Mike The Werewolf: A Humorous Werewolf Thriller, page 9
Two of them, a man and a woman, had taken up watch in the backyard. Both were armed, but that wasn’t what had set my warning bells off.
I shook my head several times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things, but there was no mistaking it. The woman’s eyes were aglow with an eerie green light.
I wasn’t sure whether she was a witch like Myra or something else, maybe one of those vampires Hobart had told me about, but something was seriously off about her.
Too bad I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.
Things quickly took a turn from there. Unlike on previous nights, Hobart and some of his thralls, Myra included, actually stepped from the tree line and approached these newcomers.
An escalating war of words ensued, both sides going back and forth threatening each other, until the woman with the glowing eyes seemingly had enough.
“Listen up, assholes,” she cried. “I don’t know what you dickheads want and I don’t care. The only thing I give a shit about is that you’re trespassing and pissing me off. So, I suggest you go back to whatever bar you stumbled out of, put on a pair of sweatpants, and stay the fuck away from here.” She lifted the comically oversized revolver in her hands to give her threat extra emphasis. “Or else I can guarantee something bad is going to happen.”
I knew at that moment things were about to get worse, but even I couldn’t have guessed what was going to happen next.
Without any warning, there came a flash of light and then the woman vanished without a trace.
A witch. She has to be, I told myself, gobsmacked at the raw display of power.
Or maybe not.
Confusion seemed to reign in Jacob’s yard, even among the woman’s companion. Whatever had just happened, it didn’t appear to have been planned.
More back and forth threats ensued until finally Jacob himself made an appearance, stomping around the side of his house with flashlight in hand and...
What in God’s name?
An undulating blob-like thing was slithering along by his side. Stranger still, Jacob was giving it no heed, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Needless to say, it was all I could do to keep from falling right out of the tree. What the heck had I stumbled onto?
“That you, Hobart?” Jacob asked a few moments later, as if the pack’s presence was the only weird thing going on.
Rather than comment on all the craziness, however, Hobart simply said, “I’m sorry you had to see my face, Jacob.”
I knew at that moment any chance of a peaceful resolution had vanished along with the strange woman.
I was preparing to climb down, trying to figure out what to do, but then the other fella spoke up. He was nothing special to look at, a bit overweight and wearing glasses, but he had an attitude that seemed to match his lady friend’s.
“Back the fuck off. Last warning!”
My first thought was his mouth was writing a check his body couldn’t hope to cash, but then Jacob’s flashlight beam fell upon him.
That’s when I saw his black eyes and elongated canines.
He was a vampire.
Hobart was right all along. They were real.
♦ ♦ ♦
Now...
The vamp in question was the same Bill Ryder I’d ended up renting an apartment from some weeks later, not that I’d known at the time. More importantly, he wasn’t the one Hobart was looking for, not that it mattered. Just his presence alone was enough to set the pack off.
What followed was an all-out brawl between monsters, the likes of which I’d never seen before. In the end, I’d had no choice but to intervene. By then, two of the pack were dead, something I hadn’t thought possible, while Jacob and his guests had been forced to flee.
Things had spiraled in the days afterward, ultimately leading to where I was now – attempting to find my way back home with no clue as to how long I’d been gone.
The memory served as a reminder that I needed to check on Jacob again at some point. After all, he might have chosen to run, but I knew the man. He was a stubborn S.O.B. It was only a matter of time before he returned to his home, no matter how foolish it might be.
Although, considering the friends he apparently kept, perhaps it wasn’t as foolhardy as I made it out to be.
It was yet another on a long list of things I needed to do, but all that would have to wait for now.
First, I needed to take a detour and check in with some friends.
Hopefully they’d be able to fill me in, so I didn’t end up walking back into Harris County completely blind.
♦ ♦ ♦
Barley Hills was situated just a few miles south of Harris County, but it wasn’t what you might call our sister town. Harris County might’ve been small but it was a melting pot, home to different faiths and creeds – not to mention species.
Barley Hills, however, was somewhat more homogeneous. On the surface, it was a quiet Mennonite settlement, one of the few outside Lancaster County. They were humble, hardworking people who, much like their kinfolk to the east, mostly made their living off the land. Unlike their more agriculturally minded cousins, however, this particular sect was focused on hunting and trapping. It was how they put food on the table and money in their pockets.
It was such an ingrained part of their culture that the settlement had even received a special allotment from the state, allowing them to hunt year-round – making them the envy of sportsmen far and wide.
The townsfolk were friendly and welcoming to outsiders, provided they didn’t stay past dark. Because once night fell, these simple, God-fearing folk stalked the woods with a purpose they took as seriously as any other, but one that wasn’t to be found in any Bible I’d ever heard of.
The sacred mission of the Mennonites of Barley Hills, the one which kept them isolated from their sister sects, was something known only to them and a few others.
They hunted werewolves.
♦ ♦ ♦
Okay, that was probably a gross oversimplification. After all, if that were the case, then I’d have to be a few candles short of a birthday cake to be heading there now.
It was more like their job was to hunt any werewolves who strayed too far outside Harris County. And no, that didn’t make what I was doing sound any saner, but trust me on this.
I knew what I was doing ... mostly.
As I finally closed in on the midway point between the two towns, my nose began to pick up a whole plethora of different scents. Many were human, some were not. Most were old and lingering, but a few were disturbingly fresh.
Unfortunately, fast as I was moving, it wasn’t fast enough. The owner of one of those fresh scents must’ve likewise picked up on mine, because I sensed them changing direction to intercept me.
Give yourself a kewpie doll if you guessed the owner wasn’t human.
Damn it!
There was no full moon tonight. That meant this was either Hobart’s or Myra’s doing.
Can’t say I was surprised either way.
In the weeks following our first confrontation, Hobart had gotten bolder and more paranoid with regards to the pack.
What should’ve been nothing more than a monthly worry had quickly escalated. Word on the street during the day, when people weren’t beholden to his will, was that he’d become obsessed with making sure Harris County never fell under the thrall of vampires for whatever reason.
One of these days I needed to figure out what was in those files he’d gotten from his brother, but for now it was enough to know that even before our battle in Brooklyn it had become increasingly rare for the woods surrounding my town to ever be werewolf-free come nightfall.
Guess some things haven’t changed.
It was reckless and dangerous on his part, especially since most of the pack were little more than monsters once they changed.
Case in point as my keen eyes caught sight of the werewolf racing my way. It may have looked like me on the outside, but I sincerely doubted it had any thoughts running through its bestial mind other than to kill me in the most brutal and vicious manner possible.
FANGS AND FLYING FUR
Far as I’ve been able to tell, every living thing had its own unique scent. Think of it like an advanced form of fingerprints. Two creatures could be close, but there were always underlying differences.
Mind you, this wasn’t obvious unless you either had preternatural senses or happened to be born a bloodhound.
Further complicating matters was the fact some creatures had more than one. For instance, shapeshifters like me could have a completely different scent depending on their form. I mean, sure, some things might carry over. If someone was wearing, say, Old Spice on the night of the full moon, it’s not like that would magically disappear once they grew fur.
Unfortunately, matching up someone’s human form with their wolf-half wasn’t that easy, and it’s not like I’d had time to go door to door smelling everyone in town like some kind of butt-sniffing Jehovah’s Witness.
Best I could tell, the beast tearing butt my way was neither Hobart nor his second in command Jeb. It wasn’t one of my parents either, thank goodness. Beyond that, it was anyone’s guess. Since most of my encounters with the pack had been more hit-and-run than anything, that hadn’t left a whole lot of time for casual sniffing.
The monster bearing down on me could’ve been anyone associated with the ritual. Too bad none of them were accommodating enough to wear nametags.
That was okay, though. I was too preoccupied with trying to stand my ground as the slobbering beast barreled toward me.
See, real life werewolves weren’t like the movies. Sure, superficially they kind of resembled the beasts found in Underworld or Dog Soldiers, but there was a realness to them that Hollywood films lacked.
Movie werewolves tended to all look alike, doubly so if they’d been created with CGI. More importantly, there was a certain neatness to them. Movie lycanthropes all had perfect fangs, ears, and luxurious coats of fur uniformly covering their bodies.
People weren’t nearly so neat in real life, though. Alas, Harris County wasn’t home to a population of perfectly sculpted underwear models.
There was a certain messiness to these monsters that somehow made them far more terrifying. We’re talking bald patches, missing teeth, scars, beer bellies, you name it.
The beast closing in on me now was roughly seven feet tall, a bit shorter than me. In truth, his face looked more like that of a nightmare rottweiler than a movie werewolf, possessing a heavy head with wide jaws that meant business. Further driving home the danger were hands and feet which terminated in three-inch claws.
Though black fur covered most of its body, there were ragged patches here and there, as if it were fighting off a case of mange, culminating in an ugly, hairless, rat-like tail protruding from its backside.
I’d once sat through the Twilight movies with Myra and, well, won’t lie. I’d have much sooner faced their oversized canines than the creature headed my way.
Too bad beggars couldn’t be choosers.
As for any chance of talking this through, well, maybe my inner wolf could’ve understood the snarls and foaming growls coming from the beast’s mouth, but far as I was concerned it was little more than a rabid monster.
Sadly, that was all the time I had to think this through as the enraged werewolf slammed into me like a freight train.
Oof!
I caught a quick glimpse of his shame, erect and on view for all the world to see. Yep, definitely a he. Mind you, that fact along with five bucks would buy me a cup of coffee, as we both went tumbling end over end, only for me to land on my back with him on top.
I wasn’t sure whether this jerk was attacking on Hobart’s orders or had simply identified me as an intruder, but ultimately it didn’t matter. After all, it’s not like I was filming a nature documentary.
No, I was far too busy keeping him from tearing my throat out as he slashed me with his claws before leaning in with a set of chompers that would’ve made Spud jealous.
The bleeding wounds now crisscrossing my upper body were painful but superficial, nothing that would slow me down. Instead, I managed to grab hold of his jaws before they could further ruin my day, forcing them shut and then shoving him off me, gaining enough breathing room to roll back to my feet.
Whatever made me a Dominant had fortunately come with a few extra perks. I was a little larger than your average werewolf as well as a fair bit stronger. My fur was also brown for some reason, whereas the majority of werewolves in Harris County were closer to black.
Hair color wasn’t going to win this fight, though. Sadly, neither was the so-called gift of dominance, since I had no clue how to use it. I mean, heck, it’s not like I could even talk to the clown currently circling me with murder in his eye.
Speaking of murder, I needed to be careful on two fronts. The first was obviously staying alive against a beast that would’ve gladly spilled my entrails across the forest floor. The other was making sure my inner wolf didn’t inadvertently wake up mid-fight.
He was too much of an X-factor. Not only did I have no idea how he might react at the sight of another of our kind, but I likewise didn’t relish what it might do to our ability to fight if I was trying to zig while he wanted to zag.
No. He needed to stay in dreamland for now.
I glanced at the scratches on my chest, realizing how lucky I’d gotten. They stung, sure, but it was nothing like that bear trap. I needed to avoid anything worse, a feat easier said than done as my foe crouched down on all fours and leapt.
The action was swift and savage but there was zero thought behind it. I sidestepped the snarling beast with room to spare, then grabbed hold of him from behind and locked his arms in a full nelson. That solved the issue of having my face bitten off, at least for the moment, but now I had to figure out what to do with him.
I also needed to be quick about it. This wasn’t like restraining a person. The werewolf went absolutely nuts in my grasp. It was more like wrangling a four-hundred-pound alley cat. I was barely able to keep my footing as the beast let out a roar of rage while trying his damnedest to shake me loose.
This was a losing strategy at best. It’s not like I could stand there for the rest of my life holding this nutjob, but he’d be all over me in a heartbeat if I let go.
That ultimately was part of the problem. In being able to think and strategize, I held the advantage, but only in theory as...
Oh no. Not that!
Something wet splattered my legs. In the werewolf’s struggle to break free, he was quite literally raining on my parade, except with pee.
Gross!
If there was one thing I hated about being a monster of the night, it was all the bodily fluids. Why oh why couldn’t Hobart devote his time to something worthwhile, like housetraining all the werewolves under his command?
Gah!
My stress levels were peaking, which I realized might not be conducive for keeping the beast inside my brain from waking up. So, I did the only thing that came to mind.
I started singing lullabies inside my head.
Rock-a-bye werewolf ... um ... in the dense trees. Please keep on sleeping ... you big bag of fleas...
Would that actually help? I had no idea. But my inner wolf could apparently read my thoughts in this form, so, I figured it couldn’t hurt.
What could hurt, however, was the freaking monster still snarling, snapping, thrashing, and peeing as it tried to break free.
Ewww!
How freaking big was this thing’s bladder?!
I had to do something. Problem was, my best option – snapping this werewolf’s neck – was also the one I didn’t want to take.
The beast might’ve looked and acted like a rampaging monster, but deep down he was still a person – someone I knew.
And yet, if I didn’t do something, he’d eventually break free and cut me down as soon as look at me.
As much as I hated to admit it, mercy was a conceit I could ill afford in this strange new world of the weird I’d been dragged into, more so because I couldn’t expect any to be shown in return.
Hobart and Myra had already proven that in their bid to take down that vampire and his friends. Both in Harris County and later in New York, they hadn’t hesitated when it came to collateral damage. The battle in Brooklyn in particular had been a brutal affair as they’d unleashed the pack on a street full of civilians, not caring how many were torn to shreds in the process.
Holding back was a recipe for disaster.
And yet still I persisted, even as my grip began to slip bit by bit.
Sadly, creatures such as myself weren’t built for restraint. All the tools at my disposal, whether teeth, claws, or super strength, were those of an apex predator. The simple truth was werewolves were built to kill, not slap each other around like kittens.
There was also our durability to take into account. I’d seen others put down in ways that should’ve been lethal, only for them to heal once they changed back. Conversely, I’d also witnessed some who hadn’t been that lucky.
I simply didn’t know where that fine line between incapacitated and doomed lay when it came to my kind.
Pity, I was also the only one who seemed to be worried about it.
The werewolf suddenly crouched low, causing me to bend over to maintain my grip. Then, before I realized what it was doing, it kicked off with its feet – launching us both backward until...
Oof!
I was the first to hit the tree trunk, followed immediately afterward by the creature I’d been trying to restrain – our combined momentum knocking the wind out of me.
Maybe this beast wasn’t as dumb as I’d thought.
Too bad I was forced to split my attention between defending myself and practically screaming lullabies inside my head.
Hush ... little werewolf, please don’t wake up. Mama’s gonna, I dunno, give you a pile of raw meat or something.
A songwriter I was not.
