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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack First compilation book will be available soon on Amazon. My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| There are plenty of people out there who would tell me that schadenfreude is a good thing on occasion. If you're not familiar, schadenfreude is an old world European thing. I believe from Germany, but I'm a little too lazy to look it up, so don't attack me on it please. But schadenfreude is the act of taking joy and/or pleasure from the pain and suffering of your enemies or those who have wronged you. This is something everyone's done at one point in their lives. Whether it's laughing at the Karen in her White Ford Explorer who got pulled over by the cop for speeding after she chewed out the Starbucks employee for ten minutes for doing their literal job, or it's chuckling at your boss who ends up getting chewed out in the office for ignoring good advice you gave them, we've all taken a little bit of schadenfreude in our lives. Yes, Gary had all but avoided us after the whole "Meth-headed vampire takes over the town" thing, but so did several others. It wasn't because of anything that I or they did. Many of them, including Gary, felt more than a bit of embarrassment at what had happened. But beneath that embarrassment was a naked fear. A fear of the unknown - an unknown they'd at one point in time considered to be nothing more than fairy tales and nonsense. Kid stories told at bed time to frighten children or cannon fodder for Stephen King, nothing to be considered real. That fear is something I understood. The fear is what drove me to start this blog to begin with. It's why I wasn't mad when our conversations had turned to simple head nods and basic greetings on the street. I wasn't upset with Gary when our interactions discussing cars and parts, talking about how to keep simple cars like mine on the road became awkward dances around stones that cropped up between us, stone we both chose to disregard. A mind at times can only accept so many things. Crash built me into the life slowly, with things being revealed within their own time. Gary was pushed into the deep end and told to swim. When he approached me in the yard, I had thought that perhaps he'd finally got the gumption up to talk about things like we used to – that perhaps we could ignore the insanity and talk about cars again. Instead, what I got was an awkward, stilted conversation that only got more strange as it went along. He walked up, playing with his finger nails, looking every bit of a child trying to ask their parents for a new cell phone. His mouth was drawn into a nervous pucker, eyes wide as stop signs behind his glasses. "Jason, I uh....got to talk...." he said, standing by the car. I had been changing my oil at the time. It was a simple operation at that moment of pulling the drain plug off the oil pan and letting the used oil stream out. As I did so, I came up wiping my hands on an old rag. "Sure thing, dude. How can I help?" "It's well, I uh..." he began, and looked around conspiratorially. It felt like an old sitcom from the nineties. Steve Urkel trying to buy drugs as part of a sting operation. "I need...you know...." "I don't. You're going to have to be specific," I said. I wasn't unsympathetic, but I was a little confused. He gritted his teeth, and looked around one more time. Then whispered. "Werewolf." "Gary, are you sure you want to go down this road?" A gave him as sympathetic of a look as I could muster, and clapped him on the shoulder. He looked up at me, and there was a brokenness there I didn't expect. "My son is dating this new woman. She's great, very outgoing. Has a good appetite too, I've never seen a woman eat that much and keep her figure the way she does, heh. She's friendly, almost lively. Outside quite a bit, and I started to suspect that she maybe a....well...." "Werewolf," I asked, finishing the statement for him. He nodded. "Well, Darin proposed yesterday. We all gave our congratulations but..." "And let me add mine. Congratulations, Gary." He took a step back. "I'm not sure I want a...well..." "Werewolf?" "Yeah, that. It might not be...well..." "Gary. You'll be perfectly safe. She won't interfere with you. Your son will be safe." Gary's face darkened for a moment. He looked away down the road, his mind drifting into elsewhere. "It was like being locked away. Inside. I could see myself doing all of these awful things, and I didn't want to do any of it. But the images drifted by, like scenes passing on billboards on the highway. All I could do was watch. I...don't want that for Darin. For Julia, his fiance'. For anyone. Ever. If there's even the slimmest chance that could happen to him, I have to save him." Gary turned back to me, "could you ask your friend to just...well...you know..." "Crash won't scare away another werewolf, Gary." His eyes flashed with anger for a moment, and he turned back to the highway, still unable to look at me. "Just tell him to, well, talk? Maybe? Please?" There was a wild desperation in Gary's eyes. One that forced a nod from me. "I guess I can," I said. "Don't get your hopes up. Don't go expecting miracles." *** The rest of this interaction does come from Crash. When I gave him the question from Gary, he texted Gary and told him to meet him at dusk near the woods. Not the small clutch of trees near our home, but the real forest a couple miles down. Two roads cross in front of where Crash asked Gary to meet. A handful of houses press into the trees, but otherwise it's just forest. It wasn't dark for Crash. His night vision is well enough that he could identify the color of shirt Gary chose to wear. Could see the moonlight glinting off of his glasses. Could identify where his pants bent when he walked. Crash watched Gary approach then turn. Gary kept looking around at the road, at our house. At the forest itself. When Gary looked into the forest, Crash allowed him to see his eyes. The eye shine made Gary gasp, and he stepped back for a moment. Crash stood to his full height and stepped out of the trees in his wolf form. Gary fell backwards into the street, a cry caught in his throat. "P-please..." he stammered. "Crash? T-that you?" "Yes it is. Take a good long look." Gary's breath was coming in shallow gasps. He said "I need your help. P-please...I n-need...." Crash sighed, and reached down. Gary winced a moment expecting him to attack, but instead Crash picked him back up and set Gary on his two unsteady feet. "There you go." The older man winced as Crash gently brushed the dirt from his clothing, his shirt, his hair. "Gary, I perform a service to this community," Crash said. "I'm not a monster. I work with those you have chosen not to see. I work with them to support them and you. You interact with almost a dozen different creatures every day, and yet you don't know a single one of them." "But this is different. This is Darin, my boy. If you had a child....or pup...or is it wrong to say pup," Gary wondered for a moment. "Child works," Crash said. "Child, whatever," Gary replied. "What would you do? If it was yours and you were faced with something you knew very little about. But your only interaction terrified you? Wouldn't you do all you could to ensure your son's safety?" "Where is your son and his fiance'," Crash asked. "They're at home now. But they're coming over this Saturday. For a big outdoor barbecue." It was far too cold for that right now. But Crash nodded, giving Gary a slow smile. "Text me the time and I'll be there." Crash watched as Gary walked back towards his home. There was a slow sadness in Crash's heart. Gary thought he was doing the right thing. Gary thought he was saving his son. But Crash knew, if it was a werewolf, they would not tolerate interference and protect those they loved with their own lives. If it was something else, there was no telling what would happen. For Gary it would look like war on a scale he'd never seen before. He said a silent prayer as Gary walked away. "Please don't let this tear his family apart." |
| Ever get talked into something you immediately regret? That sort of thing, whether it's helping a neighbor or helping your friend, that's just far too much trouble than for what it's worth for anyone. It's not illegal or anything. It's just that whatever it is, whether that job is something to do with lawn maintenance, car care, or something gross, it's going to take you far more effort than what you want and get you farther involved than you ever cared to be. This is what happened to me recently with our resident hulderfolk. Charles and Nancy had decided to move. Leave the house, further down state to another werewolf area. Something without Nobility troubles and meth-head vampires running around. They found a nice place to rent, and attempted to sell the house here. I admit, I was intrigued. What and how does house sales work for a mythical creature? Do they sell the home to humans, or do they attempt to sell it to another mythical? I can see a real estate agent, walking around with a clip board pointing out several items. "And the doors here are tall enough for an ogre. The walls are thick and dark colored so any pesky mud or blood stains just wash right off! Neighbors are used to strange noises from the last family of mythical creatures who lived here, so they don't even ask questions!" Of course, Nancy wanted to try to sell the house herself. This lead to an entire debacle of her being too busy to show the home, too busy to answer questions, and it sitting on the market for six whole months. Then she got the 'brilliant' idea of renting it. If you have a home you want to sell, I always say go ahead and sell it. Don't rent. Renters aren't always careful with your property. Plus, a lot of property management companies are more than happy to collect your money and just let your property go to ruin instead of actually maintaining it. There's way too many hands, especially hands that just don't care about the quality of work they give you. Plus, everything always comes back on you. It just doesn't seem worth it in my eyes. The "For Rent" sign went up close to Christmas. They had a renter for a grand total of twenty one days. Twenty one agonizing, yard destroying, 'let's see if we can pour bleach on the lawn to spell funny letters' days. Twenty one 'I like hip hop and rap rock from 00's so now everyone else does at 3am' days. Twenty one 'it's fun to drunk drive at 2 in the morning blasting my stereo' days. Twenty one 'cops kicked in our door again' days. You know it's bad when a cop comes by and tries to ask Crash if he could find a reason to our new neighbors. He tried to disguise it as a joke, and even laughed at it, but I could see the desperation in his eyes. He wanted them gone. I don't blame him; we all did. By the time the cops had enough evidence to drag the neighbors from hell away in handcuffs, the once gorgeous home looked like a war zone. One of the bay windows in front was smashed out and hastily covered with plywood. The former tenants literally poured bleach on Charles' proud lawn. Apparently, they were trying to spell out 'Hi Neighbors!' But it came out looking more like 'Hiney Bears'. I still to this day don't know how many joints and beers it takes to get to the point where you're so drunk you make that mistake. I'd only seen Charles cry one time, and that was out of torture for the love of his estranged wife. This time, though, when he saw what they did to his property, he did shed a tear. Then he gave one of his infamous Charles threats. "May a horde of rats gnaw on their toe nails!" I had swung by just in time to hear the threat. I'd also seen Charles then smile at me. "Neighbor! Hi!" Trouble. "Hey Charles, how ya holding up?" His shoulders sunk down in his over priced designer shirt. "Not well. our hooligan tenants have decided to give our beloved home a not-so decorative remodel with spray paint and body fluids." Thanks Charles. Thank you so much for the extremely graphic description. At that moment I wished I still drank. "They were all sorts of trouble," I said. "The kind of people who appreciated their liquor more than their own lives." Charles nodded thoughtfully. "When Nancy found them, they said they could pay. They didn't have the money for a down payment. Swore they would pay. Never paid first months rent, kept swearing they would pay." "Where did she find them," I asked. "She said they were being forcibly removed from a movable domicile for a minor financial disagreement with their landlord. Nancy said they had given her a solemn oath that they had learned their lesson and would be no more trouble." He gritted his teeth at the end of it, staring down at the destroyed lawn. He was opening and closing his hands into fists. "An oath is only as good as the man who makes it," I said. "To some, their oath isn't worth the breath wasted on it." He gave me a dark look for a moment, and I held up my hands. "I'm not trying to preach to you, I'm sorry." Charles glared for a moment at me, still opening and closing his fists. Then, his shoulders fell, and he looked back at his destroyed lawn. "I'm not angry at you. You are correct. In troll culture, the ones who do this are dealt with very quickly. But, humans, you seem to get away with everything sometimes. It gets upsetting." Then came the question he was burning to ask me. The one I dreaded and was subtly trying to avoid. I was giving every subtle clue that I was leaving. I glanced at my watch four times. I took a step towards the car. I even unlocked my car. Still, Charles turned to me, his eyes full of hurt and said "Would you be willing to stay awhile? Help me clean up?" I wanted to grit my teeth, to stomp, to shout and scream. I wanted to run screaming to my car shouting 'LALALALALALA I'M NOT LISTENING!' Then stomp the accelerator and take that Topaz around the corner to my house at ninety. But, I didn't do any of those things. I did the reasonable thing one does for their neighbor. I smiled the classic 'I really don't want to do this' smile and said "Sure! I'll be glad to help you." That was the start of an extra long weekend. The stench hit me fifteen feet from the front steps. Liquor, despair, and shit. It smelled like a truck stop bathroom threw up inside the building after a bender at the worst bar in town. As I climbed the porch steps, I found that the smell was only seconded by the sight. The floor was covered in a sticky substance that had to be the remnants of a beer. The walls in the living room had been spray painted. I wasn't sure what the intended design was, but I knew it would require far more liquor than I intended to consume to read and understand them. The kitchen was splattered with a red substance that could have been blood, spaghetti sauce or ketchup. I didn't know which it was, nor did I want to know. As we moved upstairs, the smell of fecal matter and despair grew stronger. A thick musk like someone hadn't bathed in days. When we rounded the top, there was a pile of dirty laundry left at the top of the banister. The bathroom....well....it's disgusting. Using a turd like a crayon, someone had wrote the words 'fuk u' on the door. Someone else had given the toilet an upper decker. If you're unfamiliar, that's when you crap in the tank rather than the toilet bowl itself. It can ruin the toilet. Thankfully, these genuises didn't flush, but instead just left it floating there, like a departing gift. Poor Charles. He went through eleven different emotions of anger and hurt. He had no idea where to even start with things. How can you say no to that? To abandon anyone at that level of despair? I mean, besides just hiring a hazmat team to come burn down the house so you can rebuild it? We went outside. I put him on the front lawn, told him to start calling people to replace the window. Then, I went to the nearest Dollar General and bought out every kind of household cleaner they had. My credit card still hates me. Afterwards, we went to work. Starting on the top floor, we grabbed gloves and began to throw out every single thing those jokers had left us. Nothing of theirs was kept. Clothing, the few random pieces of crusty furniture, the actually expensive looking liquor bottle, nothing. Of course, as Charles began to clean he also began to talk. To tell me stories as we went room to room. Some of those stories are not fit to print here. I swear, hulderfolk or not, I'm going to sit him down one day and pound into him the concept of TMI! A lot of the stories he did tell though, was sweet ones. Like how he originally proposed to Nancy. Him trying his hardest to come up with the perfect phrases, to say the right things. He had the ring behind his back, right there at the bottom of the stairs and began, well, talking for ten minutes straight. He kept going, he was so nervous. She finally jumped up, kissed him hard to shut him up and grabbed the ring box out of his hands and shouted 'yes, I'll marry you!' How they planned their honeymoon by buying up a bunch of random postcards on the internet and taped them to the wall. They closed their eyes and literally just threw darts at them until they hit a tropical location. How, when money got tight, he began to gather wild flowers and berries for alternative food sources until things picked up again. All of these stories and others he told as we cleaned, working from top to bottom. I tried to be sympathetic, but I was a bit dizzy from the cleaners, which only added to my usual grumbly demeanor. It took us four days to get the house clean. Took almost that long for a contractor to get the window replaced. I pulled a couple of things away from that though. First was, a house is more than a collection of things. It's a collection of memories inside a building. When you rent a building out where you lived, you're essentially renting those memories out to someone else. Memories the other party may or may not cherish, and usually don't. Also, I learned that sometimes the act of doing something like cleaning a home, isn't just about getting things clean physically. It's about cleaning things mentally and spiritually as well. Charles felt a whole lot better after such things and even got Nancy to move back into the house with him. He's still working on the lawn. I hope he gets new sod brought in or something, cause driving by the lawn and seeing 'Hiney Bears' every single time I go to the store makes me giggle. I feel bad for it, though. |
| It should be the most natural thing in the world to see a werewolf at a horror convention. They have fantastic costumes of werewolves at most horror conventions wandering around. These conventions celebrate the fantastic and horrific nature of werewolves in their own way. They'd get constant compliments on the quality of the costume. So, why wouldn't a werewolf go to a horror convention? Yet, Crash has told me that he doesn't believe anyone ever has. "It's a little against our culture to be so exposed," he said to me finally, after I'd asked him the billionth time. I guess that makes sense in a way. Werewolves have stayed hidden among humans. I'd consider it hiding in plain sight, but Crash doesn't seem to think so. "A human who dresses up as a werewolf all the time for conventions is easier to see as a werewolf outside of one," Crash told me when I'd asked him about it. Makes sense in some way, I suppose. Though, in horror conventions unless your costume is really good people just enjoy the costume and ignore everything else. It's not like it is at other conventions. A furry convention I could see being a problem. Everyone would want to know his character, he'd get invited to room parties. People would ask about the quality, how'd he get the ears to move, the tail. The lips, etc...and sooner or later you're going to run out of lies you can tell people. But, still, I'd have to do it if I was a werewolf. I'd get a room at a horror convention, go wolf mode, put on a pair of overalls, maybe shred or tear the ends of the legs up a bit first, then wander the convention halls. Everyone seeing my real self and thinking it's a costume. The thrill of that alone would just be too much for me not to try. Suppose that's the reason he's the werewolf and not me. Or maybe, it's because my entire life doesn't depend on the anonymity of part of my entire being. But human living relies a bit on anonymity too, doesn't it? We just never think about that part of ourselves. There's a public face we give the world, and a private face we reserve for our most sincere loved ones and perhaps no one at all. The face that has all our dirtiest, meanest scars. The face that also pays all our bills and does the chores. How many of us ever reveal those sides of ourselves? The ones that if everyone knew would leave us as open and naked as walking around nude on a sunny day? I suppose in a manner, I understand Crash's reluctance in that. A werewolf's furrier side must be part of that nude side we reserve for loved ones or us alone. It's a side werewolves hold for their own loved ones. Their pack. Which leads me to other questions I just don't want to ask Crash right now. Like...are there games and things werewolf families play with their pups to teach them how to act? Certain things they do to ensure their children learn safety and security living in a mostly human world? I can see a werewolf family playing a version of 'house' the way small children do, only you're not allowed to be seen as transformed by the human! Also, does the entire thing happen at birth or do they shift around puberty? That would be a lot worse to deal with than zits! I can imagine a child at thirteen sitting in his room, playing on his cellphone. And instead of getting zits or discovering girls on the internet, he starts sprouting hair. His claws grows out and he tosses the phone and shouts for his mom, unsure of what to do. His mom and dad show up and smile at him with pride as he shifts into his werewolf form for the first time. Or, maybe it's rather like mom diapering her baby's butt for the tenth time that day only to have a tail sprout out from the bottom of the diaper and tear a hole in it. The mom holds the baby up and the she giggles at her as the child's tail wags. Then the baby starts peeing through the new hole all over the counter. Which scenario do you think fits best? I'm not certain at this moment. All I know is that I'm kind of glad I didn't go through either one. Zits was bad enough. Every one of us have our own struggles, I suppose. As much fun as it would be to be a werewolf dashing among the trees around some random forest somewhere hunting something with just my teeth and claws, there are downsides too. Like what exactly puberty might do to them. Or that first shift, not knowing the amount of pain you'd feel during the transformation. We're all meant to be in a way in the space we're given in the time we're given it in. God or the universe or whoever doesn't shuffle things around at random. We're placed like careful pieces on a Tabletop Gaming battlefield. That's the way I choose to look at it. Your actual mileage may vary. But there's too much evidence out there for me right now to believe that life is some great cosmic accident caused by a lightening strike in a puddle. But who knows? I've been wrong before. |
| It's a classic mistake to focus on the kidnapper's gun. The weapons is a natural focal point of fear. It's the object through which death will come, so we study every inch of the barrel waiting for that deadly flash. But the longer you stare at that object, the more you'll remember it and not the details police may need to help catch the person who kidnapped you. The trick instead is to ignore the weapon as best as you can. The manufacturers have literally made millions of them. It's better to instead focus on the features of your kidnapper, and study every inch of their person. Mine thought he was some sort of cowboy. Jeans that were so tight they looked painted on. A shirt with the typical floral flare on the shoulders. A black cowboy hat set upon his head at just the right angle to try and make him look as menacing as possible. And of course, the aviator glasses. His face was that of a younger man trying to look older. He had a bushy brown beard he'd grown out. His hair stuck out at odd angles and sides from his hat. In truth, I believe the only thing thought was criminal was that he didn't have any gray hair to complete the look. I didn't just study his face. The surroundings was a lonely hilltop at the bottom of a mountain range. Various trees jutted against the gray sky, their barren branches brushing against the clouds like a giant broom. Around us was just about nothing. Except tripwires and explosives. Traps rigged with silver arrows and guns loaded with silver bullets. On his belt he had a silver knife. On the trip out here, right from the moment I'd awakened from his needle jab in the parking lot, I'd studied just about everything I could. Trees, the road types, the route up the hill and through the mountain. The one thing I didn't study was the gun. Cause in the end, usually a gun is just a gun. "In just a couple of hours, you're going to see their true viciousness on display. Isn't it fantastic," The man who called himself Vincent said. He was giddy. Fidgeting this way and that, his hands rubbing up and down his pants every now and again. The man was about to be torn apart and he was excited for it. "You're not going to live through this," I said again. "Crash will tear you apart. I've literally seen him get through worse than this a lot quicker than you're thinking." He looked to the sky a moment, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. Then sat in an old rusty folding chair. "You say that as if it isn't the fucking point." He waved a knife around in my face again. Instead of looking at the blade or his aviators, I studied his shoulders. Studied his shirt and the decorative stitching on the shoulders. Every fiber of my being wanted to spring at him and fight to the death. But I was bound down in such a way that sent pain and needles through my sore hip, knee, back. Those pins turned into weakness that left me without the ability to do anything other than sit there and watch his shoulders. "Don't worry," he said. "If I survive, I'm going to let you loose. You see that go pro? You're going to take a copy of that down the mountain for me." I rolled my eyes. "I'm doing this willingly?!" His mouth pulled up in a grimace. He looked more like the classic werewolf then than Crash had ever been. "After you see their viciousness. You see what I know they do, you'll do it willingly. The world must know. I will make the sacrifice to tell everyone." I laughed. "I doubt he'll kill you." He pressed the gun barrel to my non-swollen eye. "That's where you're all wrong! They are real! They enjoy it. They torture us and tear us limb from limb in our sleep, and they enjoy the terror they cause in us." "Killing is something they do," I said. "But they're our protectors. They run with..." "Blah, blah, blah." His face grew dark for a moment. "Tell that to my parents. To the rest of my family." "I don't know what happened to your family. I've lived with one. For years, I've never been threatened." "That makes you crazier than they claim I am! Living with a werewolf. Willingly! Not some hostage situation." A thought seemed to cross his head for a moment. Cause he looked up, then back down at me waving the pistol around casually. "You're not being held hostage, are ya?" I looked down at where I was squatting down on the snow covered hill. The rope was tied to a stake behind me. It was wrapped around my hands and ankles. I couldn't get up, I couldn't move. I arched an eyebrow at him as if to say, 'really?' "I mean besides me. Cause I know those werewolves. Vicious creatures. I'm going to show the world. I'm going to kill'em. I wouldn't put it past one to keep a human as some sort of freak pet." I tried for the billionth time that day to stand up and stretch something. My muscles in my legs and back were cramped bad. I was leaning on one leg, cause the other had no strength left. "What happened to you? To your family," I asked, gritting my teeth through the pain. "Not your fucking business," he snarled. I laughed. "I'm literally staked to a hill like a goat being used to catch Sasquatch. That kind of makes it my business." He still didn't talk, just snarled and looked down. "You're probably going to kill me, and you can't even tell me what I'm dying for?" His mouth grew thin. "I survived," he said. "Because she wanted me to. Wanted me to watch." He raised the pistol and held it to my face. It shook in his fist. It was holding my attention now, there was no way around it. "You're going to watch." A howl erupted through the woods then. It was followed by a second howl. Then a third somewhere. They were all around us. I shivered at the moment from the sound. That bastard giggled. "I can't wait, I can't wait. You're going to see. You'll show the entire world. Everyone will see!" There was an explosion somewhere behind us. He flinched, I stared at him. Another to our right. The werewolves were moving through the trees on the hill. Avoiding the traps. Even setting off some to disarm others. In less than a minute, they were around us. A tree shook, and something else went off. I couldn't tell what it was, arrows or knives or what. I could see that while one gray werewolf was cutting at my ropes, a dark brown and black furred blur that could only be Crash collapsed on top of Vincent. The damned fool was giggling. "Go ahead! Do it! Make my life complete. DO IT!!" Crash held him down and took his claw on his hand. He took the aviators off of his face and crushed them, tossing them aside. Finally, I could see his eyes. Vincent had ice blue eyes full of defeat and madness. He started to giggle again. Crash raised a single paw, claws out. His ears were back, he was snarling. "Vincent Ignatious Smith. You kidnapped one of my pack. You've made more than one attempt on my life in the past. Have made attempts on other innocent werewolves and creatures of the mythical community." He started carving into his skin on his forehead. It looked like he was carving two slash lines going diagnally. As if someone had been attacked with a claw. "Your punishment is banishment from our protection and community. Any outside the human family will shun you. They will remove you from their businesses. Your loans will be denied in any of our banks and interests. You chose to walk outside our protection, and now you must live there in the cold and dark." A cry rose up in his chest then. It built into a psychotic scream. "You must! You must kill me! Tear me limb from limb! It's what you do, what you're born to do! You hell spawn! Demons!" The insults grew worse from there. They devolved into just cursing. Crash carried me off that mountain top, holding me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He had to help me to a sheriff's vehicle that waited down the bottom, my back and legs were so numb. The sheriff sat outside his vehicle waiting, smoking a cigarette while he watched things unfold. He was a kind old man with a form that reminded me of the guy from the Longmire TV show. He took one look at Crash in his full werewolf form and crushed a cigarette out on the ground under his heel. "You sure you don't want me to arrest that sumbitch? He did take one of yours." Crash nodded. "I got something else in mind." Then he gave the sheriff a small tail wag. "Don't worry. It won't kill him." Whatever was planned took about a week, which I was thankful for. A week to stretch, to allow my body to recover from sitting up there on the hill top listening to the ravings of a madman. After I was able to walk around the house without a cane, Crash came home with an oblong box under his arm. He was in human form, and had a serious look on his face. "Come on," he said. "We got to finish this." He didn't explain anything else on the ride up to a mysterious cabin in the woods. We just started driving, arriving at the distant property at dusk. Faint light from windows in the distance glowed like guiding lamps in the dark. "Why am I here," I asked again for the millionth time. "Two humans most affected by this tragedy must have this ceremony performed for them," Crash replied. "Vincent is one, but he has no one else. You were kidnapped, so that makes you the second." "What am I supposed to do," I asked. Crash started stripping down. "Just follow me. Your confusion is part of the ceremony." He started forcing a change. The shifting was painful to hear. He grunted in pain a few times even as bone scraped against bone. Then he took two shuddering breaths and put on a red bandanna and grabbed a black leather loincloth. It was as if he was punishing himself. Or perhaps his pain was some form of penance? He took two shuddering breaths, then steadied himself. Afterwards he placed a red bandanna on his head, and a black leather loincloth over his waist. Each had a symbol of some kind in them hidden in the color. Later I'd come to find out those symbols were human hand prints. Holding the box out in front of himself, he took steps one a time towards the house. I swear I felt like I should have been playing a beat on a drum or something. I've been to plenty of Last Roll Call ceremonies. This had that sort of feel. There was a somber funeral feeling to the moment. One that for once, I didn't ruin with my chatter. With each step we came into the light. Vincent came out to greet us holding the pistol. There was a bandage over his forehead that looked old and used up. "What the hell do you want," he shouted. "You ruined my life! I lost my bank account because of you. They took my truck from me, now I can't even go to work. What am I supposed to do? What life do I have left?! Huh? Tell me!" When he raised his pistol, I pulled mine. He gasped and took a step back. "Jesus, that's fast." "Practice," I said. "Please, put the weapons down." Crash never stopped holding the box out in front of him. I looked at Crash, but he never took his eyes off of Vincent. I tucked my pistol into my holster and glared at him. Vincent's pistol wavered in his hand, but he lowered it to a ready stance, still not trusting us. Crash began speaking in a rehearsed speech. "As the two humans who are most affected by the tragedy of October ninth, 2010, I request of you permission to approach your home." Vincent snarled, "No you may not." I looked at Vincent, then at Crash. "I think you'll want to see this," I told Vincent. "I have no idea what is gong on, but I you might want to see this to the end." Vincent sighed, then looked at Crash. "It's not enough for you to carve your weird symbol in my forehead and destroy my life, now you have to come on my property to kill me too? Just fucking do it already. Just kill me!" "Look," I shouted at him. "Just point your weapon at me, okay? You don't like where this goes, you can shoot me. How's that?" He thought a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said, then pointed the pistol at me. "If he attacks me, the last thing he'll see is you die." Crash turned his ears back, and tucked his tail. He lowered himself and crawled forward like a whipped dog. He stopped at the bottom step and held up the box. "The blackness of this wood represents the darkness of the sin that my extended pack has committed against yours." He took another step, walking the stairs and stopping within arms reach of the man. He turned the box so Vincent could see the hinges and clasp on it. "The golden buckles and hinges is but pitiful payment for such a heinous act. The gold has represented purity. Power. Honesty and innocence in ancient cultures. Innocence has a power of it's own. That innocence my extended pack has taken from you." Crash unclasped the box, and held it shut. "Long ago, when humans were hunters and gatherers, we followed you. Against the creatures and monsters of the night, we defended you. An agreement was made, between your kind and ours. You give us kindness and food. We give you protection." Crash took a breath, but his voice remained stoic. When I looked up at Vincent, I could tell that was crying. "We have many myths and legends as to how this agreement came into being. But one thing is common among all of them, is that it is a pact, between human and werewolf. Between human and mythical. We are allowed to take your form and live among you. You feed us and show us kindness. For that right, we protect you and promise to do no harm. That promise was broken for your family and you on October ninth, 2010 by my extended family. "A werewolf known as Elizabeth Donalds entered your home uninvited. She proceeded to attack your family and forced you to watch, slaughtering them for no known cause. With this action the extended pack has been disgraced. A greater disgrace was caused when you, Vincent where lost before we could complete this ceremony to restore some semblance of our honor and to start to give you peace." Then Crash opened the box. Laying on a bed of blood red velvet the ears and tail of a werewolf. Vincent gasped, falling backwards into the house, crying. "What the fuck is that!" "The red velvet represents the innocent blood she has spilled. In doing so, she has sealed her own fate. Elizabeth Donalds has been punished on Earth for her heinous crime. May she rest, but never in peace. May she forever be forced to toil for the protection and nurture of the human pack she has spurned." Crash raised his paw, then took a single claw and carved a line across the palm of his other paw. Blood splattered across the inside of the box. "My blood is given also in payment for the innocent blood that was spilled that dark day. It is but a small payment and cannot begin to make up for the loss that you felt at the hands of the extended pack. But may it one day bring you some small solace and comfort. May one day, you find peace." Crash set the box down at his feet, crawled backwards as he arrived. He then stood, bowed and turned. I have no idea what happened. I don't know if Vincent brought in the box or left it to rot on his front porch. But I do hope that he at least got some moniker of closure. On the way back, I couldn't hold it in any longer. "Why did I have to be there," I asked. Crash sighed. "At least two humans must be present for the ceremony. At least two. It is ancient, older than most nations on Earth." "Why didn't you do that before?" He drove a bit, then swallowed. "We couldn't find him. After his first pathetic attempt on me, we couldn't find Elizabeth Donalds remains to perform the ceremony." "Why the ears and tail?" "That part of the ceremony ties her spirit to his. Us werewolves are honor and duty bound to help you humans. If we break that honor, we are killed. The ears and tail are given to the living victims. If none are living, they're buried with them. This ties our spirits to theirs and forces us to be their guides and protectors in the afterlife. The role we spurned on Earth." I sighed. "Is all of that real?" Crash shrugged. "The ceremony is. So are the legends around it. The effects are real. I've seen people destroyed by a rogue werewolf actually come up to us and forgive us afterwards." "Vincent will never do that." "Crazier things have happened." He turned on the radio then. It took a little bit but we found 'Don't Fear The Reaper' on a classic rock station somewhere on the long trip home. Somehow, the song seemed to fit. |
| Snow. The arch nemesis of automobiles and sanity. My old Mercury Topaz dealt with it about as well as can be expected, especially for someone who was in the south for the holidays. The thing about mid-western states, is that they all have plows, and sand trucks and salt trucks and sorts of methods of dealing with the snow. They have the means and experience to make roads at least somewhat passable. Southern states though, they simply don't. They don't get snow at all, so when it falls down and you're visiting a distant relative in say...Alabama for the holidays, driving can get chaotic. Driving north through the snow was more than hectic. It was downright dangerous at times. My car is light to begin with. So with a good gust of wind and a decent patch of ice is all that's really needed to send it on a slow slide into the next lane. No amount of braking or turning will help. Heck, I even reversed and stepped on the gas one time. All I did was a semi-impressive burnout for such a light car as I drifted in front of a semi. Thankfully he had the exact same problem so he was barely moving. After our bumpers literally kissed, we both got out, assessed the lack of damage and laughed at a bad joke I made about exchanging insurance information just for the hell of it. "We can both call and annoy them at the same time," I said. We didn't even exchange paint! Talk about lucky. Cars aren't made for snow. Werewolves, though, are. Crash was having a ball at his parents place, running through the ice and snow, chasing down game. He caught three of their dinners with his claws hunting with his folks. He got time the time to spend in werewolf form for fun for a change instead of just chasing down villains or trying to rescue my broke ass. So much so, he nearly burnt himself out on it and was asleep for almost eighteen hours after he got home. Most of us went our separate ways for the holidays. I think Zack, Kris and Sean had a small celebration together of some kind at the homestead. Kind of like a lawn gnome survivors support group thing, I guess. Which was strange, cause our resident lawn gnome was also invited to whatever they were doing. Though Valyur insisted on staying outside and eating his own food while watching them celebrate. "Felt wrong to be inside with ya meaties. But I thank ye for the invite," he said. "But we're supposed to watch you." When we all got home, there we had a separate Christmas celebration here. Through the snow, slush and slog, we were all burnt out. There wasn't any Christmas music, though the decorations were still up. No more Charlie Brown on the TV, no more Garfield and Grandma in her rocking chair by the window on a snow filled night. Just us together. The food was a haphazard meal. It was my turn to cook, so I decided on a fried chicken dish that was easy to do. Which Crash, of course, had to add his own side dish to. Then Zack, then Kris and Sean. Before you know it, what was supposed to be a simple meal turned into a huge smorgasbord, with fried chicken, home made mac and cheese, biscuits and green beans. As well as something else I'm forgetting now, so we'll call it cabbage. Elouise even stopped by with a pie she took home from her own Christmas party a couple days prior. It felt abnormal it was so normal. No gunfire, no kidnappings. No strange threats from vampires. No gnomes plotting world domination. No werewolf hunters. Nothing. Just, plain, old food, family and fun. We exchanged gifts, and the occasional compliment veiled in an insulting joke. Exchanged stories of our childhoods and how we celebrated Christmas. It was wonderful. The snow of course still came down. It's still falling, and holds the promise of even more snow. It will eventually let up in a few weeks, I know. After what feels like a lifetime of being trapped within four walls the heat will slowly return, and with it the adventures. Those things that at times make me miss the slower things. The Christmases and holidays. You can miss it. From the near, nonstop celebrating that retailers do from June to January, Christmas can feel like it has lost it's magic and wonder. But there is still magic and wonder to it, there has to be. Cause snow, for all it's glistening white, frozen glory, is actually pretty dreary and depressing. It literally and figuratively sucks the life right out of you, like a demented vampire intent on killing you slowly. You're confined to your home unless you're lucky enough to live in a place where you can ski and snowboard. Sometimes you're stuck around the same people for days and weeks on and, and, well, you can at times be ready to kill each other. That's where Christmas comes in. Bright colors of green and red; the colors of life. To remind you that, despite all of the frozen lifelessness, there is still life out there within the world and within you. That's one of the things that I had forgotten about Christmas as an adult. Truth is, as soon as you can buy your own things, Christmas starts to lose it's appeal. It stops being magical. Why send a letter to Santa asking for a gaming console that your parents will just buy and put his name on? Just put it on the credit card. Pay it off later. Why stress over that leather jacket? You don't have to be extra good for your parents and do the dishes or what not. Just buy it yourself. Why wait till Christmas? When the getting has lost its appeal and the snow piles up, sapping your energy and even draining your mood, you have this bright tree and memories. Hot Cocoa and friendly conversations and jokes. You have this holiday to help you out. I'm not a very religious person. But this year, the holidays did warm my heart a little. The heart of a guy who had come home with the promise of writing a scathing blog post about winter and how it sucks. A small simple celebration turned all of that around. So, a belated Merry Christmas, from all of us. A belated Happy New Year, too. And if all your resolutions are already broken, remember, you don't need a year to start over. Sometimes all you need is tomorrow. Thanks everyone. And I hope you're at least somewhat enjoying the snow. |
| Certain holiday traditions just run deep for certain families. Some families must watch "Charlie Brown's Christmas Special" every year or "A Garfield Christmas Special". Some families have to cook some large, complicated dish that requires multiple hours and multiple people to help make. My family growing up did a mix of all of those things. Well, when we weren't pecking at each other or outright fighting. Upon moving here though, I've made certain holiday traditions. The week of Christmas, I'll post something crazy and outrageous on the blog. Pranks or a top ten list of some insanity cooked up by experience and tongue-in-cheek cheer. Crash has work slow down, and we gather around food and fun for a little bit while our resident werewolf takes a break from the fur. Some of those things have stuck around. Some of those things have changed this year. One thing is certain, Crash has bought more gifts than normal. To be fair, so have I. Everyone accidentally got two when I meant to get one. And I blew my budget on each gift by at least ten dollars. That doesn't seem like much, but when you exist on a fixed income, it becomes a lot. However, with Crash, it seems almost impulsive. Sean of all people noticed it. He's normally the type who greets you with a smile, share a cup of coffee with you. Say something that seems almost dumb at times in his chill, surfer dude like attitude. This time, though, he stopped Crash in the hallway, patted his arm with a look of sincerity on his face that pulled his smile downwards and said, "dude, it's not necessary. We love you." This made me and Crash both pause. It wasn't intended to tug at hear strings, but it did in his own way. Crash had two more gifts in his arms that he was trying to shuffle down the hallway. He stopped and smiled, gave an embarrassed 'thank you', then disappeared again into his room. "What was that about," I asked Sean. He just shrugged, pushed his hair out of his face and said, "My dad used to do that after being gone on a bender for days." Then went back up stairs. I had two thoughts. One was to sit in Crash's room like a Family Matters episode and have a heart to heart. I'd even have found that same song they played all the time and played it in the background while I did so. My second thought was....pranks! For this prank, I decided not to go all out. I wanted one thing, and one thing only: for Crash to freaking let go for a while! Crash's prank he first pulled on me when I moved in came to mind. This prank was going to be reminiscent of that one. First, I was going to need a couple supplies. Thankfully, the local Dollar store carried most of the stuff. And it was plastic, so if the prank went awry, nothing would get broken. After one of Crash's nightly excursions, he came in the house, a bit grumbly as usual. He was still in full werewolf mode, tired, his ears folded back in that manner that always made me think of a dog who's just exhausted from being a dog. "Hey," I said. Then pointed to the table. "Saved you some dinner." Sitting on the table was a dog bowl, with Crash's name carefully stenciled on it. Inside the bowl was a large ham bone Kris had borrowed from a neighbor. Crash's eyebrows and ears went up. "What?" Before his brain has a chance to process what was going on, Zack came in and smacked him with a rolled up newspaper. "Bad," he shouted. "Bad dog! Eat your supper!" Crash shouted, "Hey!" Then tried to take the newspaper from Zack. Unfortunately for Crash, Kris and Sean where right behind him with their own newspapers, shouting, "Bad dog!" And started smacking him. I had one, and tried, but I was too busy laughing. With a loud growl, Crash snatched the newspapers, and began firing back. It was about then, that I had the brilliant idea to begin balling up the paper and throwing it at Crash. This started a chain reaction of sorts, that devolved into a paper ball war, which ended up with me getting most of the paper shoved down my shirt. At the end, he stood over me, a grin on his face that I hadn't seen for a while. "This was for the whole dog food thing, wasn't it?" "Among other things," I grinned back. "You know we're a pack right? We understand." "I know." Crash turned and left back towards his room. He denies it, but I know he had a wag in his tail. Last Christmas I gave a list of pranks. This Christmas we had that prank. I'm hoping pranks don't become part of our holiday tradition around here. But if they do, this won't be the first family to have a prank war, and we won't be the last. I'm just curious as to how he'll respond now. Lets hope it's with another 'dogfood' bag full of Reese's Puffs. |
| I'm one of those weird people who do not quite feel like it's Christmas season yet. For me, Christmas season starts the weekend before Christmas and runs through New Years day. This current season is set up for one thing and one thing only: buying. Tis the season to be buying crap. That's what this season is to me: Buying season. What are we all doing right now? Wearing out the credit cards, wearing out the floors in the stores, ducking inside each one hoping against hope that we don't hear that Mariah Carey song or another bad version of "White Christmas". We're scrolling through Amazon and E-bay deals, crowding the isles in the grocery stores to get the goodies to prepare. What this is, is preparation. I have this belief because it helps me deal with the insanity of this time of year. I used to be one of those types of people. The type that hates Christmas, that HATES all of the crowding, the cheer, the blah, blah blah. It took me a long time to realize why I was that way. It's because it felt like I was always in Christmas. Stores begin playing holiday music in June so you are reminded to buy Christmas gifts. When they're advertising Halloween decoration and candy in August, the Christmas decorations are right around the corner, literally, sitting on store shelves in one or two isles, shoved near a wall or forgotten corner somewhere. As if lying in wait for you drop your guard before they pounce on you. Television, before streaming came along to replace broadcast TV, used to even show "Christmas in July" and do endless reruns of Christmas movies for a week or two. "A Christmas Story", "A Christmas Carol" (All 140 different versions), "It's A Wonderful Life", "Charlie Brown's Christmas Special", and even "A Garfield Christmas Special". Why, certain channels were nice enough to endlessly re-run "A Christmas Story" for the entirety of December! One year it felt as if I'd seen the entire movie in pieces just by channel surfing. You can overdo anything. It begins to feel as if you're drowning as you're trying to swim upstream through an endless supply of bad Eggnog. That's the reason I swapped my philosophy on things. It isn't the Christmas season. It's the Buying season. It isn't the season of good cheer. It's the season of credit card debt. Good cheer is coming. That's when we get together, share presents and memories, hopefully before that certain aunt or uncle stands up and blasts everyone with their political opinions. It's the delicious home cooked food we only get on those special occasions. It's the traditions that we keep alive, no matter how crazy they are to some people. It's hard at times though, especially when you're in the middle of Buying season, your bank account is closer to a golf score on the PGA than to anything resembling financially solvent, you've heard that Burt Ive's song a thousand times with no end in sight, and your Christmas list is still longer than your arm. It can feel a bit overwhelming, especially this year at this time. A gift from the heart is far better than one from the wallet. Getting Crash a werewolf coffee mug for example is a smart gift. He enjoys coffee, loves being a werewolf, and will more than appreciate it cause it's from me. Getting Zack a new headset or a gift card for his PlayStation makes sense cause of how much he loves video games. Getting Kris and Sean car parts for their vehicles makes sense cause of what they love to do. None of my gifts are expensive. That joke about how low my bank account is, is pretty close to accurate. So, those car parts for example, may end up being cheap lighting gimmicks from Amazon or something. That gift card may end up only being twenty five bucks. Crash's mug may only be a fifteen dollar thing. None of that matters. Tis the buying season. It's the season to get things for our loved ones. For our families. It's sometimes hard, especially in this day and age of Iphone 87s and Galaxy 99 Slim Pros to remember things like that. To remember that it's not the amount of boxes around the tree, but the thought and care that went into selecting what was in the package. Or the sacrifice made to get it. To be fair, I'm not expecting anything extravagant in return. When the Buying Season is harsh, it's harsh for everyone, not just yourself. Prices go up, but pay doesn't. When people's pay doesn't go up the way it should, those of us living on benefits gets an even smaller bump. But it's not about any of that. Not supposed to be anyway. I can't afford to get Zack an awesome new PlayStation, or even a new controller. Can't afford to get Kris and Sean expensive new items they really want for their car, like a Ricaro racing seat and such. Can't afford to get Crash much of anything, really. Which can hurt if you let it. This is the part of the Buying Season that is most painful for some, and makes us all hate Christmas just a bit. The things you want to get people is just two inches out of financial reach. Just two inches beyond your finger tips. This year, I'm doing what I can. Getting the gifts I can afford and not expecting much in return. It's Buying Season after all. Tis the season to prepare. Part of preparing is understanding that, although wants are nice, it's the effort that counts. And I'm putting all of my effort into this. And part of my grocery money as well. Cause Buying season is going to lead to a great Christmas season. And that will hopefully start next year off better. Happy Buying Season, everyone. And Merry Christmas. Early. |
| This was the first time I've ever felt like a holiday was needed and welcomed. Most people have thanksgiving filled with traditional foods like turkey and that cranberry gelatin stuff that comes from a can which everyone for some reason calls "sauce". It's a warm house filled with familiar bodies and scents. Warm hugs, a parade on television no one is really watching or a football game that people are watching. And of course, the traditional drama fest filled with political and social discourse, which leads to shouting, which sometimes leads to front yard fisticuffs. Our thanksgivings at the house have never been like that, thankfully. It's Mostly good food, discussions of what everyone is doing, and lots and lots of teasing. You can tell the health of a family, through it's jokes. Jovial attitudes and teasing means your family is good and healthy. If there's no teasing, no jokes nor any kidding, if you have angry shouts instead of love, then perhaps there's something you need to address. This year, Crash stayed human throughout most of it. Though, no fault of his own, he ended up having to shift to his night uniform and run out the door at about three in the morning. Sometimes horror shows don't take the holidays off, even if you wished them to. He cooked the turkey and the ham. And the pumpkin pies. And well, almost everything, really. Zack did his fair share of cooking as well: stuffing, reheating rolls and making gravy. Kris did his famous mac and cheese. Among all of this was a green bean casserole, a couple of other vegetables as well that currently slips my mind. We even had a bit of Cajun turkey, thanks to Elouise who brought over a fireball of pain cooked down to turkey form. This was started thanks to a bet that Elouise and Crash had going. I wasn't the only one Crash had been talking to at night. Elouise had taken to doing some nightly hunts with him as well, just to talk to him a bit and see what was going on. The subject of cooking had come up during one of these talks, and how he as a werewolf, could take just about anything. Of course, Elouise said, "well, not anything. Bet I could whip up something you couldn't handle." And somewhere between running through trees and running down deer or suspects he said, "My fuzzy butt can handle anything you put in front of me, you over grown handbag." Or something like that. I maybe embellishing a little bit. Their fault for not giving me the full story. So, when it came close to time to eat, Elouise stopped by with a 'real Cajun bird' she said. We wouldn't touch it. The turkey meat was a faint shade of reddish orange from the spices and peppers that it had been cooked with. It was injected with a special Cajun sauce, marinated in a different kind of sauce, and then basted with another kind of sauce as it cooked. I don't know all of the ingredients, but she later admitted that the peppers she used included names like 'Reaper', 'X', and 'Scorpion'. Just the scent of the plate made my nose run. She was kind enough to bring enough for everyone. Crash was the only one brave enough to try it. Zack literally covered his mouth and shook his head with an audible "Mmm MMm," when she offered. Crash called us all wimps and piled two big pieces on his plate. We watched with anticipation as he brought the first bite to his mouth. He smelled it and smiled, "You almost got it hot enough." Then took a bite. His face grew cartoon red. I swear smoke was coming out of his ears. He yelped in a high pitch that almost sounded like a whine and raced towards the kitchen sink. For five minutes he was spitting water on his face, rinsing his lips off and mouth out, and occasionally, rinsing his mouth out with milk. When he finally came back in, he said one word: "Uncle!" Elouise smiled and said, "wimp", then took the plate and started eating it. I wouldn't want to be her O-ring today, is all I'm going to say. Yeouch! This meal had something that we didn't have for a while. Something more was present at that table and ate with us. Something which felt it had been missing in the past several weeks. There was no polite smiles, no tiny talk for the big plates. Just genuine jokes, memories, and hugs all around had finally come to replace ignored bitterness and regret. It was a good meal shared with good friends that had grown closer than friends in some ways. We had a long time ago stopped being mere people who shared rent and bills in order to survive. We had become something more: a type of family. It wasn't the traditional family by any means, but it was family none the less. The people who sat around that table with me had grown to be more like siblings than distant friends. More like relatives than basic house mates. More like a bond that's needed by us all to get us through the toughest times. Though we had been pushed, pulled, hunted, attacked, cursed. We had been struck and insulted. We had been kidnapped. The past year shown us one thing: no matter how strained, how angry we may get, how small and insignificant we may feel at times, we're still more than a basic family. We're still a pack. And that is still more than anyone of us could ever ask for. |
| After a few days, it occurred to me that things had been handled a bit differently from last time. There was the whole squeaky bone war in the last excursion with The Nobility that we did to keep spirits up and break tension. To bring everyone back into the pack, as it were. In this one we all sort of went to our respective corners. Everyone attempted to just self heal and ignore each other. Well, everyone except one. Giving credit where credit is due, Zack did his best. He isn't the type to randomly grab a bunch of cheap pet toys and throw them at everyone, though. No. For his weapon of choice to fight the growing distance and dissonance, he chose the only weapon that made sense to him: 'Super Mario Party'. The rules were simple. Zack originally wanted it to be losers have to drink, but since I don't drink it was decided that we do something else. I suggested five push ups. That got a laugh, then Zack in his infinite wisdom said, "how about winner asks a question, losers have to answer it?" We all stared at each other for a moment in the dark living room. Crash was in his human form. Sean and Kris were out at work at their respective jobs. It was just the three of us at the moment. I shrugged, looking at no one in particular. "Sure. Like a 'truth or dare' thing?" "I guess," Crash said. "No dares though." With that settled, the television was switched on, and soon the game selected. We each had a controller in our hands. I selected Bowser just so Crash couldn't get him. Was it petty? Sure. But I handled it in a completely mature way. "Haha," I taunted, sticking my tongue out at him. "I got him first!" "Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, then gave me the finger. We all laughed as he was forced to pick Yoshi. Zack grabbed Mario, and we were off to the races. Mario Party, is the perfect party and drinking game. For each mini game, losers drink. If you get a star, that person gets to set the rules until the next person who has a star. This can range from everyone must stand up, everyone must salute the winner, to even more risque rules if you're so inclined. We weren't playing that sort of game, though. After the first couple of rounds, I partly wished we had been. The first game was some sort of fishing game. Yeah, Zack one that hands down. "Alright," he said grinning, "What's your most embarrassing moment?" I shrugged. "Accidentally making out with a cheerleader over the school intercom." They both looked at me. "What," I asked. "What was his name," Crash said, grinning. "Her name was Stella," I corrected. "We were both in the principals office for different reasons. He stepped out to talk to a guidance counselor or something. Me and this girl got to talking, and looking at pictures, and one thing lead to another, and well." I shrugged. "That doesn't sound too embarrassing," Crash said. "I asked her to call me baby. But in our heavy breathing, and mouth sounds, the fact that my hand partially covered the microphone, it sounded more like 'Binky'. I went through the rest of high school being called 'Binky'." Okay, so it had an air of bullshit on it. It was a lie, something I'd concocted on the spot. But Zack and Crash just looked at each other, and Crash shrugged. "I backed the family car into my neighbors house when I was six. And no, that's not where the name came from." "How," I asked. "Well," he said, "My parents went inside for a moment for something. The car was still running. I was in the front seat, and slid over to the drivers seat of my daddy's Caddy. It is where I got a love of Cadillacs from. So, I was playing like I was racing and bumped the gear shift into reverse somehow. Parents weren't too happy." Again, it had an air of bullshit, but I since I'd given them that 'American Pie' reject scene, I suppose I started it. Zack giggled a little, looking down slightly in embarrassment. I laughed politely and we played on. Next game was once again dominated by Zack. He asked us about first kisses or something, and it had became a game of one upmanship between me and Crash. We had to come up with the craziest plausible story that we possibly could. My story was something involving faking my own drowning at a public swimming pool so I could get the mouth to mouth from the life guard. Of all the things I'm grateful for, one of them is that Zack had never seen the movie "The Sandlot" because he never called me out. Of course, Crash had something about some woman who had a thing for werewolves so he'd met her in the woods or something. It sounded like something one of those steamy werewolf romance stories would concoct, but again, no one said anything. So, we went for it. Back and forth we'd went. When I'd won I asked about their most disgusting meal. Zack told of eating a gas station burrito that he found was almost fuzzy at the end of it, Crash, well, lets just say he won that one. He probably wasn't even lying either. When Crash had his turn, he asked about craziest kill. Zack turned white, and gave an audible swallow. Looking down at the floorboards that had suddenly became very interesting, he bit his lip for a moment. "I uh..." "No," I said. "You don't have to answer." "I want to hear it," Crash said. "Well," I said. "It doesn't matter now, does it. I'm vetoing." "You can't do that," Crash growled. "How about you have some taste," I said, stepping forward. "I still regret it." We both turned to Zack who sighed and said. "I can sometimes see her eyes. I know, I know. It was kill or be killed up there. They were werewolves, I wasn't. But, I can still see them." I put a heavy hand on Zack's shoulder and kept it there for a moment. "Okay," Crash said. "You're turn." "Pending investigation I must plead the fifth," I said with a glare. "Oh come on," Crash snarled, black hairs starting to sprout on his arms. "You had that crap about the principal's office. You have to do this." "Then," I replied, "I'm not playing." And set the controller down. He stormed off, growling and grumbling again under his breath. It was going so well, too. Now I had to try and talk to two different people about things I never talk about. Did I ever mention I'm horrible at the whole 'loving, touching person' thing? I sat down next to Zack. He was still staring at the floor, controller largely forgotten in his hands. "what would have happened had you not pulled the trigger," I asked. "Well," he said, bit his lip then swallowed. "You were turned around. She'd have gotten you." "Okay. That's a start. What would have happened then?" Silence for a moment. Then softly he said, "We'd all be dead." "What else?" "Crash too. And the Rodriguez clan." "What else?" "They would," he took a breath and exhaled it. "They'd have taken over. No werewolf or human would be safe." "Exactly," I said. Then I patted him on the shoulder. "If you think about it, you quite literally may have saved the world." "Thanks," he said with a soft sad smile, then stood up. "I think I'm going to play games in my room for a bit." I nodded. Guess it was time to talk to Crash. My chest grew tight as I approached his room. The hallway felt small. It wasn't as if Crash was going to physically attack me. We'd had blow ups before. Usually within the hour we'd talk things out and calm down. But since The Nobility thing, we'd had more frequent blow ups. More frequent shouting matches. At times, it was as if the entire pack was flying apart. I stepped inside his room without bothering to knock. Crash was naked behind his bed, out of the slats of his window blinds, staring out into the empty street. "You mind? I have to get ready for night shift," he said. I shrugged. "I don't mind." He turned and snarled at me. "Good, then leave." "But," I said, stepping forward, "you're going to listen." "What," he growled. "You had no right," I said. "And you do?" We stared at each other for a moment. Taking deep breaths. We were like wolves testing each other. Squaring off with snarls and growls. But soon the fight would begin. Throwing caution to the wind, I charged in. "Why the hell do you say you're 'protecting us', if you pull such juvenile bullshit?" "Oh, and ignoring problems makes them so much better, Mr. 'I think I'll drink myself to death'," he snarled, answering back with his own snaps, claws, and teeth. I'd charged in and been bit for it. But I wasn't giving up. "I'm handling it," I said. "I'm handling my own pain and doing the best with what I have. What about you?!" Another charge in to the fight. Baring my own teeth and claws in it. If this was done wrong, we could slash each other to ribbons. If the wrong thing was said, or did, neither of us would recover. "Oh, right. You're doing so well with this, that you would rather spend all night outside talking to a statue than coming to ME!? Right outside my own damn window, too! Why do you and everyone else thinks you can just walk on eggshells around me? That I wouldn't notice?" My charge met with his retaliation. Tooth and claw met tooth and claw. Two metaphorical wolves bloodying each other. Slashing so much of what the other had to death. His fur began to grow with his volume. "You don't get to preach to me about what is right and what isn't. You know I had to convince the sheriff twice now that you didn't need to be committed for your midnight conversations?" "Oh fuck you. Valyur listens. He doesn't walk away grumbling about 'damn humans' at every turn. Which is rich cause before I got kidnapped you always considered yourself one." Somehow I'd gotten lucky. He winced as my statement struck home, clawing to the heart. "It wasn't my fault! I didn't want you to get kidnapped! I never wanted any of it!" Claws out, hands flexing as he grew slowly into his size. "Oh come off it," I said. "Who said it was your fault! It just was. All we can do is the best with what we're dealt. You know my most embarrassing moment is when I was eleven and trying to impress some girl on my street with cartwheels. I slipped and landed in dog shit in front of the whole neighborhood. I told you that. You know the first time I killed was on my first deployment. It was practically an accident. The enemy combatant was fifteen. Fifteen! Who the fuck gives a fifteen year old a weapon and tells them to kill. That kid should have been playing soccer not going home in a pine box!" Taking a deep breath, I said, "Crash we all have shit in our lives that we have to live with. But you must forgive yourself. Living with regret is like watching home movies of your worst mistakes on repeat and hoping the ending comes out different. It never does." He turned back to the window. We stood there in his room for the longest time it felt. An eternity passed between us in a span of moments. Then voice wavered for a moment as he spoke. "I don't see their faces. I heard what you told Zack out there. You're right. It's not like I had much choice in the matter. You were gone. Or there was other people to save. Or lord knows what would happen if we just backed off and let Nobility take it. But still. I can see their shapes sometimes when I sleep. They grab at me, they pull and tear. Everyone I killed trying to get you back or to help someone else. Everyone who will never see their family again. Never play with their children again. They rip pieces out of me in the dark. But I can't see their faces." The only thing I could do was look down. He started pushing through the process. It looked painful as he did so. The bones popping, the crunching of things moving in directions that felt as if they may not be natural. But he bore it with the barest of grimaces as things snapped and scraped together. Then he started walking towards the door. Everything we had built together as friends and packmates laid bare between us. Bloodied, bruised, limping from our barbs and attacks. I took one last charge, no claws out. No teeth. One last attempt to save it. "I tell you what," I said, trying to hide the nerves in my voice. He turned around. "What, Jason." "I'm going to head out to that old cemetery tonight. You know the one, where the zombies kidnapped me for their little party the second time?" He smiled, ears tipping back into it. "Oh yeah, that one." "I'll head over there about midnight. If you like, you can talk to me about, well, anything you like." He chuffed a half laugh. "Okay Dr. Phil." "What, like you can get a therapist." "There aren't many for werewolves, no. We're expected to handle things on our own." "Well," I told him. "I'll be there. Midnight. Beneath the moonlight. You can confess your heart to the gravestones and me. Neither of us will tell." He turned to me with a sad smile, his ears tilted back. "Thank you," Crash said. Then headed out the door. |
| Gnomes. Even when they're helping. They're not. I swear. Gnomes. It's going to be on my freaking tombstone one day: "No more gnomes!" They protect the house, they say. From what? We never know. They protect our lawns form something, they claim. Not from moles, I can tell you that much. Not from dogs crapping on it either. So, what are we being saved from again? Class? From not looking like trailer trash rejects who hit the lottery? After our latest run-in with "The Nobility", we were all done in. Everyone wanted a break. Even Crash was tired of the werewolf shtick. He disappeared for a while off on an adventure with Mitch, then came back, stinking, growly, and not wanting to talk to anyone. His ears were flattened out and his muzzle showed more fang than fur. After that he didn't even show a sign of fur for days, spent most of the time walking around the house grumbling and growling in the evenings, and playing old video games in his room. Zack stayed in his room watching some old anime. I only caught a note of it here and there, but I think it was Full Metal Alchemist or something. I'm not entirely certain, though. Kris and Sean were gone more than home taking rides and spending time with each other and away from us. Not that I blamed them. No one was head over heals for each other, but we were healing. Healing and recovering in our own ways. Sometimes you have to work on yourself and your own issues first before you can assist someone else. It's even on the airline flight cards: put on your own oxygen mask on before helping someone with theirs. In essence, that's what we were all doing. Ensuring we could breathe for the next few weeks before we talked and decompressed with each other. Someone though, had different ideas. I spent a week away from the blog unwinding. That morning I'd decided to just sleep in. Why, I was going to be a real rebel, and sleep until eight in the morning! But as I rolled over, my bed made a creek, then wham. My bed literally falling apart woke me up better than an entire pot of coffee. But it certainly didn't put me in a good mood. "Who the hell," I snarled, bolting out of bed, and taking exactly two steps before twang. My right foot flew out from under me. I hopped a bit on my left, then collapsed and shouted "Damn it Crash! This isn't funny!" He stumbled into my bedroom, his hair a mess, and a yawn caught in his throat. "Why are you..." then he took two large sniffs. "Wait..." he began to sniff around more, starting to look up and down, even nearly resorting to putting his head down like a hunting dog on the trail of game. "Don't try to play this off," I growled. "And why did you use yarn?" It was at that moment Zack decided to come hopping in. Hopping because someone had apparently rigged his door frame to wrap his arms and legs up in brown yarn too. "Did you do this," he asked. "I don't even know how to do that," I said. "Give me a moment and I'll untie..." Crash bellowed as loud as he could, cutting me off. "Jason! Come cut me down!" "You." It didn't take me long to get untied. Though it was more difficult to explain to an increasingly vocal and grumbling werewolf that he was waiting in line as I cut Zack loose. We followed the growls and threats over to the stairwell where we found Crash hanging upside down like the worlds ugliest pinata. "How," I asked. "Gnomes," he snarled. "They're inside?!" Zack jumped back, his eyes darting this way and that as he looked. "I don't see any of them, though. Why aren't we plaster yet?" "That's cause they're house gnomes," Crash said. "Who are apparently unhappy with us at the moment." I cut Crash's arms loose, then gave him my pocket knife to he could reach up and cut the rest of himself down. Then we all backed up as he fell. He did not get up in a good mood. "I'm going to find those freaking yarn balls," He snarled, fur beginning to show on his face. The hunt was on. We heard laughter coming from the kitchen. It was as if the mice had an inside joke they didn't want to tell us. Crash attempted to sneak up on them. I was trying to slink around from the other side. Zack, well he was a bit mad at them. "I'll get you, you bastards," he snarled, racing down the hallway. Crash! No gnomes. Zack though, was in a heap nearly hogtied over by the kitchen table. "How," I scratched my head in confusion as Zack writhed on the ground. "They're quick. Let me go!" Crash was quick with my pocket knife, though he was looking as if he didn't need it. Dark thick nails had grown out from his hands with fur to match. "Uh, dude," I said, "You're night shift uniform is coming out." "Freakin gnomes," Crash said in response. That was most of the morning. We'd hear laughter. Try to sneak in on the room. One of us would end up with a table or something on top of him. Then we'd move to the other room. After the third time being hogtied, I had to call it quits, and laid up on the couch. "I'll shout if they tie me up," I said, limping over there. Thankfully, they left me alone. Zack was tied up three times. Crash tied up twice, suspended from the ceiling twice, and at least one time tripped on his way up stairs checking the basement. Kris and Sean? They came in late the night prior and was in bed for most of the bangs and snarling. So, they missed most of the fun. Leave it to Kris though. Crash was sneaking downstairs to the basement a third time trying to find out where the laughter was coming from, when Kris came down from his room. He glanced at a shelf and said, "where the heck did this thing come from," then came in the room carrying the dang thing by the head. "Which one of you thought this was funny? Jason...." "Hey you caught him," I shouted to him. "Caught who," Kris asked, then turned the gnome around to look at it. It was then the damn thing started screaming like a Furby with a dying battery. Kris almost dropped it. "What the hell," he said, then stepped backwards, almost tripping on the second one. "Gotcha," he shouted, picking it up. I got up and limped over towards Zack, just in time to pull him back. "Don't," I said. "You know what they did," he snarled. "Yes," I said. "And the footage will be hilarious if the security cameras caught it. But for now, don't." He glared at me, then stormed back to his room and slammed the door. "Okay, you little shits," I said, glaring at the gnomes, "why have you been torturing us?" Their eyes went wide when I said that word. "Not torture. Prank. Pranking you," they said in almost unison. "What are they saying," Kris asked. I held up a finger to him, then said to the gnomes. "No. Torture. Why?" "Valyur said your family is on the verge of breaking. Told us to prank you to help." "How long have you been here," I asked. They looked at each other, then back at me. "Since Kheid died." "What," Kris demanded more than asked. "Valyur's trying to help," I said. Valyur was a more traditional lawn gnome. Despite the fact that we could communicate, it wasn't going to happen in the day light so that was a conversation that would have to wait until nightfall. As Kris was holding the gnomes, Crash came up and said, "Good you found them," he snarled. Then grabbed them both and held them up to his face. "Unless you want to see what it feels like to be a werewolf's living chew toy, you will NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!" Both dolls audibly swallowed and said "yes sir!" Then he just dropped them. They scurried off, a look of terror in their eyes. Kris and I both looked at Crash and head-tilted. "Huh?" "House gnomes actually help you," he said. Then walked off without a word and went back to his room. That evening, I sat down with Valyur. He was less than apologetic about it. "This is the thanks I get for trying to look out for you," he snarled. "They nearly killed us," I snarled. "You big baby," he said, then patted my cheek. "You're still alive, meatie. Besides, they gave the werewolf the rougher stuff. And you guys need it." "We don't need house gnomes," I snapped. "Oh no? Who do you think kept your Nobility werewolf friends out of your house while you were gone? Did you think they just left this place alone?" "They were here," I asked. He nodded. "They tried to set a trap. Wanted the house to explode when you came home. One of their tricks. You go against them, they'll blow up yer home." "And the gnomes stopped it," I asked. "Well, you could say that. By the end, the two they sent were begging for mercy." "We don't need pranks," I said and stood. "Tell them to back off." "I heard your werewolf friend has already done that. Besides, you need somethin. I can see it. Your family unit is not holding up well, matey." "We're just fine. And matey? What are you, a damn pirate?" He snarled at me. "I'm the lawn gnome trying to keep the family together. Apparently I'm the only one tryin." Bitter bile rose up in my throat. I bit it back down and turned to go back inside. I got exactly two steps when Valyur called after me. "You never ask'em. Ask'em who he's huntin with now. How many of his hunts are getting noticed. He used to not make those mistakes before." Two more steps. Deep breaths. Clenched fists. Valyur of course, did not take the hint. "Why d'you think the couple keeps goin out all the time? They're lookin to nest elsewhere. They want out. They don't want you round." Another deep breath. Then I turned and gave Valyur as kind of a smile as I could. "Look," I said, "what Kris and Sean does and don't do on their time off is their own damn business. Sure as hell isn't mine. And I don't blame them for wanting to be away from me for a bit. Everyone has had to worry about me for the past lord knows how long. I nearly died Valyur. I just want peace for a bit." "Eye! You want peace. But do you want it together? Why don't you talk to each other? Is it because maybe, just maybe, you're starting to get sick of each other? You're growing apart?" It wasn't anything I wanted to hear. I ignored him and went back inside and slammed the door. I still don't want to think about such things. Crash is a big werewolf who has done his job a long time. It's not like he needs any of our help, is it? Not like he needs us to talk to him about it. Keep my head down, let him work it out. That's what's best. Kris and Sean are still good friends of mine. They just need time on their own. Zack? Well, he's Zack. Mr. Social/antisocial. He doesn't want or need my help. Besides, sticking your nose in your friends business is a good way to get it chopped off. If anyone needs to talk, they know where to find me. For now, I'll keep writing, keep reading, and maybe soon one of these magazines will actually pick up one of my stories. Hey, I've gotten close on a couple of stories to getting a sale. That's something, right? Things don't always have to be joyful to be happy. We may not be smiling at each other or having family sing-alongs in the living room after supper, but we still care for each other. Still help each other. still fight for and defend each other. If need be, we'll still die for each other. No that's not pranks and conversations, but it's something. Pranks and conversations will come later, after things settle down. We all just need time. And I for one want to help all my friends, help them recover and do what's necessary. But time I think is the best thing I can give them. |
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