Life With A Werewolf

The Fast Food Werewolf

          We don’t get door knockers. No door-to-door sales people. The local Mormons leave our particular house alone when they go door-to-door recruiting. There’s no cult on the outskirts of town but if there where, I know they’d just give our little house a wide berth. It’s the natural thing that comes with living a werewolf that you grow to enjoy. You don’t have to worry about dealing with those modern annoyances in life. Afterall, no one wants to piss off a werewolf. Even if they don’t know about werewolves, there’s a subconscious thing about it. People seem to naturally know not to bother us.
          But that doesn’t mean we don’t get accosted when we’re out and about. Every one of us living here has a story about how someone stopped us and asked “can you get Crash to look into this?” Sometimes, (usually trolls or ogres), will give us WAY too much information when they stop us. For these people personal privacy simply doesn’t exist. After all, everyone has sex, right? And pooping is something that everyone does. So, if someone wants to combine those acts, well, why wouldn’t your neighbors want to hear about it? In detail? In Wal-Mart? In front of the children’s toy aisle? With a mother staring horrified onward clutching her kids ears while this complete stranger goes into every excruciating, disgusting detail to you so you can accurately describe the problem to Crash? Honestly? I’d rather have the Mormons. At least then I can tell them no thanks and shut the door. Plus, they don’t give us creepy, graphic stories at random.
          But it’s one of those little details of life that you have to go through when you live with a werewolf who also works for the local government. One such occurrence happened at a local fast-food chain. It was one of those places that lives in the fast food strip that exists in every small town in America. It’s practically Americana at this point. It happens like this: you get one McDonalds in the center of town. And like a rash, Burger King springs up. Then before you know it, you got a Hardee’s/Carl’s Jr a chicken finger place, a Chicken sandwich place, a Rally’s/Checkers, a buffet of some kind, all crammed together on the same strip of land running through the center of town.
          The guy behind the counter looked to be normal enough. Tall, broad shouldered, friendly smile. He was wearing a name tag that said ‘Mitch’ on it. He handed my food to me, then gave a subtle sniff before telling me, “tell Crash I said hi. And he still owes me that hunt.”
          Two things ran through my mind at that moment. First was, how in the world did this complete stranger know I lived with Crash? Second was, do I stink?
          When I told Crash what happened that night, he grinned. “No you don’t stink. No worse than any normal human, anyway. And that’s just Mitch. He smelled my scent on you.”
          “I mean, how,” I asked. “I bathe every day. Wear clean clothing. We don’t sleep in the same bed, we’re not screwing, so how is this guy smelling anything on me?”
          “First, you’re lucky we’re not screwing, I’d break you. Second, you live in my house! The scent is all over the place. Think of it as a cost of membership in my pack. You get to smell more like an awesome werewolf, instead of like a stale, boring human.”
          “I don’t think you’d break me, I’m more durable than I look,” I grinned. “After all, I took that Camaro almost dead-on the hip.”
          Crash laughed. “Yes, and you needed to go to the hospital afterwards. See? I’d break you.”
          We laughed and the conversation moved on, going into work related things for him and writing related things for me. From there, it didn’t really come back up until a few weeks later when we were back in that same town, this time looking for a part for the dryer. They laughed and hugged, greeting each other like long lost friends. “When are we supposed to party?” He said, his own voice going loud. I guess it’s a werewolf trait to forget their volume?
          Crash smiled. “Soon. How about this weekend? I have a night off, we can make a night of it. A few beers, and stalk some game through the woods just like old times.”
          They promised each other they’d get together, then Crash grabbed his food tray and mine, said his goodbyes and came back to our table. “It’s been too long since I seen that guy,” Crash said.
          “Party?” I asked.
          “Oh, he means hunting. We’ll go stalk some game. Probably deer,” Crash replied, unwrapping his burger.
          I head tilted. A trait I picked up from him. “Oh? Werewolves hunt deer? I thought you hunted people.”
          He smirked. “Only those who go crazy do that,” he replied. “Most just want to live their lives. Pay their taxes, raise their kids, you know same as you.”
          “So, deer is more fun to hunt than people or something?” I asked, picking up a fry.
          He shrugged. “Well, deer is more of a challenge. They don’t stomp through the underbrush like you. They’re smart, they hide, they’re a heck of a lot faster. They’ll even try to walk upwind and avoid you.”
          A thought occurred to me as I looked over at the counter. The werewolf was helping another customer, then. “What’s life like in a wolf’s pack that isn’t working a government job?”
          Crash shrugged. “A lot simpler for you. A lot more complicated too.”
          “What do you mean,” I asked.
          “That Kheid incident for instance? It would have taken longer to get Larry out there. Paperwork, reports, incidents and interviews. The regular police would have to determine that it is, in fact, a supernatural incident and therefor goes into my jurisdiction.”
          I nodded. “But how would it be simpler?”
          “That Wal-Mart incident would have never happened. Trolls would just leave you alone.”
          The conversation kind of died out for a bit there as we concentrated on eating our food. After a while, I glanced back over at Mitch. He had the same jovial grin on his face, working the counter like any manager would, greeting customers with the same award winning grin that some fast food workers seem to have. I know most just have the general face of “I don’t get paid nearly enough for this crap,” but a select few seems to be almost eternally cheerful. It got me to thinking, and well that prompted the next question.
          “Does Mitch have a pack?”
          Crash shrugged. “Yeah, why?”
          It was my turn. “I just didn’t notice a wedding ring or anything, and wasn’t certain.”
          “Oh,” Crash said. “He’s adopted a family nearby. Their kids call him ‘Uncle’. He’s like the crazy Uncle Ernie from that movie Christmas Vacation’.”
          “You mean ‘Cousin Eddie’,” I corrected.
          He smirked. “Well, I don’t know movies all that well.”
          I laughed. “This coming from the guy that can list the actors in some obscure blood and gore horror comedy like ‘Redneck Zombies’.”
          Crash laughed as well, “Okay, so I have priorities.”
          The conversation went on from there, twisting around Crash’s favorite horror actors. The big revelation though was being ‘adopted’ by a werewolf. Apparently Crash had did it to me and Sarah, adopting her through me and I didn’t even know it. Mitch had done the same to this other family. He was even polite enough to go through a checklist kind of to determine if you’ve been adopted by a werewolf.
          Do you know someone who is jovial and large framed? Perhaps they show up at random times? Are present at every Barbecue and maybe at most important family events? If so, count yourself lucky. Cause you’ve been adopted by a werewolf. Werewolves can’t prevent every tragedy from occurring, but they let ghoulies and other mythical beasties know that you and your family is not to be trifled with. They’ll do this by borrowing certain items and then returning them, or giving you things. You won’t be able to smell it, but it has their scent all over it and in turn will soon be all over your house.
          This is better than what they used to do in the olden times. As Mitch explained to me one evening while he was waiting for Crash to go “change”, “in older times we’d mark the houses of those we protected physically with our scent.”
          I gave him an incredulous look. “So, werewolves would pee on your home?”
          He laughed. “Yeah! Kept the vampires at bay.”
          “So, what makes you adopt someone,” I asked.
          Mitch shrugged. “Mutual interests is where it starts. There has to be some level of acceptance there for other people. A slight love of humanity, whether they admit it or not.” I nodded as he continued. “It makes sense why we do it though. Cause loneliness kills. It’s perhaps the biggest killer of werewolves out there. Far more than silver or any curse. Far more than any strange werewolf disease. And it kills just as many people as it does wolves.”
          That much I understood, from first hand experience. I had pushed everyone out of my life, even tried pushing Crash out, but he refused to go. Instead of taking my distance as a sign of me attempting to work things out, or my own general miserliness, he took it as a cry for help. Without him, I literally would not even be here now, typing this out.
          Mitch has a similar story with the family he adopted. They knew no one when they came to town. He met them, introduced himself, and helped become the conduit through which they grew to know the entire community. They’re growing to be pillars, owning the restaurant that Mitch works in, as well as working on another one and even have plans to develop a park. All of those things because Mitch more than a decade ago, brought over a tuna casserole when they moved in and ignored their polite insistences when they thought they wanted him to leave and instead helped them unload their moving truck. He also helped later when that ghoul began stalking them, though the family knows nothing about that.
          If you have that individual in your life. That one person who always has a smile, is always around even when it sometimes feels annoying to have them there, don’t shun them. Don’t lock your door on them or cut them out. Cause they just maybe curing their own loneliness. Or, they just might be a werewolf, and you maybe lucky enough to soon count yourself among the lucky few: those of us who have been adopted into a larger family. And if you’re very lucky, that werewolf may open themselves and their lives to you. If that happens, well, not only accept them, but embrace them. Because you’re about to embark on a bumpy, wild, fun ride. One that has it’s ups and downs, true. But one that has been a blast for me, and one I wouldn’t trade the world for.