Life With A Werewolf

Absentminded Accusations Part 3 - An Itchy Problem

          I took my neighbors warning with as much gravitas as was needed for such a situation. Which means of course I turned it into a joke. That’s all you can really do in these situations. You make them jokes. Beneath the dark humor is a layer of darker reality. An understanding of the harshness that can and perhaps will befall me and Crash himself.

          “I have to kill myself in three days or he’s going to murder everyone apparently,” I had told Crash who was seated at the kitchen table. “What’s for dinner?”

          Crash shrugged. “It’s Zack’s turn. He said he’s picking up pizza. Scratch, scratch, scratch. “Can I have your pistol?”

          “No. I’m going to give it to Zack.” He gave me the most pitiful face I’ve ever seen on a sentient creature.

          “You’re no fun.”

          I laughed. “Well, Zack will want it, besides you’ll probably be killed beside me.”

          Crash shrugged. “Are you kidding? I’m lighting the ceremonial torch.” Scratch, scratch, scratch.

          “On yourself? And will you stop scratching, you’re making it worse!”

          He looked at me, his ears folded in discomfort and pain. “Ever have an itch so bad it physically hurt? Multiply that by a thousand. That’s what I feel right now.”

          I sighed and leaned against the sink. “What does your doc say?”

          “He came in, got a skin sample, then said to try, and I quote, ‘every soap known to man, I’m not even kidding. Use Dawn if you have to.’ End quote.”

          “But, you look nothing like an oil soaked baby penguin.”

          He gave me a puppy dog look, then lolled his tongue out for a second. “No, I’m cuter,” he replied.

          I gave him a smirk. “In a horrifying nightmare that would eat Freddy Kruger sort of way, yeah. Much cuter.”

          It went on like that for probably another fifteen minutes. Jokes and insults going back and forth until finally Crash, scratching a new spot on his arm, said “office got wind of Mitch a bit ago. They’re working on it they say.”

          I sighed, “what does that mean?”

          “Generally,” he grumbles, “that means I handle it. But given your situation. My situation and this whole damn town going to pot, not sure at this moment.”

          I sighed. “What will we do?”

          “What can we do?” Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch.

          “Can Vic, you know,” I began.

          Crash head tilted for a moment, until it finally dawned on him. “You mean, kick Mitch out of the brain of everyone in town? He’s good, but he’s not that good. He’d have glamor just about everyone, then mentally kick Mitch out one at a time. That would require a lot of willpower and strength, and Mitch will get tired of fighting and use one of his victims to just kill Vic.”

          “Or have Vic arrested,” I suggested.

          “Or dozen or so other ways of getting out of it.” Scratch, scratch, scratch. “It wouldn’t work.”

          “Well, you have any idea what’s causing your itching? You’re bleeding all over the furniture.”

          He shrugged. “Were-mange?” He grinned at his own bad joke. “No clue.” He went from a snappy sardonic grin to pleading puppy dog eyes in about three seconds. “Could you please pick me up some…”

          I sighed. “Yes, I’ll get the dawn.” And death threats I thought.

          “Thanks! And a candy bar.” Scratch, scratch, scratch.

          “Isn’t chocolate bad for dogs though,” I asked, then ducked as he threw a kitchen towel at me. “Okay, okay,” I chuckled, I’m going!”

          The town has a smallish grocery store, with a few isles that crowd in the necessities near some of the more profitable sugar products. It has all the feeling of a store that should be torn down and rebuilt but is reluctantly being kept open by its owners who hopes that the building will just one day rot into the ground so they don’t have to worry about it anymore. Some of the craters in the parking lot are larger than ones I’ve seen in warzones. The brick façade outside is more dingy gray than red with white mortar. But at least it doesn’t smell sour or stale, so the place has that going for it if nothing else.

          I squeezed down the cleaner isle and grabbed the big blue jug of Dawn. From there, I started looking at others, seeing if perhaps Borax or something else would be a good idea too. As I was searching, A kind old lady, one whom I’ve never seen before looked at me with a sweet smile. “Made your last plans, murder?” She asked, then moved on by the isle.

          “What,” I asked, turning towards her.

          “I’m gonna have fun dragging you and your pet dog outside,” another voice behind me said. I turned to look at a guy three times my size who had a sour disposition on his face. I clenched my fist, preparing for a fight.

          “You’re gonna die screaming and cursing his name,” said a voice behind me. I turned again, and there was a teenager glaring at me from behind his very wide mother who apparently didn’t hear a thing.

          “Say your prayers, write your will, don’t try and stop me, because nothing will.”

          It was a good thing I didn’t have my gun on me then. I turned and grabbed the lapel of the guy who growled it, shoving him against the shelf. It rattled from our weight but didn’t topple over. A couple of items clattered to the ground from behind it.

          “What did you say,” I snarled.

          He held up his hands. “Look sir, I want no trouble,” he stammered. He looked to be about the skinniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Obvious meth head with short gray hair. I looked up into his wrinkled face, the sunken jaw with obvious rotted out teeth, and sighed dropping him. Yes, I could have turned him into hamburger, but it wouldn’t be worth the hip pain. A lot of fights just aren’t worth the hip pain.

          “Stupid nursery rhyme death threats,” I grumbled letting him go. He shuffled away from me quickly. By the time he got to the next isle, I was certain he’d already forgotten the encounter. These things seemed to go that way. I figured dumb, drugged and creepy wanted me scared, but didn’t want me arrested. After days of this madness, it was finally starting to work.

          The checkout counter was never a more welcome sight in my life. Of course, I expected a death threat of some kind. Was on edge for it. With fists clenched and eyes wild, I began putting my groceries on the belt. Waiting for something. “Find everything you’re looking for,” The girl asked. She had to have been just out of high school.

          I nodded. “Think so,” I mumbled, looking around.

          There are times when you need a kind smile and a good heart. I didn’t get any of the teenage angst or disconnected melodrama that you can expect at times from teenagers. Instead, this woman who couldn’t have been older than nineteen gave me the most sincere, caring smile I’ve ever got. “It’s going to be okay,” she said.

          “Yeah,” I sighed, leaning against the check counter. Now it just holds the credit card reader, but that was the original purpose of it – to give you a place to write your checks. “It probably will,” I replied.

          “You just got to believe it,” she said sweetly.

          I nodded, and gave her the cash she asked for. I really was feeling better when she gave me the change, and in just as sweet of a voice said, “because we really do want you to enjoy your last two days on Earth.”

          I snarled a thanks at her, then grabbed my bags and left.

          You could say there was a bit of a mood about me when I got back. I set the bags on the counter, was prepared to begin slamming things around, until I saw Crash. Shawn was standing over him, a confused look in the surfer dude’s face. “I found him like this,” he muttered. “We got to, uh, I don’t know man. We got to do something.”

          There was a blood around him. He was half grumbling half whining in pain. “Let’s get him into the tub,” I said.

          “Then what,” Shawn asked.

          “We scrub,” I said. “And if you’re religious, pray.”