Curse of the Were-Weasel

Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. IV)

2011-10-23T19:00:00.000-05:00

No one believed him at first. It was too unlikely. Irisi was not even vaguely furry… and Sebi was considered a bit of a dope. But… sometimes stories stick and fester over time. It took two weeks before the first rumblings started.

* * *

“Djal?”

The voice startled Djal as he stood contemplating his irrigation system.

“Manu, greetings,” he replied, “How are your crops?”

Manu replied vaguely, a strange look in his eye.

Djal figured he’d head off the niceties and get to the point. “What is it, my friend?”

“Your daughter.”

“Irisi?”

“She’s your only one.”

Djal frowned. Manu was rarely this chilly.

“Yes, she is. What do you want with her?”

“She been interfering with things she shouldn’t?”

Djal thought of the rumors moving about town. About Sebi and the lions. And the jackal creature.

“No more than any girl her age, Manu. Are you talking about Sebi and the lion attack?”

“Yes, I am. That boy claims your daughter turned into an animal beast. Like maybe… a devil.”

Djal shook his head. “What you’re describing could be any teenager, my friend. She’s never been involved with anything weirder than berry makeup or pillow fighting. Don’t tell me the weird stories are getting in your head, too.”

Manu grunted. “They’re not so weird. My wife told me in her village a bandit once got caught pinching some gold from a house. When a man and his brother cornered the thief, he turned into a beast and ripped their heads clean off.”

Djal pointed up. “Sometimes the gods come down and walk with us. Perhaps they had a hand in it.”

“In thievery and murder?”

“Perhaps the men had stolen the gold themselves.”

Manu shook his head. “They were just normal townfolk, Djal. That wasn’t no god. That was a monster. Like maybe the thing that killed the lions. Like maybe a girl could be, secretly. Like a – ”

“That’s enough, Manu. I won’t let you drag my daughter into your devil talk. I enjoy being friend with you – but leave off on my family.”

Manu spit on the ground and studied the drying spot he left. Quietly, he nodded, then looked back at Djal.
“I’m not the only one, Djal. People are a bit worried. There have been other stories of killing and beast-men and such. Just watch your back. Your daughter may be fine… but don’t count on everyone being easy to convince.”

Djal clapped his hand on Manu’s shoulder. “I won’t. You’re a good man. Head it off. You know me… you know my daughter. We have no enemies and don’t intend to start now. I’ll offer extra sacrifices and pray that any evil stays away.”

Manu turned to leave, then stopped and looked back. “Better pray hard.”

Djal watched him leave, then looked back at his suddenly less-interesting irrigation trenches.

He and Irisi needed to talk.

Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. III)

2011-10-16T19:00:00.000-05:00

The subject of her scorn was clueless. They were walking together at the edge of Djal’s field, idly plucking unripe heads off the yellowing wheat. Sebi had been showing off a bit, picking up a large rock and throwing it as far as he could. His skill at throwing was good… but his skill with impressing the ladies left something to be desired.

“I can also win a butting contest with a goat, Irisi! You should see me!”

Irisi didn’t want to.

“This one time, I was having a butting contest and got hit in the head so hard by our he-goat that I saw visions. But I didn’t fall over. And I grabbed his beard and bit him on the leg and he ran off.”

Irisi didn’t care.

“Dad beat me that night, ‘cause he said I shouldn’t be biting his good animals. But the goat started it. I was just in there next to him, you know, rearing up and stamping the ground at him.”

Irisi wished Sebi would shut his mouth.

“We were gonna castrate him but he’s too perfect a he-goat, so Dad’s gonna make him the sacrifice. That’s why he was mad. Doesn’t want any marks.”

Irisi didn’t really know anything about castration but wished it on Sebi.

The two of them had played together since they were little. Yet as Irisi had gotten older, her intellect had passed that of her playmate – and now, at age thirteen, she was significantly smarter than Sebi and found his company rather tedious.

Besides, today she was wearing her very first wig and he hadn’t even mentioned it.

Unpardonable!

Mom said she was a woman now – and soon she probably shouldn’t be playing with Sebi at all. Everyone told horror stories about boys, of course – and most of them were surely true – but Irisi wasn’t worried.

As they walked she was lost in her thoughts. After a few moments, she realized Sebi was no longer chattering or showing off. She felt a tingle up her spine as she turned and saw the look on his face. He was frozen in the path a few yards behind her, staring into the scrub. Following his gaze, she saw its focus.

A lion!?!

It was a female, crouched amidst the brush. As they both stared in terror – another one appeared in the path ahead! A massive male, mane wild, eyes fierce. It roared horrifyingly, shaking the ground beneath them. Sebi found his voice, screamed and turned his back on both the lions, hauling off in a run as fast as his legs would carry him. In a snap, the female took chase – and was quickly joined by another on the other side!

Time slowed down as a strange new sensation swept through Irisi’s body. A thrill of adrenaline and a surge of some god-power! Her arms and legs felt different… stronger. Her lips curled back over powerful jaws. And her clothing was suddenly awkward on her newly furry and muscled form.

Before she knew what happened, she had caught up to the lionesses just as they reached Sebi. One bit into his leg as Irisi tore at its back, trying to find purchase. The other batted at her, cutting a gash in her arm. She bit off its paw with a snap, causing it to half-limp and half-run to cover... then she sunk her fangs into the throat of the other female. The gush of blood startled and delighted her.

Sebi lay on the ground, and as she guzzled the red liquor from the neck of the now-still lioness, she realized with puzzlement that he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

At her.

His leg was bloody but likely savable, she thought. She’d have to carry him back home. Somehow, becoming whatever she’d become didn’t feel strange. It felt… right. She licked her lips and waved to Sebi. He fainted.

With interest, Irisi looked at her limbs. Long hairy limbs, sinewed and powerful. Claws like acacia thorns. Somehow, she still felt feminine – but the power was incredible! Marvelous! Intoxicating!

She went over to Sebi and picked him up easily. What had happened to her? Who knew – but she bet she could now out-chuck him in a rock-throwing contest!

She heard a little whimper behind her. A scrap dog was inspecting the dead lioness and looking at her expectantly.

“Go ahead – eat it!”

The dog stood still, waiting. She realized it was observing some sort of protocol. With sudden insight, she gently set down Sebi’s limp form and went back to the carcass. As the dog watched, she took a large bite, chewed, swallowed, rubbed her stomach as if full, then repeated “Go ahead… eat!” (She had to admit – it WAS delicious, but there was no time now!) Picking up Sebi, she saw that the dog was now eating.

Funny, that. Like when they got around her in a circle that day…

As she got closer to home, Sebi suddenly woke and realized he was being carried. This time he seemed to have his wits about him a bit more. At least he wasn't screaming. He cocked his head around and looked in her eyes, puzzled, half-scared, and as stupid as always.

“Irisi?”

She grinned broadly… and one look at her fangs put him back under.

Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. II)

2011-10-09T19:00:00.000-05:00

“He” had been a “she.” The little warrior was instead a little princess… though an edgy little dart of energy she was. Akana loved her to death. At last, in a house of boys, she had an ally. Of course… she hadn’t been an ally at first. She’d just been a normal little suckling of an infant, needing care and regular changing.

But now, at six summers, Irisi was everywhere. Taking care of chickens, weaving, sweeping the hard-packed clay of the floor, and occasionally participating in quick and vicious wrestling matches with her older brothers.

It was uncanny how many she won.

Akana could see the strangeness in her eyes, however, and wondered if Djal would notice. If he did, he said nothing. He was a hard-working man, a good man, and, in a time where all infrastructure had been destroyed, a life saver.

As far as they knew, there were only two other families left in the land - those saved by the hands of Ra. They had banded tightly together, forming exploratory parties and sharing their limited resources – but as of yet, they seemed very much alone. Ra rose and Ra set, every day without fail; yet the world of the glorious past was gone forever.

Akana sat weaving and humming to herself, loose threads in her mouth. She missed the fine, dyed stuff she used to own and wished they’d have been able to pack more in the salvation machine.

The smell of bread filled their mud house. Food, shelter, clothing… all the important needs were met.

Suddenly, Irisi crashed through the door.

Akana grinned. “How’s my little woman?”

“Fine.”

“Fine? Are your brothers still with Papa?”

Irisi nodded.

“But you didn’t want to help?”

Irisi shrugged. Akana noticed her hair was getting long. Deep brown curls rolled down her bare sun-browned back. “Are they almost done?”

Irisi shrugged again. She was often like this… so quiet as to be a bit irritating. “Why don’t you talk to your mama, daughter?”

“I don’t have anything to say, mama.”

Akana realized with irritation that she’d cross-threaded a portion of her weaving. She started tugging it right and then noticed something strange.

“Irisi?”

The girl looked up at her from where she sat on the bare floor.

“What’s that mark on your arm?”

Irisi feigned ignorance. “What mark?”

“That one, darling. It looks like… a bite?”

The girl cocked her arm at an angle and studied the small red and purple imprint. She looked at her mom and shrugged yet again.

“Irisi… what happened? Tell me or you’ll not get dinner!”

The girl sighed, crossing her legs under her and putting her head in her hands.

Akana sat silently, waiting for the explanation. Finally, the girl talked, looking out the door as if in another world.

“It was a dog, mama.”

“A dog?”

“One of the yellow ones that Papa chases away from the pens. Scrap dog.”

Akana looked at her with concern. “It just bit you?”

Irisi shook her head. “No, not at first. At first they came close.”

“They?”

“A… flock of them.”

“Pack of them,” Akana corrected, then kicked herself for interrupting. If there really were dangerous dogs about, Djal needed to know. And they needed to keep a much closer eye on the children. Usually the “scrap dogs,” as the children called them, were the furthest thing from aggressive. And wait…

“So – more than one? A group of dogs?”

Irisi continued her tale. “Yes, mama. A flo… a… pack of them came to me when I was picking flowers. By the little pond outside the wheat field.”

Akana had quit her weaving and focused her attention completely on her daughter.

“What happened?”

Irisi looked at her intently. “I think... they came to worship me.”

“Worship???”

“That’s what it looked like. They came in a bunch and made a circle, then came up and were sort of kneeling on their front legs, like we do at the altars. One even put a little animal bone at my feet. It was like a little dog party or something. I was their goddess. It was fun! But then when the mean falcons came, the dogs got upset.”

“What? Falcons? And how did they get upset?”

“They were trying to keep the falcons away from my hair. They kept diving and diving at me. I lost my flowers. The dogs tried to bite the falcons and then they went away. But one bit my arm.”

“A falcon?”

“No, a scrap dog. But it was a mistake. It was trying to get a falcon. That’s when I dropped my flowers in the pond.”

Akana was completely bemused. As far as she knew, falcons didn’t attack people and dogs didn’t worship little girls. But, then again, much in the world had changed. The animals no longer communicated like before the waters of chaos… and there was no longer any energy bubbles to keep the harsher elements of Geb at bay.

Akana pondered the story for a long time, and often asked Irisi if she’d had more contact with dogs or falcons… but the answer was always no.

That is, until Irisi turned thirteen.

Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. I)

2011-10-02T19:00:00.000-05:00

“In those days the gods still walked the earth,” Nomti said, taking a bite out his loaf and washing it back with a slug of beer. His tanned and grizzled features contrasted strangely with the brilliant white of his garment.

“They hadn’t been contained yet. As a matter of record, it took a millennia and a great cataclysm to contain them when the battles were fought before. Some of the gods had committed the unspeakable. And bore offspring.”

Nanu nodded her head as her grandfather spoke. “The great ones!”

“Yes. Great warriors. Evil ones, however. Not… pure. Not of the gods, and not of man… too dangerous. So Atum and Nun raised the waters of chaos, conspiring against the very gods themselves, to destroy the seed of the gods before all was ruined. Yet a few men were gathered up and saved to begin anew.”

Nanu frowned. “Those who built the great tombs?”

“No, those are remnants from before the time of the cleansing. Only recently did they become the tombs of great kings. Those that survived the waters were hidden in the hand of Ra until chaos receded. Yet even in their midst, some of the god blood had been preserved…”

* * *

The sun beat down on Akana as she picked out stems, leaves and rotten fruit from the grape harvest. She didn’t mind – she felt fine and sang as she sorted through baskets of warm grapes, singing, and enjoying the goodness of life.

And some of that life stirred within her. Her breasts lay bare and tan over the fullness of her belly as she poured out the now suitable fruit into the new winepress her husband had completed shortly after the waters receded. It would be soon.... soon.

A movement inside brought her hand to her middle. A knee? A bottom? She smiled and gently pushed back at the child. In return, it moved back harder, sharply kicking at the new pressure. She pressed again – and the baby responded with a kick that felt as if it could break a rib. “Gods have mercy! What a little warrior you are,” she said to her stomach. “What a tough little man I shall bring into the world! That will teach me to push you around, sweet one.”

As she tread the essence from the grapes her thoughts went to the time before. The battles, the citadels, the incredible powers of the gods… all done and gone. She would never see the crystal towers again… nor the shimmering balloons high above the peaks… or the great interlocking blocks of stone carved to knife-edged precision and put into place with concentrated waves of sound. Vanished. Far off as they drifted in the seas over what had been cities and patch-work farmed plains, she had seen the triangular peak of a building or two, but she doubted that much could remain. The tempest had been incredible in its fury.

The baby kicked again, hard enough to knock her breath away. “Child, be at peace!” she groaned. This one could not come soon enough. He would be of use to his older brothers in a few years, gathering grain they had grown painfully with primitive plows and harvested with pitiful hand tools. Nothing like the way it was before. Before… back when the gods had walked the earth…

The gods. A cloud drifted across the sun just as her thoughts went back to that night… just one night of great failing… the night her child had been conceived. She couldn’t know it for sure… but the feeling wouldn’t leave her.

Her husband wouldn’t understand it… but that awful visitor had possessed a strange power she’d never felt before. Djal had left with the boys, visiting his brother inside the great city. She was home alone, running a newly combed batch of flax through the linen spooler when the knock came.

He was the biggest man she’d ever seen. She wasn’t about to let him in, but he pressed his huge and hairy hand in the gap of the door and pushed her aside like a papyrus doll.

“Beer,” he demanded, “and meat.”

Because hospitality required it, she served him both. She considered running away to the neighbors but something kept her riveted to the floor. His eyes burned with an intoxicating madness; his features had something of the divine and something of the animal within them. He finished his meal, then eyed her. Something in his look enslaved her. She knew it was wrong… she knew it was mad… but she found herself serving him drink after drink, and partaking of it herself, and at some point, delivering her body into his arms. There wasn’t much to remember… except the strange canine smell of his breath… and the hairiness of his back… and dreams… endless dreams that night of hunts and the smell of blood… lying among jackals in a cave…

When she had awakened the next day, he was gone. And only a week later, her family were among the few that had been gathered away from the waters of chaos.

Even then, the little one had been in her womb… riding on the waves… up above the peaks.

There for the landing, and the re-dedications, and the libations to the gods. There, growing inside...

Another kick came - and with it a clenching pain.

Djal was in the field and heard her cry. Racing back, he carried her inside. This birth would be without the help of the physicians, he thought grimly. No liniments to ward off the tiny destroyers… no measuring the beating of the hearts. Just nature running its course.

He prayed that course would not kill his wife or child. Though if he’d known what was to come, he might have prayed for both.

Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. V)

2011-09-25T19:00:00.005-05:00

They couldn’t be far, Qatil kept telling himself. He hurriedly explained his fears to Tikka, and for once, she was sober. Or at least wearing her “professional” face. Either way, maybe there might still be hope for her…

It was the morning after the attack, and Qatil’s heightened senses had led them to the edge of the long desert. They were following its edge, not committed to jumping into the wastes without a clear sign. Somewhere out there in the packed clay and sand were the remaining bandits. For what wasn’t the first time, Qatil cursed his lack of preparation. No bows and arrows… improper clothing… no salves or liniments… the list was too long. He reminded himself to pack next time he left his life’s calling.

“Why do you hate women?” Tikka’s voice took him by surprise.

Qatil turned. “What? What do you mean?”

“Women.”

Qatil shrugged. “I don’t hate women.”

Tikka frowned at him, shaking a delicate finger in his face. “Oh yes you do. You joined the men of Anubis and forever swore off us! AND, you treat me like I’m a tree!”

“A tree?”

“A tree.” She huffed at him.

Qatil liked trees. He tried to gain the high ground. “But… I rescued you. If I’d hated women you’d still be getting beaten by that priest. And getting ravished by travelers and pilgrims.”

She spit on the ground in a rather unladylike fashion. “And that is somehow worse than being stuck in the desert, unloved, surviving on low rations, and being captured by bandits then rescued by a monster who’s now taking me BACK to the bandits he took me from?”

Qatil was silent. She did have some valid points. After rescuing her, he’d realized she wasn’t the girl he thought she was… and his feelings for her had shifted. At first he’d thought her noble… he’d thought her abused… taken from her family… used; but then, once he had her in person, he’d been horrified by her crassness… her scatological bent… her silly and stupid ways. He’d wanted her to be a lady… but she’d never learned how… and he was judging her for it.

Of course… he’d never really learned to be a man, either. Raised from when he was young by grandparents, then committed to the god… slept with a prostitute… once… never learned to work the ground, or –

“I see footprints, animal-boy!”

She was right. They’d been following the edge of the brush and in a break to their left, the clear indentations of sandals leading off into the barrenness.

“Are we going out there?” she asked, a note of disbelief in her voice. “We’ll dry up or maybe walk right into Duat!”

Qatil nodded. “We have to. I gave them the blood on accident. But I wouldn’t worry about us ending up in the house of the dead… they’re the ones that’ll be going there.” The thought of a fight tickled through his veins, stimulating something primal and canine. “We have to get them.”

“Or else what?”

Qatil looked her in the face grimly. “Or else the god blood becomes part of man forever… and the rulers will come down from heaven to destroy us.”

She laughed. “Think they’ll need whores?”

Qatil almost rebuked her… then remembered his recent thoughts and repented.

“I need one, Tikka.”

She looked at him wide-eyed. “You do?”

“Yes – you.”

She grinned and swooshed her skirts about. “Right now? Right here?”

“No! Not like that!” Qatil groaned. “Look… you already found the footprints for me. Now we need to figure out how to get the bandits without any getting away. With two of us, and with my powers, we should be able to get them all. I just can’t risk having one flee.”

Tikka smiled. “Your powers? By the gods… I’ll use my powers! It’ll be easy. Just get us close!”

Qatil didn’t think it would be easy… but together, the two of them trudged into the wilderness. The bandits couldn’t be far.

* * *

They’d been walking for about an hour and the dusk was gathering when they first glanced a figure up ahead, surmounting some rocky crags before disappearing down over the edge. Along the way, Tikka had gathered up a few buzzard feathers and a white animal skull she’d found in the sand. Qatil didn’t know his animal skulls, but Tikka claimed it was from a goat-sucker. He was skeptical.

When they spotted the figure, Tikka snickered.

“What is it,” asked Qatil, curious. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m going to have a ridiculously great idea. I can feel it.” she responded.

“An idea?”

She nodded like a bird. “Mmmhmm. Get us over to those rocks – quick! Carry me!”

Qatil willed the transformation and felt the rush of power. Filled with new vitality, he set Tikka on his shoulders and raced on quiet feet to the edge of the rocks. They were further than they appeared and the night wrapped around them quickly.
There, below in the gloom, the group of bandits had already lit a small fire. Its yellow tongues sent licking light across the crags above them. Qatil and Tikka lay on their bellies and listened in to the conversation.

“Craziest thing, that animal,” said a bandit in dull red wool, “like a man-jackal.”

“Yep,” said another from across the fire, “He took that woman away and ripped out Awi’s guts. Awi still owed me 20 pieces, too.”

A laugh echoed up to them. A bandit in a dark-striped shawl threw a stick into the fire and took a swig from a clay jar. “He’s in pieces. Why didn’t ya take some?”

They all laughed.

“My arm’s still killing me,” said the bandit in red. “See the bite?” He showed it, a black gash on a brown arm in the orange firelight. “I feel like I’m getting a fever, too. Chills, like.”

The man in stripes laughed again. “You want chills? Lemme tell you all a story…”

The men leaned closer as the man lowered his voice. It was obviously a tale of the supernatural… and the men were obviously enjoying being both scared and fascinated at the same time.

“…from heaven into hell… grabbed the child… no head… blood like a pig… she ne’r saw it… babies always getting… blinded a man…”

Qatil looked over at Tikka. She was GONE!

“Tikka?” he whispered. “Tikka…?”

Down in the camp there was a movement outside the firelight… and a howl!

“Aaaaarrrrrriiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeee!”

Qatil shivered all over and the men jumped up in fright. An apparition!

“Meeeeeeeen of theeeeeeeee blooooooody swoooooooords!” came a horrible female voice. “I haaaaaaave coooooooome!!!”

Qatil saw it coming closer, suddenly knowing it must be Tikka. The men clutched each other in fear, superstitious like most bandits and barbarians.

She stepped up to the edge of the light. A shining white skull covered her face, and a necklace of feathers lay over her bared chest. She looked like a goddess of lust and death. Qatil hesitated. The men were all looking her way… could he get down behind them?

“Yooooooooouuuuur bloooooood iiiiiiiiissssss miiiiiiiiiiiiine!” she wailed, then screamed at Qatil. “Jump, you sissy!”

Qatil did – right on top of the nearest bandit, quickly dispatching him before he could yell. The others were still transfixed by the half-nude demon goddess.

“Thaaaaaat’ssss riiiiiiiiiiiight,” she wailed, “looooooook at my seeeeeeeexiiiiiiiiineeeeeeeees!”

Two down, three, four… the last turned around too late and met Qatil’s flashing claws and razor teeth. He stood over the dead, panting… a pile of human wreckage illuminated at the borders in flickering copper.

Tikka threw down the skull and laughed. “See? Hilarious!”

Her hips and warmly-lit breasts were suddenly too much for him. The jackal blood leapt.

“Be my woman!” he yelped at her.

“Your woman? Not your whore?”

“Woman! Lady!”

She pressed up next to him. “What about… wife, meanie-head?”

“Wife!” he yelled, lust gripping him.

She laughed, spit on the corpses, and pulled him down to the ground on a pile of blankets prepared for the night by the now-dead bandits.

At some point in the midst of their wild lovemaking, Qatil remembered something important… and then forgot it.
When he remembered the next day… he hoped against hope that it wouldn’t become a problem.

But it was too late.

Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. IV)

2011-09-18T19:00:00.004-05:00

Before they were together, Qatil had dreamed of rescuing and running off with his very own, very first temple prostitute. Of course… what young man didn’t dream the same?

But now that he knew Tikka better, and had been forced to “enjoy” her company at close range, his dreams were shattered. He’d given up stability, power, respectability and a life of service to the Pharaoh for a… well… twit.

“Don’t look! I’m going wee-wee!”

Qatil rolled his eyes and looked away. She was always like this.

“You can look if you really want to!”

He yelled back in the negative, and added an oath.

“Fine then, Mr. Anubis. Be that way!”

She stalked over the tree where he was sitting. “I don’t even think you LIKE me anymore, you big meanie-head.”

Qatil frowned. “I don’t. You have the grace of a monkey and similar sexual habits.”

She stuck out her tongue at him and went off to pout.

It was a gorgeous day. The Nile was off in the distance and they were in a patch of woods bordering the more arid scrublands of the wilderness.

They had been living there for over a month, slowly moving South and away from everything they’d ever known. Fortunately, the Nile had fish… the riverbanks were teeming with birds… and snagging heads of grain from the edges of fields was easy. Qatil no longer enjoyed grain as he had before his initiation. Compared to the salty tang of warm blood, it was unpleasantly bland. He’d been cooking his meat in front of Tikka… though if he caught something out of her line of sight, sometimes Anubis would take over and he’d wolf it.

Qatil had no idea where they were going, other than away from those who were likely to sacrifice him for his insolence towards the powers of heaven. He wished he could’ve rescued someone that was better company, though.

“Look, Qatil! I can bite my own toenails!”

Qatil heard Tikka yell at him from over fifty yards away. By the gods she was loud! Squinting against the sun, he could make her out at the base of a tree… and she was indeed biting her toenails. And so intent upon her task that she didn’t see…

RAIDERS!

“Tikka! Behind you!”

But it was too late. Two men had her pinned and another three were rooting through their meager possessions at the campsite. Qatil hesitated… and for a moment, considered leaving her.

CRACK! Something hit him in the back of the head. He spun around… three men were behind him – and one was brandishing a staff. In a flash, he transformed.

The raider with the staff took another swing as he did – and almost lost it as he realized the monster he was now facing! Qatil dodged the blow and grabbed the weapon in his mouth, snapping it like a chicken bone. The other two men were already running away. Staff man took a look at the foot-long section of hardwood remaining in his hands and turned to run. Too late! Qatil was on him and crushed his spine in a heartbeat.

He raced back to the campsite. Tikka was gone – and so were the bandits! The small baskets of grain they’d gathered had been stolen, as had his knife.

The couldn’t have gone far. He sniffed the wind. The adrenaline rush was holding – his senses were strong. On all fours, he threw himself into the woods on their trail. Sure enough, he could hear Tikka’s complaining through the woods.

“My boyfriend is gonna get you! He eats people for dinner! He’s also got a huge man organ! Bigger than yours!”

Qatil was shaking his head as he crept up on the main body of the bandits, who had now stopped, thinking themselves safe. The two who had witnessed his transformation were nowhere to be seen. His body was strong… poised… a coiled spring of mahogany fur. Closer… closer…

“BEWARE! MONSTER!”

He swung around – the other two were back behind him, crashing through the undergrowth towards the main body of bandits… sweet god of death - they’d alerted the camp! Qatil cursed his poor strategic ability and decided to go straight for the girl… he could see her between two guards, who were craning their necks towards their incoming partners.

With a shriek of demon rage, he tore into the midst of them, slashing… tearing… biting. The surprised bandits were overcome with terror as they witnessed his bloody maw and flashing eyes – their criminal exploits had never prepared them to face a full-on were-beast. All fled screaming as he slashed at their retreating forms.

After looting the half-dozen dead and finding little of value, Qatil snatched up Tikka, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat.

She was unharmed, sadly, and chattered at him as he carried her out of the woods.

“I wasn’t scared, you know. I figured they would rape me, but I was used to it. I told them you’d kill them. And you did! You killed them!”

“Not all, Tikka. Some got away.”

He could feel the god power leaving him. Suddenly, the girl was getting heavier. He set her down, not sure why he’d been carrying her to begin with, other than it just seemed like something grand to do when one was out rescuing.

“You could’ve killed them all if you didn’t stay with me. You stayed with me! That’s sooooo romantic! I should sleep with you!”

“No thanks.” Now he was almost back to himself again… regular, short little Qatil. Not the terrifying visage of Anubis. The blood of the god had calmed.

The… blood…

Suddenly, it hit him. He looked at Tikka.

“How many do you think got away?”

She giggled. “I dunno. Maybe like, eight?”

He remembered biting and slashing more than the few on the ground. Some had escaped… wounded… with the blood… his bites… he had SHARED the sacred blood! Unwittingly, in his rage… he had released what the Temple had kept safe for generations.

Somewhere, off in the woods, the blood of Anubis was coursing through new veins. Men not disciplined nor contained by rites. Men who now had the strength of the gods… without their divinity. Qatil grabbed his head in his hands and fell to the ground, weeping in rage and shame.

And far off, there was heard the echoing cry of a jackal.

Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. III)

2011-09-11T19:00:00.002-05:00

The transformation that took place that first night had been terrifying. He had thrashed in bed, sweating, eaten with chills. The rotten blood from the well had been the day’s only sustenance. He lay on a bed of burlap and straw in the transformation chamber. It was more of a cell than a bedroom; thick doors, barred windows.

Outside he saw the globe of the moon, staring in, flaunting her freedom. His jaw hurt, his bones ached. And then it happened. His hands turned into claws, his teeth grew out, his body covered with hair. He started howling in terror, but soon, he was howling for the sheer joy of it. Trumpeting animal bellows leapt unbidden from his newly muscled throat. He shrieked at the moon, gnawed at the burlap covering and tore gaping scratches into the clay walls. He’d never felt so strange – or so alive!

That first time had been incredible. He now knew why he’d been locked up. The power of Anubis was not to be trifled with. Indeed, the daily meditations of the priests were more about learning to control the demon in their veins than they were an act of piety...

* * *

Two years after his initiation, he was itching to see the outside world again. The brotherhood rarely let any of the priests travel – particularly not those who had recently become members. Their jobs were to advise the Pharoah (may the god-man be blessed forever!) in matters of spiritual significance – and regularly tend the well. Most of all, they lived to carry the blood of Anubis and keep it from being spilled into the world – or poured into the hands of their enemies.

One chill spring afternoon, Qatil decided it was time for some fresh air. Most of the brotherhood were planting the grain used to feed the huge flock of goats required for the feeding of the 40. He had feigned deep meditation when asked to join them. Feeling it would be better to let him commune with the deity, they had passed on without molesting him.

Qatil often remembered the young prostitute from his initiation – though her temple was a few blocks away and kept vigorously separated from that of Anubis.

But… it could be reached, if one was clever. Qatil was young, lonely, and bored. Seeking out a friend seemed like a good idea. Even if the penalty for discovery was death. Seeing the passive nature of most of the priests, he could hardly believe they’d want to slay him. Brother Jatot had even broken the vow of silence during the Days of Ra without receiving more than a passing rebuke.

He slipped out of the tanned skins that were the garb of his order and put on his old civilian clothing. Better not to draw attention.

Quietly, he made his way up the stairs that led to the roof. There was a ladder there for the lighting of the great torch. He snagged it, and casually walked down the street, taking it to the outer wall which overlooked the women’s courtyard. There they waited for travelers, collecting “donations” for the temple. He climbed cautiously and looked down into the courtyard, not daring to simply walk in as the travelers did. Too much chance of being recognized. One fat and lazy whore fanned herself and lay against the fountain. A couple other women were emerging from one of the “service” booths with a rich-looking merchant.

Then he heard a woman cry out. "Stop it! Stop it!” The other prostitutes looked uncomfortable but didn’t help. Could it be the one he’d spent the night with before his transformation? The girl was obviously begrieved. In an instant, he was down in the square. The cries came from a booth at the end of the row. He hesitated, questioning himself. Then another cry pulled him forward. He burst in, finding a half nude woman trying to shield herself against the blows of a lean-faced man with a riding crop. He took another slash at her. “Submit, slave!”

It was the woman he knew!

Suddenly, her assailant realized he wasn’t the only man in the tent. He turned on Qatil. With sick horror, Qatil saw the man bore the belt of the priesthood – he was the girl’s owner!

“Have a problem with my property management skills?” the man snarled, “Or are you having a hard time waiting your turn?”

Qatil didn’t answer. Assaulting another priest was forbidden.

The man struck him with the crop. “Answer, fool!”

The pain snapped something inside him. The beast blood rose. He transformed. The priest cried out in horror as the girl cowered further back against the wall.

“Anubis!”

With a lunge, Qatil tore out his ribcage and feasted on his still-beating heart. The woman, horrified, tried to run past him. He caught her in his iron grip and clapped a paw over her young features. “Silence, woman! Tonight you are free!”
She nodded, fear still flashing through her eyes. Qatil knew how horrifying a transformation could be. Especially when it was accompanied by eviscerations. He threw her over his shoulder and bounded out into the courtyard. The fat whore came alive and screamed as he approached. Ignoring her, he charged for the gate. In the confusion, he was able to tear off past the market and into the vast fields of grain. When he was sure they hadn’t been followed, he finally paused. The adrenaline was wearing off. Soon he’d just be plain old Qatil again.

The girl now seemed more curious than scared. Though not certain of her safety, she was at least not in his stomach as of yet – and for a girl that had spent her life in a state of near-constant abuse, that was good enough.

He looked at his hands – there were paws no longer. Claws were now just fingernails. He looked up. The girl had noticed.

“You’re no longer a beast.”

He grinned, hoping his incisors had also retracted. “Yeah. Just plain old Qatil now.”

She looked at him, a question in her eyes. “You look familiar.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You once told me I was a better ride than your camel. Two humps, remember?"

He shook his head. “That couldn’t have been me.”

“Hmm… wait. I know! You’re the one with the mole shaped like a diamond. Right here.” She pointed at her left buttock.

“No.”

“You have a twin, though, right?”

“No. I was an only child.”

Her eyes looked upwards, towards the sky. She seemed lost in thought. “Who and where… who and where. I’ll get it. Just give me a moment.”

With a snap of her fingers, she tried again. “You eat lots of oysters?”

“No.”

“By Ra, I give up then!”

He was a bit hurt. Maybe she’d remember if he brought up that night. “We were together once.”

“I knew it! You bit me right on the –“

“No! NO NO NO! Listen, I was going to be a priest, and you were mine for the last night before my vow. I told you that you weren’t just a whore, you were a person. And you thanked me for being gentle and sweet!”

Her laugh was unexpected. She rocked back to the grass, holding her gut. “HA!”

“What?”

“I tell that to ALL the guys!”

Qatil was not amused. The reality of what he’d done was sinking in. He had left the brotherhood, killed a priest, and freed a temple prostitute.

Though he didn’t know it, soon he would do something much worse.

Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. II)

2011-09-04T19:00:00.003-05:00

The next day, Qatil awoke early in the morning. A faraway trumpet announced the opening of the town market. Chickens clucked in the courtyard of the temple. A few priests were already repeating their morning chants as they crouched in the dust.
Beside him lay the temple prostitute he had been given after last night’s ceremony. After this night, he was to have no more contact with women.

The time they had shared had been awkward. He was inexperienced – and she had been bored. Lying with men had long-since ceased to be a pleasure for her and had instead become a chore. No doubt her family had sold her into prostitution in order to pay off some debt to the state. He wished her no ill – though he did wish he had been able to avoid the entire embarrassing episode altogether. The sunlight lit upon her face. She couldn’t have been any older than sixteen.
Unaware, he had put out his hand to stroke her hair. The girl awoke, startled.

“I apologize, sacred consort. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She half-smiled and stretched. “I don’t mind. I am sorry that you’ll be joining the priesthood.”

Surprised, he started. “Why?”

“You're gentle and sweet.”

He blushed, not sure what to say. It was a simple religious rite… yet it felt like it should have been deeper. A communion unshared with others. But this girl would never get a chance to become someone’s one and only woman. More likely, when she got older, she would end up a sacrifice or a slave.

“Thank you. You are… also... a very nice woman.”

She laughed, a tinkle of glass. “I am a whore.”

He winced. “You’re still a person… a… a…”

“I’m just a whore. But you’re very sweet.”

She kissed him. “I almost wish we’d met under different circumstances,” she stated bluntly. Then she stood, wrapped her gown around her slender form, and walked away into the already-warming air.

He sat there for a while, wishing he could do something for her. But then, with a sick thud, he remembered his initiation. It was today! He girded his loins and stepped out of his goatskin Initiate’s tent. He repeated the words of his oath again, making sure he had them all memorized.

He stood before the entrance of the temple. For good luck, he drew a charm in the dust with his foot. Then he knocked on the huge brass door. The words boomed back from inside.

“Who seeks to crawl in the dust before Anubis?”

Trying to sound brave, he yelled back. “I, Qatil the Initiate.”

“And why should we let you inside his sacred home?”

“I am the one who makes 40, the sacred number. I am the one who sacrifices my will for his. I am the one who was chosen by his priest. And I am the one who seeks to mingle blood!”

The door swung open. There, he was embraced by High Priest Kalut and kissed on the forehead. The other priests bowed before him. He was dressed in the sacred robe and brought into the room that last night had been a place of death. Anubis stared forwards over his head, impassive.

Qatil prostrated himself before the image. The High Priest recited the rules of the order and the great myth of Anubis, the jackal-headed god. Then came the culmination. The well was uncapped right in front of Qatil, releasing a stench of rotting corpuscles. The sacred bowl was lowered in a woven net, down into the blackness. Then it returned, filled with filthy liquid.
Repeating the oath, Qatil brought it to his lips and drank. The priests lifted their voices in exaltation, welcoming a new servant of the god.

Later that night, he was visited by Anubis himself.

Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. I)

2011-08-28T19:00:00.000-05:00

“Bring the sacred bowl!”

Qatil did, trembling hands betraying his Initiate status. The priests were gathered tonight to send one of their own on his journey to the beyond.

The object of their ministrations was an emaciated and ancient figure, bare-chested and remarkably hairy. Stretched out on a stone slab before the great image of Anubis, the dying man clutched a large golden ankh in his hands, eyes shut, breathing heavy.

“Arkases has served his god throughout life – and now will continue to serve him in death. Let us mingle his blood now with the blood of Anubis in divine communion!”

The speaker was the high priest. Carefully, he removed a silver dagger from its sheath. Arkases opened his eyes and put forth his hand. High Priest Kalut handed him the dagger. Arkases kissed its blade, clutched it to his heart for a moment, and handed it back to Kalut. Then he shut his eyes and collapsed back onto the slab. His time was near.

A young slave brought a muzzled jackal into the chamber. Two priests grabbed it as Kalut pronounced the sacrificial words. Six more priests uncapped the marble well before the feet of Anubis as Kalut suspended the jackal above its blackness and let the blood flow into its maw.

The priests chanted and wailed. All forty of their number were gathered tonight to watch the transition of Arkases. His breathing grew more labored, ragged gasps replacing even breaths. His form shifted, at once like a man, and then like a wolf, and back again. A priest lay a cool rag on his sweating forehead as he mumbled incantations of peace.

Finally, it happened… with a final rough intake of air, the man breathed his last. Kalut started the chant of infinity – the song of Anubis and the netherworld. Kalut then transformed into a magnificent black were-jackal, and howled a final piercing goodbye to the company’s fallen brother.

Quickly, they then pulled Arkases’s corpse up on the table and carefully slit his throat, allowing the hot blood to gush forth into the bowl. They eased his body down slowly and raised the tilt of the platform, letting the sacred crimson fill the receptacle almost to its rim.

After an eternity, the final drops fell. With a last chanting of blessing and sanctification, the priests removed the body of Arkases to the embalming chamber.

“Join, join and mingle! For now, faithful priest, you become one with your god!
The blood of Arkases was poured into the well. The thirty-nine remaining priests bowed before Anubis as Kalut returned the golden ankh to his hand.

Season 2 Coming Sometime

2009-06-28T20:40:00.003-05:00

Season 2 of The Curse of the Were-Weasel will begin ~~in late September~~ sometime in 2010. Specific dates will be posted once the schedule is determined. An announcement will be posted to The Friday Challenge site.

The Beginning of the End or The End of the Beginning?

2009-05-31T19:00:00.006-05:00

"Hi everyone. I'm Mike and I'm a werewolf."

[Group: Hi Mike!]

"In the past, I've always told this group about my latest research into the origins of traditional folk and fairy tales. I've told you how 'Little Red Riding Hood' and, surprisingly, the 'Three Little Pigs' are based on actual events involving werewolves and were-boars. Most recently, I was digging more deeply into a relatively little known story from Grimm's Fairy Tales called 'Bearskin.' If I didn't have more important things to discuss, I'd tell you about the story. Anyway, I'd turned up some information leading me to believe the man in the story could have been a were-bear. To continue the research, I needed access to some old, old records only available with permission from the German government.

"I presented my credentials and said I was researching the origins of the tales recorded by the brothers Grimm. I didn't mention were-bears. That tends to get doors shut in your face. Governments love to have people research the positive aspects of their culture, particularly the Germans. I think they get so many people doing research on Hitler and the Nazis that they practically roll out the red carpet if you want to perform some other research.

"My research was going well and it was looking like I could add 'Bearskin' to my list of ALPS fairy tales, when I made my big discovery. I was carefully handling a town register that was nearly five hundred years old when I noticed a faint notation in pencil in the margin of the book. The notation was next to the name Hans Schleimer -- the person I suspected was my were-bear. It read 'ALPS' and then had a few numbers below it.

"ALPS wasn't discovered as a disease until the early twentieth century, so the notation had to be a lot more recent than the register. I looked at the numbers and realized they referred to a location in the archives. Curious, I jotted down the numbers, put the register away and went in search of the archive location. What I found was a heavy metal door blocking my way. The door knob didn't have a lock so someone had put a big padlock on it. A sign painted on the door said access was for authorized personnel only.

"This wasn't the first time I'd run into a locked door while performing research. It happens more often than you'd think in my business. Historians blocked by a locked door have two options. They can waste precious time filling out lots of paperwork and trying to convince unsympathetic bureaucrats to grant them access. Or they can pick the lock. I picked the lock.

"It didn't take long to find the archive I was looking for. One glance at it was enough to show why the records were locked up. Rather than read the documents there, I took out my digital camera and took photos of everything. Twenty minutes later, I slipped out and locked the padlock. Then I went back to the register and erased the penciled notation that led me to the locked door.

"Folks, what I've got to tell you affects every one of us. Before I get started, I want to impress something on you. Something vitally important. I've got some friends watching this building and the surrounding area. If anything goes down, they'll call my cell phone. Here's the important part -- if I tell you all to run, then clear out of the building and run like Hell. Transform if it will help, but do not be caught here!"

[Person in the group: You're kidding, right?]

"No, I'm deadly serious. And I can guarantee that I'll be running if that phone call comes. I guess in fairness I should ask if anyone wants to leave now without hearing what I have to say? In the long run, not hearing it won't protect you and might hurt you. But it's your choice. So, anybody want to leave?"

[The group stirs a bit but no one leaves.]

"All right. What I found out from those documents is that the strain of ALPS we all have is not the original strain recorded in history. With the original strain, people with ALPS transformed only during a full moon. They transformed during every full moon and their humanity was completely overwhelmed by their bestial form. They had absolutely no control over themselves at all. There were a few exceptions, my ancient relative who was the wolf in the events that inspired 'Little Red Riding Hood' was one. But they were either aberrations or, more likely, had some recessive Dark Life genes."

[Person in the group: Dark Life? You mean that's real?]

"Yes, Dark Life is real. Dark Life isn't really a good name for them, but it's what they call themselves so I'll stick with the term. Dark Life is a recessive genetic disorder. Anyone with the disorder has powers similar to the ones ALPS gives us. Dark Life has been with us since the dawn of man. They can transform into creatures from our worst nightmares and our oldest legends; creatures such as the wendigo, the yeti, the troll and the banshee. These creatures are nightmares to us because the Dark Life disorder also has a profound effect on the brain. I suppose you could say it drives them mad, but there's more to it than that.

"People with the Dark Life disorder eventually come to believe themselves superior to mankind, to believe themselves as 'chosen ones.' In their warped world view, mankind exists solely to serve them, both in the traditional sense and as a source of food. Fortunately for us, the recessive trait only breeds true between two Dark Lifers. That has kept their numbers down through out history -- until recently.

"When Mendel's genetic research came to light in the twentieth century, it was only a matter of time before a Dark Lifer figured out the implications. In the past, Dark Lifers usually avoided each other, preferring to carve out their own little little fiefdoms where they ruled mercilessly. Now, they actively seek each other out, hoping to expand their numbers so they can step out of the shadows and rule openly.

"I learned some of that from the documents I found in the locked archive. But, as I said earlier, I also discovered new information about ALPS and a surprising connection to Nazi scientific research. In their various round ups of the Jews, the Nazis managed to snare both people with ALPS and those with the Dark Life disorder. Once it was clear to the Nazis what they had, those people became central to a major research project.

"By the time the project began, the tide had turned in World War II. The Nazis were slowly but surely being driven back toward Germany. In the hopes of sowing chaos and disorder among the enemy, project Wehrwölfen was devised. The Nazi plan was to infect SS volunteers with ALPS, have them penetrate Allied lines and wreak havoc among the Allies. The problem with the plan was that people with ALPS only transformed during nights when the moon was full. The Nazis needed full time chaos, which the original ALPS strain couldn't provide. They also couldn't afford to have their volunteers lose control while transformed because the Nazis needed the attacks to have some intelligent direction behind them.

"It fell to a small team of Nazi geneticists and virologists to solve the problem. They worked in secret for over a year, attempting to graft some of the traits of Dark Life onto the ALPS virus. In the end, they succeeded, creating the strain of ALPS we all have today. The new strain allowed those with the virus to transform at will and to access some of their powers without transforming. The new strain was also more virulent, with a nearly one hundred percent infection rate among those who were bitten. One thing the Nazis couldn't quite pull off was insuring that human intelligence would always remain in control. The bestial nature of the transformed person could still take over in times of extreme emotion; stress, fear, excitement, what have you.

"Despite that set back, the Nazis went ahead with the program. Their army had been pushed back inside the borders of Germany by then. For them, it was a situation of 'now or never.' They infected their Wehrwölfen volunteers with what little of the virus they were able to manufacture and set them loose.

"The Wehrwölfen had no real effect on the war but they managed to infect many soldiers from all of the Allied powers. When those soldiers went home, they took the new strain of ALPS with them and spread it further. Worse, some of the scientists who worked on the project fell into the hands of both Soviet and American forces. As the cold war began, both sides continued their research into ALPS. I can't tell you what may have come from that research. I doubt we'll ever know.

"If you wonder why Dark Lifers hate us, it's because they see us as poorly made versions of themselves; bastard children unwanted by their progenitors. That's what is behind this sudden drive by Reverend Riley and his 'Internment or Death' crowd. Dark Lifers think they're close to having the numbers to step out of the shadows and openly take over. Meanwhile, they're still working behind the shadows, gaining positions of power in governments around the world. They're-"

[Mike's cell phone rings. Mike pulls it out and looks at the caller ID.]

"Ah, crap! Run, people! Run now!"

[Mike turns and runs for the back door, transforming as he runs. For a second or two, no one moves, then everyone begins running for the exits. Ninety second later, heavily armed men in black uniforms storm into an empty room.]

"Squad One to Alpha. They've cleared out. The room is empty."

"Roger, Squad One. Join Squads Two and Three. Chase them down. Capture if possible, terminate if not."

[The members of Squad One transform, taking on the form of huge, black dogs with glowing red eyes. They sniff the floor briefly then join the chase, baying hellishly as they run.]

The Big Question

2009-05-24T19:00:00.001-05:00

"Hi everyone. I'm Hank and I'm a werewolf."

[Group: "Hi Hank!"]

"It's been a busy few weeks for me since Michelle and I went down to visit my folks. You remember that my mother tried to push some of Reverend Riley's crap on Michelle. Well, I decided to talk to my parents and sort of beat around the bush on that subject. So I gave them a call, supposedly to find out what they thought of Michelle.

"I called and they each took one of the phones, like they usually do. When I asked about Michelle, Dad told me I was a lucky man to find a fine woman like her. Told me I'd be a fool if I didn't propose to her real soon. Mom wasn't saying anything, so Dad sort of repeated himself then said, 'Isn't that right, Sally?' That's my Mom's name, Sally.

"Mom hemmed and hawed a bit, but finally admitted, 'She really does seem to care about you, Hank. And that's in spite of your...affliction.' Mom never could say 'ALPS' or even call it a disease. She never called it a 'taint' around me, either, but now I know that's what she thinks.

"Knowing what I know, the next thing I said was a bit mean. 'You always told me not to keep any secrets from the people I love, Mom.' She was pretty quiet after I said that, so I continued. 'Michelle knew I had ALPS before we went on our first date. Heck, she got at least as angry as I got when we stumbled on a rally put on by that Reverend Riley!'

"Mentioning Riley set Dad off something fierce. He ranted and railed for few minutes before winding down. Mom just stayed quiet. Dad and I talked a bit more than I hung up. I don't know what I was expecting to happen. Maybe have Mom break down and beg forgiveness or something. Anyway, it didn't happen.

"But that's the only depressing stuff that's happened lately. Remember a while back when I sort of inherited the coaching position for a youth soccer team made up of kids with ALPS? Well, I don't know much about soccer, but I know a fair bit about learning how to control ALPS and even how to take advantage of it. I've been spending more of our practice time teaching the kids to control themselves than I have working on soccer. The parents of the kids tell me things are a lot calmer at home since I took over coaching, which is all the victory I need!

"Still, we play games every week and I noticed the kids were getting better each week. We didn't win, but we started losing by less and less. Then, last week, the kids finally got the concept of drawing on their ALPS powers without transforming. Just in time for the last game of the season against the only undefeated team in the league.

"I feel kind of bad saying I don't like that team. I mean, we're talking about a bunch of six year old kids, but they had this whole 'jock' attitude going. They were pretty young to start that up, but I figured they were getting it from their coach. Before each game, he'd call his kids into a huddle and shout, 'Who's going to win?' His kids would all answer, 'We are!' Then he'd shout, 'Who are we going to beat?' The kids would all point to the opposing team and shout, 'Them!' He did that several times before telling his kids to go 'Kick some grass!' That kind of thing pretty much pissed off everyone else in the league, me included. This time he made it worse by adding, 'We beat those kids by ten last time! I want to win by fifteen today!'

"My kids were already feeling pretty down because they hadn't won a game all season. That last bit really got to them. I called them together before the game started. 'Okay, guys, they think they're going to win just by walking on the field against. I think it's time to show them some of the stuff you've learned in the last few weeks.' The kids all looked around a bit then Taylor said, 'But we haven't learned any soccer stuff, Coach Hank!' I nodded, 'That's right, but you've learned about controlling your ALPS powers. Try to kick in some of your powers without transforming. You'll be faster, stronger and react a lot quicker. Now get out there and show those other kids what you can do!'

"I've got to say I wouldn't have suggested kicking in the powers if the coach hadn't gotten me so mad! Still, I figured those guys deserved a lesson in humility. And boy did my kids ever give them one! Our defense was so quick the other team hardly got any shots. When they did, our goalie grabbed them up easily. Meanwhile, our offense was just as quick and really strong. Maybe too strong. Jimmy, our were-bear, scored on a shot from mid field! We really took it to the other team. The difference is that I had our guys start taking it easy after we were up five to nothing. We ended up winning seven to nothing.

"We did the 'good game' walk after the game and the other team seemed sort of dazed. Except for their coach. When he got to me he got all up in my face and started talking about drug tests and cheating and stuff like that. He's one of those guys who lifts weights and looks really strong. I guess he figured a guy like me would back down. But I'm not scared of bullies any more. Kicking my strength up, I grabbed a handful of shirt and lifted up off the ground. 'Don't you ever accuse my kids of cheating! You lost. Take it like a man!'

"Then I realized the kids on both teams were watching and I dropped him. 'Sorry, boys. I lost my temper for a bit. I guess I just can't stand bullies.' Anyway, we held an end of season party near the field and the kids forgot all about losing most of their games and my outburst. That's one great thing about kids that age; feed them some cake and ice cream and they forget about everything else! The kids are excited about playing next season and the parents want me back as coach. It should be fun!

"Finally, the script for the movie my friend Luke -- he's Michelle's brother -- has been working on is finally done! He sent it off to his agent last week and the agent is really excited about it. He thinks this is just to the right to have a werewolf movie aimed at adults, especially one that isn't just an excuse to splatter blood and guts. Luke's already headed back to Los Angeles to start working on the deal. Get this -- he's going to make sure Michelle and I get hired on as advisers about ALPS and SCABS! He's talking some big bucks for us, too, especially compared to what I was making selling used cars!

"With things finally looking up for us, I think I'm ready for another big step. I know everyone is all worried about Reverend Riley and Dark Life and strange stuff happening at the Department of Homeland Security, but I'm not going to let them ruin my life."

[Hank reaches into his pocket and pulls out a very small box. Inside is a diamond ring.]

"I'm taking Michelle out for dinner after this meeting and I'm going to ask her to marry me!"

Run, Rabbit, Run

2009-05-17T19:00:00.004-05:00

Good evening everyone. This is Deep Gullet. This will probably be the last time I show up to these meetings. Who knows this may be the last one we are allowed to have one.

I’ve been doing some digging ever since I saw that mountain troll posing as the Homeland Security Chief. I can’t go into too much detail if I want to preserve your safety but I will tell you that I am taking my family and we are getting off the grid. We’re going into hiding based on what I have found. I can tell you that I believe that Reverend Riley and the support for internment is coming from the Dark Life puppet masters.

I know there’s some in this group in particular that are trying to get a movie made to bring ALPS into the mainstream. I implore you to abandon these plans. The Dark Life will never let this come to light. It won’t be long before the Dark Life manipulates the government and media and make us enemy number one instead of a pathetic little minority with a tragic disease.

You all need to understand that the Dark Life hates us more than they hate the humans and their hate for humans is legendary. They view us as imitation Dark Life. They view us as a poor facsimile of the real thing trying to harness the powers of darkness that they feel they rightfully own. They are satisfied with subjecting humans to bondage, but will take great pleasure in eradicating us.

You might be asking why would they want to get rid of us since most of us didn’t ask for this burden, They answer to that is that the Dark Life doesn’t care where we got the burden, they will be more than happy to remove it from us…forcefully.
I beg you, please take your families and disappear. Death is coming for us all and we won’t know what guise it is going to take until it’s too late to stop it.

Miguel Checks In

2009-05-10T19:00:00.001-05:00

“Hey everyone, it’s Miguel.”

(EVERYONE: Hi Miguel!)

“Wait. I started that wrong. How’s this? Uh, hi everyone, I’m Miguel, and I’m a were-wolf.”

(EVERYONE: Hi Miguel!)

“So… anyhow… I know I haven’t been around much lately. Been too busy to show up. Well… not REALLY too busy, but… time gets away from me.

See, I lost my regular job and I’m just freelancing now on random stuff. And by freelancing, I mean basically doing nothing because almost nobody’s hiring freelancers. Sure, I get the occasional computer-fixing job or html gig… but things are slow. Glad I’m single or I’d really be toast.

Now I’m not naturally a lazy guy, so I’ve set some tasks. It wasn’t until I started coming here that I really came to grips with my ALPS. Hank helped me with that. Before… I just ignored it. Of course, now that it’s getting all political, if you ignore it – you’re likely to end up in Gitmo or wherever they’re sending “enemy combatants” these days.

Anyhow, my main task has been researching stuff about paranormal creatures. Like us, right? Ha. So... most of my research has involved archival footage. For example, last month I watched the 1931 version of Dracula with Bela Lugosi. Interestingly, that film tied in werewolf legends with vampire legends.”

(Someone in the audience boos loudly)

“I know, I know. Most of us aren’t fans of the necksuckers. But… watching Dracula made me think. Could there be a common thread connecting weres with vampires? People around here have starting talking about ‘Dark Life’ lately, and trying to make it like we ALPS victims are also part of some deep dark thread that runs through history… connecting trolls, chupacabras, Barbra Streisand and goblins or whatever. I’m not sure about that. But it does make me think a little that we might know a lot less than we think we do.

So… after watching Dracula, and thinking about how hard it was to follow and how poorly paced… it made me really feel down about life. So… I killed and ate a particularly annoying neighbor. Not intentionally, of course…it was on accident. But this guy… my gosh… he was driving me batty! Up all night… cranking up the bass on his car (a black hearse, by the way), having all these pale pasty druggie looking chicks over constantly for 2:00AM pool parties – it was NUTS!

And I was already in a funk from being unemployed. And it was a full moon. I was trying to get some sleep and he cranked up the radio one too many times. I looked out the window… he was out in front of his house, just fiddling around with his car door open. No one else there. So I walked over, irritated. And he looked at me with a drop-dead look… and I transformed… and tore him to shreds.

But… then I noticed his teeth. Uh-oh. One of those. Should have FREAKING guessed that… but with all the stupid goth punks around here, you don’t except a real creature of the night.

Uh… so now I’m worried. Could I end up with SCABS? Am I more susceptible because I already have ALPS?"

(Someone yells “NO!”)

"Well, I hope not. But I’ve started taking garlic capsules just to be sure."

(Miguel starts to walk off the stage – then returns to the mic)

“Oh… and if anyone is hiring right now… can you guys let me know?”

Scott's Exit

2009-05-03T19:00:00.010-05:00

What a change two months can make. The last time I saw Scott, he'd had a bad relapse and was a mess. Tonight...

I dunno. I think I liked the mess better.

"Hi kids," he said, as cool, cocky, and obnoxious as the day I first met him.

"That's not the way you start," Tom reminded him. "The traditional way is by saying, 'Hi, my name is Scott, and I'm—'"

"Bugger tradition," Scott said. "And maybe my name isn't Scott. And maybe I'm not even a were-anything."

Tom sighed heavily and started rubbing his forehead, as if he was suddenly developing a migraine. "Don't start this crap again, Scott."

"I told you, I'm not Scott. I'm Secret Agent Delta Tango Mango Foxtrot Alpha."

Hank boggled. "What? Did I miss something here?"

Tom sighed again. "Scott is convinced that we're all under surveillance. That we've got an informant in the group."

I laughed. "An informant? In a public meeting? That is just nuts."

"Strictly speaking," Scott said, "it's paranoid schizophrenia, with delusions of persecution." He shrugged.

"And sometimes it's the only rational response to the situation."

Hank shook his head. "Now I know I missed something. Geez, you go out of town for one weekend—"

"I don't know how you missed it," Scott said. "It was all over the frickin' news. The Department of Homeland Security is investigating possible links between ALPS and domestic terrorism. They think WCA meetings are being used as fronts for recruiting dangerous radicals."

"Ah," Tom said. "You get this stuff off the Internet, don't you? No, the DHS is looking for right-wing domestic terrorists."

Scott smiled, in that smug way I've come to hate. "You forget, kids. I've got friends inside DHS. That 'right-wing' memo everyone was buzzing about two weeks ago was just the cover story. The real deal is us. And when the head of DHS dropped that Freudian slip last week about screening people in airports for medical problems and then sending people on to their destructions, that was about us."

Hank shook his head. "No, you're confused, Scott. That was about Swine Flu."

"You can believe that if it makes you feel better, Hank, but there never was any Swine Flu. It was all just a dry run, to see how fast they could scare people into changing their lives just because of virus. You wait until the stories about the ALPS Pandemic start breaking next week."

Tim nodded. "Yeah! I knew it! That's why they're buying up silver!"

Tom sighed one more time, and then sat up straighter in his chair. "Okay Scott, I think we've heard enough. If you're not here tonight to be serious—"

Scott flashed on angry, for just a moment. "Oh, but I am serious. I am so frickin' serious you've never seen serious like this before." He turned to the rest of the group. "And strange as it seems, I've come to like some of you people in the course of the past year. A few of you I ever consider friends. And that's why I'm here tonight.

"Hank? You and your Michelle, you be careful. She's got Stoker's Disease. That's what my friends say the people inside the CDC are calling it now, and they're also working up a little thing called Project Molokai. Look it up. Some of what you'll find on it is true.

"The rest of you? They've coming for us, kids. And I for one don't intend to make it any easier for them. Which is why tonight is my last night here. And if you're smart, it'll be your last night, too."

And with that he turned and walked out, his thousand-dollar hand-made English shoes ticking across the floor like a time-bomb.

"Well," Tom said, at last. "That was... interesting. Okay, who's next?"

The Conspiracy Is Real?

2009-04-26T19:00:00.000-05:00

Look, I was never one for conspiracy theories and crazy talk like that. Now don't get me wrong, I've seen some crazy stuff in my time. Especially ever since I got bit by what turned out to be a were-dog while on a sight-seeing tour in Italy. But that has all been more of an opening of my eyes to parts of the natural world that I chose not to believe until it was thrust upon me.

I just never believed in some far reaching conspiracies. They are usually just to complex and the idea that hundreds of people could work together and keep it all completely under wraps. It's hard enough for any normal person to keep a secret, but we're talking about politicians who would throw their Grandma under the bus to save their own skin once trouble is on the horizon. If there's a class of people that would be incapable of successfully carrying out the type of conspiracy whispered about on Internet chat boards and the dark corners of coffee shops, it's politicians.

That was until last week.

To give you a little background, after I was bitten and infected with ALPS, I had a bit of a crisis of my person. Everything I had believed about the world went poof with a single bite. So I decided to do some serious soul searching and took off on a trip to find out what it means to be a were-creature. I traveled the world. I met were's from all walks of life and backgrounds. Still unsatisfied I searched out other forms of alliterative life. I eventually ended up in Eastern Europe where I met all kinds of Dark Creatures lurking just outside of civilization. They were both terrifying and terrified. For centuries they ruled man's nightmares but have been relegated to shadows and forgotten memories. They've become nothing more than the subject of old stories that don't even get passed down anymore.

I found them waiting to fade away as the world had passed them by. They stay terrified of a world that no longer needed them and live in the margins that are constantly shrinking as technology and people move forward.

Most I met while scary in form were decent enough. They understood their roll in this world and were just waiting for their fate to be revealed. There were others though who had pure evil coursing through their veins and were waiting for the destruction of mankind so they could take their place back on top.

I remember a particularly horrific mountain troll I ran into in the mountains of Romania. It was both hideous in form and putrid in its motives. A truly disgusting creature and I still count myself lucky I survived our encounter.

So imagine my surprise when I walk past a TV in a store last week and I see the same mountain troll addressing the press regarding a security memo regarding right wing extremist groups. I couldn't believe it. Here was this nasty mountain troll who had managed to become the Secretary of Homeland Security. It had obviously had some work done and put on some make up, but it was the same troll.

This shook me to the core. Can we take the rumors of Dark Creatures infiltrating the top ranks of the government as conspiracy theories from crackpots when the Secretary of Homeland Security is a verifiable mountain troll?

And then the question becomes, is the attempt to marginalize right wingers who are the one group who would stand up for guns and personal liberty an attempt to steer the country left or is it setting us up for an eventual Dark Creature take over by getting rid of the group most likely to resist?

All I know is that I can't discount those rumors anymore.

If you need to get a hold of me, my name is Deep Gullet.

Homecoming

2009-04-19T19:00:00.004-05:00

"Hi everyone. I'm Hank and I'm a werewolf."

[Group: "Hi Hank!"]

"It's been seventy-six days since I devoured anyone. Like I said a few weeks ago, that was a three hundred year old vampire who really needed to die. But I came close to blowing my streak over the weekend.

"I went back to South Carolina to visit my folks and to introduce them to Michelle. Yeah, taking the girlfriend home to meet the folks is a big step. At least it is for me. Realizing that I wanted my parents to meet Michelle made me see just how serious my feelings had become for her. It took me a few days to work up the nerve to ask Michelle if she wanted to go. I was afraid she'd think I was getting too serious too fast, I guess. But she didn't think that at all! When I asked her, Michelle's face just sort of lit up and she said she'd love to come with me.

"Her brother Luke told me later that Michelle had been thinking about inviting me to meet their parents. And she was afraid of the same thing I'd been afraid of! So, me asking her showed Michelle that I was just as serious about her as she was about me. Did that make any sense?

"Anyway, we flew down to South Carolina, rented a car and drove to Mom and Dad's house. They came out as we were getting out of the car and there were hugs all around. I could tell Dad liked Michelle right from the start. After I introduced her to him, he grinned and gave me a big thumbs up signal. Dad's not what you'd call subtle. Mom was more reserved, but she always has been the quieter parent. I figured it was because she was doing the typical mother thing. You know, where they size up their son's girlfriend to see if the girl is good enough for their son?

"We went in and Mom showed Michelle to her room. Yeah, separate rooms. I'd warned Michelle that was going to be the case. She had just laughed and told me it would be the same when we went to California to meet her parents.

"Of course, Michelle insisted on seeing the room I grew up in, which hasn't changed since went off to college. All my old Star Wars posters were up on the wall, including my little shrine to Natalie Portman and the slave girl Leia cardboard stand up.

"Dad told her, 'We left his room just the way it was when he went to off to college in '99. I knew he'd bring home a girl someday and I'd need something like this to embarrass him!'

"Michelle laughed. She's got a wonderful laugh! Um, sorry, got distracted. So, she laughed and told Dad, 'It's not going to embarrass him. His apartment looks the same, except he's added Lord of the Rings, especially Liv Tyler stuff. He calls her the hot elf babe.'

"Dad just laughed and Mom gave me a stern look, but she didn't say anything. I guess I'm supposed to stop noticing all the babes in the world once I've got a girlfriend. After that, we had dinner and settled in for the evening.

"The next morning, Dad made me go with him to the Home Depot. He had some heavy stuff to pick up and needed me to do most of the lifting. Michelle decided to stay at the house rather than come along. I think she was planning to work on convincing Mom and she was good enough for me.

"Dad and I were gone about an hour and a half. The minute I saw Michelle, I knew something bad had happened while we were gone. Mom didn't seem to notice and Dad was oblivious, but it was obvious to me. I told my parents I was going to take Michelle out to see the sights and we left.

"We drove around aimlessly for a while, not saying much. I pointed out my old elementary school, the house we'd been living in when I was born, things like that. After about half an hour, I said, 'I know something's bothering you, something about my Mom, most likely. She can be hard to get along with, so don't think I'm going to be upset at you if the two of you aren't hitting it off.'

Michelle was quiet for a bit, like she was trying to make her mind up about what to say. Then she said, 'Let's go somewhere quiet where we can take a walk while we talk.'

"One of the nice things about living in a small town is that it's easy to get away from it all pretty quickly. Twenty minutes later, we were walking along a secluded forest path I remembered from high school.

"I was worried at first, because Michelle wrapped her arms around herself, sort of protective like, and walked with her head down. I thought she was trying to figure out how to break things off with me. When I saw a tear run down her cheek, I was sure of it. Unable to take the suspense any more, I asked her, 'Are you trying to figure out how to let me down softly?'

"She stopped, startled, and said, 'You think I'm trying to break up with you?'

"I shrugged, 'I don't know what to think, Michelle. But you're really upset about something you don't want to talk about. My imagination is doing a number on me just trying to figure out what could make you so miserable and all I can think of-'

"Michelle sort of flowed into my arms. Isn't it amazing how women can do that? She hugged me tight and said, 'It's not you. It will never be you. I love you, Hank!'

"Then Michelle sort of growled, 'But your mother!'

"I laughed, my gut unwinding. 'Mom can be a pain in the ass, but her heart's in the right place.'

"Michelle didn't laugh with me. 'No, Hank, I don't think it is.' She sighed, still hugging me, and continued, 'You and your Dad hadn't been out of the house for a minute before she asked me if I knew about your taint. I had no idea what she was talking about and I guess it showed. That's when she launched into this long description about your tainted blood.'

"That was like a sucker punch to the gut for me. 'My tainted blood?' I asked.

"Michelle nodded, 'That's what she said. I knew what she meant, then, even if I didn't like her description. So I told her I knew you had ALPS and that I didn't care. She spent the next fifteen minutes lecturing me about all the horrible things that can happen around someone with ALPS, about how it can be passed on to children, stuff like that.'

"I looked into Michelle's eyes, 'I knew Mom never really adjusted to me having ALPS, but she's been told by doctors that ALPS can't be passed on to children by the father! God, Michelle, I would never have left you alone with Mom if I'd known she was going to pull that crap on you!'

"Michelle looked away from my eyes, 'That's not quite all, Hank. When it became obvious she wasn't going to convince me, your Mom handed me a big envelope, telling me to read what was inside, that it would open my eyes to the truth. Hank, it was all the junk Reverend Riley and his group have been putting out!'

"I went totally numb, 'My parents are-'

"Michelle quickly interrupted, 'No. I asked her about that. You father has no idea. Your mother says nothing gets your father angrier than Riley and his campaign. She says he always was short-sighted about ALPS.'

"Michelle looked back into my eyes. 'I'm sorry I couldn't hide my feelings better. I'd give anything not to have hurt you like this!'

"I forced a small smile, 'You didn't hurt me, Michelle. That burden belong to my mother. You're the one person who'll help me heal.'

"And that's when a terrible day got even worse. From behind me, I heard a voice I recognized all too well. 'Ah, ain't that just so damned sweet!'

"I turned around and there was Larry. The bully who made my life Hell as a kid. He had his whole pack of delinquents with him, too. 'It's about time you came back to my pack, were-wimp!' Larry said. 'And you brought along a friend for all of us to play with!'

"Right then I just snapped. I transformed and launched myself at Larry. I don't even remember what happened during the fight. The next conscious thought I had was Michelle pulling on me, saying, 'Hank! Come on, Hank! Look at me! You don't want to do this!'

"I came back to myself then and transformed back. The little clearing was splattered with blood and Larry, still in wolf form, was lying on the ground at my feet. He had been ripped apart so badly his healing was having trouble keeping up. The rest of the pack was no where to be seen. I let Michelle lead me away from him and back to the car.

"She told me what happened after I snapped. The short version is I kicked the crap out of Larry and was so ferocious I scared the others off. Michelle drove me around while I calmed down and got control of myself. Then we went back to my parents' house and I did my best to pretend I didn't know what my mother had done."

What's this world coming to?

2009-04-12T19:00:00.001-05:00

"Hi. My name is Sean and I am a were-hyena."

[Group: "Hi, Sean!"]

"Life is tough. Wouldn't you agree?"

[Group: "Absolutely!"]

"I mean with the pressures of work, family, church, and the now constant worry if we are all going to be be employed next month because of the failing economy, life is frickin tough. And then on top of the normal stress of life you throw in the curse of ALPS and it's almost more than a middle aged man can handle. And then if that isn't enough now we got this Rev. Rile talking about internment camps."

"Maybe that's why this Craigs List posting was so disturbing to me. Check this out: 'Wanted Werewolf bite. My name is James and my life sucks. My parents treat me bad. They took my xbox 360 away for getting lousy a D in science. I need the strength of the werewolf to be able to leave this horrible situation. I hate my life. My dreams are full of darkness so I want my reality to be as dark. That is why I need your help. I have 500 dollars for the first werewolf to sink his or her fangs into me. P.S. The Cure Rules'"

"What is this nonsense? I don't get it. This kid must have real bad self esteem. I could see some emo shoegazer wanting to be a vampire. The media have portrayed vampires as suave and debonair. Not us Were's. We are always portrayed as greasy and pathetic waiting for death. Look at the movie Underworld. The vampires got Kate Beckinsdale in tight leather. The Were's got some greasy unbathed dudes. In American Werewolf in London the transformation is horrific and painful and then the guy gets shot. While that's not entirely reality, Emoboy doesn't know that."

"Even in Stephen Kings Silver Bullet, the murderous Were is a priest. Talk about low. Every one of the Were's I know would step down rather than risk offending God like that. Now a vampire maybe. They are pretty amoral, but Were's are the most upstanding group of folks I know. Of course they are all I know because I'm not allowed in large public places, judges orders."

"My point is that there is nothing glamorous about being a Were in reality or in Fiction, with maybe the exception of an odd sub genre of Japanese Were-Octopus Hentai. WHy would anyone wish them upon themselves. ANd then I read an ad like this and I have to ask myself. What's this world coming to?"

The Man Behind The Curtain Speaks

2009-04-05T19:00:00.012-05:00

Good evening. I'm Bruce Bethke, and I'm going to step out of character tonight and spend a little time answering one of the questions that's kept coming up ever since we first launched this site in June of last year. The question, in its least profane form, is:

What the heck is the Curse of the Were-Weasel all about?

The short answer is: fiction. Elaborating on this admittedly rather terse answer, it's about exploring the question of whether a blog engine can be used effectively to construct a serial fictitious narrative, and along the way to develop, over time, a corresponding collaboratively designed fictional universe.

In a sense, things like this are already being done. There are plenty of blogs out there right now that contain nothing but the purest fiction, although most of the ones we're aware of purport to be the non-fictional chronicles of the narrator's sex life and/or political activities—or all too frequently, both. We already know that a first-person blog describing, say, the wild and uninhibited sexual adventures of a beautiful young bisexual female advertising copywriter turned pole-dancer and political campaign web 2.0 consultant would draw a large and loyal, if perhaps completely irrational, readership. Probably even land us a movie deal, too.

But we are not interested in trying to pass our fevered prurient fantasies off as realities. And we certainly are not interested in producing any kind of porn.

Hence, Curse of the Were-Weasel: an intentional attempt to develop, over the course of two years, a shared universe populated by fascinating characters, and to use this universe to present a story in weekly, serialized, interactively developed, and not necessarily linear installments.

But why this particular story? We considered a number of other potential story lines first, but this one seemed to provide us with the greatest possible openness and require the least guidance. (This latter assumption turned out to be dead wrong, but more on that in a bit.) The market category of "paranormal romance" is unbelievably hot right now, as evidenced by the collected works of Laurell Hamilton, Yasmine Galenorn, Kim Harrison, or my own personal favorite, Ronda Thompson—

Ah, the giants.

—and it shows no signs of dying off any time soon. It's tempting to blame Joss Whedon and Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992) for this, but I'd put the point of inception at least five years earlier, with Ron Koslow's 1987 TV series, Beauty and the Beast.

Never mind that now. The decisive points were that vampires are horribly and heavily overused in gothic serial romances (Dark Shadows, anyone?), but the conventions of the werewolf trope are equally widely known and were not, at least a year ago, so heavily overused. Besides, there are a lot of variations on the were-creature trope, and the genre is not without its opportunities for humor.

So were-critters it was.

But then the question became, how do you free the werewolf trope from some of its more inconvenient conventions? (Only in full moonlight, deathly allergic to silver, tendancy to black-out and experience periods of bestial homicidal insanity followed by amnesia, etc.) How do you turn were-creatures into intelligent, articulate, and sympathetic first-person narrative voices? In short, how do you bring them out into the light of day?

The answer came to us in a flash. This is the 21st century. What if were-creaturism was now known to be a disease: a terrible, communicable, debilitating disease with potential deadly outcomes, true, but nonetheless, only a metaphorical curse? Why, that would make the people who contract this disease victims, deserving not fear and scorn but sympathy and understanding—and all the manifold services of the entire Victim Support Industry! Why, we realized, if such a thing as were-wolfism were real, werewolves would be covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act, and not only could you not fire a werewolf who went feral in your office, you'd be required by Federal law to accomodate his disability!

And thus was born ALPS: Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome. A retroviral disease passed by exchange of bodily fluids (usually, but not always, via the blood/saliva interface involved in "biting" behavior), ALPS by some not-as-yet-fully understood mechanism activates dormant sequences in the victim's DNA, resulting in a so-called "transformation" into a temporarily altered physiognomy and accompanying reversion to primitive, predatory, carnivorous behaviors. Given that this transformation usually involves changes to the mandible structure and hair-growth patterns, the conventional (if distasteful) expression is to say that the victims have "turned into wolves..."

But why stop there? World folklore abounds with tales of were-bears, were-cougars, were-jaguars, were-tigers, were-badgers, and many, many more—including, yes, were-seals. So on further reflection we decided our ALPS victims should be capable of changing into a very wide variety of forms, according to the nature of their character, and all of which resemble various large, carnivorous mammals. (We decided to make a sticking point of the large, carnivorous mammal requirement, so no were-tuna or were-banana slugs or anything really silly like that.) Further, we decided it would make them more interesting if their transformations were not slaved strictly to the lunar cycle but rather erratic, hormonal, and in some cases, possibly even voluntary, and more akin to getting really in touch with their inner animal avatar than with reverting to mere mindless bestiality.

With those basic rules in place, all that was left was to come up with some excuse for our ALPS victims to get together on a weekly basis, in order to interact and tell their stories. Once we couched it in those terms, the answer was obvious: Were-Creatures Anonymous. Because here in Therapy Nation, what else would werewolves do but form 12-step self-help groups to help them deal with their issues, their feelings of alienation, and that ever-present urge to solve their interpersonal problems by ripping some jerk's throat out, tearing open his ribcage, and feasting on his still-beating heart?

The Curse of the Were-Weasel launched on Sunday, June 8, 2008, with "The Were-Weasel's Tale". Results in the first few months were promising, but to be honest, wildly erratic. This randomness was the natural result of the lack of structure and guidance I mentioned earlier; trusting to spontaneous invention was not working, nor was the lack of an overarching plot line. I've worked from rigid series bibles before and didn't enjoy it, but I made the mistake of going too far in the opposite direction.

Fortunately Henry and Vidad rescued the thing by staging a coup and assuming control over ramrodding the show from week to week. Since then we've introduced vampires, in a controlled fashion and subject to similar strictures as our ALPS victims, and developed a larger plot, initially centered on the Reverend Riley and his anti-ALPS movement but now grown to embrace "Dark Life" and the emerging struggle between the new breed of out-of-the-closet were-beasties and the older and more traditional cryptids.

The one thing that remains disappointing is the audience-participation angle. We chose to use the Google comment engine specifically because it enables readers to enter comments under any screen name they choose; we encourage readers to adopt a new identity (or many new identities) and participate in the commentary as if they too were members of WCA or one of the affiliated support groups. This is the area where we're watching for tryouts and prospective new posters.

Any more questions?

The New Pack

2009-03-29T19:00:00.002-05:00

"Hi everyone, it's me again. Hank, the werewolf."

[Group: Hi Hank!]

"It's been fifty-five days since I devoured anyone, and that one was a tyrannical, three hundred year old vampire so he shouldn't really count. Heh.

"Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I lost my job at the used car lot. With the economy the way it is, you'd think used car sales would be going up. And they are everywhere but where I worked. The idiot who owns the place figured the increased market for late model used cars meant he should jack up his prices. He figured he'd make even more money with each sale. What happened was people just went to another used car lot that wasn't trying to rip them off. He had to have someone to blame, though, so I got canned. I'd gotten to where I hated working the used car lot, anyway, so I don't mind not having to go there every day. But I still need a job, so if you know any place that's hiring, let me know.

"Over the weekend, Michelle, my vampire girlfriend, decided she was going to cheer me up. I always like it when she cheers me up, if you know what I mean! But this time she meant to get me out of the apartment, somewhere we weren't likely to run into any of Riley's rallies against us ALPSers. I don't think I'd have chosen a youth soccer game, but the son of Michelle's best friend, Wanda, was playing and the boy had been begging 'Miss Michelle' to come see him play. I figured why not go? It would make Michelle happy and might even be fun.

"I had no idea that youth soccer was such a big business! I figured we'd just go to some park somewhere, watch the kids and then go home. Nope. We went to this huge soccer complex. There must have been at least fifty soccer fields and kids as young as four or five up to teenagers. Thousands of parents and grandparents were out there with folding chairs, cheering on the kids. With the crowd and all those fields, it took Michelle and me a while to find the game we were looking for. The game had already started when we got to the field.

"Michelle walked up to a man a woman and said, 'Hi Wanda! Sorry we're late.'

"Wanda smiled, 'You know, you really didn't have to come.'

"Michelle just laughed, 'Jack made me pinkie swear. And he says you can't go back on a pinkie swear!' Then she turned to me, 'Hank, this is my friend Wanda and her husband Ron. And the little scamp who just had the ball taken from him is Jack.'

"Wanda gave me an appraising look masked in a polite smile, 'So, this is the man I've been hearing so much about!' Wanda leaned close and loudly whispered, 'She's totally gaga over you, you know!'

"Michelle growled, 'Wanda!' I love it when she growls like that!

"I whispered loudly back to Wanda, 'She's sunk her fangs pretty deeply in me, too!'

"Wanda chuckled a bit but Michelle started laughing so hard at my joke that Wanda gave her a questioning glance. Pulling Michelle into a hug, I quietly whispered in her ear, 'Wanda doesn't know about you, right?'

"Still laughing, Michelle whispered back, "No. She doesn't know about you, either.'

"We turned back to watch the game and make small talk. It wasn't like a regular soccer game. There wasn't really any flow, just kids getting around the ball and kicking for all they were worth. Every now and then a player would break away from the big mass of kids, make a run on the goal and sometimes even score. The coaches would stand on the sideline and call out instructions like 'Stay in your position!' or 'Pass the ball now!' or even 'Jimmy, don't take the ball away from your own teammate!' But the kids looked like they were having fun and parents were all supportive, so it did take my mind off of being unemployed.

"In the second half of the game, things started to get tense. I couldn't figure out why, but the parents all around us were getting nervous about something. Michelle noticed it, too, and asked Wanda what was going on.

"Wanda replied, 'Our team is winning and the other team can get really...upset...if they lose. It's not really the fault of the kids on the other team. They really can't help it, but...' She trailed off, like there was more she wanted to say but didn't think she should.

"I figured it wouldn't hurt to kick up my senses a bit and figure out what was going on. It didn't take long. Every single player on the other team was an ALPSer! I looked at Wanda, 'Why is there an entire team of kids with ALPS?'

"Wanda looked surprised, 'How did-? Never mind. Some of the parents didn't want their children on a team with kids who had ALPS. They were afraid of what might happen, I guess. So the league took all the ALPS kids and put them on one team. But that just makes it worse. The ALPS kids feel like they're being shunned, so that makes them more likely to get mad at the other kids. Sometimes, when they're losing, some of those kids get really mad and then they change. It doesn't help that the ALPS kids' coach is as scared of them as all the other parents.'

"Right then Jack's team scored another goal. They jumped up and down and cheered but the parents got even more tense than they had been before. With my heightened senses, I could tell they had good reason to be tense, too. A couple of the ALPS kids were pretty upset and were probably going to transform in the next few seconds.

"Turning to Wanda, I said, 'Get Jack and his teammates off the field now.' Then I walked out onto the field, heading toward the ALPS team.

"I could hear the coach and parents behind me calling to Jack's team to come over to the sidelines. I saw the ALPS team's coach just standing on the sidelines, totally out of his element. The ref saw me and ran over, yelling, 'No parents are allowed on the field during a game!' When I ignored him, he came up to me as said, 'Sir, no parents are allowed on the field during a game.'

"I didn't stop walking but said to him, 'I'm not a parent and you are the one who should get off the field. You're about to have a bunch of little were-creatures running around out here. They won't want to hurt you, but they will if you get in the way.' The ref's face went pale and he turned and left the field.

"I walked right up to the kid who seemed most likely to transform and said, 'You don't want to transform, kid. It won't help you win the game or make you feel better.'

"The kid had a really good 'up yours' stare already; pretty impressive for a six year old. He gave me that stare and said, 'You better run, mister.' And then he transformed in a little werewolf cub -- cute little thing -- and he started growling at me. That kicked if off for the other kids and they all transformed, too. I had ten little were-cubs in front of me; six wolves, two tigers, a bear and a cougar. They were all snarling and growling and ready to leap. So I transformed and gave the little pack what it really needed; an alpha.

"A bit of growling, a little nipping at their ears, a couple of good cuffs with the paw and I had the ten of them sitting in front of me acting a whole lot more polite. I growled a bit more, letting them know who was boss, then transformed back. The kids transformed back, too.

"I called over the ref and both coaches. The ref came and so did the coach for Jack's team. The coach for the ALPS team just stood there on the sidelines, staring at us. Ignoring him, I said, 'The kids are under control now. We can finish the game.'

"The ref looked at the other coach. He shrugged and said, 'Why not?' Then the ref looked at me, 'Are you willing to stay on the sidelines with these kids? You've got some, uh, standing with them no one else here can match.' I agreed and led the kids to the sideline. Sometime during the discussion with the ref and other coach, the ALPS team's coach had left. I guess it was just too much for him. Anyway, we finished out the game without any trouble. My ALPS kids even scored a goal before the game ended.

"Both teams did the 'Good game' walk. Since no one else was around, I took the place of the coach in the line. I led the kids back to their parents and wasn't really that surprised when they asked me if I would take over as team coach. I told them I didn't really know anything about coaching soccer, but if they didn't mind that, I told them I'd be willing to be the coach.

"The kids cheered and the parents smiled and Michelle came over to meet my new little pack. She said Wanda had a whole bunch of questions after I transformed. Michelle just told Wanda she'd talk about it later.

"All in all, we had a fun time out at the soccer game. And later, when we got back to my apartment, Michelle cheered me up again!"

Werewolf Geneology or a New Look at the Three Little Pigs

2009-03-22T19:00:00.001-05:00

"Hi everybody. My name's Mike Stump and I'm a werewolf."

[Group: Hi Mike!]

"Last time I was here, I told you about a long ago ancestor of mine who was the wolf in the real story of Little Red Riding Hood. Well, having tracked that story back to a werewolf, I began wondering what other fairy tales owed their origin to other were-creatures. Since I'm a werewolf, I researched wolves, first. And the one I managed to track down really surprised me. It was the tale of the three little pigs!

"Here's the thing that really surprised me; there really were three pigs. But they weren't little and weren't really pigs. They were boars. Were-boars, actually. Unfortunately, I never was able to find names for any of those involved.

"The werewolf involved was probably a hermit. He was definitely a loner, living out in the forest in territory he'd claimed as his own. As best I can tell, the werewolf had been a monk of some kind before he contracted ALPS. The monk believed that he had 'received Satan's curse.' The monk sort of communed with nature-"

[Person in the crowd: They had hippies back then?]

"No, they did not. The monk communed with nature to witness God's hand in creating everything around the monk. He wrote about everything he studied and was quite a good naturalist. He also wrote about the 'curse' that came upon him every full moon. Like last time, I'm going to tell the story the way the monk did in his writings.

"I have lived by myself for years, as Satan's curse demanded. Yesterday, while walking the forest, I happened upon a crudely built hut. Thinking a woodsman or huntsman had moved into the area, I feared what might happen to them when the full moon rose that night. I knocked on the door to the hut. The hut was so crudely built, the entire thing shook as my hand struck it.

"The door was opened by a very short, heavy-set man. His eyes were piggish, displaying little intelligence. The man's speech was almost bestial, so much so that I could barely understand him. 'What..want?' was all I could discern.

"Speaking carefully and slowly, I told him a cursed beast stalked the forest. The man either did not understand or did not care. 'Bah' was all he said as he closed his rickety door in the my face.

"I attempted to move as far from the hut as possible before my curse came upon me. I did not wish harm upon the short man. Satan felt otherwise, guiding me directly back to the hut. Approaching the crude hut, my nose detected the scent of wild boar rather than man. A normal wolf would not attack a boar alone. A creature cursed with the power of Satan would not hesitate. At least I would not be responsible for murder this night!

"I crashed through the fragile door and came face to a face with a very small boar. We fell to fighting, the boar attempting to impale me on its tusks while I move constantly, snapping at the boar's flanks and legs. I did not succeed in killing the boar. It ran off into the forest and I let it go.

"This morning I returned to the scene of the fight. The crude hut had been destroyed. I hope the small man has left. I could find no evidence of him. I believe the man witnessed the fight with the boar and has been frightened away. I hope so.

"I returned the next day and discovered a new hut had been built right where the old one had been. This hut was built more strongly than the first one but it, also, was crudely contructed. Hoping to convince the man to leave, I knocked on the door to the new hut. Once again, a short, heavy-set man with piggish eyes opened the door. It was not the same man, though it was almost certainly his brother.

"Once again I attempted to explain about the cursed creature who roamed the forest when the moon was full. As I spoke, the man from the other day appeared in the doorway as well. God knows I attmpted to make myself plain to the men but neither of them seemed to understand the danger. As his brother before him had done, the small man shut the door in my face.

"As before, Satan's curse returned as the sun's bright light as replaced by the moon's baleful illumination. As before, I found myself drawn to the crude hut. As before, the scent of man had been replaced by the scent of wild boar. As before, I broke through the door. I found myself facing two small boars. The boars and I fell to with avengeance. Doing battle with one boar had been difficult. Had these boars been larger, battling two would have been impossible. I know not how long we fought though the eventual result was the same. The two boars escaped into the forest together.

"I returned to the scene in the morning. As I anticipated, the hut had been destroyed. I returned to the scene each day for seven days. Neither then men nor the boars returned.

"Okay, I'm taking a break from the monk's point of view for a minute. He wrote a lot of stuff that isn't important to the story over the next four months. Content that the men had been scared off, the monk did not return to the scene of the two fights during all of that time. I'm returning to the monk's point of view four months after the second fight.

"Today, my studies of God's wonderous world brought me back to the part of the forest where the huts had been built. To my dismay, I discovered a cabin standing where the huts once stood. The cabin was of sturdy construction, built with large, strong logs. Though I doubted any good would come of it, I knocked on this new door. The door was answered by a third man, obviously the brother of the other two. As before, my warnings fell on deaf or uncomprehending ears. The man just laughed and closed the door in my face. With Satan's curse due to return this evening, I am certain I will return here.

"My expectations of that afternoon were correct. The curse came and I found myself drawn to the cabin. I was not surprised to discover the scent of man was once again replaced by the scent of boar. As Satan had cursed me with the form of a wolf, so he had cursed these men with the form of a boar. Arriving at the cabin, I immediately threw myself at the door to the cabin. The door did not give way. Again and again, I threw myself at the door only to be repulsed each time. Finally, even my bestial mind realized I could not break through the door. I searched for alternative entrances, even climbing to the roof on split logs stacked for fire wood. There was a chimney on the roof but it was quite narrow. I could not have descended through it even in the form God gave me. Eventually, my cursed form gave up and went elsewhere in search of accessible prey.

"That's really all the monk had to write about the confrontation, but you can see the main part of the entire story as we know it today. The monk soon left that part of the forest entirely, afraid he would eventually be forced to fight the boars for the territory. He knew he couldn't win such a fight, so he moved deeper into the vast forest."

[Person in the crowd: So you figure some storyteller ran across the monk's story and came up with the three little pigs story?]

"Certainly, though I doubt he came up with the story as we know it today. Oral stories tend to evolve from teller to teller, from year to year. But the important thing to me is that we're starting to see just how much truth lies behind these stories once thought fanciful.

"These are stories that have stood for centuries. I've already told you of two stories that were inspired by our ancestors. This is something astounding we can all hold onto, all appreciate. When this world starts to get you down, think of our contribution to world literature and take pride in who you are!"

Missed Call

2009-03-15T19:00:00.000-05:00

(Ring, ring, ring)

“This is Scott. Leave a message at the tone.”

(Beep)

“Hey Scott, this is Tim. Are you there? I’ll just give you a minute, in case you’re screening your calls…

“Cause I would screen my calls, if I were you. Actually, I do screen my calls, and I’m not you.

“So, you there?

“Ok, I guess you’re not. Anyway, you probably remember me from the last WCA meeting. I tried to talk with you afterwards but you had that meeting you were late for… I got your number from Tina. She’s in charge of all the paperwork for the meetings. I guess you volunteered for something or other a while back so she had your number... Hey, was it you that brought the greenbean casserole to that Thanksgiving picnic? I’ve been trying to find out who brought that, it was really good. Do you know Tina personally? I accidentally bumped into her while she was carrying a bunch of WCA folders. I saw your number while I was helping her pick up all the papers and I memorized it. If you could just keep this between you and me, that would be great. She’s kind of cute, and I’d hate to lose any future chances with her.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you, I’ve figured it all out. I’m sure you’ve noticed how silver’s been doing in the market recently. It’s so totally being manipulated! That’s because the government’s buying it all up, only they don’t want the average Joe to know about it. They’ve been buying it all up, see, and then making it look like there’s still plenty to go around. They don’t want folks to know what they’re up to. But I’ve got them figured out. It’s the bullets. They’re melting all that silver and molding it into bullets to kill all us weres with.

“So I was thinking, with all your government connections, is there anything you can do about this? I don’t know where they’re hiding the bullets or anything. It’s not like they’d call me up on the phone and tell me something like that, like (continuing in a silly voice) ‘Hey Tim, this is the government. We’re keeping all the silver bullets in Roswell.’ (He chuckles). But you, you’ve got a foot on the inside. I figure if anybody can get to the bottom of this thing, it’s you. If you could just find out where they’ve got the bullets stored, we can formulate a plan. I’m sure we could get Hank and some of his friends to help us dispose of them.

“Anyhow, call me back when you get a chance. I wish I could have spoken to you about this in person... Wait a minute; I’m talking to your machine! Uh, do me a favor and erase this message after you’ve listened ok? Thanks. Actually, now that I think of it, DHS has probably picked up on this call…

“Shoot… I’d better go…”

First Date

2009-03-08T19:00:00.004-05:00

I have it bad for la chica bonita. Go figure. I live in Minnesota. I'm as Nordic as Nordic gets. I come from that ancient genetic factory somewhere north of Oslo that makes 'em tall, broad, and strawberry-blonde, with a beard you could hide a battle-axe in. In school they called me 'Harald the Red.'

Yeah, that's right, with two a's and no o. My dad is a history buff. He shook the name out of our family tree somewhere. It last belonged to my great, great, great-- somebody.

So why is it that Nordic blond women do nothing for me? You could pull me through all of time and space and set me up on a hot date with Elke Sommer or Ursula Andress at her absolute peak...

And somewhere, something ancient deep inside my brain would say, "Eh. I knew your mother. I knew your grandmother. I knew all your foremothers back to the dawn of our race, and frankly, they were all a bunch of depressed neurotics."

But introduce me to some dulce little chica--let her bat those big brown eyes at me, or wiggle her cute little butt in my general direction. Show me two minutes of Salma Hayek doing her snake-dance thing in From Dusk 'Til Dawn...

Woof.

Anyway, that's my theory. My Norsemen ancestors didn't go viking for the plunder. They went viking to get away from the Norse women. So when my favorite coffee shop hired a new waitress, and she turned out to be 5-foot-1 of dark-haired, dark-eyed, brown-skinned chicana beauty, I was instantly, hopelessly, smitten.

Yeah, Harald the Red, the mighty Viking. It took me three weeks to work up the nerve to ask her out. Another three weeks to get her to say 'yes.'

And that's when she popped her little surprise. "Harald," she said, "you're a sweet guy. But there's something you really need to know about me, first."

I shrugged. "You're, uh, undocumented?"

"No, not that. I mean, yes, I am, but--well, if you really are serious about going out on a date with me, there's somewhere else you need to go with me, first."

And that's how we wound up driving through Lowertown, just after dark on a Sunday evening. I thought it was some kind of joke or test, at first. The junkies, the winos; the gang tags spray-painted everywhere. "That's where we're going," she said, pointing.

"You're kidding," I said. I craned my neck to look at the name carved in the marble over the entryway. "The Rampant Loon Media Building? What on earth possessed them to locate their business here?"

"They got a great tax break from the city."

So I found a place to park the pickup truck, and we got out and took the sidewalk to the main entrance, stepping over the sleeping bums and the puddles of I don't want to know what and walking past a dark alley entrance that brought all my willies and cold shivers out to dance in a conga line on the back of my neck. But we made it into the lobby okay, got waved past by the security guard, and took the elevator to the 13th floor.

Where we walked into a meeting. Huh. This was something I'd never heard of before: Were-Creatures Anonymous. It was some kind of demented variation on a twelve-step program for people who thought they were—

Well, as my adorable little chica put it, "Hi. My name is Tina, and I'm a were-jaguar."

Actually, for a bunch of people who were clinically nuts, they weren't half-bad. They were for the most part calm, sober, and pleasant—except for this Scott guy, who reminded me of a used-car salesman and left me with a deep desire to wash my hand after he shook it. Everyone there accepted that I wasn't one of them but was only there to support Tina, and they congratulated me on my open-mindedness and all that; it was pretty embarrassing, actually. But we got through the coffee hour okay, and sweet little Tina really seemed to be warming up to me. She kissed me in the elevator, and held my hand and cuddled up to my side as we left the building and walked back to where I'd parked my truck. As we passed that dark alley entrance that had given me the willies so badly on our way in, three young thugs stepped out of the shadows. I saw the flash of a knife blade.

And then my world turned red.

#
The next thing I knew, I was waking up naked in a strange bed and my left arm was numb. I turned my head, saw that the naked woman laying on my left arm was Tina, and from that made the leap to guessing that this was her apartment. I sure hoped the bedroom was always this much of a mess.

I must have made some sound or somehow disturbed her. She slowly opened those beautiful big brown eyes, and then just as slowly eased into the most amazingly satiated smile and snuggled in closer.

"Darling," she whispered, "why didn't you tell me? Madre di Dios, you were magnificent! So strong! So fierce! So...insatiable!" She bit my earlobe, gently, kissed her way down my neck, and then worked her way back up to my ear again. "Why didn't you trust me? Why didn't you tell the group that you're—you're—" She tched. "Were-bear seems such an inadequate name."

"Because it is, and I'm not," I said. "The correct term is bearserkr."

"Whatever." She kissed my neck again, harder and more insistent this time. "Whatever it is, you were unforgettable last night!"

That's when I finally reached across with my other arm, and pulled her on top of me, and kissed her on the forehead and held her tight.

And stared at the ceiling, and let my anger soar up to the sky. Yeah. Unforgettable.

Damn you, Odin, and damn your thousand-year curse! They all say that! But just once, would it be too much to let me remember it?

Relapse

2009-03-01T19:00:00.007-06:00

He was looking bad, rough. You can tell when someone's had a relapse, and it doesn't take ALPS-heightened senses, either. They say recovering alcoholics can smell it when someone in their group has gone off the wagon.

Scott didn't smell funny, but clearly, he'd lost it. Normally the guy was overdressed to a fault and cheerful like a daytime game-show host. Then he went missing back in mid-January, and now here he was in group again, looking like something the cat had dragged in.

"Hi," he said. He looked up, started to make eye-contact, then went back to looking at his shoes. I saw they were scuffed and salt-stained; another bad sign. Crockett & Jones, Leeds, U.K., a thousand bucks a pair—we knew because he'd told us, repeatedly, and now here he was looking like he'd been playing street hockey in them.

"Hi," he tried again. "My name is Scott, and I'm a were-weasel."

"Hi, Scott."

He managed to look up and hold the eye-contact for a few seconds this time, and almost managed a smile. Progress.

He went back to looking at his shoes. "First off, I'd like to thank my sponsor, Tom, for getting me back into group."

Okay, no wonder he looked like something the cat had dragged in. He'd been dragged in by the cat.

"I—" he paused, gulped, swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. Yes, I've—" He looked up, around the circle, and nodded. "Yes, I've had a setback. I screwed up. I—" Another heavy sigh.

"I started doing politics again."

What could we do? Nod sympathetically. Encourage him to keep talking.

"I thought I could handle it. I thought, just a little taste. Just once, for old times' sake. I thought—" He shook his hands in the air, as if wrapping them around some invisible something right in front of his face, and then dropped them into his lap, and sighed.

"I couldn't handle it." He went back to looking at this shoes.

When it seemed like that was all he had to say, Tom cleared his throat. "Go on, Scott. Tell us the rest."

Scott locked eyes with Tom, took some kind of strength from it, and nodded. "Yeah. You're right. They need to know." He took another deep breath, sat up a little straighter in his chair, and then a bit of the Old Scott came back into his voice.

"As you've probably guessed," he said, "I've been down in D.C. for the last six weeks, angling for a job in the new administration, or at least a lobbying gig. I mean, were-weasel, politics: a natural fit, don't you think?" Everyone around the circle nodded sympathetically.

"Well let me tell you, friends, I didn't have a clue. You don't have a clue. There are things crawling through the halls of Congress now that... that...

"Look. This administration is like an enormous frickin' magnet for Dark Life."

Joe the Lion blinked. "Dark Life?"

"Y'know, dark matter? Dark energy?" Scott thumped himself on the chest. "Dark Life. Us. Cryptids. Beasties that go bump in the night. Creatures that don't officially exist—or at least we didn't, until the ALPS activists started coming out of the closet and getting into people's faces.

"I tell you, there are things going on that none of us have a clue about. There are things walking the streets of D.C. now that haven't seen the light of day since the Carter administration. You can't even get an interview for a contract job on K Street unless you're at least a sasquatch. I ran into a frickin' wendigo in the Dirksen Building!"

Joe the Lion was blinking again. "Wendigo?"

"It's Algonquin. Look it up later. While you're at it, look up cryptozoology, too.

"Look, people," he said to the rest of us, "there is—"

He paused, and pointed across the circle. "Hank, I've been following your blog. Don't worry about that Reverend Riley. Internment is the least of our worries. People, there is a frickin' war building up out there."

Joe the Lion nodded. "I knew it. Vampires versus were-beasts."

Scott scowled. "Oh, don't give me that comic-book crap. We're talking about war between the New Breeds—us—and the Old Line dark life; the ones who liked being in the shadows, because it gave them more power."

I finally had to interrupt. "War? Really, Scott, don't you think that's being just a little extreme?"

Scott turned and looked at me, and gave me the full-bore heavy sigh and rolling eyes treatment. "No, I don't think that's 'a little extreme.' Right now there are clashes going on out west between the were-cougars and the were-jaguars, who are trying to push north and muscle in on cougar territory. So far they've managed to cover it up and blame all the murders on drug gangs, but it's only a matter of time..."

He broke off, and sighed again. "Look. All I can say is, there is stuff going out there that scares the willies out of me. We are only scratching the surface; ALPS is only the tip of the iceberg. We think we understand this disease. We're only buying into the cover story. And I don't know about the rest of you, but I for one am scared beyond my capacity for rational comprehension."

He sighed one more time, then shrugged, sat back, and tried to smile.

"But hey, what do I know? I'm just a weasel."

The Rally

2009-02-22T19:00:00.004-06:00

"Hi everyone. I think everybody knows me by now, but in case there are some new members I'm Hank and I'm a werewolf."

[Group: "Hi Hank!"]

"I don't know what's happening lately, but it seems like my life has gotten a lot more exciting. Other than meeting Michelle, the lollipop love of my life, it's mostly been the bad kind of exciting. Last Saturday was supposed to be different but it wasn't.

"Michelle and I didn't have anything planned for Saturday. We were just going go to a movie or maybe even just stay home, cuddle on the couch and watch a few DVDs. You know, just hang out and enjoy being together.

"Luke had other ideas. You remember him? He's Michelle's brother and the scriptwriter who's working on a werewolf-vampire movie for grown ups. Based at least a little bit on what he observes from Michelle and me. Anyway, Michelle and I were trying to decide between a movie theater or DVDs when Luke suggested a walk in the park. That sounded like a fun idea, too, even if it wasn't just going to be Michelle and me. So we headed out toward the park.

"Luke grabbed his writer's notebook but that didn't seem strange to me. He never goes anywhere without that thing. He says you never know when an idea will hit you or when you'll see something that just has to be included in a story. This time, Luke knew he was going to see something worth writing down, he just didn't tell us about it.

"It was kind of nippy outside, which gave made it even more natural for me to walk with my arm around Michelle. Sharing bodily warmth and all that. We just wandered, enjoyed watching the families playing in the park and followed along behind Luke. Off in the distance we began to hear some voices coming over a loud speaker or something and some cheering. There are rallies in the park all the time, though, and Michelle and I were too busy paying attention to each other to pay attention to anything else. But Luke was leading us right to the rally.

"He tried to act all surprised when we reached it, like he didn't know what it was about, but Luke can't act worth a damn. He said something like, 'Oh my!' then dug out his notebook and started scribbling. Michelle and I just stared in disbelief.

"There were probably a thousand people or more standing before a small stage. Erected behind the stage was a big sign that read 'Alpo must go!' and another that read 'Internment or death!' People in the audience held signs like 'The only good were is a dead were!' and even 'God hates alpos!' I was stunned. I mean, I remember that stupid editorial after the big Thanksgiving Day turkey drop but I thought it had blown over. Wrong!

"The man on stage was really whipping the crowd into a frenzy. 'Why does the government let these sickos walk among us regular people? That's what I want to know!' Some in crowd called out 'Yeah!' or 'You tell them, Riley!'

"Riley was just getting started, 'President Obama promised us change we could believe in. Well, rounding up those animals is the kind of change this country needs! If the government is going to spend billions and billions of dollars, why not spend it to make our children safe from the scourge of ALPS?'

"I was still just staring at this, my good mood shot all the Hell. But Michelle got really pissed off at Luke. 'You knew this was going to be going on, Luke! Don't you dare try to deny it,' she said. 'Why did you have to drag us along and ruin our day?'

"Luke at least looked a little sheepish, 'I need to see how this kind of thing affects someone with ALPS. I needed an honest response so my script will be authentic. I really am sorry, but I've got show how much this kind of thing hurts people like Hank so the audience will sympathize with the ALPS character.'

"I think Michelle had a whole lot more she wanted to say, but things took an...exciting turn right about then. You won't be surprised to learn I wasn't the only person with ALPS watching the rally. A group of six guys in gang colors were pushing their way through the audience. They didn't look like they wanted to debate anything with Riley, either. Man, the one thing the ALPS community didn't need right then was more bad publicity. And if those guys transformed and ripped into Riley I figured we'd be one step closer to being rounded up.

"I turned to Luke and said, 'You and Michelle get out of here now. This is about to get really ugly!' Then I started running toward the stage, hoping I could get there before the gang bangers. I got lucky. The gang stopped at the front of the crowd to shout insults at Riley and try to get him mad. But Riley had loudspeakers. He just talked right over them, using them as extra fodder to build up more hatred. Finally the gang bangers got tired of shouting and transformed.

"There was plenty of screaming as the crowd scrambled to get away from them. One second there were six guys in colors, next second there were six rottweilers snarling up at Riley. I'll give Riley one thing, he went white but he held his ground and continued with his rant. I don't know if he was being brave or stupid, but he stuck to his guns.

"The were-rottweilers were taking their time, now, growling and barking and foaming at the mouth a bit. You know, putting on the whole 'we are so bad and so mean' show for the crowd. It gave me the time I needed to transform and leap up onto the stage. Let me tell you, that really got everyone's attention! If the crowd had scrambled and screamed a bit at the rottweilers, they got nearly hysterical when I showed up. The idiots didn't even realize I had put myself between the were-rottweilers and that bastard Riley. The were-doggies noticed, though, and they weren't real happy about it.

"Next thing, the leader of the pack leaped at me and the fight was on. Normally, a wolf against a rottweiler is going to go the wolf's way. But there were six of them and just one of me. I kept moving and snapping and clawing and doing my best to keep them back and away from the speaker. They seemed happy to fight it out with me before taking on Riley.

"They never did get any good bites or scratches on me, but they got lots and lots of little ones. I managed to put three of them down and out of the fight, but by then I was really tired and hurt and losing blood. I knew I wasn't going to win this one, that they were going to rip Riley to shreds and I'd probably get lumped in with them in the news stories. The leader of the pack knew I was pretty much out of it, too. He glared at me, got his other two dogs to attack me then went for Riley's throat.

"He didn't get there, though. I don't know how long Michelle had been there but she caught the pack leader by the tail and just slammed him down onto the stage. The leader was stunned a bit but rolled up and was about to try again when Michelle leaned over and flashed her fangs at him! That dog took to whining and whimpering and he and his gang ran off with their tales between their legs.

"And you know what? That Riley guy was loving every minute of it! I finally tuned in to what he was saying. 'See? Do you see, good people?' he preached into the microphone. 'Do you see what these animals are capable of? I dared to speak the truth and my very life was threatened because of it!'

"That was just too much for me. Here the very people he was railing against had just saved his life and he was claiming we were all a bunch of savage animals! Still in wolf form, I limped over to him and his eyes got wide as I came closer. He never did shut up, though. Behind me, Michelle said, 'Don't do it, Hank! He's not worth it!'

"I really, really wanted to bite that bastard on the ass and let him see what ALPS was like from our side. But I knew Michelle was right. I transformed back to human form, standing right in front of Riley. I spoke loud enough that the microphone picked up what I had to say, 'Screw you, asshole!' And then I kicked him in the balls.

"The rally sort of fell apart after that. The police showed up and so did the news crews. But Michelle and I were able to slip away in all the confusion. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on the couch and we even cuddled some for comfort. Mostly, we just got drunk.

"I hate to say it, people, but that whole internment idea isn't just a one shot, stupid news editorial. It's a movement now. It might be small, but we can't just sit around and hope it just goes away. We've got to figure out how to combat it and I don't think a movie that puts us in a good light is going to be enough."

That's Amore!

2009-02-15T19:15:00.001-06:00

Bon Jour my brothers and sisters. My name is Pierre, and I am how do you say? A were-skunk. I stand before you a broken man. For I have seen love, and she has slipped through my fingers. It was a beautiful morning yesterday, crisp and clean, like so many mornings I remember growing up in Gay Paris and Amore, she was in ze air.

I decided to take a walk down town. I wasn’t ze only one enjoying ze stroll. Many couples walked hand in hand celebrating zis most French of all American holidays, Valentines Day. As one who has studied ze ways of love and ze wily nature of ze most dangerous game, woman, I wondered when cupid might draw back his bow and strike my heart.

As I pondered ze lonely nature of a man such as I, Cupid struck. Outside of ze local zeatre, a crowd was exiting ze afternoon matinee of some show called Cats and in ze middle of ze rush of people I saw her. She was tall and gorgeous. A classic beauty. Her hair was black with two large white stripes running down her back. Surely zis creature was made just for me. I had to admire such boldness to be out in a crowd in her transformed state. I felt my heart swell and I decided zen zat I shall lover her with such passion to equal zis boldness. I knew our love would be ze stuff of legend.

I immediately transformed into my fabulous skunk self and bounded over to her. Ze crowd scattered in awe of ze power of my love. My Princess stood zere shivering with the fear of ze destiny zat waited us. Her eyes welled with ze tears of passion. I embraced her, bent her over backwards, looked lovingly into her deep pools of blue zat were her eyes and planted a long passionate kiss zat would make Aphrodite herself blush.

She looked back at me and screamed ze scream of love and ran away.

“Ahhh Mon Cherie, you want to play hard to get” I said.

“Pierre LeStinc will go to ze ends of ze earth for you!” I yelled at her.

I chased her through buildings and alleyways yet she continued to elude me. I would have my love and she will know ze true meaning of passion.

I soon had her cornered in a dead end alley. I approached her and whispered all ze sweet things we would do togezer. Her whole body shook with anticipation. I soon had her in my loving embrace. She started to struggle. She obviously wanted to keep ze game going I thought.

When all of a sudden a little white girl with blonde hair popped out below me and I was left holding an empty cat suit with spilt paint running down ze back of it.

I realized zen zat Love, She is a fickle creature and zat true love was not to be mine zis day.

Cupid-You hear me know, I will be waiting for you next year!

Loathing

2009-02-08T19:00:00.000-06:00

Hi, my name is John and I suffer from ALPS.

(Someone yells “It’s not suffering!”)

For me it is. It’s really hard for me to be here. I mean, it’s not like it’s even going to help me to share… it won't make my life less pathetic... you know, maybe I’ll just let someone else get up…

(He starts to get down but changes his mind after a chorus of encouraging voices urge him back to the podium.)

Fine. I’ll tell my story. Thank you for your support. I suppose I might as well get this over with.

So, uh, anyhow, let me just say something first.

I hate dogs. I really and truly hate them. A lot of folks probably think that’s unnatural… but heck, I think YOU’RE unnatural for liking them.

I mean – really! Who ever thought it was a good idea to start bringing large hairy carnivores into their houses? I can understand keeping a dog outside for protection… but to let it into your HOME? It’s nasty. They crap in the yard, then come sit on your furniture inside. They eat your food, beg, lick people, sniff crotches… seriously, it’s gross. It’s dirty. And the hair all around the house? And the SMELL? Ever smell a house full of dogs? It’s like entering the antechamber of hell.

(someone in the audience coughs self-consciously)

And actually, in ancient Israel, I think dogs were like considered to be an unclean and loathsome animal. And those were GOD’S people, you know? I’m with them. I can’t stand dogs. Okay… all that is background.

One day I was jogging at the park, doing my regular rounds. Fitness used to be a big thing for me before I had ALPS. And now it’s like… whatever. My muscles don’t need the toning like they used to. So I’m running along, having just finished my first mile, and I hear a bark and some rustling in the bushes beside the path. I figure, oh geez, some jerk has let their dog off its leash again… so I speed up… and yup, here comes a dog. It’s snarling and foaming… a HUGE dog, like a German Shepherd mixed with horse… so I’m like… trying to get away… and SNAP, man it totally takes a CHUNK out of my calf!

And I’m like… you BITCH!!!

(John looks around the room.)

It’s okay, see, female dogs are called bitches. So I can say that. It’s like, a, uh, technical term, you know?

(“We know. Get back to the story.”)

Sorry. So, I’m there on the ground, bleeding and the dog is nowhere to be seen. Gone. And I’m thinking about how much life stinks and how much I hate dogs and all that…

Well, I had NO idea.

About a month later, I’m up early and I’m out front watering the lawn. We had some water restrictions thanks to a slight drought, so there are only certain windows of time, you know, where you can water, and my dwarf pomegranate was looking a little parched…

(Someone sighs loudly)

Okay, I’m rambling a little. Sorry. So, I’m out there with the hose and I smell something. Like… a rich, strong, earthy urine smell. I know, it’s disgusting. But I’m compelled by it. There’s a little spot at the corner of my yard, a little rosebush, and that’s the source. Before I know it, I have the overwhelming urge to, you know, go? So I just unzip and let fly.

Then I come to my senses and think… omigosh! Did I just DO that? I look around… no one saw me… but I’m still totally shocked by my own actions.

Then comes the coup de grâce. The newspaper car drives down the road. The guy throws my paper.

And I catch it IN MY MOUTH! Like a dog! I totally couldn’t help it. I saw it in the air one second, and in the next, I had it in my mouth. I see the guy look out the window of the car at me like… WHOA! And I’m feeling sheepish. Or maybe sheep-doggish? Who knows?

Then it hits me like a ton of milk bones. That bite. In the park. That wasn’t a dog! It was a were-dog… no WONDER he was so big. And so fierce.

(“We’re not ALL fierce!” comes the voice of a were-badger.)

Sorry, I know that.

But this guy was. And he passed his doggy nastiness unto me. Did I tell you how much I loathe dogs???

I really, really REALLY hate them!

And now… I hate myself.

Blood and Bowl Games

2009-02-01T19:00:00.003-06:00

"Hi everyone. I think you all know me by now -- Hank, the Werewolf."

[Everyone: "Hi Hank!"]

"Last time I was up here I told you about when I met Michelle -- she's a vampire -- and how we started dating. Anyway, on Sunday she took me to a vampire Superbowl party and boy was it wild!"

[Willy: "You went to a vampire party? Alone? Just how stupid are you, son?"]

"I'm up here talking, aren't I? If I was as stupid as you think I probably wouldn't be here."

[Willy: "I guess God really does protect children and fools."]

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah.

"Michelle's brother Luke, the script writer? He wanted us to go with him to his usual sports bar to watch the game. He was real disappointed his Eagles hadn't gotten there but he's too big of a fan to miss the game. But Michelle said she couldn't go because her sire was having a party and she had to attend.

"The whole 'sire' thing was new for Luke and I knew less than I thought I did. I just thought a sire was like the alpha in a werewolf pack. You know, the alpha's in charge and you've got to obey him on pack matters. But a sire isn't like that at all. A sire is actually an older vampire who has turned others into vampires, too. Michelle didn't want to go into the details, but apparently a vampire can either drink someone's blood or inject their own blood into the person. If they inject blood, the person usually contracts SCABS and becomes a vampire.

"You know, were-creatures can't help it when we bite someone and give them ALPS. It's not an excuse or anything, but we don't choose to create more of us. Some vampires, though, seem to live for siring more vampires. Michelle's sire, Tony, is one of those.

"Anyway, Michelle told her brother that it was impossible for her to directly disobey her sire. If he ordered her to attend his party, she had no choice by to go. Neither Luke or I liked the sound of that! Luke was all set to skip the sports bar and go with her, but Michelle squashed that idea fast.

"She told him, 'If I bring a normal with me, Tony would either become their sire or, worse, order me to do it. So you're not coming with me and that's final!'

"I couldn't let down my new friends, so said, 'Don't worry, Luke. I'll go with her and will make sure this Tony guy doesn't get out of hand.'

"Michelle wasn't happy about having me going, either, but there was no way I wasn't going with her. I told her, 'Look, you can take me along openly or I'll just follow your scent and crash the party.' It didn't end there -- and Michelle has one Hell of a temper when she's roused -- but Luke and I weren't budging. She finally gave in.

"Michelle had settled down by the time we left for the party. I'd kicked up my senses and could tell she was nervous about the party; and not just because I was going to be there. I think she was a little relieved I was going, actually. We were just going to walk from Luke's apartment because this Tony guy lives in a big loft near the university. Get this, the guy's a student! Michelle says he's already got a dozen different degrees but keeps going back to college because there's plenty of prey there.

"What a sleaze bag, right? Michelle could tell I was getting angry just thinking about this guy. She pulled me off the sidewalk to sit on a park bench, looked in my eyes and said, 'You can't let this get to you, Hank! If you go up to Tony and go alpo on him, he's going to have you killed! He'll order all of his children -- that's what he calls us -- to kill you. And we will do it! None of us will want to, but it is impossible for us to disobey our sire!'

"I hadn't realized the connection was that strong. 'So that's why Tony keeps siring more vampires? So he can have a bunch of slaves who have to do his bidding?' I asked her.

"Michelle shook her head, 'No. Or not entirely, anyway. Tony loves ordering us around, especially if he's ordering us to do something he knows we don't want to do. But the main reason he sires more vampires is so he can live forever.'

"I know I must have looked confused. Michelle took my hands, 'A vampire who feeds from other vampires doesn't age and will never die as long as he has vampires to feed from. Hank, don't let Tony' apparent age fool you. He's 319 years old!'

"What she had said surprised. Not that Tony was 319, but that vampires didn't automatically live forever. 'I thought vampires were, you know, undead and lived forever.'

"Michelle actually laughed a bit. 'That's just a typical misunderstanding. We get old and die, just like everyone else. Unless we do what Tony does, and most of us would rather die than become a sire!' She poked me in the ribs. 'Have I ever felt cold in your arms? I'm just as alive as you are. I just have a different disease than you.'

"'So you don't have to put a stake through a vampire's heart to kill him?' I asked.

"Michelle grimaced, 'That part is true, more or less. You know how you can heal from almost any wound when you're transformed? Vampires are like that all the time. As long as our blood flows, we can heal from most wounds. Something that causes us to bleed out quickly might kill us, but a stake through heart is the only sure way.'

"All of that was news to me! On the other hand, I was glad the lively, warm girl I'd been holding was, well, still a live warm girl!

"A few minutes later we got to Tony's loft. It looked mighty expensive for a student, but I guess a guy could make a lot of money in 300 years! The place was crowded when we entered, conversation buzzing. There was also something like a reception line waiting to talk this guy who looked like he was 19 or 20. He was lounging in a fancy chair, looking all the world like he was the king of the world. I figured that had to be Tony.

"The minute I stepped into the room behind Michelle, the conversation just stopped and everyone in the room turned to look at me. It's freaky having 30 pairs of eyes trained on you when you know every pair of eyes belongs to a vampire!

"Tony spoke in a voice with the whip crack of command in it. 'Michelle. Front and center. Now. And bring your...guest.'

"Michelle turned to grab my hand and I could tell she wasn't fully there. Her eyes were glazed and didn't show any emotion. I figured this must be that whole 'must obey' bit she'd told me about. With surprising force, Michelle dragged me to stand before Tony.

"Tony looked me up and down, 'Michelle, why have you brought this...creature...before me?'

"When she answered, her voice was flat and emotionless. 'He's my boyfriend, Sire. He insisted on coming so he could protect me.'

"Not exactly information I wanted spoken aloud in a room full of vampires, let me tell you! Tony turned those laser beam eyes on me, 'Most amusing, puppy boy. Don't the elders of your mangy kind pass along any knowledge to their pups any more? Don't they teach you to keep your wet little noses out of the business of your betters?'

"That was it! I snapped and transformed right there. As I leaped at Tony's throat, I heard Michelle cry out, 'No Hank!' But it was too late for her cry and too late for Tony. At least that's what I thought. Tony moved so fast I could barely see it with my enhanced senses. He was on his feet, holding me by the throat before I got within a foot of him.

"My back paws swung above the ground and my front paws weren't having any effect on the hand that was holding me. 'Bad doggy! You need to be punished,' Tony said to me. Turning to Michelle, he said, 'And you're going to do the punishing, Michelle.'

"Michelle had tears in her eyes, 'No, Tony! Please-'

"'Enough!' Tony said, using the whip crack voice again. 'You will drain this beast dry and then you will plunge a silver knife into its heart.'

"I could see Michelle was fighting against the command with all her will. And I could see she was losing. But forcing his will on Michelle was taking all of Tony's attention. It was the only chance I was going to get, so I took it!

"I reverted back to human form and my much smaller neck slipped right out of Tony's grasp. I transformed back to wolf form just as my back feet hit the floor. Pushing off from the floor, I lunged underneath Tony's outstretched hand. He attention was just turning to me when I ripped out his throat. Tony's hands flew to stop the flow of blood from his throat until he could heal. And that's when I ripped open his ribcage and feasted on his still beating heart! Tony had just enough time to look at the gaping hole in his chest before his eyes clouded over and he died.

"Everything was really quiet for a few seconds and then someone said, 'He killed Tony!' Then others took it up, too. 'He killed Tony!' and 'Tony's dead!' I started looking around for a quick exit!

"Then Michelle grabbed me in a great big hug and started scratching behind my ears. I was still in wolf form and she knows I love that. 'That's my alpo!' she said. 'Way to go, Hank!'

"And just like that, the spell broke and everyone started cheering. I transformed back to human form and got a big kiss on the mouth from Michelle. When she pulled back to take a breath I asked, 'Why aren't they trying to beat me to death for killing their sire?'

"Michelle laughed, 'You're kidding, right? None of us liked Tony! God, we all hated him more than you can imagine! But it's impossible for any vampire to kill their sire. I didn't think you could, either, really, and that's why I didn't want you to come along.' She kissed me again. 'But you did it! You freed us from Tony!'

"The rest of the evening is kind of a blur. When they're not being lorded over by their sire, the vampires turned out to be a pretty wild bunch! Everyone kept bringing me drinks. They even offered to let me devour the rest of Tony. I wasn't really hungry but I knew it would be easier for them if there wasn't a body to be found. I swear, those vampire cheered every bite I took!

"After a few hours, Michelle and I headed back to her place and... Well, a gentleman doesn't tell!"

[Miguel: "Dude! You left that part out when you told me about it.]

"Well, that's all you're going to hear, so don't bug me about it. I do have one question, though.

"With all the excitement, we totally forgot about the game. Who won?"

Ripples

2009-01-25T19:00:00.001-06:00

“Arrrrrrrgh!!! Tim?!”

From around the corner come hurried footsteps. In a moment, he’s beside her, blue eyes filled with worry. He sets his cell down on the table and takes her arm.

“Uh, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

“Yes… it’s just… that one HURT!”

“Hold it together, darling. The midwife says she’s almost here.”

“Okay… good… but I don’t know HOW to hold it together! I’ve never done this before! Did we wait too long to call? I didn’t want to bother them if… arrrrrrgh…. uhhhhh… ahhhh…”

She leans into him and shuts her eyes as another contraction hits.

“It’ll be fine, Jill… you’re doing good… breathe… breathe…”

* * *

An hour later labor is in full swing. Tim holds Jill’s hand. Genevieve had delivered over a thousand babies in her years as a midwife… but to the best of her knowledge, this was her first ALPS-positive birth. At least this couple had told her they had ALPS. She actually didn’t know if that meant the baby would also have it. Her assistant Meg stands next to her, bottle of olive oil in hand. Genevieve puts on gloves and cracks the seal.

“Jill… I’m going to check you to see your progress. Is that okay?”

“Yes… sure… AARRGH!!”

Genevieve waits for the contraction to pass, then gently feels for progress.

“Great job, Jill! You’re going so fast- you’re almost completely dilated. Way-to-go, girl! Whenever you’re ready to push… push!”

Jill nods, teeth clenched against the pressure of another contraction. Tim helps her, holding her hand and counting seconds. Meg rubs Jill’s arm and speaks soothing nothings.

Genevieve was worried. As much as she told herself that she was open-minded and unprejudiced, ALPS was a little weird even for her.

What if Jill BITES me!?

Without thinking, she retreats slightly from the tableau and puts her hands behind her back.

Heck... what if the BABY bites me?!

But then Jill grunts and starts her first real push. Genevieve’s professionalism takes over. In a moment, she’s crouching beside her laboring charge.

“Good job, Jill… are you feeling the urge to push now?”

“Yesssss!!!”

“Then push whenever your body is ready!”

A minute later, Jill pushes again, even harder. This is going really quickly, Genevieve thinks. She’s really moving along for a first-time mother!

With a load yell (roar?), Jill pushes again.

Oh God… please don’t let her turn into a lion or something… oh God…

Genevieve looks at Tim, still standing steady. Meg puts on gloves. Jill’s face strains with effort, muscles tense along her body.

Oh geez… is the hair on her arms turning darker???

Genevieve feels faint, then reproaches herself. Concentrate on your job, soldier. Not much longer!

* * *

A short time after the pushing began, Genevieve sees it. The baby is crowning.

“He’s coming, Jill! You’re doing it! Meg… quick… get the mirror.”

Meg hands it to Genevieve. “Do you want to see, Jill?”

Through clenched teeth comes a “Yes!”

Genevieve positions it. “See the baby? See that full head of hair?”

Jill looks down, between contractions now. She yelps! “No, omigod… no… omigod that looks horrible!

Genevieve frowns. “Horrible? I don’t think so – looks good to me! See the baby…” She adjusts the mirror. “…right here?”

Jill shudders, horrified. “Oh God… no… it’s just a huge hole… a hole… omigod, I can’t look… take the mirror away…”

Her midwife does, perplexed. That was a weird response…

Tim risks a glimpse between his wife’s legs. “Looks beautiful to me, darling. Dark hair – like yours! OW!”

Jill grips his arm. Her fingernails draw blood. “ArrrrrrrGH!!!” She pushes… the head is out!

For a moment, her eyes turn to slits and some short hairs appear across her face. In a flash, her inner puma appears and disappears. Genevieve notices… then sighs in relief as it passes… then returns to the child.

“Almost… one more!

Jill pushes again… the baby arrives!

Tim yells, “It’s a boy!”

Jill collapses back onto the bed, exhausted. Meg hands her the baby. Genevieve ties off the cord and hands Tim scissors.

Snip! A new life enters the world.

* * *

Jill and the baby are alone. The midwife and assistant were gone. Tim phones family in the next room. And little Esau nuzzles contentedly at her breast.

She flashes back to the crowning incident.

The image of that red and black gaping hole…

(Shudder)

…don’t think about it! I can’t believe that was MY vagi-

Tim peeks through the door, interrupts the thought. “Hey darling… can I come in?”

She lets him. He kisses her and the baby. A few minutes later he leaves again, remembering another call that needs to be made.

When he does, Jill painstakingly rolls to her left and uncovers her other breast for Esau. She didn’t think he was getting much yet, but the midwife told her to let him suckle. He latches on without trouble. She half-dozes, eyes drifting lazily across the room. The large mirror on the wall reflects her newly-thin form. She sees a bare breast.

No baby.

Shock!

The baby is right here! But not there?!

Then she remembered a dream she’d had.

A dream?!

* * *

It had been a dark night, full moon. She was feeling her puma-self, turning in her bed. Tim was gone for the weekend. Darn his job!

She wanted him. Badly.

Finally, she slept… and dreamed…

In it, she hears a scratching at the window. Wearing a thin slip, she turns. The moonlight plays across her svelte frame. Catlike, her eyes look into the gloom.

Nothing.

But she smells something. Like… incense? A sweetness… and undertones of damp stone, wilting flowers and mould.

Another scratch. Then she sees a face. In her dream, he’s dangerously handsome. Dark flashing eyes… a noble nose… dark hair…

She isn’t afraid. Trancelike, she drifts to the window. A strap falls from her shoulder. One breast is exposed to the moonlight. She doesn’t notice. All she feels is desire for the stranger.

It opens. He enters. They lie together.

The next morning she awakens, contented and well-slept. Half-memories of a vivid and passionate dream play in her mind as she drinks her coffee. A pleasant fantasy.

When Tim arrives home, she falls into bed with him, delighted in his return. The dream was mostly forgotten.

Until now.

* * *

Initially, she feels only shock. Then horror.

This child… could he be… oh my GOD! A lollipop???

Esau sleeps.

Tim will never forgive me!

A small frown plays across his face.

But… I didn’t know it was real!

His little fist opens as dozing deepens.

He’ll never believe that! Everything will be ruined… our whole life together!

Then a plan comes to mind.

Mirrors! I can ditch all the mirrors!

She carefully disengages from her newborn and arises. Taking the mirror from the wall, she stores it in the closet.

That’s a start.

* * *

A couple weeks later, Tim once again has a short trip to make. Three days with his boss, selling someone on something.

He protested that he didn’t want to leave her alone with Esau but she made him go.

He left in the morning. After breakfast and nursing, she starts her task.

Bathroom mirrors? Removed.

Stainless cookware? Goodwill.

Hall mirror tiles? Gone.

At long last, she’s contented. He won’t find out in the house at least. I’ve bought some time…

* * *

He gets back and is surprised.

“Uh… Jill… have you gone nuts?”

“No, why?”

“Where are the mirrors?”

“Gone, darling.”

He stares at her.

“Why?”

“I just… can’t stand to see myself, Tim… I, uh… look terrible… pregnancy ruined me…”

He looks at her figure. Not perfect… but certainly not ruined!

“Jill… maybe this is a post-partum thing…”

“Tim, just let me do this, okay?”

He frowns. “I can’t shave without a mirror.”

Her lip trembles.

“Please… don’t make me see another mirror… please… I beg you!” A tear rolls down her cheek. It was half-faked… but not completely.

Taken aback by her emotion, he grasps her arms.

“Okay, if that’s how you feel…”

He kisses her, still perplexed, walks to the crib and changes subject.

“What a beautiful little boy… thank you for bringing him into the world, darling.”

Now she cries for real.

* * *

Esau grew quickly. His hair was black as coal and his eyes flashed. He generally slept during the day but at night he was wide awake.

Six months old and Tim still didn’t suspect. Jill starts to let her guard down a little.

Every time Tim wanted to go out, she’d feigned tiredness. Or claimed concern for little Esau’s health. “You wouldn’t want him to catch the flu, would you darling… he’s still so little!”

But one overcast day, she relents. They walk to the park together. Esau drowses in his stroller. Tim holds her hand.

A little picnic is spread on the grass. Sandwiches, cucumber slices, a splash of white wine. It feels like a celebration. Children play nearby, and even Esau seems happy in the filtered sunlight, despite drowsiness.

He points and giggles at a family of ducks splashing in the nearby pond.

Tim scoops up the infant with a grin. “Let’s go see ‘em, tough guy!”

Jill laughs. It was wonderful to be together with her family and out of the house.

Esau rides Tim’s shoulders to water’s edge. Silvery wrinkles play across the surface beneath the duck’s bodies. Tim tosses them crusts and they fight. More giggles!

Then a bark breaks the moment… a dog tears up to the pond… scaring the birds away.

Tim and Esau watch them go. Then they gaze down at a soggy crust in the water.

And slowly, the ripples clear.

Like, Hello Everyone!

2009-01-18T19:00:00.004-06:00

Hi. My name is Megan and I’m the head cheerleader at West Valley High.

GO BADGERS!

I’m also like a were-cheetah, which is cool because cheetahs are like so hot. And not to brag I’m like the hottest girl at West Valley so I’m way smoking whether I’m doing a quadruple back somersault or running down that wench Cindy Johnson.

I don’t know why everyone is like so depressed around here. Being a were-cheetah is so awesome. I was worried at first when it came out that I had ALPS but my Dad is like this big time lawyer and he said he would sue the pants off of them if they like discriminated against me.

Which is weird because I don't know what he would use Principle Jones's pants for.

Anyway, since they put in a foot bath for that Muslim kid, a meditation room for Miss Riley who’s a Buddhist, and a field of daisies for the shop teacher Mr. Stone who just became a Hare Krishna I’m totally getting a selection of live farm animals to chose from in the cafeteria. I mean it is so awesome having ALPS because I can eat a whole goat and like none of it goes to my thighs.

When it first was rumored that I was a little bit different, that slut Cindy Johnson threatened to ostracize me if I didn’t step down and let her be head cheerleader. AS IF! There is no way I’d let that ho bag lead our squad when our football team needs us so bad. We were going to play Central that week and they are like so tough. Plus she has really bad hair. Like, Hello Cindy Johnson. You might want to have that looked at by someone other than Uncle Mort down at Great Clips. I mean have some Badger Pride.

You should have seen the look on her face when I growled at her and in a totally scary cheetah voice told her to “Step off whore or I’m like going to totally rip open your flat chested rib cage and feast on your still beating heart." I think she peed her pants which is totally awesome because Derek, the all state quarterback and total megababe totally saw her do it.

And that’s the best part. It turns out that Derek is a were-panther and he is so H-O-T. We totally hit it off and started hanging out together and stuff. And he totally asked me to Prom yesterday at lunch while we were munching on a Llama. Who knew Llama could be so romantic. Cindy Johnson is so jealous!

Anyway to quote that hunk Ryan Seacrest, Megan Out!

A Strange Interlude

2009-01-11T21:50:00.001-06:00

"Uh… hey, sorry I’m late.

My name is Jan and I’m a were-dog."

(Hi Jan!)

"Thank you all for having me here this evening. It’s not often that people want to talk with me. Unless they work for the government. Government operatives are everywhere!

Just letting you all know. You can’t be too careful when your life is at stake."

(someone coughs nervously in the audience)

"Okay, I guess I’m supposed to tell my story now. Well, let me see… I think I first realized my dog-like tendencies back in middle school. This other girl and I were doing report on global cooling. That was back when cooling was hot. Anyone remember that? Yeah, ANOTHER thing they’re not telling us about! It’s all conspiracies inside of conspiracies, like Ezekiel said.

Anyhow, we were supposed to work together. I was making little poster board snow clouds and she was cutting out pictures of icicles and stuff. Then her brother came in and started coughing. Like a weasel. Coughing and coughing. My first thought, of course, was that he was an android. You know how needles skip on a record? The artificial people are the same way. A bug like that has saved many lives by giving victims a chance to escape. At least it used to. Since they started putting organic brains in the new ones, they’re a LOT deadlier. But even those have their drawbacks."

(a few people shuffle and look around the room awkwardly)

"Where was I? Ah yes. My tendencies.

The first thing you should know is that I’m part Jewish. And not only that, I also have the Messiah gene. That means that I’m part Jesus. Not all the way, mind you! Just half! Seriously, I can’t save anyone, but I’m really good with children and the poor."

(Jan laughs uproariously for a minute, then stops as if a switch flipped)

"So the android brother, or so I thought him, was coughing and coughing. I found out later that he was human… but back then, I didn’t know. So I bit him! Actually, that’s when I found out he was human. It was really only a few seconds later. He bled, and it didn’t taste like the fake stuff the Builders use.

After I bit him, it was like I realized the truth. I wasn’t just part messiah. I was also part dog. I don’t know why I was chosen but I know there’s a reward coming!"

(Hank steps forward and speaks. “Um… Jan…”)

"Don’t interrupt me! This is important!"

(“I just wanted to tell you something.)

"Well… do it, then!"

(Hank leans closer to her. “I think the CIA is outside, waiting for you.”)

"WHAT? They found me?"

(Jan runs out. Hank steps to the mic.)

“Sorry folks. Geez. That was really weird! Do we need to start doing background checks before we let people speak around here? Or would that just be paranoid?”

The Request

2009-01-04T19:00:00.001-06:00

"Hi. My name's Frank. I'm not a werewolf or anything, but I'm married to one and my daughter is one."

[Everybody: "Hi Frank!"]

"Sixteen years ago, when my wife and I got married, I knew she was a werewolf. I mean, it's not something you can really hide, right? Especially since she transformed right in front of me while we were dating.

"I'd driven to a secluded spot I knew about for some quality alone time with her and things seemed to be going fine. But I got a bit carried away and missed some signal from her or something. Next thing I know, I'm in the back seat of the car with a werewolf growling, 'No means no, Frank!' For two weeks it was like I'd overdosed on saltpeter! Of course, we laugh about it now.

"So I knew what I was getting into when I married Bianca. Plus, it was kind of exciting, like living on the edge. Bianca wouldn't hurt me on purpose, but if a werewolf forgets how strong she is, she can really put a hurting on you!

"You've also got to be able to swallow your manly pride a bit when you're married to a lady werewolf. Take the time we visited New York City back in the '90s. We went for a stroll through Central Park. We didn't notice it was getting dark or that we'd wandered into a secluded area. Next thing you know, four punks leap out to do who knows what to us. In all the movies, it's the husband who moves in front of his wife, willing to give his life if it buys time for her to get away. That's not the way things go when your wife is a werewolf. Bianca just transformed and attacked. The way I figure it, that was just four guys Guliani's cops never had to worry about again!

"So, I could handle things when it was just me and Bianca. But then our only child, Danielle, hit puberty. If any of you out there have kids going through puberty, you already know what a pain it can be. Girls are a lot harder than boys, let me tell you! But it gets a lot harder when your daughter turns out to be a werewolf, too. And that's just what happened.

"It was about a month ago on a Friday night. We'd ordered pizza and were settling in to watch a movie. Danielle was already in a bad mood because she didn't have any plans and was stuck spending Friday night with her parents. So, you can guess how happy she was when her mother asked her to go downstairs and fold some laundry while we waited for the pizza to show up. The way she stomped into the basement, I'm surprised the stairs didn't break! Hoping to head of a major teenage tantrum, I followed her downstairs to help her fold the laundry. You can imagine how shocked I was when I saw her transform right in front of my eyes!

"That's another thing about teenagers. When they're all emotional, they do things they're going to regret later. Danielle saw me, howled and started after me! I was sure she was going to rip me to shreds if she caught me. And, you know, she'd have regretted it later but that wasn't going to help me any if I was dead! So, while I was running around the stairs trying to stay ahead of her, I screamed, 'Bianca! Help!'

"It was a good thing we were in the basement because Danielle's claws slipped a lot on the concrete floor. That's the only reason I was able to stay ahead of her. I even managed to get her to slide right into a big pile of laundry, getting all tangled up in it. And that's when Bianca got downstairs. She took one look at the fur Danielle was leaving all over the clean clothes and she transformed, too.

"The thing is, once she was in wolf form, she went all mother wolf on me. She saw me trying to tie up her cub using the clean laundry and lost all control. Suddenly, I was running from two werewolves! I dodged and dashed and tossed things into their paths and finally managed to get enough of a lead that I could run upstairs without them catching me. I slammed the door to the stairs shut and locked it, figuring I'd just wait until they both calmed down before unlocking it. They didn't wait to calm down, though.

"I had just reached the kitchen when I heard the door being smashed in half. I had maybe ten seconds before they were both ripping me to pieces. I dashed through the kitchen into the living room and grabbed up a DVD. They came piling into the living room, slavering and ready for the kill. Even though my heart was racing, I acted casual. Holding up the DVD I said, "Hi, honey. I thought we'd watch Beaches tonight. If that's okay with the two of you.'

"They both just stopped in their tracks. Then Bianca transformed back and said, 'I thought you hated Beaches, Frank.' Danielle growled.

"Flipping the DVD case over and pretending to read the back, I replied, 'I don't think I ever really gave it a chance, Bianca. But I'm ready and willing to watch it beginning to end with my two girls.' Danielle growled again.

"Bianca whirled on Danielle and said, 'That's enough of that attitude, young lady! Your father is willing to watch our favorite movie with us. So you just transform back this instant and apologize to him!'

"Danielle transformed back, 'Sorry, Daddy.'

"The doorbell rang. I smiled, 'That's okay, muffin. Can you get the movie loaded in the DVD player while I pay for the pizza?' She took the DVD and loaded it up. And the three of us watched Beaches.

"That brings me to the real reason I'm here. I'm not really looking for advice on how to handle a teenage werewolf. What I really want is to level the playing field. I don't want to have to be afraid of my own daughter and her teenage mood swings. And then Bianca's going to start going through menopause about the time Danielle heads off to college. So, I was hoping one of you who's a werewolf could transform and bite me? I really, really don't want to have to watch Beaches ever again!"

Badgers? We don't need no stinkin badgers.

2008-12-28T18:00:00.000-06:00

[A short squat man wearing a shiny metallic shirt only buttoned half way with wide collars heads up to the podium. His hair is slicked back and a shiny gold medallion is nestled comfortably in a copious tuft of chest hair.]

Hey Yo. My name is Joey LoDucca of LoDucca Brothers Automotive Repair and Storage. My parole office says I gots to come to these meetings. I’m like one of dem addicts or something.

[Hank the Were Wimp pipes in “Sir, I believe you want the meeting down the hall. This is Were Creatures Anonymous.”]

Oh Yeah, I’m one of dose too. I’m whatchu call one of dem dere Were-Badgers. My Girlfriend says I gots a bad temper and I needs to come to dese meetings. I told her to mind her own beeswax, but then the judge got all over me for kicking da crud out of some goombah that got in my way at the grocery store. I told him dat it was my right as an American citizen to kick the living tar out of jerks that annoy me. And then he said it was his right to send me to da pokey if I didn’t come to dese meetings.

I done already spent time in da big house. Dey don’t take too kindly to my kind if you know what I mean.

[Someone from the crowd yells out “Were-Creature?”]

No, Italian, ya dumb Pollock.

I don’t knows how you guys handle this. Every time I turn around there’s some moron begging to get his throat ripped out. Da guy who got me sent here took da last box of cinnamon pop tarts right before me. You can’t tell me dat he didn’t deserve to get blasted.

The other day there was dis tremendously fat fool going down the escalator and was just standing and not walking down. I couldn’t get around him, so I freakin blasted him. I mean go down the freakin escalator. If you don’t want to move, stay on your couch and watch reruns of Bonanza for heavens sake. Damn Hoss wannabe just stood there wasting my time.

And dis time of da year, they come out in force. You can’t reach your hand out without brushing up against some moron that is dying to get blasted. I say go return your crappy gift and get the freak off of da roads. You people are really pissing me off.

Dat’s all I gots ta say. And remember if you need good quality repairs on your mode of vehicular transportation or need some place to store your boat, RV, or expensive pieces of jewelry, be sure to call LoDucca Brothers.

Lollipop Love

2008-12-21T19:00:00.001-06:00

“Hi, I’m Hank and I’m a werewolf.”

[Everyone: Hi Hank!]

“I’m… Uh… Wow, this is tougher than I thought… Okay, I’m just going to come right out and say it…”

[Person in the crowd: So say it already!]

“I was working up to it! This isn’t easy and you’ll understand when I finally say it… All right… Out with it…

“I’m in love with a lollipop!”

[Same person: A what?]

“A lollipop. What’s with all the blank stares? Geez, don’t you people know what a lollipop is?”

[Miguel: I know-]

“Besides you, Miguel… Man, don’t any of you people ever go out or read anything in the press? A lollipop is a vampire!

“You guys still don’t get it? It’s like this. A vampire is a blood sucker. People shorten blood sucker to sucker. And a sucker is another word for a lollipop. See? It’s simple.

“I can see by your faces that this isn’t sinking in. Let’s just say vampires would rather be called lollipops than scabbies. At least the girls would. And that’s what I want to tell you about. I’m in love with a girl vampire!

“I’d been looking around for a script writer to infect with ALPS so we could get a big, sympathetic movie made about us. And with that stupid editorial calling for internment of all of us, I figured it was more important than ever to find the script writer fast! I did some searching around on the internet. By the way, thanks for fixing my computer again, Miguel!"

[Miguel: No prob, dude.]

“Anyway, I’d found this guy, Luke Dorn, who was taking a break from Hollywood for a few months. He came here to teach writing for a semester at a local college and work on a book he was writing. Anyway, I tracked-“

[Miguel: You tracked?]

“Okay, I told Miguel about the guy and he tracked him down somehow. I think Miguel used his computer but I don’t know. Anyway, once I knew where Luke lived and worked, I watched him for a while to figure out his habits. It turns out he always hits a sports bar on Monday nights to watch football. I started going to same bar and it wasn’t too hard to manage to meet him and get him talking. That’s an essential skill for a used car salesman! Besides, he made it easy. He always wore a Philadelphia Eagles hat and jacket. I just showed up wearing the same and he did most of my work for me.

“Anyway, we became good buddies. I wasn’t faking that, either. Luke turned out to be a good guy. Nice enough I was starting to feel sorry I had to infect him with ALPS. Last Monday, I suggested we meet at his apartment after work and grab a bite to eat before the game. That way I could bite him in private and not give the papers any more bad stuff to write about us.

“I showed up at Luke’s place at 6:30 and he offered me a beer while he finished up something. I kicked in a little of the power just to sense if he was nervous or anything. And right then the door opened and a woman walked in. A really good looking woman.

“Luke said, ‘Oh, good. I was hoping you’d get home in time! Hank, this is my sister Michelle.’

“But we weren’t paying attention to Luke. Michelle glared at me and said, “Alpo.” I glared back and said, “Scabbie.” Luke was just looking back and forth between us looking confused when Michelle leaped at me.

“She knocked me back into the wall but I just used it to push off and hit her hard, knocking her down. Next thing, we were rolling all around trying to get an advantage on the other. I really wanted to fully transform, but you know how you have to give it all your concentration for a second or so to transform if the moon isn’t full? Well, I figured if I took that second or so, she’d rip my throat out or something.

“In the background, I think Luke was shouting at us. He was probably trying to figure out what was going on, too. Can’t say I blame him. I mean, his sister and his new friend were rolling around on the floor, breaking his furniture and trying to kill each other. It’d probably freak out any normal.

“Michelle and I rolled up against this monster couch that Luke had and everything stopped for a second. She was lying on top of me, trying to pin my arms to the floor. We were both panting and I’ll bet I had the same wild, uncontrolled look in my eyes that she had in hers. I could feel blood rolling down the side of my cheek from a cut. Then it was like the whole world vanished for a few seconds. It just her and me, staring into each other’s eyes. That’s when she leaned down and licked the blood off my cheek. The look on her face told me everything.

“She was hungry and it was taking every bit of control she had to fight her natural instincts. I know how that feels. We all know how that feels. So I said, ‘Go ahead and feed. It’s okay. ’ I turned my head and offered my neck to her. That wasn’t easy to do, I’ll tell you!

“Her fangs popped out but she still hesitated. ‘I… I shouldn’t!’

“’Why not?’ I asked her. ‘Remember? I’m a werewolf. I’ll heal! Let yourself go. Everyone needs to do that every now and then.’

“I’ve got a better idea why vampires are having an easier time fitting in to noral society than we are. Having a vampire feed on you is… Well, it’s hard to describe. It hurts a bit at first but then it becomes really intimate. It’s not like sex, but it’s just as intimate.

“After a few minutes, it dawned on us that Luke was still in the room watching us. It was almost embarrassing. Kind of like being in college and having your roommate ignore the tie you left on the door knob and walked in at the wrong time. But Luke was embarrassed by it. Hell, he was busy scribbling in a notebook and muttering, ‘This is great stuff!’

“I won’t go over everything that happened afterwards, but get this. Luke’s going to write that screenplay we want! He’s going to put vampires in it, too, which makes sense considering his sister is one. It’s going to be about how alienated both groups are from normal society. I didn’t even have to give Luke ALPS to get him started! And I met a wonderful girl at the same time!

“I love it when a plan comes together!”

Underwere

2008-12-14T19:00:00.002-06:00

“Hello, I’m Andrew, and I’m a were-bear.”

[Group snickers]

“Not a ‘Care Bear,’ damn it!” Sorry, I get that a lot. Anyway, I’ll just cut to the chase. For those of you who don’t know, this is my first time here… I guess it all started when I went to college. I’m sure you’ve heard of the freshman fifteen. Well, I got the freshman fifty. My sophomore year I gained another hundred pounds. By my senior year I weighed over four hundred pounds. Hair was growing all over my body, and I don’t mean in the annoying sex education video way. Fortunately that was the extent of the transformations at the time. ‘Cause the doctors I saw thought I just needed a diet. I told ‘em I tried dieting, but they wouldn’t listen. Maybe there was something to just being big-boned.

“After college I got a job in construction, on account of my ability to bench-press a small car. Yeah, I see the nervous looks on your faces now. That’s why you don’t make fun of a man telling his life story. But don’t worry. I’m over it. Really. Anyway, I worked nights at a gay strip club. Don’t know why, but for some reason some folks there liked me. A lot.

“That was when it all took a turn for the worse. One night near the end of the construction season I came home hammered and went to bed—I was sleeping on the floor after having broken several mattresses—and the next thing I knew I was out of a job. It went like this: I come in early in the morning, eat all the donuts—I was so hungry I could have eaten a horse… sorry Mr. Ed—and then one of my coworkers, Rick, comes up to me and says, ‘I doubt they’ll hire you again.’ I had no idea what he meant. None whatsoever. Soon though, I found out that I was late to work. Not that morning, mind you. Work wouldn’t have started for nearly an hour. It was more that I was several months late. Hibernation. Like Rip Van frickin’ Winkle, it’s great at the time, but later you wish you didn’t waste a significant portion of your life. Of course I took my frustration out on my boss—ate him, I did—and then I killed all my coworkers, ate bits and pieces from some of them too. Why are you all looking at me so funny? I’m on a strict salmon diet now. I swear.

[Nervous looks abound]

“Um… so, last week I was number one on the Threat Down on the Colbert Report. Anyone see my picture? Oh, you did? What do you mean you wonder whether or not Constitutional rights apply to were-folks? Second Amendment? What are you pulling out...? Aaahh! Lord no! My only regret is that I didn’t kill you all the moment I came in here…

[BLAM! Shortly thereafter another group member stands up]

“Hi, I’m Dave, and I’m a were-African lion. Remember the African part. Asiatic lions suck! Sorry about the mess, by the way. No thanks necessary for saving your lives. It’s what I do. You see, I’m a bounty hunter nowadays. I used to be a mascot though. You can guess who for. By the way, eat it Chicago! Sorry, you can see that I’m really into pride. It’s okay. You can laugh. It’s funny. Hey, all we need is a were-tiger, oh my!

“I don’t really have my story all prepared or anything. I just came here to kill the were-bear. But hey, you’re cool. You’re all cool. I think I’ll sit down and listen to what you have to say. Maybe I’ll come back next week for someone else. Just kidding! Jeez, you guys are twitchier than a freshly killed zebra! Sorry, I’ll stop now. Really, I will. I’ll come back next week—for real now—if this thing proves interesting. I won’t hurt anyone else. I’m not lyin’. Get it? I’m not ‘lion’? Wow. This crowd is tougher than a grandpa wildebeest. In all seriousness though, I’ve never eaten a were-person. Just normal people! Kidding. Only kidding. You’d think this was a support group for paranoid freaks. You know… batty people. Sorry if anyone is a were-bat.

“Hey, how about wearing clothes? I mean how it’s like for us were-types to wear clothes. Is there a were-clothes in here? HAHAHAHAHA! Just checking. Personally I don’t wear underwear. I mean shedding though. That is hell on the clothes. Embarrassing. I mean if that isn’t the elephant in the room here, what is? Well, except Dumbo over there… sorry.

“Man, this is pun! We should do this more often. See you soon. You won’t see me though. Not until it’s too late, anyway. Honestly, will you all calm down and stop sweating like pigs? You bunch of Chickens. Oops. I shouldn’t have said that. Hey, just wait until we get a powerful lobby in Washington, like the Jews. Hmm, Wilbur, are you kosher? Never again! We shall overcome! Were-pride! Peace out, dudes! Wait, just one more thing. Anyone want to take this thorn out of my paw? No takers? Uh oh, now something’s got the were-elephant all frightened.

Feeling a Bit Strange...

2008-12-12T21:38:00.001-06:00

It's really cloudy here in Middle America... lots of rain... but I'm feeling REALLY frisky/angry/dangerous/wild tonight.

Anyone else feel that way?

A Call to Reason

2008-12-07T19:00:00.001-06:00

(The following editorial appeared in the Sunday, December 7th edition of the Miami Herald.)

by Michael Zevon

Imprisoning civilians? Mass quarantines? Targeting minorities?

It sounds like a nightmare straight from the dark days of Stalin’s purges - but if a certain uninformed and overwrought segment of our nation gets their way, these atrocities could soon be taking place right here in America. Who knows – someone in your family might be targeted!

Now, what would bring this attack on a sub-set of America? Who do you think these new “criminals” would be? Illegal immigrants? Terror suspects?

Far from it! Rather, some elitists are focusing their fear and hatred on the sufferers of a rare and hard-to-spread disease – Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome (ALPS).

Yes, we’ve heard the stories. That people living with ALPS turn “violent” or somehow transform into “werewolves” or “killing machines.” Granted, there have been some minor incidents. But that needn’t mean that ALPS victims need to be treated with contempt! Quite the opposite. The men and women that struggle with this disease, and indeed any other disease, need an extra dose of care! How about showing some compassion? Maybe even a little love? A little education and awareness go a long way. In this age of supposed tolerance, shouldn’t we be over the prejudices of the past?

Apparently some aren’t. For example, consider this quote from the editors of the Chicago Tribune: “Until a cure is found, we call on President-Elect Obama to order the internment of all those who suffer from ALPS.” (Nov. 30th, 2008)

Unbelievable! Interment? This is not WWII! We’re talking about our fellow Americans. Our neighbors. Our friends. Not our enemies.

No wonder ALPS sufferers are reluctant to share their struggles! Would you if you were afraid of discrimination… or even of being put behind bars… just because you have some occasional hard-to-control symptoms? Certainly not!

It’s time to stop the madness. Ask yourself – is this or is this not a free country? Those in power have already damaged their credibility through anti-freedom legislation such as the Patriot Act. It’s time to stop finding new targets and start returning to the freedoms on which this nation was founded.

Or one day we may all wake up in chains.

Until a Cure Is Found

2008-11-30T19:00:00.006-06:00

(The following editorial appeared in the Sunday, November 30, edition of the Chicago Tribune):

The McCarthy Park Massacre. All of our readers are, by now, thoroughly familiar with this unfortunate incident. All of our readers know the world of journalism lost Les Nesman in the Massacre. All of our readers know of the call from PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) for a criminal investigation into publishing giant Rampant Loon’s role in the Massacre; a call the editors second most heartily. Despite the immediacy of these stories, they serve only to misdirect attention from the true issue.

What is to be done with those who have contracted Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome, or ALPS as it is called in the popular press?

The editors are second to none in their compassion for the poor souls who, through no fault of their own, have contracted this dread disease. But compassion must be tempered with caution. Unlike cancer or AIDS, those who suffer from ALPS are a threat to the community around them. We fully understand that these wretched individuals are not to blame for their rampages. We fully understand their bestial alter egos are beyond their control. But we also fully understand the citizens of this city, this state, this country deserve to walk the streets without fear of attack.

Consider the toll paid in the McCarthy Park Massacre:

- Les Nesman, news reporter for NPR station WWSL
- George Sweeny, cameraman for WWSL TV
- Two pedestrians, identities still unknown
- 62 turkeys
- An unknown number of pigeons and squirrels

This toll is too high to pay once, yet similar stories are found in city after city across this great land of ours.

Therefore, the editors call upon the federal government to step forward and take ownership of problem. Until a cure is found, we call upon President-Elect Obama to put an end to the fear and horror. Until a cure is found, we call for a real War on Terror, a war on the terror ALPS brings to communities large and small, rich and poor, urban and rural. Until a cure is found, we call on President-Elect Obama to protect our husbands and wives, our sons and daughters. Until a cure is found, we call on President-Elect Obama to order the internment of all those who suffer from ALPS.

It's for the children.

Rampant Loon's Turkey Surprise!

2008-11-27T08:00:00.002-06:00

The following was a live broadcast by WWSL's own Les Nesman, reporting from McCarthy Park:

Notes from the Annual Thanksgiving Meeting

2008-11-23T19:00:00.034-06:00

Henry:

"Greetings, all, and welcome to a very special meeting of the Friends of Lon. For any who haven't heard, we'll be meeting with another support group, the Mexican-American Were-Jaguars Anonymous, at McCarthy Park across from the Rampant Loon world headquarters. I'm told Rampant Loon has some special surprise in store for all of us!

"Before we leave for the park, I thought it would be a appropriate for each of us to briefly tell the group what we're thankful for. So, who would like to go first?"

Sean:

"Hey all, this is Sean the were-hyena. It's that time of year again, Thanksgiving. Most of the year I find little to laugh at but there is something about the fall season that I love. I don't know if it the leaves changing color, the longer nights, or the cooler temperatures which means that hobos don't smell as bad and as an added bonus I can usually eat off of one for a few days before they start to turn.

"Thanksgiving is all about giving thanks, so I thought I would share with my fellow WCA members some things I'm thankful for.

"I'm thankful for my wife and family. I'm thankful for my house. I'm sorta thankful for my job. I'm thankful for the crisp snap of a fresh kidney. I'm thankful that the Adkins fad is ending, I mean everyone knows the real flavor comes from proper marbling. Am I right or what? But most of all I'm thankful for all of you here at the WCA.

"Lon bless and have a great holiday season!"

Henry:

"That was beautiful, Sean, just beautiful, and I'm sure we can all agree about the importance of proper marbling. Now, who wants to go next?"

Shannon:

"Hello friends and fellow were-creatures.

"Let’s face it. The highlight of Thanksgiving is, and always will be, The Turkey. Who wouldn’t love it, I mean, it’s a holiday that revolves around the slaughter and consumption of a large bird! But for those with ALPS it can be such a depressing time of year. When Grandma calls everyone to the table and places the large, carcass-laden platter in front of Grandpa to carve, I always feel such a sense of let down. It just looks so dead! Aunt Molly oohs and aahs about the beautiful golden color on the thing and I have to pretend I’m excited too… but I’m really thinking how revolting it looks. People spend so much time worrying about not overcooking the turkey so the white meat doesn’t dry out, but they miss the fact that the whole thing’s way too dry if it isn’t still warm and filled with its own pulsating natural juices!

"But you can’t just go out and get your own turkey. Not a live one that you can really sink your teeth into. They have to monopolize the whole process. You have few options other than going to the grocery store and picking up this frozen hunk of dead meat wrapped in plastic. Disgusting.

"That’s why I’m so thrilled about this celebration with all of you who understand what it’s like to feel this way. And I’m so excited about the turkey drop! This year we all get to experience Thanksgiving the way, I feel, it was meant to be celebrated! And best of all, it’s in this controlled environment, so we know no innocent bystanders will be harmed. I think that’s what the “others” are really worried about when they control the holiday anyway. They’re just so blissfully ignorant.

"Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving to everyone!"

Henry:

"Thank you, Shannon. That was wonderful. I'm sure we all have childhood memories like that, of the disappointment of finding out that the turkey was already dead and we wouldn't even get to play with the ax. But I think someone here has been tipped off about the little surprise that's been planned for later, and I think maybe we should try to keep it a secret for those who haven't been clued in yet.

"Okay, who wants to go next?"

Hank:

"Hi, this Hank the werewolf. Ever since the director suggested each of us get up and tell what we're thankful for, I've been trying to figure out what to say. The problem is that I'm not really thankful for my job. I'm not thankful about the whole situation with Larry the were-bully. And I'm really not thankful for the way us people with ALPS are feared and hated by the normals.

"But that got me thinking and I realized there are a bunch of things I am thankful for. I'm thankful I found this group. Meetings of the Friends of Lon are high points for me each week. I'm thankful for the friends I've made here. Like Lucrezia, who always brings a different point of view to our meetings. Then there's Miguel, who's going to help me deal with the whole Larry situation and who fixes my computer when I screw it up. And killercutie16 just because she seems to have such a wonderful zest for life. And all the rest of you I haven't gotten to know quite as well, yet.

"Oh yeah, and I'm thankful I got the crap kicked out of me by Summer Glau. Because then she gave me a kiss! Now if I could just find a good script writer to infect with ALPS...

"So, happy Thanksgiving, one and all! Here's hoping you don't have to chase your turkey, bite its head off, rip open its rib cage and feast on its still beating heart!"

Henry:

"As usual, Hank, I have no idea what to say after listening to you. I'm sure we're all happy you've found friends here in the WCA. And I know I speak for everyone when I say we are all entertained whenever it's your turn to speak!

"Who's next?"

Jim:

"Hey, uh, hi... [THUMP THUMP THUMP] is this thing on? Okay, sorry. Seems fine.

"Uh, well. Okay. Happy Thanksgiving to all of you.

"I have to say, this last year has been, uh, a little tough for me. So, I guess I have to first of all say that I'm thankful for you guys. I'm really amazed by the way I poured my heart out to you, and I wasn't ejected from the group or treated like a freak.

"Most of you know about my, uh, sexual urges. Sorry to all the were-cougar group... I probably shouldn't get into it. But, I have to say, that my tendency to be attracted to dogs and wolves and stuff hasn't kept me from a meaningful relationship with my wife, who's, uh, human, not a dog.

"And seriously, STOP staring at me like that. You in the front row, with the Devo shirt. Stop it!

"Freak.

"Okay, so, anyhow. All that to say, I'm really really thankful for my wife... she's stood by me even through my struggle... even that time at the Bark Park where I saw this smokin' hot doberman an...

"Sorry. Don't look at me like that, people! And Devo Boy - SHRIVEL UP!

"Where was I? Oh yeah. I'm thankful for my wife. She's actually here tonight, for the first time... she doesn't have ALPS, but she came to support me...

"Uh, hon? Anyone see her? Row three... okay, maybe she's in the bathroom or something?

"Paging Carol... paging Carol... okay, fine then! Whatever.

"Happy thanksgiving, folks."

Henry:

"Okay. I think Jim's words more than speak for themselves.

So, moving right along, who wants to go next?"

Mike:

"Hi all. I'm Mike. Maybe you remember when I told the real story behind Little Red Riding Hood? I haven't gotten up to speak since then, just been lending an ear and my support to everyone. But since everyone else is speaking, I thought I ought to, as well.

"I'm thankful I'm not having any problems dealing with ALPS. No problems I can't handle, anyway. And I'm thankful all of you gave such good feedback after I spoke about my ancestor, Peter Stumpp. I'm thankful all of you could understand and appreciate the problems my long ago ancestor faced.

"I'm also thankful I've learned so much about research while investigating my genealogy. After reading about Peter, I started wondering if any other folk tales and legends might actually be about werewolves, or at least people with ALPS. So I expanded my research and am tracking down a bunch of different stories and legends that are probably werewolf related. So I'm also thankful I'll have an appreciative audience when I present those stories, too.

"Happy Thanksgiving!"

Henry:

"I don't know about the rest of the group, but I'm looking forward to your next presentation. I certainly enjoyed your more adult version of Little Red Riding Hood, particularly the whole carnal urges bit!

"Have we got anyone else who wants to speak?"

Bill and Sharon:

(An older middle-aged couple step forward together, holding hands.)

"Hello friends, I'm Bill!"

"And I'm Sharon!"

"So... Sharon... want me to do this?"

"No, Bill... I don't mind sharing."

"Go for it, babe."

(He kisses her on the cheek... the audience "aahs" their approval. She steps in front of the podium.)

"Hello all! A lot of nice things have been said tonight. And, I know you've heard our story before... how we met, fell in love, ate some cops and lived happily ever after.

"Well, it really wasn't all roses and champagne. I have to say, we felt really bad after the cop incident. I had indigestion for a week!"

(laughter from audience)

"Bill and I are a little further along in our lives than many of you. Back when we got ALPS, hardly anyone knew what to do with it. Now we have support groups, and muzzle locks, and all kinds of things that make life a little easier.

"But most of all, we have each other. We don't have to feel alone. I mean golly, girls! Remember how tough it used to be to find a good lycanthrope boy? Almost impossible!

"Bill and I feel strongly that knowledge is power. Awareness has been raised, even though we have a lot further to go. That's why I'm thankful for the many people that care about ALPS, care about how we feel, and allow some of our little foibles to be overlooked.

"Have a howling good Thanksgiving, fellow were-creatures!"

(They both step forward together and throw their heads back.)

"AROOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Henry:

"That's so touching. I'm sure the rest of all wish we could as fortunate as you two. I know I'd love to meet that special woman with ALPS like Bill did!

"Anyone else want to speak?"

Miguel

"Hi boys and girls... with fangs!

"So... as most of you know, I just joined this alpo group... oh geez, sorry, uh... ALPS group a little while ago, thanks to my friend Hank, and I want to say how much I really appreciate your acceptance.

"I suppose since I'm a second generation immigrant to this great nation, I should say something about how I'm "thankful to be in America, the land of the free." Well, I am grateful for that, I guess. Though seriously, it's not as free as we think it is. Man, you gotta like get a license to do ANYTHING here. It's like, every little thing requires a paid form and a permission slip. What's up with that?

(silence)

"Okay, well... guess that was off-topic. Sorry. Anyhow, I have to say, I'm thankful for the fact that I finally get to be just who I am. I'm like a minority among minorities here, and you guys are all so friendly and nice. You didn't get on my case about my past, or treat me like I'm second class or anything. I appreciate that a ton. It's like were-Martin were-Luther were-King were-Jr. said, uh, "ask not what you can do for your country..." Never mind, I can't remember what he said. Just that it was something good about equality.

"All right... peace out. If anyone needs some computer work done, give me a ring."

Henry:

"Thanks, Miguel. We're glad you found us. And the WCA membership secretary wanted me to tell you she really appreciates you getting her computer fixed. He knows his stuff, folks!

"Is there anybody else who wants to speak? Anybody?

"Lucrezia? How about it? Don't shake your head. Come on, you'll be- yipe!

"O-o-o-okay. Lucrezia doesn't want to speak right now. Anyone else?

"No? Okay, then let's head over to the park and join the Mexican-American Were-Jaguars Anonymous group and find out about Rampant Loon's big Thanksgiving surprise!"

Full Moon On a Cloudy Night

2008-11-16T19:00:00.009-06:00

"Hi, I'm Hank. The werewolf. I've been up here a couple of times already and didn't think my turn would come around so fast. But the group director said I should plan on speaking, anyway. He said people always felt better about themselves after listening to me. That made me feel really good 'cause I wasn't sure my stuff was helping at all.

"I had to kind of scramble to figure out something to talk about tonight since I hadn't been thinking about it. Then I remembered something that happened back in college that kind of works with what's been going on in the country lately. So...

"You know I went a long way away for college so I could get away from Larry. He's the bully I accidentally turned into a werewolf in seventh grade. I went all the across the country to Berkeley and the University of California. I really didn't know that much about it before I got there, other than it was supposed to be a really good school and they sometimes had a good football team. Some people think it's silly, but I didn't know it was, like, the most liberal place on the face of the earth!

"I come from South Carolina, which isn't exactly what you'd call a big liberal stronghold. I was kind of libertarian in high school. The right to be left alone, particularly by bullies, really appealed to me. So I was used to being considered the 'liberal' guy. Man, was I in for a shock at Berkley!

"The city was so liberal they set up a reserved parking space right in front of the military recruiting office so protesters wouldn't have to walk so far to bitch and moan about the marines or the army. We just don't do things like that in the South. We've got respect for the people willing to join and serve! So, like I said, I went from being the liberal wacko at home to being some kind of right wing nut case at college. That's why I ended up making friends with a bunch of the Republicans on campus. I mean, what choice did I have?

"It was an overcast, chilly day in February, my freshman year, that it happened. I'd gone out with some of the buddies from the College Republicans to help put up signs for an appearance by Ann Coulter. I didn't really know much about her back then except she looked really hot and my friends said she was a real political smart ass. The posters all had a picture of Ann on them, plus the guys were going out for beer afterward. That's why I agreed to help.

"So, we spent a couple of hours putting signs up all over campus and were heading back for the beer when we saw them. It was some of the really big pain-in-the-ass, really far left wing guys who were always trying to break up the Republican meetings. They were coming along behind us and tearing down all the posters we had just put up! Man, that just pissed us off no end!

"They saw us about that time and just pointed and laughed at us. Called us a bunch of Hitler youth, ragged on us for being so intolerant and that sort of stuff.

"One of my buddies said, 'You know we can report you for all of this. You're taking down our signs, using hate speech and being intolerant.'

"This really fat guy who was sort of the groups leader said, 'You mean we're acting like Republicans?'

"I couldn't stand that guy. He was always so smug and superior. So I said, 'They have never taken down your signs! They don't call you communists or any other names. And they never try to shout you down when you're offering your stupid opinions like you do to them!'

"He just laughed, 'Why wouldn't we shout them down? We're the most tolerant people on earth and we can't just stand by and let people like you ruin that!'

"I just stared at him. 'Guys, we can't talk to morons like him. Let's just kick their asses and make them put the signs back up.'

"I know I sound pretty brave and all, but I knew I had an advantage on those guys. I could just unleash a bit of the ALPS and beat the crap out of them without any problem. But my friends didn't know that and there were more of them than us. So they hemmed and hawed a bit. And that's when it all went wrong.

"The fat guy shouted, 'You're going to kick my ass? My ass is way too big for a wimp like you to kick! See?'

"Then the fat guy turned around, dropped his pants and stuck his big ass out at us. The light from an outdoor lamp hit it just right and all I could see what a big, full moon in front of me. I couldn't help it. I transformed and totally lost control. It was lucky for the other guys that they were with fatty. I got so full devouring him that I didn't even bother to chase them. Of course, all that blood ruined the Ann Coulter posters, too.

"Well you can guess what happened next. I got called up before the administrators for it. Fortunately, my parents paid for a really good lawyer who claimed that mooning a person with ALPS could reasonably be considered hate speech. The college agreed to hush up the whole thing and drop all charges if I transferred to another college immediately. I decided I'd better get back to the South, but not too close to home. So I transferred to the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

"That didn't work out so well, either, but that's another story."

Werechat II: The Plan

2008-11-09T19:00:00.001-06:00

Hank: Miguel? You there?

Miguel: hey man

Hank: What did you think of the group meeting? Going to come back to the next one?

Miguel: maybe

Hank: Only maybe? Why?

Miguel: well... i'm a bit afraid of possible consequences

Miguel: i really spilled it, you know

Hank: Dude, you were nothing compared to what some people spilled!

Miguel: oh yeah?

Hank: One guy's got this thing for dogs now!

Hank: In a perverted way

Miguel: oh geez. like all dogs? or just cute ones?

Miguel: j/k

Hank: I don't think he cares.

Miguel: why would anyone share something like that?

Hank: And one guy told about how he and his fiance ripped apart a couple of mean deputies.

Miguel: dude!!!

Miguel: copkillers!

Hank: People like us have to let this stuff out!

Hank: Nah, the cops were being total dicks.

Miguel: maybe it would be better to keep it all in

Miguel: ah, thats normal

Miguel: for cops

Hank: And let it fester and and then you get even worse. It's a psycological fact!

Miguel: well... i dont know about that. but there is one reason to go back, i guess. maybe

Hank: You've got to have what the shrinks call an outlet or you'll go crazy!

Miguel: okay

Hank: Oh ho! And who is the one reason to go back?

Miguel: not you, of course

Hank: Better not be!

Miguel: but... that lady

Miguel: lucy?

Hank: Lucrezia?

Miguel: a longer name... starts w - yes! that's it

Miguel: kind of scary

Hank: Yeah, she's hot, isn't she?

Miguel: hot and scary, had nice clogs on, i notiecd

Hank: You got a thing about feet?

Miguel: no

Hank: Uh huh.

Miguel: i said no... just drop it

Hank: Ok. Dropping it. Geez!

Miguel: so... change subject... why do you care if i go back?

Miguel: really worried about my mental helth?

Hank: Sure.

Miguel: right

Hank: It looks bad for all of us if one of us goes crazy.

Miguel: you probably want to corner me and talk about spyware problems your having

Hank: Nope. You had me setup that scanner thing and it's doing okay.

Miguel: hard to mess up.

Hank: This is more about bullies and stuff. Like what you ran into as a kid. I had trouble with bullies, too.

Miguel: so... you dont want a rough alpo, then?

Miguel: *rogue

Miguel: okay

Hank: Dude, I TOLD you to STOP with the alpo bit!

Miguel: sorry lol

Hank: So anyway, I first found out I had ALPS when this kid was bullying me back in seventh grade.

Miguel: that sucks

Hank: His name was Larry and he had his own little gang.

Hank: Yeah, it did.

Miguel: tough guys always have their "little gangs"

Miguel: not so tough alone

Hank: Larry and his gang were trying to beat the crap out of me when I transformed for the first time.

Hank: I wouldn't know about that.

Miguel: and whipped them???

Hank: Worse, I bit them but didn't kill them.

Miguel: so you gave them alps?

Hank: Yeah. And Larry was the alpha.

Miguel: serves them right

Miguel: what did he get then?

Miguel: badger?

Hank: They were all werewolves like me.

Hank: But since Larry was alpha, I had to join his stupid pack.

Miguel: oh! thats right - my bad

Miguel: werewolf strain

Miguel: no you didn't!

Hank: And he made my life a living Hell until I got away by going across the country to college.

Miguel: lone wolf hank

Hank: Not as easy as you think, dude. Particularly when you've got seven or eight other wolves forcing you into the pack.

Miguel: you must have it bad. sometimes i hear the calls... but i can usually lock myself inside

Miguel: dont tell anyone

Hank: Larry's the guy I'd like to shoot with a dart gun filled with ALPS cure.

Miguel: then what... tear open his ribcage???

Hank: Oh yeah.

Miguel: geez

Hank: Or maybe just scare the crap out of him once he sees I'm in charge?

Miguel: thats better

Miguel: killing on acident is one thing. purpose is another

Hank: But the cure isn't out there yet so I've got another plan.

Miguel: go for it

Hank: Larry still runs his little gang down in South Carolina. That's where I grew up.

Miguel: okay

Hank: I figure I just need to show up with my own gang. A gang of good weres to take on Larry and his pack.

Miguel: like a micheal jackson video!

Hank: Probalby not.

Miguel: arooooooo!

Hank: I can't dance worth a darn.

Miguel: oh

Miguel: me either

Hank: Problem is I can't get anyone else in the group to join my gang of good guys.

Miguel: there probably thinking the same thing as me

Miguel: bad idea

Miguel: not worth it

Hank: I was hoping you'd join and others would follow.

Hank: What's wrong with the idea?

Miguel: why would i want to join?

Miguel: what about getting arrested???

Hank: Nah. Nobody likes Larry back at home. The cops would be glad he got his butt whupped.

Hank: Trust me.

Miguel: okay. but who would want to help? i dont have a gruge!

Hank: We're a support group! Don't you think you should support me in my hour of need?

Hank: I'd do the same for you!

Hank: Really.

Hank: I would.

Miguel: i appreciate it... but

Hank: But?

Miguel: not much for fighting

Hank: Ah, man. I'm never going to get my gang...

Miguel: well..

Hank: Yeah?

Miguel: promise me you wont go alone

Miguel: sounds dangerous

Hank: I never go home for that reason. My family comes up here to visit me, instead.

Miguel: thats just sad

Hank: I had to sneak out of town just to go to college.

Hank: So you won't join me gang of good weres?

Miguel: what if you beat him? will the others follow?

Hank: Sure. If you beat the alpha you become the alpha.

Miguel: you just need to beat him then

Miguel: alone

Hank: I don't know... I never could before and I bet he's still as mean and strong and stupid as ever!

Miguel: you need a delilah

Hank: A what?

Miguel: delilah. chick in the good book

Miguel: tricked samson

Miguel: made him weak and the enemies got him

Hank: I don't know what a chick could cut off of him that would let me kick his butt, though.

Miguel: i just think you need a trap, not a gang

Miguel: why am i helping you!!!

Hank: Cause you're my friend?

Miguel: your just sad

Hank: A trap. Hm...

Miguel: yes, im your friend

Miguel: ha ha ha hA HA HAHA!

Hank: I got to think on the trap idea for a while.

Miguel: i got it for you

Miguel: hence that laughter

Hank: Yeah?

Miguel: im delilah

Miguel: hee hee hee

Hank: You're not a cross dresser are you?

Miguel: no

Miguel: but on the net you can be anything

Hank: Oh!

Miguel: get my idea?

Hank: Yeah! Assuming Larry's smart enough to even use a computer.

Miguel: probably... not everyone has your problems.

Miguel: j/k

Hank: So you'll set up a rendezvous with him to lure him away from his pack then I kick his butt from an ambush?

Miguel: it could work

Miguel: i dont know if i want to be involved but it is a very fun idea

Hank: Yeah, it just might.

Miguel: listen... if you offer me something really good, ill help you

Hank: Glad you didn't suggest using Lucrezia as the Delilah cause she'd probably rip open both our rib cages!

Miguel: im low on work.

Miguel: ha ha ha ha ha

Miguel: i dont want her falling for anyone

Hank: What kind of work do you usually do?

Miguel: other than computers... sometimes fix other sutff

Hank: She wouldn't fall for Larry. She's got to have better taste than that!

Hank: Cars?

Miguel: girls like bad guys

Miguel: sure

Miguel: cars are easy

Hank: Yeah, but girls don't like morons.

Hank: At least smart girls don't.

Miguel: not good at chips and stuff, but classics are a breeze

Miguel: sometimes they dont realize until its too late

Hank: OK, let me check with my boss at the used car lot tomorrow. He's always moaning and groaning about the cost of fixing up some of the cars we get.

Miguel: okay

Miguel: get me a regular job and ill set the bait

Miguel: but i dont want to fight

Miguel: seriously

Hank: Deal.

Miguel: deal

Hank: I'll call you tomorrow once I talk to the boss.

Miguel: sounds fine. think lucrazia will be at the next meeting?

Hank: She never misses.

Miguel: cool. better go... ill see you then

Hank: OK. Cya

Miguel: later

2008-11-02T19:00:00.001-06:00

[A tall, lanky man, elderly and walking with a cane, moves slowly toward a lectern toward the front and on the left side of the room. His thin, graying hair pulled back in a ponytail seems incongruous with his pressed suit and neatly trimmed Van Dyke. Even with the lectern toward the middle of the room is a table with a slide projector, the bright light shining on the screen hanging down the wall at the front of the room and washing out the pale features of another man sitting off to the side of the table. The pale man's hand lightly holds a box with a cord attached leading back to the projector, and a bucket sits on the floor beside him.]

[Reaching the lectern, the tall man tentatively clears his throat and begins to speak.]

Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen. My name is Graham Stewart, and the gentleman operating the slide projector is my colleague Roger Adams. We are from the British Royal Institute for ALPS Research, or BRIAR. Our main offices are located at Lancaster Gate in London, which we call BRIARGATE. Thank you all for granting us time for this little presentation. It's actually rather short, and I'll be happy to answer any of your questions at the end of it.

Roger, first slide, please?

[Slide: ALPS = Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome]

ALPS, as you all well know, is an acronym for Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome. But what does that long string of fancy academic words actually mean?

Next slide, please.

[Slide: ACQUIRED: Contracted, not inherited]

'Acquired' means you catch it. It isn't genetically inherited. ALPS babies are only infected during gestation through their mother's blood via the placenta, or during delivery whilst travelling through the birth canal. As of yet, we have encountered no cases where the virus was passed through mother’s milk. And the only strain of ALPS that a baby can have at birth is the same as that of the mother.

At least, that's what we used to think. More on this, later.

The other means of acquiring ALPS, as most of you are aware, is through direct contact with the bodily fluid of someone with ALPS. This is most frequently passed through saliva imparted by the non-fatal bite of a lycanthrope in animal form.

Next slide, please.

[Slide: LYCANTHROPIC (and other forms of shapeshifting)]

'Lycanthropic' is simply a noun modifier, to differentiate this type of shapeshifting from all others. It derives from the Greek lycos, meaning wolf, and anthropos, meaning man; literally, wolf-man. Though originally coined to describe the first known ALPS variant -- the werewolf -- it now commonly refers to all variants involving animal change (which is more properly termed 'therianthropy'), and distinguishes this type of polymorphism from the other types like Dopplegangerene, Vegetosis, Inanimania, and Blobulism.

Next slide, please.

[Slide: POLYMORPISM = SHAPESHIFTING]

'Polymorphism', again from the Greek polys, meaning many, and morphos, meaning form, is the ability to alter one's shape or appearance. In ALPS victims, this change is widely varied in both species and scope. What began with a werewolf mutated into different strains which gradually encompassed a myriad of mammalian forms including the weretiger, the werebear, and even the wereseal. Now, we are even finding an ever expanding array of non-mammalian strains; in fact, Roger, here, is a very rare werejelly. And some unfortunate individuals don’t ever develop the ability to control their changes, or even the ability to recover their human forms at all.

Next slide, Roger.

[Slide: SYNDROME: Fancy word for disease]

And finally, 'Syndrome'. In medical parlance, this word is often used to group sometimes widely varying symptoms that are yet indicative of a single disease. And when you think about it, you probably can't get any more different than the symptoms displayed by a werewolf and those of a wereslug, can you?

Next slide, please.

[Slide: History -- When And Where Did ALPS Originate?]

There is no scientific consensus on when or where the first case of lycanthropy arose. Legends, myths, and tales abound from cultures all over the world, from the weretigers of India to the werejaguars of the Amazon, and werewolves appear in records all over the world. Unfortunately, there is no clear indication of which ones were actually early cases of ALPS, and which ones may have been copycat stories passed along amongst ancient travelers. But using genetic regression, we can narrow the 'when' to approximately 3,000 years ago.

Next slide, please.

[Slide: How did ALPS originate?]

Probably the most significant finding by ALPS researchers to date is that ALPS is caused by a wildly mutating virus, one which carries with it portions of the DNA of other species. When infecting a new host, the virus rapidly propagates itself throughout the new system and subtly alters its genetic composition to incorporate whichever strain of the virus it carries. This infection can typically take up to a month, and the virus is most strenuously active during the full moon phase. The exact cause of this relationship is not know, but speculation is that reflected moonlight carries with it some additional radiation in the non-visible spectrum from reflected moon-rocks, that has either a strengthening or irritating effect on the virus.

While it is pure conjecture at this point, the genetic evidence seems to indicate that the original strain of this virus spliced small amounts of wolf DNA into a woman, possibly as the result of a bite…though the origin of the virus itself is unknown. We are fairly sure it was a woman, however, as that would have been the most likely way it would have become established and propagated to subsequent generations. Researchers have named this hypothetical Were-Eve, 'Leto', after the Greek goddess and mother of Apollo and Artemis, who turned herself into a wolf to evade Hera.

Sometimes, a particular strain is so virulent that it will even overthrow a previous ALPS infection, killing off the weaker form and taking its place. This is how a weretigress bitten by a werewolf can give birth to a lupic child rather than passing along her own variant, as happened in one of our latest case studies.

Ironically, this particular trait of the virus holds out the best hope for a cure to ALPS researchers. If we can replace more active strains with something more passive, or even totally innocuous, we hope to make monthly moonlit rampages a thing of the past. ALPS will become no more frightening – or deadly -- to the public than warts.

Next slide, Roger, please.

[Slide: What about non-wolves?]

But how did the original lycanthropic strain turn into all the other forms of ALPS which have manifested? Well, this is where our latest research efforts have been focused. It appears that the ALPS virus can also be passed along at birth without the accompanying animal DNA. Subsequent introduction of animal DNA at a later point in the person's life can occasionally activate the splicing mechanism. That is how Roger developed his variant; whilst swimming off the coast of his native Australia a few years ago, he was stung by an Irukandji jellyfish. Though his mother was a werehyena, the next full moon brought about a decidedly different change and he was lucky to have been able to fill a tub before it completed. Now he can control it with some effort, but he still carries a bucket with him for the occasional lapse. Unfortunately, the need to control his temper to avoid an involuntary transform has left him a bit of a spineless wimp. The "bite off his head, tear open his ribcage, and feast on his still-beating heart' is a bit of a cliché for ALPSies like him. For them, "fume silently" is a bit more par for the course.

Lights, please, Roger.

[Roger shuffles over to the wall switch, head bowed, and flips it up before shuffling back to his seat.]

Now, are there any questions?

- Written by Waterboy, posted by Henry

Miguel's Tale

2008-10-26T19:00:00.001-05:00

Hi, my name is Miguel, and I’m an alcoholic.

(EVERYONE: Whaaa…?)

Just kidding. I’m actually a were-wolf.

(Sighs of relief.)

Yeah, so… I don’t know why I’m here, so… uh… what am I supposed to do next?

(HANK: Tell your story!)

Ah yeah, makes sense. Thanks, Hank. So, okay… I guess I'm a were-wolf. Been that way for maybe ten years. I think I got ALPS from another kid I used to skateboard with. We got in a fight over who had the better moves… and he suddenly went all animalistic and bit me. Of course, I had broken his board first, so it was probably justified. But I didn’t know what I’d gotten into until a couple of weeks later.

See, I came from Texas before I moved here unexpectedly. Always a little bit of funky race relations issues there, you know, between the natives and the immigrants. And even though I’m legal… hey, I’ve still got the Mexicano roots, so it’s an easy mistake. Anyhow, let’s just say I got tagged as something I’m not.

Normally, when I see trouble, I avoid it. I don’t care to fight. Live and let live, you know? But this time wasn’t good. I was walking home from high-school. On the way, there’s a rough neighborhood. One of those lower-middle-class mixed neighborhoods where a lot of punks are looking to fight. And I happened to be there.

There were probably eight kids. Two black guys and maybe six gringos. One of 'em yells “Hey wetback!” And I’m like… whatever. Sticks and stones. So I keep walking. And they’re like, “Yeah, you! Why aren’t you mowing a lawn or something?”

Still… whatever. I kept walking.

Then I got hit with a rock. Don’t know who threw it… but I just wanted to get home. I’m walking fast, but the kids aren’t going to let me go. No adults around… and nothing I can use as a weapon. Like anything would help much against all those kids. Most of them bigger than me. So… I look for an escape. Nothing. There’s a tall fence on one side, apartment wall on the other. The kids are on the other sidewalk, now walking across the street, yelling stupid stuff. I finally turn around. There’s not a good exit from this, so might as well get in some licks, you know? So, I’m like "Hey! Leave off! I’m just going home. Go kick a dog or something!"

Then the biggest one, this stupid-looking meathead, is like, “Maybe we’ll kick you.”

Which is, of course, what I figured they were going to do. So now they’re all around me in a circle, right… I know I can’t get away. So I’m like, “Why don’t you all just calm down. I didn’t do anything to you. And besides, this isn’t a fair fight! Eight to one?”

The one guy shoves me. I play cool, don’t hit back, thinking… man I don’t want a one-sided fight like this. Then another kid jumps on my back from behind – and the jerk that shoved me tries to kick me in the nuts.

And that’s when it happened.

Like lightning, I’ve snapped around and I got this kid’s neck in my teeth… and I clamp down and grind and then I feel his spine start to… uh… wait a second.

You know, I’ve probably said enough. Uh… I just got into the story, you know? I really didn’t, uh, bite anyone…

(AFFIRMATIONS FROM GROUP: It’s okay… we’ve all been there. You can go on… this is a tolerant group! No one’s going to turn you in!)

Yeah, well… I’m not proud of what I did… I don’t know if I want to glorify it.

(FEMALE VOICE: Getting your past out into the open is the first step to healing!)

I don’t know if I need to be healed.

(HANK: Just tell them your story, dammit! It was getting interesting.)

Okay, okay. So anyhow… I guess I sort of bit his head off. And was absolutely horrified by the fact I’d done that… and that it happened so naturally. Just like driving to a place you’d been a million times before. Autopilot.

I looked at the head on the ground, the horrified faces in a circle around me, felt the body slide off my back in slow motion… and then I saw my hands. They were like a dog’s paws.

I was a freakin’ werewolf! And I was suddenly mad as hell! It was like… all my judgment left me, and all that I had left was anger. Anger at being singled out… anger at getting jumped because I was different… anger at not having my dad around…

And so help me, I tore three more kids to pieces. I wolfed down their probably marijuana-laced punk flesh, enjoying every mouthful… until I started to come out of it. I was alone, with some dead kids on the ground. A couple of people were looking at me from their windows. And I was suddenly ill. I got up and ran like anything… ran home… crying... blood all over me…

By the time mi Abeula saw me, I was back to human, I guess. But I looked a mess.

I think she knew what I was. But if she did, she never said a word. She just packed me a lunch... and gave me the keys... and I left. I never had another incident quite like that… except for that time the cable guy… uh, never mind.

So… uh… that’s my story. I keep it stuffed, play it cool, avoid fighting. I also stay away from Texas. And mostly I just fix computers now. And hope to God I never get cornered and mad at the same time.

Okay, uh… is that it? Do I need to talk about my mother? No? Alright, cool. Peace out.

Werechat: The Recruit

2008-10-21T13:22:00.004-05:00

Miguel: so... why did you write me? laptop in the pool again?

Hank: No. And I didn't throw it in the pool. It slipped!

Miguel: whatever

Hank: Anyway, I think I've a virus thing.

Miguel: okay... and you need it fixed... and youre probably not going to pay right away, right?

Hank: I can pay you on Tuesday. Or maybe I can do something for you in exchange?

Miguel: like mow my lawn lol

Miguel: hmm

Miguel: actually... there is something, maybe

Hank: Yeah? I'd love to help you out if I can!

Hank: I mean "love" like in "really like to a lot" not like, sex love.

Miguel: im not sure youre the right guy, but you sell cars, yeah?

Miguel: ha... better not be

Hank: Yeah, I sell cars. You looking, cause I can set you up with something nice!

Miguel: not me

Hank: Oh. Who?

Miguel: angel... you maybe met him once... friend

Hank: Angel? Is that the blond with the big ti- chest?

Miguel: no

Miguel: that was my mother

Miguel: shes available too

Hank: No. I'm sure I'm thinking about someone else.

Miguel: yeah... this is a guy.

Hank: A guy? At least he'll know something about cars, right?

Hank: The chicks never do.

Miguel: of course. he used to fix them up for a while. tired of beaters now.

Miguel: no... girls never know them

Hank: What's he looking for? Late model pre-owned? New? American? Import? Sporty? Family car?

Miguel: anything that doesn't look like an alpo rig

Miguel: no mad max stuff

Hank: What's that supposed to mean?

Miguel: you never saw that movie

Miguel: ?

Hank: Mad Max? Yeah. I meant the other bit. Alpo rig.

Miguel: oh you know... no hairy freak road warriors

Miguel: aroooooo!

Hank: You know what? Maybe I don't need your help after all. There's a guy that works at the Starbucks who says he's good with computers. Maybe I'll call him.

Miguel: whys that?

Hank: I don't think your lame ass "joke" was funny. ALPS isn't a joke, Miguel.

Miguel: lighten up dude

Miguel: i could make fun of your paleness

Miguel: wait a sec...

Hank: That would be a lot better than sniping on people just cause they have a disease!

Miguel: you got that thing???

Hank: What if I do? You sure wouldn't know it unless I went all "hairy freak" on you, ripped off your head and feasted on your still beating heart!

Miguel: ha ha ha, your crazy, man

Miguel: you can control it better than that, right?

Hank: Yeah. Crazy like a wolf.

Miguel: i mean... its not that bad all the time

Hank: Have I ever ripped off your head or eaten your still beating heart?

Miguel: come on, you're kidding me about having it

Hank: Yeah, sure. I'm kidding.

Hank: Or not.

Hank: How would you know?

Miguel: i got a friend maybe?

Hank: Yeah, who wants to buy a car.

Miguel: just tell me if you have it

Hank: Why? So you can yell "Alpo" and "aroooo" at me next time you see me?

Miguel: no man im not like that

Miguel: i just make jokes sometimes

Miguel: easier that way

Hank: Easier than what?

Miguel: i dont know

Hank: Hey, are you saying you've got ALPS too?

Miguel: only if you have it

Miguel: if not then no

Hank: Geez, is this fifth grade again?

Miguel: this conversation is too weird for me

Hank: Okay, yes, I have ALPS. Are you satisfied? Now you know enough to ruin me in this city.

Miguel: YES I HAVE IT

Miguel: okay now we're even

Hank: And you're trying to hide it and are ashamed of it, right?

Miguel: shouldnt I be???

Hank: Hell no!

Miguel: its like having aids that bites people.

Hank: You're one of God's creatures, just as much as the next guy!

Miguel: if the next guy was a freak

Hank: You need some help with your self esteem, man.

Hank: And I know just the place to get it!

Miguel: i dont do drugs

Hank: Not drugs. No drugs. We've got this group that meets once a week to help us all come to terms with our ALPS.

Miguel: sounds a little gay

Miguel: or.. maybe i shouldn't say that

Miguel: are you gay too?

Hank: No. I like girls a lot.

Miguel: good. but a group therapy thing sounds gay

Hank: No, it's not group therapy. It's a chance to tell others what you've gone through, see that they've gone through the same thing and we have a kick ass social afterwards.

Hank: There are plenty of women, too!

Miguel: okay

Miguel: alpo girls?

Hank: Okay, youve' got to stop using "alpo."

Miguel: why?

Hank: It's like the "n" word to us.

Miguel: not to me...

Miguel: im a wetback alpo. lol

Hank: If you want to fit in with the group, you're going to have to stop using the term. If nothing else, it will piss off all the women.

Miguel: okay... id do it for the ladies. ha ha

Hank: Good man.

Miguel: but not for you

Miguel: so...

Miguel: about that car...

Hank: Oh, another good thing about the group is that members are always willing to give an alibi if you do end up devouring someone.

Hank: Oh, yeah, the car.

Miguel: okay.... i dont devour anyone anymore...

Miguel: i mean ever

Miguel: never did that ever

Hank: Right...

Werewolf Geneology or Little Red Riding Hood Revisited

2008-09-14T19:00:00.007-05:00

"Hi everyone. My name is Mike Stump and I'm a werewolf."

[Everyone: "Hi Mike!"]

"I'm not really here to talk about any problems I'm having because I'm a werewolf. I know that's what these meetings are supposed to be about, but I wanted to talk about something else. When I discussed it with the group director, Bruce thought you'd all be interested in what I have to say.

"See, I'm into genealogy, digging into the past to find out how my ancestors lived and how having ALPS affected them. I managed to trace my family back to Germany and the infamous werewolf Peter Stumpp. And, from the blank looks on your faces it's obvious you have no idea who Peter Stumpp was. I'll get around to that soon. Anyway, while digging through ancient family records in Germany, I managed to find an account written by Peter, himself. It had been hidden inside the cover of a family Bible and I only found it because I, uh, dropped the Bible and broke the cover.

"Peter's account, though, turns out to be the real source of the old fairy tale Little Red Riding Hood. And Peter was the wolf! I thought this was the kind of story others with ALPS would want to hear, which is why I came tonight. I've updated the language but that's all I changed.

"I had gone for an afternoon walk in the woods, as was my wont, putting the trials of daily survival behind me for a short while."

[Person in the group: "I though it was this Peter Stomp guy who was the wolf."]

"I'm telling the story in first person. And it's Stumpp, not Stomp."

[Person in the group: "Huh?"]

"As if I were Peter. God, don't they teach English in this country any more? Now, if we're done with interruptions? Good.

"Once I had walked deep into the forest, I would transform and run wild and free, as far from the concerns of man as it is possible for a man to be. On this particular day, I was about to transform when the unexpected occurred. A beautiful, golden haired young woman wearing a red traveling cloak ran out of some bushes. She was looking over her shoulder so ran right into me before she realized I was there. I caught her before she could fall, steadying her. I must admit, I enjoyed holding her.

"She turned toward me, wide eyed, as if afraid. After casting her eyes upon me, she calmed down and spoke to me, 'Oh good sir, thanks be to God that you are here! There is a huntsman pursuing me through the forest and I am afraid! W-would you consent to escort me for the rest of my journey?'

"I readily agreed to do so. Any man who found himself with his arms filled by a beautiful young woman would have done the same. 'Where are you going, my lady?' I asked.

"She replied, 'I was returning to my village, but my flight from the huntsman has taken me in the opposite direction. My grandmother's cottage is nearby in the forest. If you could but escort me there, I would be most grateful!'

"I thought it odd that her grandmother lived alone in the forest, but many people do grow eccentric in their elder years. Once again, I readily agreed to her request. I knew she would be safest were I to fully transform, yet I also knew this would utterly terrify an already frightened woman. Instead, I claimed but a fraction of my power, enhancing my senses and strength. The young woman's scent nearly overwhelmed me. Tension and fear, I expected. But they were intertwined with carnal excitement. Consideration for how my fortune may turn upon our arrival at the cottage ended as I identified another, more distant human scent. A man's scent."

[Person in the crowd: "Uh, 'scuse me? What's 'carnal excitement' mean?"]

"It means the young woman was feeling lustful urges."

[Person in the crowd: "Lustful urges? Is that a fancy way of saying she was horny?"]

"Yes, if you insist on using vulgar language. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to continue with the story.

"Asking directions to her grandmother's cottage, I began hurrying the woman along. 'Your fears are well founded, my lady. There is, indeed, a man following your trail!'

"At my declaration, her fear intensified. 'How do you know this, good sir?' she asked me.

"I smiled reassuringly down at her, 'I am quite comfortable in the forest. But have no fear, my lady, this huntsman shall not harm you while I yet breath!'

"She smiled bravely and huddled closer within my arms. Saying nothing further, she directed me toward the cottage. During the next hour, the man's scent stayed behind us, growing no closer. Then we came to the cottage. It was small, most likely a single room, but looked well kept. At the sight of it, the young woman rushed toward the door, pulling me along eagerly. 'Come, sir! Let us enter and bar the door before the huntsman arrives,' she said.

"Propelled toward the door, I asked, 'Should you not knock and announce your presence to your grandmother? Surely she will receive quite a start if we rush in like this!'

"The woman replied, 'My grandmother is not home at present. She has gone to the village to visit my mother and will not return for several days.'

"Despite our situation, a part of me once again considered if I would find increased fortune within the cottage. We entered the cottage and I quickly placed the heavy wooden bar in place across the door. Leaning back against the door, the woman released a sigh of relief. Then she fell into my arms, embracing me warmly and thanking me. Once again, the scent of carnal excitement washed over me. Her face turned up, her lips sought mine and I was lost in the wonder of her beauty.

"I know not whether a minute or an hour passed during our embrace. We both withdrew from it breathless and flushed with pleasure. 'My lady,' I began, 'we need not do this. Your safety is all the thanks I need!'

"She smiled up at me and said, 'You are quite the gentleman, good sir! But fear not, I do this not for thanks but because I wish to!'

"She began gently pushing me toward the only bed in the cottage, saying, 'I shall help you disrobe and tuck you comfortably into the bed. Afterwards, I shall disrobe for you. I have been told men find that an enjoyable spectacle.'

"She did as she proposed, taking pleasure in each part me she uncovered until I stood before her clad only as God has chosen to clad us all. As she tucked me into the bed, she seemed pleased at my body's natural reaction to our situation. Then, I watched as the red cloak fell to the floor. Her hands teased at the fastenings of her blouse and she swayed to and fro with an intoxicating rhythm. Just as she loosened the neck of her blouse, we were both startled by a pounding on the door.

"Quickly pulling her blouse neck tight again, the woman called, 'Who is it?'

"The responding voice was deep and male, 'You know the answer very well, my dear! Come, let me enter.'

"Hand flying to her mouth, she whispered, 'Oh no! It is my husband!'

"I was shocked, as she had given no indication she was wedded. 'Are you certain?' I asked. 'The person at the door is the one who followed us through the forest!'

"She tilted her head as if to ask how I could know such a thing. Yet the scent was most definitely the same as that of our pursuer. Instead, she said, 'Do you think I would not recognize my own husband's voice? Oh, but he must not find you here for he is a cruel man who would kill you and beat me! What to do? What to do?'

"The man's voice rose again, 'Are you speaking to someone? Do you have another in the cottage with you?'

"At those words, the woman came to a decision. She took up a woman's night cap and placed it on my head, saying, 'It is only my grandmother, husband. Wait one moment while I help her into bed for her nap, then I shall open the door.' Turning to me, she whispered, 'My husband is poor of eyesight and hard of hearing. Speak to him in an old woman's voice and all will be well.'

"I had no opportunity to respond as she quickly turned away. She raised the bar and opened the door. I pulled the bed clothes to my chin as a large man entered. He wore the clothing of a woodsman and carried a large axe. 'I saw you in the forest, wife, and wondered what errand brought you,' he said.

"The woman attempted to smile and said, 'I saw you not, husband. My errand is to care for my grandmother, who is ill.'

"The man turned his attention towards me and narrowed his eyes. He spoke, stepping towards me, 'You have big eyes for an old woman.'

"In a high pitched voice that quavered of its own accord, I replied, 'All the better to see my lovely granddaughter!'

"The man took another step closer. 'You have very big ears for an old woman,' he said.

"I said, 'All the better to hear my granddaughter's lovely voice.'

"The man stepped next to the bed. 'You have a lot of teeth for an old woman,' he said.

"I replies, 'All the better to eat my granddaughter's lovely cooking.'

"The man narrowed his eyes as if to see me more clearly. 'You have a very hairy chin for an old woman,' he said.

"I felt my mouth go dry and said, 'All the better to... To...'

"With sudden purpose, the man lifted his axe above his head. 'All the better to die!' he said. The axe descended toward my chest as I desperately attempted to transform. Agony ripped through my stomach and all went black.

"I know not how long I walked in darkness. Slowly I returned to myself, waves of pain no longer emanated from my stomach. I had transformed in time. As the axe had no silver, my wound had healed. As reason returned to me, I heard the man and woman speaking.

"The woman's voice held anger, 'You were late! I was at the point of disrobing when you finally arrived.'

"The man spoke, 'Why not disrobe now, my dear? I know the killing excites you.'

"Footsteps moved toward the door. 'Not until we take care of the body, my darling. Go and fetch some heavy rocks. We will sew them into his stomach and drop him in the river.'

"The man spoke, 'And then?'

"The woman responded, 'And then you shall have your reward!'

"What I had heard was more than sufficient. I bounded from the bed with a bestial snarl. The man and the woman both screamed as I began tearing the man limb from limb. I did not even notice the woman leave as I devoured the man. I had never eaten human before. Alas for my eternal soul, I found human meat delicious.

"In time my hunger was sated. Looking up, I realized the woman was gone. I knew she would tell her story to others, casting me as the villain. Yet I could not bring myself to pursue her. My stomach weighed me down as if it had been filled with the stones the woman wished to use. I left the cottage and slept under the cover of bushes in the forest.

"That's all Peter Stumpp wrote. He was obviously right about two things. First, the woman told the story we all now know as Little Red Riding Hood. I don't know if she originally told the tale with a werewolf, but eventually the brothers Grimm recorded the tale with a talking wolf. Second, Peter Stumpp was right about his eternal soul. Having discovered a taste for human flesh, he continued to kill and eat people. In 1589 he was caught and tried by a church court. Tortured, he eventually admitted to all his sins and was executed by the church.

"That's all I have. I don't know if it helps any of you, but I take some solace in knowing I face the same temptations faced by werewolves for hundreds or thousands of years. And God knows I can't do any worse than my ancestor Peter Stumpp!

"Thank you."

[Group director: "Thank you, Mr. Stump. Okay everyone, we've got snacks in the social room!]

"It's not anyone I know, is it?"

The Newcomer

2008-09-07T20:07:00.001-05:00

The little bald stranger wore a bulky overcoat, buttoned to the neck, which gave him a vaguely pear-shape, As he stood, he made a grinding, zonking sound in his nose and throat, and began to undo his coat, take it off, and hang it neatly on the back of his chair. His actions revealed a belt around his middle, with three rolls of toilet paper hanging from it spaced equidistant around an ample paunch. He zonked again, snorted, smiled sheepishly, unrolled a foot and a half of paper, brought it to his red potato-shaped nose, and blew a blast that made Ryan jump.

Upon finishing his activity, he folded the now-soggy mass of tissue, and dropped it in the trash can, where it landed with a sodden thump. Smiling again, he spoke in a voice that reminded more than one person in the meeting of that sad little cartoon dog. "Allergies." he explained needlessly. Gesturing to the contrivance around his waist he said "I like to keep plenty of rotary Kleenex on hand.". He moved behind the lectern, zonked again, and said "Hello, folks. I'm Cal, and I'm a were-...well, let me explain."

"Hi, Cal?" came the quizzical antiphony.

"As long as I can remember, I have had allergies. Really bad allergies. As a small child, I was taken to the best doctors my parents could afford - which wasn't very much. Skin tests, blood tests, shots, drops under the tongue, enough Benadryl to render an elephant comatose, and that was when Benadryl was prescription." He rubbed his right thumb across his fingertips in a knowing way.
"My father had to work a pizza delivery job at night to keep me in tissues. I was the one boy who was happy to get handkerchiefs at Christmas. All those doctors, all those pills, and no-one could figure out my problem. Finally. when I was twelve-and-a-half, my paternal grandmother came to visit from the Old Country."

Here he paused, unreeled a couple of feet of tissue, brought it to his nose, and blatted a sharp blatt. Ryan whimpered and looked imploringly heavenward. It was that loud. Then the little man resumed, punctuating his tale with grinding nasal snorts.

"She was small, wrinkled, and smelled of garlic, which made my nose twitch more than usual. She saw my symptoms, squinted hard, and began to mutter under her breath. Then she turned and left the room.. Finally, at suppertime she came out, wearing a crucifix that shone against her black widow's dress. She was working with my mother at the stove. She started when I spoke to them both and knocked over the salt shaker. Muttering, she took a pinch of the salt that spilled and flung it over her right shoulder to ward off bad luck (she was OLD Old Country). Some of the salt landed on my arm, which began to sting and bubble. The pain drove me to the floor, where I convulsed, and...and...my nose started overflowing, my arms and legs began to contract until my body became cylindrical, yellow, and coated with...with...snot, only it was coming from my now-changed underside instead of my nose. I did notice my grandmother clutching her crucifix before she fainted. I don't know what happened to my parents, because my eyes would not focus right. They extended themselves on two stalks, and their movement made my vision move sickeningly. Then I passed out. When I awoke, my mother was holding me in her arms and crying. Her tears stung where they fell on me. I was lying in a pool of clear slime, but otherwise I was back to normal."

The little man zonked, snorted, unreeled a yard of TP from his waist, and honked a great honk. Ryan left the room. Others looked like they wanted to.

"So, hello folks. I'm Cal, and I'm a were-slug. You might be surprised that I have gotten a rather good job because of it. I work in a non-lethal weapons lab. You know the frictionless anti-riot goo, and the sticky anti-terrorism spray webbing you see on the Discovery Channel shows?"

The little bald man snorted, looked at once modest and inordinately pleased with himself, and chuckled.

"It's some of my best work!"

(Copyright 2008 Weatherly B. Hardy)

The Were-Celebrity

2008-08-17T19:00:00.002-05:00

“Hi, my name’s Hank and I’m a werewolf.”

[Group: “Hi, Hank.”]

[Person in the crowd: “Don’t you mean were-wimp?”]

“I’m going to ignore that. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a meeting and I’m guessing you’re all wondering where I’ve been.”

[People in the group: “No.” “Not really” “You were gone?”]

“Oh, great. I go off to help all of us and no one even notices? Well, at least tell me you’re wondering why I’m all bandaged up like this? No, wait. Don’t bother. I’m sure the answer would only depress me.

“The first time I was here, someone said something during the social after the meeting that got me thinking. One big problem we ALPS sufferers have is our image. People are scared of us. They don’t see us the same way they see those with cancer or AIDS or any of those other fad diseases. And you know why they don’t have any sympathy for us?”

[Person in the group: “Because we bite off their heads, tear open their rib cages and feast on their still beating hearts?”]

“That’s an issue, sure, but I don’t think it’s the only reason we aren’t getting better press. Just think about all those other ‘cute’ diseases. What do they have they ALPS doesn’t? I’ll tell you what they have. They have celebrities out there raising awareness about the disease. Some of the celebrities have even had the disease themselves.

“So where are the celebrities speaking out for ALPS, huh? Why don’t we see Ed Asner telling America about the tragedy of ALPS? Why isn’t Cameron Diaz appearing in commercials with little children who have ALPS? I’ll tell you why. None of those oh so caring celebrities suffer from ALPS or even know anyone who suffers from ALPS!

“So, a couple of weeks ago, I flew out to LA to infect at least one major celebrity. I figured once we had a major star in our pack, we’d be able to generate some of the sympathy we deserve! I picked Michelle Pfeiffer as my target.”

[Guy in the group: “Oh yeah. She’s hot!”]

“Exactly! And she can act, too, so I thought she’d be perfect to help generate some sympathy for us. Only it didn’t work out like I’d hoped. I mean, I thought I’d have to deal with a bodyguard or two, but I was way off.

“Finding out where Michelle Pfeiffer lived wasn’t a problem. You can buy maps to all the stars’ homes out there. Her house had a big wall around it, but it wouldn’t be a problem for one of us. I came back in the middle of the night, transformed and leaped over the wall. Smooth and easy. I figured I’d just bash a few heads then bite Michelle in her sleep…

“Did any of you know there are such things were-Dobermans? I sure as Hell didn’t! Michelle’s house is guarded by a whole pack of them! I barely had a chance to look around after jumping the wall when the pack came baying after me. And they herded me right into a net trap – with a silver net! Man, I don’t know how much she paid for the net, but it sure burned bad! I couldn’t do anything but dangle in the net and whimper.

“Then this big guy walked up, tossed steaks to the were-Dobermans then looked at me. ‘Good work, boys. Looks like we caught us an Alpo!’ “

[Group: Muttering and murmuring.]

“Yeah, I was offended, too. I gritted my teeth and told him he had no right to call me names like that. You know what he did? He came up real close to me and said, ‘I’ll call you whatever I damn well please, boy. You’re just lucky I’m calling you Alpo instead of using you as Alpo. My boys here’ – and he waved toward the were-Dobermans – ‘are always mighty hungry after a chase.’

“So, I got turned over to the police and spent the rest of the night in jail. But they only had me for trespassing, so I paid bail and was out the next morning. I still had my map of the stars’ houses. I just figured I’d have to do some more thorough research on the bodyguard situation before making my move.

“Man, celebrities have got to be the most paranoid people on earth! Every single star I picked had some major firepower acting as bodyguards. Most of them had some kind of ALPS help, too. It was really depressing. I’d just about given up when I finally found someone who didn’t have a bodyguard at all – Summer Glau!”

[Group: “Who?]

“Summer Glau. Come on, doesn’t anyone here watch science fiction TV? She was River on Firefly and in the movie Serenity? She’s the terminator in Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles? She’s like this really cute, 98 pound girl who always plays someone who can kick the crap out of guys three times her size. In a way, she was perfect. Not only did she already have the reputation as an ass kicker, but she could get the science fiction, fantasy and comic book crowd behind us. “

[Person in the group: “So?”]

“So? You know, 10 years ago, everyone thought vampires were all scary, evil blood suckers. Then Laurell Hamilton’s Anita Blake books broke out of the genre and went big time. Now every other romance novelist is writing about super sexy vampires. And you know the vampire community is eating it up. I don’t know about, but I’m tired of seeing even the most pathetic looking vampire snag hot babes just by flashing a little fang!

“So I figured if Summer Glau could help us get popular with the science fiction and fantasy types, it wouldn’t be long before we had the same kind of break out. Then we’d get research dollars and be able to get hot babes by showing the fur!

“But it didn’t work out that way. I was able to sneak onto Summer’s property, no problem. Without guards, there was no one to stop me. I transformed and was about to kick in her door when the door flew open and I got attacked by a were-tiger! I fought as hard as I could, but this were-tiger really knew how to fight. Finally, all cut up and bruised, I transformed back and gave up.

“The were-tiger snarled, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ That’s when I realized I had been fighting a were-tigress. Anyway, I explained everything, figuring another were would be sympathetic to my cause. And she was, actually. After I finished, she transformed back and the were-tigress turned out to be Summer Glau! No wonder she takes all the ass kicking roles. She really is a major kicker of asses!

“She helped me up and actually took me inside to bandage up my cuts. Then Summer told me my heart was in the right place but that I probably needed to have my head examined. ‘Leave Hollywood to the weres who understand it,’ she told me. Then she said if I really wanted help her spread the word, I should find a top notch script about a were-tiger. Or a good werewolf script that could be adapted for a were-tiger.

“Then she sent me on my way with a kiss on my cheek. This cheek. Right here. Anyway, that’s how I got the bandages and found out that infecting a big star isn’t the way to go. Nope, Summer has pointed me in the right direction!

“Does anyone have a suggestion for a good script writer? I hear they don’t usually have any bodyguards at all so infecting one of them ought to be a piece of cake!”

Dear Diary

2008-08-10T18:38:00.002-05:00

8/4/08

Dear Diary,

Today was tough cuz Makayla was really mean to me in gym and I almost lost it right there in the locker room. When we were getting ready for swim practice I found that shed put hand soap in my bathing suit and I was SO ticked! I had to rinse it out in the sink then put on a wet bathing suit. I really hate that!!! Later she died a bloody death behind the school. I was able to hold of the transformation for longer than usual but when I bumped into her after classes were over she called me “soapbutt” and things just went downhill from there.

Later when I got home mom had made cookies so that cheered things up. I also finished up my history assignment.

8/5/08

Dear Diary,

What a day! Im doing good at getting ready for the dance, I lost five pounds from two weeks ago! V8 for breakfast is yucky but it seems to work. Allan told me I was hot today and I told him to bug off. Then later he snapped my bra and that was it for him! Oh yeah! Bloody death behind the school!

I watched some TV tonight but nothing good was on.

8/6/08

Dear Diary,

Im afraid people might be starting to wonder about me. When we moved to this new town and enrolled here I thought the looks and whispering and stuff would be over for good. Maybe I was wrong and should ask mom to homeschool me again. I guess I figured no one here had ever seen a were-wolverine before and that ALPS was probably out of their heads altogether. Maybe it still is but I think someone might have told on me. One of the teachers was being pretty condescending today in health class, you know, they were talking about sicknesses and stuff and ALPS came up. The teacher was all like qarantine the infected and stuff. I kept thinking about how unfair that was for reglar folks to wander free and for people like me to get locked up. I followed the teacher to there car after school meaning to have a face-to-face talk about their unfair approach to my condition. But then he got defensive and I think he guessed cause he winced when I got close and then started to act nervous which made me mad and then, well you know. Bloody death again!

When I got home I think mom and dad guessed. But dad had been in the same boat that day at work, he apparently gutted some stupid supervisor, so he understood and gave me a big hug. I love my dad. Some guys are jerks, but he really understands how to treat us girls, I hope I get to marry a guy like him.

8/7/08

Dear Diary,

Okay I think they certainly know now. I’ll bet there trying to figure out what to do with me. In class the teachers were all sort of cold even Ms. Evelyn who had been really nice on the first day when I'd lost my schedule and couldn't find my next class. I really think I liked her, but she was staring at me today and I got really irritated and stuff. Dad said that people without ALPS cant understand us and they also feel resentful about the laws that got passed about non-discrimination and stuff. So its not like they just jump on top of every death that takes place and go after the ALPS people because they know we’re kind of protected, and all the hate laws keep us safe generally.

Its too bad about Ms. Evelyn. I got so mad at her today even though she used to be nice you know? After I bit into her chest, I started to feel really guilty so I mostly just ate unimportant parts. Shes still going to look really pretty at her funeral. I wonder if I’ll look pretty at my funeral? Wouldn’t it stink if you looked lousy and everyone remembers you as ugly?

I wish I could stop these attacks Im starting to feel guilty about it, but I imagine that’s normal. I can’t help it and it’s not my fault, so why should I feel bad, I just need to make do with what I have and be happy with who I am. I think I read that in Oprah’s magazine.

Oh! Jack called today – for me! I think he wanted to ask me out, but instead he talked about his model collection. On the first day of school he lent me some book called Rebel Moon. It looks dum but he was cute anyways. I wonder what it would be like to kiss him… I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’ll bet its kind of slimy.

8/8/08

Dear Diary,

Well it happened. I got suspended. This always happens! I was so ticked! It happened in front of everyone, too becuase I was in first period and an officer stepped into the room and pulled me out.

I almost transformed right there in front of everyone wow I would’ve been so embarrassed. I was wearing this really pretty top I got from Urban Outfitters and every time I transform I end up ripping or krunking up my clothes somehow. I would have hated to mess this top up. Its so neat. Marsha had one back at my old school that was like it, but this one is green.

I got into the car with two officers but ended up eating them and walking home.

Maybe this whole school thing is’t for me. I’d kind of like to be a nurse and I think that takes a lot of school maybe I can take internet classes?

I wonder if Jacks going to call again?

Nobody Knows The Trouble I've Seen

2008-08-03T19:00:00.001-05:00

Hi. My name is Sean and I’m a were-hyena.

It’s been a while since I’ve been around and I apologize. I know how important it is to come out to these meetings. Not only for my support but to support you my brothers and sisters as we try to live and make sense out of something that just don’t make sense.

It’s just that the last month or so has been a bit crazy and I have had to face some pretty hard facts about myself. I mean being a were-hyena should be cool. Hyena’s while not at the top of the food chain, still carry a certain amount of fear. We’re wild an unpredictable. You never know what we’re going to do. Are we gonna feed on carrion or band together and take down a gazelle. And the laugh, the laugh has the ability to strike fear into the hearts of his prey. We’re like The Joker of the animal kingdom. (The Heath Ledger version not the Caesar Romero version).

So it follows that being a were-hyena should rock, right? We don’t carry the pressure of a top of the food chain predator like a Were-wolf or a Were-Tiger faces. We got no expectations on us. And life was good for a long time until last month when I was walking through the alleyways looking for edible garbage, human or other, when I caught my reflection in a pool of water. My male pattern baldness carries over into the transformation. I’m a bald freakin hyena! I was wondering why the reaction to my appearance in recent years has changed. It’s unsettling to have someone laughing while you rip out their viscera. I thought they were laughing with me. Well now I know the truth. I’m a ferocious were-beast with a hair ring.

And there are some nasty things that carry over into the human world as well. Does anyone have any idea how bad your breath stinks in the morning after a night of eating week old road kill? I came home late one night after getting my fill on perfectly rotted meat and fell asleep with the covers over my head. Well when I woke in a small space filled with own special blend of halitosis I thought something had died, then I realized that something had died. And I ate it. Then comes the indigestion. Woo Boy! Try passing a stomach full of tabby and skunk bones out your rear. I always thought the bones were supposed to soften after baking for a week. My Pepto and Crest bill has gone through the roof.

But maybe the worst of all was last week. I showed up to a business meeting with a piece of hobo stuck in my teeth. Talk about embarrassing. Luckily his gall bladder was green enough that I was able to pass it off as part of a spinach omelet I had for breakfast. Can you imagine what would have happened if it would have been that derelicts cornea looking out from my mouth? I might have lost the deal.

Ryan's Non-complaint

2008-07-27T19:00:00.003-05:00

Hi folks, Ryan the Werewolf here. Looks like it's going to be a pretty relaxed meeting this week. A couple of our regulars are off on vacation or something, and I don't know about the rest of you but I am definitely in that chill-down stretch leading to the dark of the moon on the 31st, so unless somebody here is having some real issues...? Anybody? Rough week?

Okay, good, then I move we adjourn the official meeting right now and cut right to the social hour. Do I have a second? Okay, all those in favor, say aye. Opposed? The ayes have it.

Well. So here we are, the dog days of summer. I like the sound of that. "Dog days." Dunno about the rest of you, but I really love this time of year. I can spend all day laying on the deck napping in the sun, and none of my neighbors bats an eye. I can even fill up the kids' pool with water and lay in it all afternoon, and nobody complains. And talk about meat! This is the one time of year when I can eat nothing but nearly raw red meat, every day of the week, and nobody looks at me like it's weird. Of course, I do have to fire up the grille and make a little pretense of scorching the steaks on both sides, first, but that's a small price to pay.

You know what's the one thing I don't like about this time of year? Sleeping. When it gets hot like this I have the hardest time in the world sleeping in a bed at night. So my solution is I move down to the couch in the family room in the basement, and give the old Tivo and my Netflix account a real workout.

And that's the question I'd like to hear you all answer tonight. What's your favorite were-thing movie? I mean, there's Lon, of course. You just can't question any movie with Lon. But what's next on your list? An American Werewolf in London? The Cat People? I don't know about you, but that Nastasja Kinski — like, rowr! She's enough to make me think about going feline.

But there's one I think is really great, that maybe most of you are missing, and that's Wolf, with Jack Nicholson and Michelle Pfeiffer. I just watched it the other night, and it is so cool. All the stuff in it about the publishing business is pure bull, of course, but when Jack transforms, he is just — man, he turns into Hugh Jackman! And not faggy tap-dancing Hugh Jackman, but X-Men Hugh Jackman! God, I wish I looked that good when I transform.

Anyway, that's my pick. What've you got?

Were-Care

2008-07-21T11:48:00.008-05:00

The idea had come to Karen as she was completing her degree in early childhood education. There had been classes on dealing with all sorts of children with special needs. Academically gifted children, academically challenged children, physically challenged children, children with ADD and ADHD, the list went on and on. But there was no listing for children with Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome.

The twins, Karen’s younger brother and sister, had been bitten by a were-fox before they even learned how to walk. Both their parents held down full time jobs, so much of the twins’ care fell to Karen. Karen’s parents felt guilty dropping such a big responsibility on an 11 year old girl, but Karen loved it. She taught them to walk, to talk, potty trained them and taught them not to devour people or pets during their full transformations.

Caring for the twins sparked Karen’s interest in early child care and early childhood education. She had the idea while still a freshman in college. She spend all her spare time refining and researching and, by graduation, had a complete business plan for Were-Care, the world’s first child care facility entirely dedicated to children with ALPS.

Karen picked San Francisco to open Were-Care. She picked that city because it was well known for tolerance to any and all people who might traditionally be viewed as abnormal. Unfortunately, that tolerance did not extend to children with ALPS. Parents, who would have been appalled if their child refused to play with a third world child adopted by two flamboyant lesbians with AIDS, actively avoided any child with the “taint” of ALPS.

Her years of research had given Karen several possible locations in the city for her center plus the names of influential contacts in the San Francisco were community. She had even found others like her; older brothers and sisters who had helped raise ALPS children, to work in the center. Discreet mailings to parents of young ALPS children led to interviews with parents. When the parents saw Karen’s preparations, applications for children to attend Were-Care poured in. The school was filled in less than a week and even had a waiting list.

From the beginning, things went smoothly. The child care center was unobtrusive, simply having a small sign reading “Child Care and Preschool” out front. People unassociated with the school assumed it was simply another preschool catering to the wealthy and paid it no further attention.

Everything went smoothly for six wonderful months, until this morning.

Karen was already planning to expand her business. The waiting list was growing and she desperately wanted to help those parents and children on the list. If expansion hadn’t been in the works, she wouldn’t have agreed to interview a father who wanted to be added to the waiting list. Maybe the man would have gotten past the secure door anyway. She would never know.

At 10:00 AM sharp, the intercom buzzed in Karen’s office. “Yes?” she said, answering the buzz.

“Hi, I’m Jim Cradle. I have an appointment with Karen Hutchins?” a man’s voice replied.

“You’re right on time, Mr. Cradle. I’ll be right up to let you in,” Karen said.

Jim Cradle turned out to as nondescript as a person could be, but he smiled and shook her hand as she let him in. Starting off toward her office, Karen said over her shoulder, “My office is just over here, Mr. Cradle.”

“How did you hear of us,” Karen asked as the two of them sat down.

“Oh, you know,” Cradle replied, “I just poked around. Do you know that I couldn’t find out anything about your facility except that it’s new and exclusive? Haven’t you ever heard of advertising?”

“Our parents value their privacy,” Karen replied, her voice cooling considerably. “I don’t know what newspaper you work for-“

Karen froze as a gun appeared in Mr. Cradle’s hand. “I don’t work for a newspaper. You might say, I’m more of a freelancer. I had to ask myself, what kind of preschool would go out of its way not to advertise itself? Obviously, a very exclusive one. And exclusive means expensive. And expensive means parents willing to pay a lot of money to get their precious little babies back unharmed.”

“B-b-but our parents aren’t rich!” Karen protested.

“Yeah, and I’m Santa Claus,” Mr. Cradle sneered. “Now, I’ve found three year olds to be the best bunch to take. They’re just old enough that you can scare them into being still. So, you and I are going to go down to your three year old room, load them all into your big van and drive out of here.”

“I’m not lying! These children aren’t-"

“Look, either you can come along and help keep the brats quiet and safe or I can shoot you and take whoever is in charge of the three year old room,” the man said. “Your choice.”

Frightened and dejected, Karen got up and led the man down the hall to the three year old room. Along the way, she tried once more to convince Mr. Cradle, or whatever his real name was, that he was making a mistake.

“Please, please listen to me,” she said. “These children come from mostly middle class families. They don’t have a lot of money to pay a ransom!”

“For the children’s sake, you better be wrong about that,” Cradle said as they entered the three year old room.

The children were all sitting at tables, getting out their morning snack. The teacher was busy passing out napkins and pouring juice into paper cups. All the children smiled when they saw Karen.

“Hi Miss Karen!” they all called out.

The teacher looked up briefly, smiling to Karen then started to go back pouring juice. Then she froze as her brain registered the man with the gun.

“K-karen? What’s going on?” the teacher asked, her voice quavering.

“It’s a kidnapping, lady,” Cradle answered, waving his gun around, “and you get to help keep the little monsters in line.”

The bossiest of the three year olds, a girl named Caitlyn, said “Miss Janet didn’t ask you, mister. She asked Miss Karen. You’re being rude!”

“Rude?” laughed Cradle. “I’ll show you rude!” He shoved Karen toward the tables. She crashed into them spilling drinks and snacks all over the floor and the children. The children cried out in surprise and fear.

“That man was mean to Miss Karen!” said the Caitlyn, walking over to stand right in front of Cradle. “Let’s be mean to him!”

Cradle laughed, “Do your worst, little girl. I’m not worried.”

Caitlyn was worried, though. Doing her worst was what she’d been taught not to do. Then Miss Karen said, “You heard the man, Caitlyn. Do your worst. All of you do your worst.”

In that last instant, as a dozen children transformed into were creatures, Cradle probably realized that he had picked the wrong child care facility for his plan. Fortunately, Cradle was a big man. There was enough of him for all the classes to enjoy.

Pride

2008-07-13T19:00:00.000-05:00

“Hi, my name is Shannon, and I’m a were-lion.”

[Group: “Hi, Shannon.”]

All of you are monsters, completely out of control. You don’t deserve to live.

“Sorry, I must have spaced out there for a minute.” She gives a little chuckle.

“ I guess a good place to start is at the beginning. It’s not really something I like to relive, but…

But my therapist thought it might be useful for me to…

[Someone in the crowd lets out a nervous cough]

“Um, anyhow, my symptoms started at an early age. The first time occurred when I was about three years old. My mom took me to the park. I remember it being a really beautiful day and having the feeling that nothing could get any better or worse…you know the way you feel about the world when you’re a kid. My younger sister hadn’t been born yet so I got the kind of undivided attention from my mother that can really spoil a child, ya know? I remember her pushing me on the swing and then I ran up the ladder and flew down the slide until I couldn’t see straight. Then I sort of dizzily hobbled over to the sandbox.

“We had brought a bucket and shovel and I was enjoying filling it with sand and dumping it out again. We had been the only ones at the park. Out of nowhere a little boy, a few years older than me, plopped down near me in the sandbox. The details are a little fuzzy, he must have tried to take the shovel and bucket away from me because I would never have attacked him unprovoked.” She looks around at the group nervously, trying to decipher whether or not they believe her.

“Either I blanked out during the attack or it’s just because it was so long ago and I was pretty young, ‘cause I don’t remember it. Just images really. I remember the screaming, my mother pulling me off a lifeless mass only slightly larger than myself. Probably the clearest picture in my head is the way the sand looked. Kind of like the beach after a rain—pockmarked and wet. Except it was blood, and it was red. And I remember when my mother pulled me away the wet sand stuck to the bottom of her feet, exposing the dry, white sand underneath in the shape of her sandals.

“I was a big accomplishment for my pediatrician. I remember my mother being surprised at my having ALPS and showing symptoms so young. The doctor just gave a nerdy grin and said ‘the force is strong with this one’. After we saw him we stood in a narrow hallway to pay the receptionist and schedule our next appointment. You had to be blind not to notice the pictures of all the doctors in the practice on the wall with plaques underneath championing their medical accomplishments. I used to like to count all the plaques and secretly congratulate the doctors when they got a new one. When we stood in the hallway after our second visit, I noticed our doctor had a new plaque under his picture. My mother said it announced that he was the first and thus far only doctor in the practice to diagnose anyone with ALPS. But after our next visit I noticed it wasn’t there. I found out later they were starting to get complaints. People were afraid to sit in the waiting room. In the eyes of the non-were, any and every kid now had the ability to maul them to pieces. The sudden burst of tears from a child that decided he didn’t want to play with a toy fire truck or found he was scheduled for a shot just unglued everybody. I think they even had a receptionist quit. So they took the plaque down.

[Her posture changes and the faraway look vanishes. She stands taller and looks more confident.]

“In reality they found a good cocktail of drugs for me rather quickly. And with the exception of a few unfortunate incidents in adolescence, I’ve been problem free. I still change, but it’s really very slight—only my husband notices the difference.

“That’s all I have to say. I hope my story has been of some encouragement to you. Just keep trying all the drugs out there until you find the ones that work best for you. And don’t underestimate the power of self-determination. So much can be achieved if you only will yourself to do it.”

A Whiff of Brimstone

2008-07-06T19:00:00.003-05:00

"Hi, my name is Ryan, and I'm a werewolf."

[Group: "Hi, Ryan."]

"This has been a rough week for me. Most of the time I do okay, I guess. It's been months since I've even thought about taking a little nip. But this past week, I got hit with a double-whammy. Thursday night was the dark of the Moon, of course, which always gets me down to start with, and then Friday, well —

"Look, I don't like to admit it. It's this whole hyper mucho mega-macho thing, I think, because I've yet to meet another werewolf who will admit it. And it really does peeve me, because I still remember how much I used to love the Fourth of July when I was a kid: the sparklers, the snakes, the bottle-rockets, the ladyfingers; sitting on the blanket in the park by the lake with my parents, watching the summer night sky explode in fireworks. But now...

"I tell people it's the smell of the brimstone — the sulfur. Everyone understands that. People with ALPS, everyone knows they have extremely heightened senses of smell, and all sorts of common things can provoke unpleasant reactions.

"Except the truth is, it's the sound. I can't understand why. On an intellectual level, I know exactly what that sound is, and I know it's mostly harmless. But on some deep, visceral, primordial level, the sound of firecrackers exploding scares the screaming bejeebers out of me, and makes me want to — oh, I don't know. Dig a hole and hide under the refrigerator, or something. New Year's Eve, Cinco de Mayo, the Fourth of July: I've spent entire nights hiding under my bed, curled up in fetal position, wincing every time a firecracker pops in the distance and begging God to make it rain so that the fireworks will stop.

"If it was just one night, I think I could handle it. But the little bastards down the street never settle for just one night, do they? No, they start up sniping with bottle-rockets and Black Cats about a week in advance, and by the 3rd they've hauled out the serious artillery and are keeping up a steady barrage of heavy mortars and screamers. Then there's the Fourth itself, with the ordnance going off pretty much nonstop from dawn 'til two or three the next morning, followed by the 5th, when all the local morons go into use it or lose it mode and try to burn up everything they've got left over. So by the time we get around to the 6th —

"Well, let's just say it wasn't bad enough yet to warrant calling my sponsor, but I was definitely way overdue for this meeting. And I have to tell you, I really like it here, with you folks. I feel safe. I feel understood. I feel —

"Hey, what's that smell? Can't you all smell it? It smells like —

"SCOTT! So help me God, if you so much as touch that lit match to that fuse in here I will rip your worthless gizzard out and serve it as an appetizer! Are we clear on this point?

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, well — why thank you, yes I would like another cup of coffee. Decaf please, I'm trying to learn to relax."

Bay of Pigs

2008-06-29T18:28:00.004-05:00

Bill kicked the posts of his McCain yard sign firmly into the clay of his front yard.

Not the best candidate… but at least he’s sure to keep the war going.

Bill was a big fan of war. Our boys were the best… and he loved to see ‘em prove it. He was a military history junkie. ALPS had kept him from the service, but it hadn’t taken the steel and gunpowder from his blood.

His father had fought in Nam. His grandfather had fought in WWII, and there was a steel German helmet in their closet proving his great-grandfather’s service in WWI.

Before that, the family could trace members that had fought in Mexico, against the Indians, against the British and before that, against the French.

Bill dusted off his hands and looked at the sign in satisfaction.

Then he noticed something profoundly disturbing.

Across the street, there was another sign.

Obama 2008.

He felt a twist inside his stomach.

Obama 2008.

He didn’t trust Obama. He was weak. One of those scum-sucking commie anti-war libs dedicated to the sissification of America.

Obama 2008.

It was staring at him.

Be a good neighbor… be a good neighbor… be a good neighbor. People have a right to their beliefs, no matter how pathetic and weak.

Then he saw something else across the street.

His sissy liberal neighbor was grinning at him. Drinking a tiny sissy cup of sissy espresso. And grinning.

I hate that guy… but… I need to control myself. Remember the bay of pigs!

The “bay of pigs” was his wife’s name for a particularly explosive transformation that had almost put them behind bars back when they were dating. How prison had been avoided was still anyone’s guess. If they’d found the bodies… well, maybe they’d just think it was an animal attack? Yeah right… like animals tied rocks to bodies.
There had to have been a “human” involved.

What about a were-human?

Ha!

-----

He and Sharon had been cruising along on a perfect late afternoon, top down, enjoying the breeze blowing in their hair. It was a perfect day. They’d picked flowers at the park, danced for hours at a free open-air jazz festival and held hands as they’d strolled along the river. Now he was taking her back to her parents’ place for dinner. To their left was a sparkling bay… to the right… the smoky green woods.

She really was a classy girl. Ever since his first whiff of her hair, he’d been captivated. His attraction was wild, powerful, and unstoppable. He had to make her his. Being a gentleman, he could hardly wait for their wedding day when she’d finally belong to him… mind… soul… and especially body.

As he gripped the wheel… he was thinking about when he could finally get up the nerve to pop the question… and how to tell her about his condition.

And he was driving a bit too fast.

WHOOP!

A siren burst on behind them. Blue lights flashed angrily.

“Oh shoot…”

Sharon looked at him with a half-grin. “Think you were going a little fast there, sweetie?”

“Yeah… shoot… I’ll pull over here, darn it.”

He pulled over to the side of the road. The cop car crunched up on the gravel behind him, raising dust in the slanted rays of the setting sun.

Two cops stepped out of their cruiser, hands on their guns.

“Well, Share, guilty ‘til proven innocent, it looks like.”

“Just be cool, Willy… you’ll be fine.”

“Evenin’ son.”

“Good evening officer. How can I help you?”

The cop spit on the ground.

“How you gonna help me? You another officer? Give me your g------ license and registration and shut the hell up.”

Bill shuffled around in his glove compartment. Wrappers, torn maps and brochures fell onto the floor at Sharon’s feet as she tried to help him.

The officer snarled at him. “Come on kid, I ain’t got all night.”

“I’m doing my best, okay?”

The cop leaned in the window. His face was red and dark.

“An attitude like that’s gonna land your ass in jail. Give me your docs.”

Behind the car, the other officer was looking at their license plate. Then he came up to Sharon’s window.

“Hey there, babe. Why are you hanging around with a loser like this?”

She started, shocked. “That’s none of your business, officer.”

Bill heard the interchange as he finally handed over his crumpled registration to Officer #1. He was seething inside. And then he realized what was about to happen.

“Officer?”

“Yeah?”

“I really, REALLY have to pee.”

“What the hell you trying to pull?”

“I just have to go! I was, uh, sort of driving fast so I could get to a bathroom. Seriously.”

The officer looked at him.

“You think I’m a damn fool?”

“No sir, absolutely not.”

The officer stared at him for minute, then relented.

“You can take a whiz by the road in those trees. But if you pull anything, so help me I’ll shoot you.”

He backed away from the window. The other officer was leering at Sharon.

Bill stepped out slowly, feeling his were-self rise within him. He had to get out of Sharon’s sight – quick! Control… control…

He walked briskly to the woods, then entered.

“That’s enough,” the officer barked at him.

Bill needed to get a little further out of view. In front of him was a brush-filled gully. Feigning a struggle with his zipper, he tripped forwards down the slope as if it were accidental.

“Ahhh!” he yelped. The officer was caught off-guard. He ran forwards to the edge of the gully – but didn’t see anything. He fired his gun wildly into the trees.

“Come out, damn you!”

No answer.

“I’m warning you, punk – OUT!”

He took a step forward, gun drawn.

Then another step.

Then he took his final step. From behind a tree, a hairy arm snatched out and took his gun.

And his arm with it.

With a howl of rage, Bill the were-tiger tore into the officer’s chest and tore his heart out.

The body slumped to the ground and Bill crouched with it, feasting on hot flesh, jaws snatching bite after bite of Smithburg’s finest.

With a start, he realized what he’d just done. His animal brain wanted to gorge on blood… but the dim human brain behind it was recoiling in horror.

Sharon!

He left the officer’s corpse behind the trees and snuck furtively back towards the car.

The passenger door was open.

Beside it, the second officer lay in a pool of blood.

And the most gorgeous leopard-woman in the world was licking her lips as she took another bite from his gaping chest.

Bill’s heart leapt inside him! This was HIS girl! His beautiful leopard girl! His wonderful, sweet jazz-dancing Sharon!

He sprang from the woods to her. Her dress hung off her spotted sides… and as he nuzzled up to her, a glimpse of her perfect row of teats drove him wild. To keep himself from ravishing her, he instead took a monstrous bite from Officer #2.

Then, slowly, he started to return to human form… and as he did, he suddenly was struck with the danger of their situation.

So far, the road had been empty – but this body needed to disappear – fast! Together, he and his gorgeous were-girl dragged the corpse quickly across the road and threw it over the cliff into the bay, having tied it to a heavy rock with their jumper cables. They did the same with the first officer… except this time they had to use the officer’s belt.

Both sank into the deep water.

Sharon was looking more human again, as was he. They were both covered in gore.

“I’m sorry, Willy… I couldn’t help myself. He was… being really gross. I just… snapped.”

“It’s okay… I’m just happy you’re fine. I can’t believe you’re one too.”

She grinned toothily. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know yet.”

After embracing, they quickly licked each other’s faces clean and jumped into the car.

And later that night, he asked.

And she said yes.

-----

His neighbor was still grinning. But now Bill was grinning too.

Remembering the “bay of pigs” always put him in a better mood. With a grin, he waved to the sissy liberal and then went into his house whistling.

He had a documentary on D-Day waiting with his name on it.

And soon, Sharon would be back from the kid’s T-ball game.

Life was good!

The Were-Wimp

2008-06-22T19:15:00.004-05:00

“Hi. My name’s Hank and I’m a were-wimp.”

[Group: Snicker.]

“I mean a werewolf.”

[Group: “Hi, Hank.”]

“Man, old habits can be hard to break. You see, Larry always made me- ah, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s see, where to start?

“Okay, I’ve been a werewolf for as long as I can remember. Mom says I got Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome from a blood transfusion. You know, back before they screened all the blood for ALPS? Mom says they had to do some kind of surgery when I was one and that’s when I got the bad blood. Mom says that’s the only possible explanation because we don’t have any dirty, mongrelized people in our family.”

[Group: “Hey!”]

“Um, yeah, sorry about that. Mothers. You know?

“Anyway, none of us knew about it until I was in middle school. Seventh grade. Man, it was the worst! There was this bully named Larry and he and his stupid followers made a hobby of tormenting me and beating me up. Then one day, Larry had me cornered in the restroom and was about to dunk my head in the toilet when I suddenly felt… different somehow. I can’t really explain it. Unless you experience it yourself-

“Oh, wait. I guess all of you have experienced it, haven’t you? So you know what I mean! It felt good. Hell, it felt great! I didn’t transform, just got stronger. There Larry was, trying to push me into the toilet and I just stood up. Larry tried even harder to push my face into the toilet – and it didn’t do any good! Then he tried to punch me and I just dodged. Like lightning! He swung at me and I just wasn’t there! He hit the wall instead of me and, man, did he howl.

“In pain, I mean. Not, you know, like a wolf. Because he wasn’t. A wolf, I mean.

“And then I punched Larry. And he just about flew out of stall and bounced off the wall! It was so cool! Then I came out and grabbed Larry and dragged him back into the stall. I was dunking him in the toilet and flushing it every time when a bunch of other kids came into the restroom. They were all astounded at what I was doing. Can’t blame them, because I was pretty amazed, myself. I was suddenly the seventh grade hero for beating the crap out of Larry.

“When I got home, I couldn’t wait to tell Mom and Dad what I’d done. They’d been telling me I ought to fight back when Larry started beating me up and I’d finally done it. But I should have just told them the basics and left out the whole “feeling different” bit. Mom heard that and I thought she'd have a conniption fit! ‘What do you mean, you felt different?’

“I tried to explain, but, well, you all know you can’t explain it to someone who doesn’t already know. Like I said earlier. So Mom got all religious on me and claimed I must have been possessed by demons. She dragged me down to the church and had me just about bathing in holy water while she talked to the priest. The priest wasn’t buying into Mom’s demonic possession bit and suggested she just take me to a doctor for a physical.

“That’s when we found out I had ALPS. Blood tests for the physical. Yeah, they’d started screening for it, finally. I think Mom would have preferred it if I was possessed. First, she tried blaming it on Dad’s side of the family. She never liked Uncle Ross, so she figured it was his fault somehow. I never could follow Mom’s logic anyway. Not that there was much logic in it. Anyway, the doctor told her it wasn’t genetic. It took a while, but she finally decided it had to be the blood transfusion.

“All the way home, she lectured me about how we had to be careful about my dirty secret. That’s what she called it, my dirty secret. What would the neighbors think? And what about the ladies at church? Great parental support, huh? Except I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, being a werewolf was the coolest, best thing that had ever happened to me. I mean, I dunked Larry’s head in the toilet! I was the hero of the seventh grade! How cool was that for a kid who was usually a geek? Pretty damned cool, let me tell you!

“And it might have stayed cool if I hadn’t screwed the pooch. Uh, no offense, Jim.”

[Jim: “I'm used to it.”]

“Thanks. Anyway, the next day, when I got to school, Larry and all of his stupid followers were waiting for me. They dragged me off into the bushes to get some revenge for what I did to Larry. But I wasn’t worried because I was sure I’d get the different feeling and just beat them all up. Only it didn’t work that way. Oh, I started feeling different, all right, but I guess being out numbered eight to one kicked that feeling into high gear.

“I fully transformed. One second Larry and his little evil minions were dragging a wimpy seventh grader into the bushes and the next a werewolf was tearing them up. I didn’t even care what I was doing to them as I clawed and bit them all. I had just enough control that I didn’t kill them, but they got pretty badly mauled.

“Maybe I should have killed them. Yeah, I know, not what we’re supposed to say. But sometimes, I still wish I had. While I was mauling them, I didn’t know what happened to people who got bitten by a werewolf. I didn’t know that’s how ALPS was spread. I didn’t know I was turning the school’s biggest bully and all his stupid followers into werewolves.

“And they were all bigger, meaner werewolves than I was. You know, most people don’t think about it, but werewolves are a lot like wolves. We run in packs if we can. And what does every pack have? An alpha werewolf. Just take a wild guess who the alpha was in our little seventh grade pack?

“If you guessed Larry, go to the head of the class. I thought my life was Hell before I turned Larry into a werewolf. It was a paradise compared to what came afterwards. Larry ruined my life growing up. I only got away from him because he was too stupid to get into college. And then I landed a job here and heard about this group. I figured this would be the perfect place to get the help I need!

“What I need is my own pack. A bigger pack than the one Larry’s got. And I’m not biased. I’ll take were-coyotes, were-badgers, anything. I just need enough people with ALPS to help me kick Larry’s ass and get some revenge. Who’s with me?”

[Group organizer: “Well, look at the time! That’s all for tonight.”]

“Hey, where’s everyone going? Come on, we ALPS types have to stick together, right? Right?

“Damn.”

Mr. Nice Guy

2008-06-22T19:00:00.001-05:00

“Hi folks. I’m Jim. And I’m a were-wolf.”

[Group: “Hi, Jim.”]

“This is weird for me to be here. I'm really a nice guy. I hate this kind of thing. I hate having problems, see? I guess I should tell you what's up, now, right? Well, uh, here goes.

“I guess I’ve never been a guy to let my feelings show. Just a decent all-around guy. The kind that helps you fix your car.

“Particularly not the sort that would need to join a support group. But… I… just can’t cope anymore.

“Actually, it’s not me – I mean, I can cope… but in all honesty my wife has been on my case. She’s wanted me to do something about my, uh, transformations for a long time.

“When we were dating, and early in our marriage it was alright, I guess. My eyes were totally on her. But over the last five years it’s not cool anymore.

“Part of the issue, I guess, is not that I get violent or anything. It’s just that… well… I get, uh, a little randy as a wolfman… and I can’t control myself. Even though I want to.

“Okay… I see everyone is, uh looking at me. Stop looking at me. This is hard enough without your stares, you know. Seriously, stop it.

“Alright… so… my urges.

“Sometimes I’ll be somewhere, like the steakhouse where the girls wear those little shorts, and suddenly – bam – I’m a werewolf. It’s not really obvious, I guess. I can feel the wolf energy course through me, then I just want to, uh, have relations with the closest female.

“It doesn’t take much to switch, either. Some college girl will bend forward to wipe the table and suddenly – I’m there. Crazy and hopped up.

“You know how the old cartoon is? Where the guy sees a girl and suddenly he’s transformed into a drooling wolf for a minute. Yeah, that’s me.

“And… that’s not the worst of it.

“Stop it. You’re looking at me. I’m serious. I’ll kill you all and feast on your corpses. Aw shoot, I didn't mean to say that. Sorry, people. Just tense, that's all.

“I mean, I want support. Not to be looked at like a freak. At least I’m not a turncoat, like some other folks here. Not naming names, but… just saying.

[A partially transformed were-badger coughs nervously.]

“Good, right. Anyhow… the really embarrassing thing… STOP STARING, YOU FREAKS!”

[The were-badger falls out of his chair and shuffles quickly away.]

“Okay, I’m just a little hot under the collar. Tension gets me, too. Tension and lust, folks. Sorry, ladies... I'm sorry you're having to hear this...

“Dang, this is tough. I was always a nice guy, you know. Really dang nice.

“Alright, okay… what the heck was I saying? Oh right. The embarrassing part.

“The really bad thing about my, uh, issue… is that it’s not always girls that turn me on. It, uh also takes place around, uh… attractive, uh… well…

“Aw shoot… I’ll just say it like this. I can’t watch dog shows anymore. Ever.

“Okay? Are you all happy? I shared it, okay. That’s my thing. When it’s just girls, my wife almost understands… but when the neighbor is walking her dog… and she’s in a little sports bra, and her collie is wearing one of those faux leather harnesses… I mean… hot dang… I can’t figure out which is more hot, you know… the tight spandex over girl-fanny…. or a fluffy tail waggin’ in the wind… this one time… the lady and her dog… man… okay… she was, uh… washing the dog… and they were both getting sudsy in the yard… and OH CRAP!

[Suddenly Jim's face becomes slick with sweat… for a moment his eyes roll back… then his eyebrows and the hair on his arms are darker]

“CRAP CRAP CRAP!!! AROOOOOOO! MAN! I mean, WOLF! I’m ALL freakin’ WOLF right now! Hey you… babe in the front row… you got a poodle at home you wanna show me, eh? HEE HEE! Come on, fox, throw me a bone here! What? Is the moon not full enough for you? C’mon, SHAKE THAT TAIL FOR ME!”

“AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Another Sunday Down the Drain

2008-06-15T19:01:00.005-05:00

"Hi. My name is Sean and I am a were-hyena."

[Group: "Hi, Sean!"]

"Unfortunately it’s been about 6 hours since my last transformation. What can I say, it’s been a tough week. My boss has been riding me all week because our numbers are down. It doesn’t matter that I’m knocking mine out of the park. There are rumors of a big layoff if we miss this quarter, and judging by the looks of some of the big mucky mucks walking around I’d guess that was true. My backside is getting saddle sores from my boss ridin’ it so hard.

"The stress of my home life has taken a turn for the worse. We took in a foster cub and she has been keeping us up all night howling for food. I got things falling apart around the house. The kitchen faucet needs fixing, the backyard is a jungle with gigantic weeds sprouting everywhere, cash is low and the bills are high.

"I got up at the crack of dawn yesterday to care of the kids so my wife can get a rest, and was up late with family business so I was at the brink of exhaustion when I got up this morning.

"We were late getting to church like we are every week. I was looking forward to it. Church usually has a way of relaxing me, well it didn’t quite work out that way this week. We were sitting towards the back of the chapel listening to the preacher. Well he’s expounding on how we need to ask for forgiveness of our sins. Typical church speak, but for some reason I started thinking about my personal situation and the issues that I have to deal with. I got to thinking about how I lead a good life. I’m a good person and a good husband and father. I mean I follow 9 out of the 10 commandments. That’s like 90 percent. That’s pretty dang good.

"So what if I eat the occasional homeless person? Some husbands have to take out the garbage. I choose to eat it.

"Well... the thought of human lunchables triggered something and I started to feel “the change” come over me right there in the middle of church. I tried really hard to concentrate and stop it from happening, but all that did was cause me to start cackling like…well like a hyena during a particular poignant part of the sermon. The entire congregation turned around and stared at me. Talk about embarrassment. This particular heavy set lady wearing a blue dress and ridiculously large hat tsk tsk'd me which was my breaking point and all of a sudden all heck broke loose. You would have thought they had never seen an evisceration before. Talk about your over-reactions! I offered to clean up my mess, but nooooo they made me leave and told never to come back.

"Now I have to go find another church. Maybe we just need to start our own church. I hate having to go establish new relationships every time I get a little stressed and rip the guts out of some busy body.

"It’s getting old."

The Were-Weasel's Tale

2008-06-08T19:00:00.001-05:00

"Sorry I'm late. There was some nasty weather in Chicago today and I was stuck in O'Hare for a few — okay, I know, I'm making excuses. Let me start over.

"Uh, hi, I'm Scott, and I'm a were-weasel."

[Group: "Hi, Scott."]

"I hope you'll excuse me if I seem a little nervous. I've never actually — I mean, I've been coming to Were-Creatures Anonymous for about a month now, but to work up the nerve to stand up and talk — well, it's taken me some time to come to grips with it, and accept what I am. I mean, I've been aware of my wereness for a long time, but I've been pretty deeply in denial. I thought I could handle it myself. I was like, support groups are for total losers, you know?

"Sorry. I didn't mean you were losers. Not all of you. Not total losers, anyway.

"Uh, it's only been in the last few weeks that I've really come to realize that my — well, that my problem is out of control. It's ruining my life. I mean, people who used to be my friends hate me now, and the people who claim they're my new friends are like, just, damn. Who'd want them as friends?

"I suppose — well, maybe it was different for you, but I really can't remember when I became a were-weasel. I mean, I really can't for the life of me remember ever being bitten by any kind of weasel, much less a were one. But I know that the first time it became a problem for me was when I was in Junior High. It was in eighth grade, Mrs. Kazmarek's American History class. We'd had a big assignment I didn't feel like doing, to write an essay on Lincoln, and just my luck, the Kaz singles me out and tells me to come up in front of the class and read my essay. Well, this piece of paper I'm holding is blank, of course, and I'm just standing there at the front of the room, in front of everybody, all embarrassed and humiliated and everything, with my face turning bright red and the puberty hormones surging and all that, and the Kaz gives me that over-the-glasses look and says, "Well?" And then Sue Miller, in the front row — she was this pretty little blond I had the crush to end all crushes on — well Sue started giggling, and you could hear the whole class drawing their breaths, and in about a half-second they were going to totally explode in laughter—

"And just like that, it happened. I transformed, right there, in front of the whole damn class. And right off the top of my head, running on ninety-nine percent pure bullshit, I rattled off the most amazing essay you ever heard about Lincoln, with not one single word of truth in it, beyond the fact that some guy named Abraham Lincoln was once the President of our country.

"Well, the Kaz was stunned, of course. She gave me an 'A' on the spot. Never even asked to see that blank sheet of paper I was holding.

"I can see some of you; you're giving me that look. That was a problem?

"Yeah, that was a problem, but I didn't recognize it as such at the time. And I'll get back to it.

"But right now, I have a question: is that what it was like for you, the first time? Because to be honest, I really haven't spent a lot of time around other were-creatures, and I honestly don't know. I've been in denial, remember?

"I only know that I really got off on the raw power, and the way the Transformation, when it happened, was like — like — well, it was even better than sex with Sue Miller, a fact I later confirmed through extensive and repeated experimentation.

"But at the time, I was confused. I'd heard the stories; I knew the legends. Full moon, right? Not for me. I was really — ah, irregular. It was more related to hormones and stress than anything having to do with the Moon. When my life was going well and everything was on an even keel, it was really nice and predictable, every 28 days, like clockwork. But when I was stressed out, I could transform two or even three times in a month — or sometimes not at all. One time I went three months without transforming, and it scared the hell out of me. I thought — well, I didn't have a clue what to think. That was right after the first time Sue and I went all the way on the couch in her parent's basement, and I thought she'd, like, done something terrible to my body. I was scared out of my ever-lovin' mind — until the next month, when the Transformation happened right on schedule, and I could go back to breathing again.

"While I'm asking questions: I don't know about you, but for me, well, some months it's really heavy, and I become like this giant rabid stoat that walks on its hind legs like a man, and other months it's so light all I have to do is remember to shave twice daily and keep my mouth closed so the Normals don't see my fangs.

"But as far as being a curse goes, well, it was really more of an inconvenience than a curse. And to tell the truth there were times it was damned useful. I never would have made it through law school or launched my political career if I couldn't get in touch with my Inner Weasel on a regular basis.

"That's when things started to fall apart. As I worked my way up the political ladder, I became totally dependent on my Weasel Sense. In time — well, eventually I wound up being the Press Secretary to somebody really important, if you can believe that to look at me now, but along the way I got so totally addicted to using my Weasel Powers that finally I just couldn't turn it off any more. At the end, even I couldn't tell when I was spewing bullshit. It got easier to try to figure out when I might be telling the truth, because it happened less often.

"I'm sure you've heard stories like mine before. In the end, I pushed it too far. I lost control. I actually transformed in the middle of a press conference, in front of the entire White House Press Corps, and not one of them noticed. I mean, maybe Maureen Dowd did; she later wrote a column in which she called me a "beady-eyed little ferret," but at six-foot-two and two-hundred-and-ten pounds, I'm by no stretch of the imagination "little," so maybe she was just communing with her own Inner Weasel that day.

"But while the press didn't notice, the people I worked for sure did, and that's when they decided I'd become a liability. I got fired; replaced. But I still had my Were-Weasel Powers, right? So that's when I decided I would really stick it to former employers, and show them the full fury of an enraged were-weasel! I would write a book.

"You can guess what happened after that, can't you? Now all my former friends hate me, and all the people who claim they're my new friends are total dirtbags who claim to love me but secretly — not that secretly, actually — despise me.

"And that's my story. My name is Scott, and I'm a were-weasel. But with your help, my friends, I believe I can change.

"Hey! Why are you all looking at me like that?"