Life With A Werewolf

On Your Mark....

          It’s always nice meeting new neighbors, isn’t it? It’s great to get to know the nice couple that buys the house down the street from you with the picket fence and the dog house in the yard, the ones who keeps smiling and waving at you, making those subtle jokes and hints that you only later come to find out are insults. The one’s who usually drive something American like a Dodge and isn’t one of them a shoe salesman?

          Okay, so that’s the Bundy’s from the TV show Married with Children. These days that nice couple down the street (not the shoe salesman on TV or anyone played by Ed O’Neill) will drive either an SUV or a mini-van, and come in all sorts of flavors and sizes. From starter families of all flavors and sizes to single families to just single people. Couples who are past the point of kids and frankly don’t want any. Couples who have enough kids for everyone in the neighborhood to take a couple and they wouldn’t notice. They could be Black, White, Asian, Hispanic, or a mixture of all of those. Straight, gay, bi, whatever. Whatever shape, size, culture or mixture the family comes in, it’s still nice to meet the neighbors. Even when one is six and a half feet tall and looks like she could bench press a Buick.

          Elouise Thompson reminded me of Chyna from the WWE who died tragically. Crash claims to have seen her first, but I saw her on morning jogs through the neighborhood days before he claims it. I didn’t try to catch up to her and say hi though. Running hurts now. I ain’t running. But I’ll cheer you on from the sidelines if I see you.

          Blonde isn’t her natural hair color, but it’s the one she chose and despite the color looking closer to something you get out of a bottle in the house hold cleaners’ section and not in the health and beauty section, it still works for her. I guess. I’m not one to judge on appearance these days, really. I once conducted an experiment to see how long I could go without bathing before the roommates try and throw me into the shower. That official count is four days if you’re curious. No, it wasn’t Crash, his sensitive werewolf nose says we all stink. It was a team effort between Kris, Zack and Sean. And they wouldn’t have succeeded without that coconut oil and the slip and slide. But I digress.

          A few days later, Crash was up early for a night patrol. It wasn’t even dark yet. His dark fur glistened in the dying daylight. He grabbed me in the kitchen just as I was getting ready to cook. “Remember that old cemetery the Zombies cleaned up? Could you go out there with a stop watch and wait?”

          I almost head tilted in that confused dog manner Crash always does. “Stop watch? You need me to count pushups and sit-ups too?”

          Crash shook his head. “Please, no. Don’t even make that joke or you’ll give her ideas. I’ll call you when we begin.”

          “I think I still have the stop watch app on my phone,” I said. “Used it during PT all the time. What’s this about?”

          “Elouise,” Crash said.

          “New girlfriend,” I asked.

          Crash laughed, “No. New friend. I think. Unless this is a secret plan to kill me.”

          “That could still be one of your girlfriends,” I said with a grin.

          Crash waved a paw. “No, no. I gave up dating psychopaths.” With that, he headed out the door and I followed. I drove up to the cemetery and stepped out, pulling my car off to the side of the road. Like Crash, I didn’t expect much traffic and didn’t see any. There wasn’t any houses on that particular stretch of the highway. It was a place one went when they wanted to push their car a little harder than what they could do in city limits without having to worry about speeding tickets.

          I stood by my car amidst the growing shadows remembering when the Zombies brought me out here so they could clean the place up and have their little party. Before I could ask myself dumb questions like ‘what are they doing now?’ (Answer: rotting of course), Crash called. I shouted go, in the phone and started my timer.

          Werewolves run fast. Before you ask, no I don’t know how fast. And, no I don’t know the route or the distance they ran. All I know is that I was staring down the roadside expecting to see Crash come blazing up the highway, and instead I heard a rustle through the trees.

          A guttural growl and a snarl echoed through the forest, one that chilled my blood to the bone. Two creatures exploded from the woods. One, of course, was Crash. The second was what I can only describe as an Alligator man. Woman. Or whatever. Pausing a moment, I stopped my stop watch, and swallowed. “Hi,” I said, reaching out to the gator lady. “I’m Jason.”

          “Elouise,” she huffed. “Pleasure. Who won?”

          “Excuse me,” I asked.

          “Our race. Who won?”

          Crash made a motion, behind her back. I glanced at him, then back at her. “I-it was you,” I said.

          She grunted, glaring at me. “If you’re lying,” she started.

          “You ought to know better than to threaten a wolf’s human,” Crash said with a slight grin and a tail wag.

          She turned back to him. “Best two out of three,” she snarled.

          “Perhaps,” Crash said. “I’d be willing to trade another race for a cup of coffee and a conversation.”

          “Thanks,” Elouise said her thick tail tip twitching, “but too much fur, not enough scales for ma taste, sugah.”

          “Wasn’t asking for a date,” Crash stepped forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I want to know what you can tell me about the Grey’s.”

          “I…” she began, then looked down. “I think I may try runnin on my own first.”

          “Go ahead and try,” I said. “I know he was holding back. I also know that he can have four other mythicals faster than him here with a single phone call to catch you.”

          “Now don’t you go threatenin me, human,” she snarled. “I’ll rip your skin off before your dick hits the dirt.”

          “Wasn’t a threat,” I said, with a slight smile. “Just stating a fact. Now, me telling you that I’ll put…”

          “Enough, Jason.”

          I looked over at Crash. “Please,” he said. His ears tipped in a way that I translated to a dog begging for help.

          I sighed, “I’ll be at home,” I grumbled then climbed back into my car. I didn’t hear the rest of that conversation. I’m not sure I want to. As I drove away, I could see in the rear-view Crash was talking very animated to Elouise, who listened for a few seconds before she dashed back through the woods. I don’t even know who the Greys are. A new family? A mafia crime family of mythical monsters? Space Aliens that look like E.T. coming to eat our brains in the cutest ways possible? Any of these could be true. Given my luck, they’ll all be true in some weird twisted hybrid set to a dance number written by Elton John and Alice Cooper with a guest verse by that guy from Creed.

          Not too long ago I had made a New Year’s Resolution to stay out of trouble. Stay out of other people’s business and just mind my own. I was going to be the quiet neighbor. The good neighbor. The sort of guy who stood in corners at parties who politely sipped his beer and said “no officer, I have no idea why they rode naked on a horse down main street. Why, I have no idea where they even got the lime Jello. Let alone the boom box blasting Aphex Twin.”

          Instead, it feels like I’m being dragged kicking and screaming into werewolf business. Again. Why me? Why does this always happen to me?