As I drank my coffee, I watched a pair of beady red eyes glare at me one last time from the wooded clearing. They pressed back into the darkness after that, and was gone. |
| The two new Khied’s stood around the body of Ms. Smythe. They had a small ceremony, just by themselves, honoring her as a lawn gnome should be honored. A simple ceremony that should be done with a whole community, but can be adjusted for just one. Khied Falkurk stood at her head, while Khied Faenie stood at her feet. They looked at each other in sorrow but love. Tears were in both of their eyes. It had taken half the night for Khied Faenie to pick the flowers that surrounded Ms. Smythe. She arranged them in a colorful pattern, the same way that we lawn gnomes arrange for ourselves. White lilies were near her head symbolizing purity. Red roses on her hands to symbolize life, and finally dark blue violets near her feet to symbolize her journey of passing from this world into the next one. Both Khied Faenie and Khied Falkurk raised their hands, and spoke a single word, drawing energy up from the Earth as they did. The body of Ms. Smythe crumbled inward, drying up into dust. As the energy faded nothing of Ms. Smythe’s body was left but a pile and a gust of wind blown in through the window, pulling the dust outward. The flowers dried up next, and followed, carrying them all on the wind. A single blue violet was left behind. It danced in the wind for a moment and came to rest at the feet of Khied Falkurk. “She gave a gift to you,” said Khied Faenie. “Quite the honor.” He gave a single nod in response, a gentle tear trickled down his cheek. “Her own kind abandoned her. Our own kind betrayed her.” Khied Faenie nodded. “It’s like neither side wants happiness. They just want to struggle.” “Sometimes,” Khied Falkurk said, “you have to force others to see the light.” Khied Faenie smiled slightly. “I was thinking the same. One day, this will never happen again. Not to us, not to them. We will show them what family truly means. And they will give us proper security.” Khied Falkurk had been rubbing his freshly shaven chin all night. He did so one more time with the flower in his hands. Then walked up to Khied Faenie. “It’s not from my beard,” he said, “but, I think it’ll do for our purposes.” He slid the flower behind her ear, then kissed her cheek. “Khied Faenie, I wish to marry you. But I have no community to do it with.” “Yet,” Khied Faenie said. “You don’t yet. But we will. Tonight, we start next door. The neighbors has one rambunctious little girl, who I always felt was more gnome than human.” “I will begin to draw power,” Khied Falkurk said. “I will do it right. No more mistakes. No more death.” Khied Faenie turned and walked back towards the window. “They will beg,” she said. She looked out at the lawn gnomes. It was early morning now. Every gnome in the neighborhood was in their proper spots. Every gnome had subtly turned away. As if they were turning their backs towards the Khied couple. “They will beg our forgiveness when we’re through.” “All flesh will be ceramic,” Khied Falkurk replied. They had been at the window for a while. They stood and watched the kids get on the school bus. They watched the parents go to work. It was strange to see their goings on and day to day activities out in the open like this. To just stand in watch, not trapped in a single pose for the meaties sake. No human seemed to ever see them or pay much attention. Except the one little girl, whom Khied Faenie had already said was more gnome than human. Her dark hair was braided in twin braids that lay across her shoulders on either side, almost like an imitation of Khied Faenie’s old locks. When their eyes met, the girl twisted around in her bus seat, turning her head back towards the front with a look of fear on her face. “See,” Khied Faenie said to him. “She shapes her hair like mine was, almost instinctively. I want her as mine.” “And she will be,” said Khied Falkurk. The car with the red and blue flashing lights arrived a few minutes later. It rolled down the street, and pulled into the drive, as if it owned the place. “Who’s that,” Khied Faenie asked. “Trouble,” Khied Falkurk replied. They heard the foot steps on the stairs of the back porch before they saw the two humans. They wore matching blue uniforms with strange caps on them. A brass symbol of some kind had been affixed to their breast. The two humans talked, and Khied said at the time he couldn’t understand them. Not like now, where translating human speech is almost second nature. He did recognize the name Ms. Smythe. He recognized “the others.” Which is what they called their special division in that community apparently. The ones whose job it is to police and maintain the community lines of those non-human entities like us lawn gnomes. They had both frozen in place, with Khied Faenie giving him a kiss on the cheek. The one human walked towards her, then shined his light down upon her. He muttered one word which Khied later learned was “weird,” then began searching the house. As they walked through, calling Ms. Smythe’s name, Khied Faenie began to follow the tall one. She stalked behind the human, her steps going slow. As he moved, she moved, making three steps for every one he made. Khied Falkurk followed behind, fascinated, watching them. Suddenly, a shout came from behind Khied Falkurk. Khied Faenie Leaped when the human turned, attacking his leg at the knee. The human shouted and kicked. Khied Faenie flew across the room, smashing against the wall. A large crack ran down her head. The world went red for Khied Falkurk. He didn’t know he summoned energy until the moment he felt it leave him and enter the human that had hit Khied Faenie. The human screeched in pain. It twisted and became a short yelp as he began to shrink. His flesh morphed and twisted, becoming hard, more ceramic. Khied Falkurk concentrated harder this time, willing the flesh to morph. Not blindly pushing power, but altering its flow when necessary. Soon, the tall human was no taller than Khied Falkurk. He had no beard, darker skin, but was a lawn gnome now, just the same. Khied Falkurk heard a thump from behind him. He turned, before he huffed. The world faded in and out. It fuzzed for a moment, but he concentrated just enough to see the human turning to flee the house. “They’ll be back,” Khied Faenie whispered. Khied Falkurk fled to her side on watery legs. “Oh no, oh Faenie,” he whispered. “Give me a moment. I can,” he huffed. His words chocking in his throat. “Give me your hand, Khied,” she said. “They’ll be here for their friend.” “Oh Faenie, I can fix this give me a moment,” he said, drawing power to himself. He looked at the former human, who stared at him dumbfounded now. Staring at his hands, then back at the two lawn gnomes. “Come here,” Khied Falkurk snarled. “You’re going to help fix this!” He shook his head faster, but took a step anyway on shaky legs. As if he couldn’t stop himself from moving towards his new master. “P-please d-don’t make me,” the former human whimpered. Khied Falkurk waved his hand over to the human, and was about to grab him, to transfer his ceramic over to Faenie, when Faenie huffed, “do you trust me, Khied?” He looked down at her. A single tear rolled down his cheek again. He nodded. She grabbed his leg, then whispered a single word that meant “unite”. Power flowed into Khied Falkurk from Khied Faenie. As it did, her body began to dry up from her feet. He felt a surge of power, control and knowledge enter him. “Please no,” whispered Khied Falkurk. “No.” She touched him one last time on the leg and smiled. “It’ll be alright,” she said. “Now we’re together. Forever.” Her waist and chest dried up, followed by her arms, and her head. It shriveled into a fine powdery dust that was grabbed by the wind. A single flower was left behind. The blue violet that he had given her earlier. Khied picked it up, his eyes now glaring. He stuffed the flower into his hat then turned to the human, glaring at him. The former human waved his hands proctectively, stepping backwards. “L-listen, we had no idea what we were walking into,” he started. “Come here,” Khied Falkurk snarled. On shakey legs, the former human walked forward. “P-please,” he muttered. “I have a family.” Khied Falkurk reached for his front pocket, grabbing the pair of shades he saw there. “Yes, you do,” he snarled. “I’m your family.” A single tear rolled down his cheek one last time. “We will honor her memory,” he said. “Both of theirs.” “W-who are you?” He looked at the scared former human. “W-what are you?” “Me?” the lawn gnome thought for a moment. “They call me Khied,” he said. “And we’re going to make them regret it.” |
| Now I know you humans don’t understand what magic can do to someone, seen as how you got all the gadgets but none of the pretty sparklies like we gnomes. So, I’ll explain it for you. Imagine you’ve just ran a race. A good long race up and down hills, across valleys and through forests. A race so long that even your hat feels tired. That’s what Falkurk felt. He collapsed to the floor for a moment. Took two deep breaths, then stood, walking over to the window on watery legs. Outside was total chaos. The dragon swooped down, strafing the street. From his vantage point, he could see two tiny individuals under the scaley beast’s arms. Falkurk couldn’t see much, but he did see only one gnome had a beard. The rest of the neighborhood was running in panic, running back between the houses, huddled under bushes, struggling to find cover where ever they could find some. There was gnomes trying to build a resistance of some kind by a playground near the corner, but the dragon largely ignored them. It made a large swoop through the neighborhood as if taking one last look, then flew on into the distance. Falkurk later said that it felt as his very heart had shattered that night watching the dragon fly off with the gnomes under its arms, with its ceramic coppery wings glistening in the distance. His knees buckled. He said it felt like the floor gave way and the entire world was in free fall. He braced against the wall, tears in his eyes. Faenie walked up to Falkurk and hugged him tight. “Things are going to be okay now,” she said. “You see? This is what the humans have. None of their children were carried off, where they? Their greatest enemies is just each other. They’re having no fear in these wooden castles. And now, neither shall we. We shall be like they are.” He turned to her, clenching his fist. “Did you not just see the dragon cart off our kin?! What is wrong with you Faenie?” “You said you trusted me, remember?” She pointed at the creature as it attempted to crawl across the floor. A sad whimpering sound came from it whenever it placed a new ceramic hand down. “She’s one of us now! She’ll help us, protect us. We’ll help her and guide her. We’ll live here happy. No more worrying!” “She’s hurting, can’t you see? Look at her!” The creature whimpered then laid back on the floor. “I’m okay,” she said in a hushed whisper. “I’ll be okay.” But it was obvious she wasn’t okay. There was a trail of ceramic dust behind her. She was corroding away before their very eyes. “We can fix her,” Faenie said. “You have the strength in magic, I have the wisdom. It will take a bit, but we can get her repaired good as new!” Graffur strode in through the back door with a group of lawn gnomes behind him. They all wore the grim face of an executioner at the gallows. “I’d have never thought it,” he said, walking over to Falkurk. “My own son. After everything I taught you. Every warning I gave!” A crowd of lawn gnomes came in after him. “Forbidden,” was said by someone in hushed tones. “Rotten” someone else said. They huddled around the creature that was Ms. Smythe, looking down at her with a mix of sorrow and horror upon their faces. Graffur dragged Falkurk forward, tears in his eyes. “Did you do this?” The creature that used to be Ms. Smythe looked up from her place on the ground. She tried to smile, but the pain forced it into a grimace. “I didn’t,” Falkurk said. “Then who?” Falkurk refused to meet his glare. Graffur stepped closer, and pointed down at the creature crawling on the ground. “Who created this abomination?” He looked up at his dad, his lip quivering. “Faenie said she was seen. I was trying to talk to her and well,” Everyone stared at Faenie, who smiled as though nothing was wrong. “We all could see she was lonely. No one came. How many of their festive holidays did we watch the meaties have and skip over this poor woman. How many times did they just forget she existed? It’s like she dropped off the earth. Lived in a hole amongst them. Now she’s one of us! Our magic can heal her. She’ll be whole again! You’ll see. We’ll live as one happy family now. We can live in here, with no need to hide anymore.” “And do what,” Graffur growled. “Sing and dance while the humans come and see what exactly is wrong? How long do you think it will be before we’re all smashed to bits? Did you ever stop to think about that?” “Well,” Faenie said, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “We can turn the neighborhood. Shan’t be that hard, cannit?” Graffur gave her a hard look. He was about to reply, but Ms. Smythe’s groan of pain said more than anything he could. The gnomes began to part, and an older gnome stepped forward. When Faenie saw her braided grey hair and the disappointment and sorrow on her face, Faenie looked hurt and shameful for the first time. “M-mom I…” Faenie began. “Don’t speak.” Elder Junith said. “For I already know.” She pulled energy from the Earth, not as much as Falkurk. But then, she didn’t need as much for what she was doing. She walked to the creature that was Ms. Smythe, and lightly touched her head. A soft white light glowed from her hand down into the creature when she touched her. “We cannot heal you, Ms. Smythe,” she said. “But I give you back your name and I give this kindness to you; that after tonight, you shall have no more pain.” Junith stood then glared at Falkurk, then Faenie. “Who was on watch for the dragon?” “I was,” Falkurk said, his eyes cast to the floor. “Instead of watching for the dragon, your stunt called the dragon to us. Dunkirk and Llyda, newly wedded here upon this very land, are now gone. Dinner for the stone beast,” she snarled the word beast, then glared over at Falkurk. “We are lucky no one else was caught. You Falkurk, who shown so much promise. You Falkurk. You Faenie.” She reached behind herself and pulled a knife. “You have destroyed three lives tonight with your greed. This cannot go unpunished. Faenie,” she stepped forward, and grabbed a braid. “You are no longer my daughter.” The knife cut quick through it. The elder threw it to the floor. “You no longer have a name.” She cut through the other braid, and threw it to the floor next to the first. “You no longer have a family. You are cursed! Khied shall be the only name you know. Hunger and greed are the family you have chosen, and it’s the only family you will have, until the day that it destroys you.” Graffur grabbed the knife from the elder. “And I, Graffur, say to you, Falkurk,” “Dad, please! Listen,” Tears filled Graffurs eyes. He held the knife strong as the hands of strong male and female gnomes pulled Khied to the floor. Graffur knelt over him, his tears wetting Falkurk’s face. “You no longer,” he began to saw through the beard.” You…no longer,” he sputtered with a single shuttering breath. “Dad…I’m sorry. Please dad, I didna mean to, dad…” “You,” he said again, as the blade cut halfway through the beard. “Are no longer Falkurk.” He continued sawing, the knife moving back and forth. “Dad….” He gripped more of the beard, throwing the hairs behind himself. “You…have no family.” The blade went through the rest of the beard. Strong hands gripped his head. The knife pressed against his chin. Falkurk stared up into the hurt of his father. Tears fell against his face. “I curse you,” Falkurk said, scraping the blade against his chin. “Khied is your name. Hunger and greed,” The blade scraped the left side of his chin with a loud scrape of ceramic, “be the family you have chosen.” The knife scraped the other side now. A fresh white powdery scratch appeared on his chin from the effort. “Hunger and greed be your family now! Until the day they destroy you.” He stood. The hands slowly let go. One by one the gnomes left in silence. Junith paused at the door and took one last look at the gnome that was once Faenie, then turned without saying a single word. Faenie looked stunned, her jaw dropped, tears in her eyes. It was as if the thought of being punished for this had never entered her mind. Graffur stared down at the gnome that was once Falkurk, glaring at him through his pain. After everyone else had left, the son attempted one last time to talk to his father. “Dad…” “I….have no son,” Graffur said then left. The gnome that was Falkurk laid in the floor, staring up at the ceiling. His breath came in harsh gulps and huffs, his teeth gritted. A soft scraping sound could be heard. Like ceramic scraping over stone. Finally, a large arm laid over him. “It’s alright,” The creature that was Ms. Smythe said. “At least we’re together.” Falkurk touched her hand, and turned to look into her beady eyes. “Are you alright?” Ms. Smythe smiled. “Yes,” she said. “I do not hurt now. And I am not alone.” She laid down her head then, and closed her eyes. Khied now, no longer Falkurk, placed his hand upon hers. Hot tears stinging his eyes as he felt the last of her life energy leave. Ms. Smythe was no more. |
| Days growing shorter and colder to a lawn gnome means more freedom. The less humans are about the more we can move and be free to do the things that are necessary for our own survival. The world may grow chilly and icy for you, but for a lawn gnome it’s all the same as a spring summer day. That’s the advantage of having ceramic instead of meat for flesh. But you meaty ones certainly can build more things than us, reach higher and farther. Your imagination and ingenuity are wonderful things that have gotten you far; those vehicles you ride around in to do various things being just one of the wonderful inventions you’ve built for yourselves. However, whether you have ceramic or meat for flesh, you can still covet. When what you covet burns into jealousy, it warps you. It becomes easier to harm those you know very little about. Less of a problem to hurt or kill them as long as you get when you want. I’ve heard it said that the love of gold be the root of evil. The front door into our hearts that swings open wide for evil and darkness to enter and take control. If that’s so, then coveting be the side door. Through covet you get jealousy. Through jealousy comes rage. From rage only comes death. No one knows just how long Faenie was sneaking into Ms. Smythe’s house at night. It was easy for her to do. Her spot in the day time was in Ms. Smythe’s very yard, close to the back of the hedge that divided the properties. She was out of sight of just about everyone in the village, so no one could watch her. Ms. Smythe was a trusting soul for a human. She never locked her doors, never had a dog or cat of any kind. It was easy for any gnome to slip inside and borrow and item or two before returning it if we needed. It was something we in the village had done plenty of times prior when we needed something. Though we always attempted to return it with a little extra. The days had grown short with the approach of winter. The village kept its nightly vigil against the dragons, Falkurk included. His watch was closer to dawn, just as the sun was preparing to break the horizon. On that night, he stood by the hedge at the edge of his lawn, eyes towards the sky, scanning in the manner that had been handed down in that position. “Falkurk,” Faenie whispered, pressing her head through the bush. There was a look of panic on her face that Falkurk had not seen before. “What is it Faenie?” She pulled her hat down off her head, and held it, fear caused her lip to tremble. “I need your help.” “I’ll be happy to give it to you,” Falkurk said. He swallowed and looked back to the sky. “But I’m on watch, I cannot leave this post.” “But Falkurk, I did something terrible. I need your help.” He looked down at her again, taking his eyes off the sky. “What did you do, Faenie?” She took a single shuttering breath, then expelled it. “I was seen, Falkurk. I was seen.” He stepped forward, away from his post. Falkurk later said his belief was that the dragon had made attempts last month, but hadn’t been seen for some time. That perhaps that particular dragon had moved on, going towards warmer, happier and easier targets in the south. He followed Faenie, who moved across the road, through the neatly trimmed hedge of Ms. Smythe’s front yard, and up the steps to her back porch. It was a wonderous world that he’d only ever glimpsed through windows. Wood carved into the floor, into the walls. The very ceiling upon the porch was made of wood! As he went through the back door, he saw counter tops made from a stone much harder than his ceramic. He saw furniture made again from wood, lights that required no fire; it was as if the humans had captured the very light from fire itself to illuminate their homes. Ms. Smythe lay in a heap on the stone floor. She rubbed her head, groaning in pain. “What happened,” she gasped, then looked up, setting her eyes on Faenie and Falkurk. She let cry a gasp of terror, then scooted back towards the wall. “Demons from hell,” she sputtered, “begone demons! Begone!” Falkurk gripped his hands into fists, then began drawing on the floor with a fingertip. There was nothing for him to draw with or in, but it was the motions that mattered, not if anyone could see it. He felt power begin to flow upwards from the Earth. It started flowing through the floorboards, through the very walls itself. His chest grew mighty and powerful with it. As he began to pull more to prepare to speak, Faenie whispered into his ear, “Do you trust me?” He almost faltered then, but nodded. Faenie whispered, “then draw more. Do not speak yet. Keep drawing in power. As much as you can hold.” Falkurk was confused, but he did as she asked. His eyes stayed on Ms. Smythe’s, whose grey hair now hung in ragged clumps. A red substance was running down her head, something that Falkurk didn’t recognize then. He’d recognize it now, though. “P…P..lease…” Ms. Smythe muttered, shivering as if cold. Faenie grasped Falkurk’s hand, and began to drag him over to the injured woman. She pressed it downward upon her ankle and shouted a single word, a command in gnomish which means RELEASE! The power flowed from Falkurk. It illuminated the entire living room, making every window shine like the noon day in summer. The energy flowed from his hand, into that ankle that Faenie touched his hand with. Then something began to happen. Ms. Smythe began to change. Her skin wrinkled, then cracked, she cried in pain and terror as the meat started to morph, pulling away from the old skin. It hardened, growing into ceramic. The change rolled up her leg and towards her torso. The terror on the old woman’s face over rode the pain she felt then. It rolled and roiled upwards, going through her chest, down her limbs and finally to her head. A white flash of light pulsed, followed by a shockwave. Every window in the house shattered outwards, every glass in the kitchen broke in a jangle of notes. The creature that was Ms. Smythe sat back, muttering. “Muh…muh…” Her eyes now black beady points instead of regular or gnomish eyes. She cast her eyes towards the windows in fear and terror. “D…d….” she began. “Yes!” Faenie cheered. “What happened,” Falkurk said dumbly. He shivered, for a moment, feeling cold from the loss of power, falling to one knee. “I was just trying to talk to her. Tell her not to tell anyone. Faenie, what did you do?” “D…d…” Faenie just shrugged, and walked over to her. “What we did is help her! She’ll live longer now! And she’s ours! She can be our pet, can’t you see? Isn’t this great, Falkurk?! Though, we’ll have to get this fixed,” Faenie tapped the old woman’s now ceramic head. There was a small crack in it. “Faenie, was that you?!” Faenie shrugged. “I had to keep her in the kitchen, so she wouldn’t lock the door. It’s not like I could tie her up. She’ll be okay, won’t you Ms. Smythe?” “D….d…” The creature that was Ms. Smythe continued to babble, staring out the window, a look of terror on her face. Falkurk rubbed an ear. “It was so bloomin loud, too! Like sticking your head in a thunder bolt.” He walked over to Faenie and snarled “I should shatter you.” Faenie smiled. “But you’re not, are ya?” then embraced Falkurk with a kiss. “D…d…” The creature that was Ms. Smythe said. “No, I suppose not,” Falkurk grumbled, as the kiss broke. His ears were slowly recovering. They both looked down at the creature that was Ms. Smythe, staring into her eyes. The beady eyes had a far away look of terror in them. “I’m sorry miss. I didn’t know,” Falkurk said dumbly. “D…d…” Ms. Smythe said again. “But now, you won’t be lonely,” Faenie said, smiling. “We’ll move the whole village in here. You’ll be happy with all of us now as new friends. You’ll see. We’ll have a grand old time, it will be like, harvest! Every day!” “Faenie,” Falkurk started, then heard a shout from outside. He rubbed an ear and looked over towards the window. “What was…” he began. “Dragon…” the creature that was Ms. Smythe whispered. |
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