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.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. III)
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.
“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.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. II)
“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.
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.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Bloodline: Godseed (Pt. I)
“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.
“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.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. V)
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.
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.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. IV)
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.
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.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. III)
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.
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.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. II)
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.
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.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Bloodline: The Cult of Anubis (Pt. I)
“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.
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.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Season 2 Coming Sometime
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.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The Beginning of the End or The End of the Beginning?
"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.]
[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.]
Sunday, May 24, 2009
The Big Question
"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!"
[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!"
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Run, Rabbit, Run
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.
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.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Miguel Checks In
“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?”
(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?”
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Scott's Exit
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?"
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?"
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Conspiracy Is Real?
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.
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.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Homecoming
"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."
[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."
Sunday, April 12, 2009
What's this world coming to?
"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?"
[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?"
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Man Behind The Curtain Speaks
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:
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?
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?
Sunday, March 29, 2009
The New Pack
"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!"
[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!"
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