The Werewolf of Walmart

The Werewolf of Walmart

The first rays of the morning sun crawled across the bed and pried at Peter’s one exposed eye. “No, it’s too early,” he moaned, rolling his head and pulling the pillow up to hide in the shadow. He cracked his eye open and saw the blurry outline of a hand. He wiggled his fingers and saw a corresponding movement. Well, at least it’s mine.

Reluctantly, he concentrated and brought the hand into focus. It was mottled in dark red, spots of dried blood making his hand look like a monochrome Jackson Pollock painting.

Slowly, Peter slid his legs over the side of the bed and forced himself to sit up. His head hurt, his joints hurt, even his teeth hurt. “Peter! Make a note. You’ve got to remember to take Advil on the nights that you turn.” Being a werewolf, man-wolf, Wolf Man, or lycanthrope - pick your favorite - wasn’t nearly as bad as the myths and stories made out. It was, however, unpleasant during the transformation and he paid the price in aches and pains the next morning.

He glanced at the clock. 7:00 a.m. Good, I’ve got a few hours before work. He cautiously stood and surveyed the room. There was a swatch of blood on the bed, most of it carried in on his fur, but only a few bloody paw prints on the floor. Not too bad. It will clean up quickly. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. “Maybe this is why you can’t find a girlfriend,” he challenged the image. It remained mute but he was sure it was laughing at him. He flipped it the middle finger and then staggered into the bathroom. A hot shower always helped.

Standing under the pelting water, watching the hypnotic swirl of blood circling the drain, he reviewed his life to this point. He had been born in Montana. He vaguely remembered his mother who had disappeared early on. His father was a big, gruff son-of-a-bitch and wasn’t around much. He discovered his difference when he hit puberty and learned to hide it. As the years went by and the ranchers became obsessed with eliminating the wolf population, he began “the great migration.” The thought brought a feral smile to his lips. Migration? More like running for cover. He had worked his way south and east, always choosing rural areas where he could keep a low profile and still find game to hunt. He was tired of constantly moving and really wanted to find a home, a place where he could be himself without fear of being discovered.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the steam. The metallic taste and smell of blood sent a small shiver of delight through him. He had ended up in Virginia, near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Maybe this time, maybe this place … With a sigh, he broke his reverie.

Standing before the sink, he pushed the condensation aside and assessed the damage. He was a decent looking man with piercing green eyes. Unlike his wolf form, he was slender but not skinny. He lathered his face and began removing the ever present hair that never seemed to disappear completely afterwards. He smiled at the image. “Show time! Let’s go impress the world.”

Peter pulled into the parking lot of the small Walmart. He had found a job there, restocking shelves and being on the front lines as a Customer Service Representative. “The wolf leading the lambs,” he murmured. He liked the analogy. He liked the work and it gave him a chance to meet and greet the locals. Familiarity was his best disguise.

“Fine mo'nin', Peter. How's it goin’?” Peter recognized Darleen’s voice but took a second to translate.

“Good morning, Darleen. I’m getting settled in. You know how it is.” Peter was pretty sure she didn’t. Darleen was rail-thin with skin that had been tanned by sun and weather. She was the manager and had lived within a few miles of the store all her life. For some reason, she had taken him under her wing and made him her cause célèbre.”

“Have yo' met ennyone yet?” she asked pointedly.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Why of course. I meet folks every day. There seems to be a lot of good people around here.”

“Yo' knows whut ah means, as enny fool kin plainly see. It's not natural fo' a yo'ng man t'be by hisse'f.”

“Now Darleen, you can’t rush these matters. All in good time,” he laughed and, waving, headed back to clock in.

With the “ka-thunk” of the time clock stamping his card, Peter officially began his day. Checking the schedule, he saw he was in Housewares and headed over to check inventory, straighten shelves, and meet and greet. He plastered a smile on his face, hoping it wasn’t too feral.

He was straightening the gadget board when he first became aware of her. A muskiness danced on the air. He inhaled deeply, trying to identify what was arousing him. Yes, there’s a touch of sweat, maybe some chicken nuggets, but central is … need. He knew those pheromones and exactly what they meant. Unwillingly, he felt his body respond, making his squatting position uncomfortable. It took a minute before he was aware that someone was standing next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a large expanse of spandex colorfully displaying Sponge Bob images.

“Excuse me,” a soft southern voice floated to his ear.

Startled at being caught unaware of her approach, he turned swiftly, sprawling across the aisle.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Peter felt his face burn as the blood relocated within his body. “Oh no, you didn’t …” he fumbled. “I just lost my balance. You know, when you kneel too long, your legs …” he trailed off, at a loss for a coherent thought.

His eyes drank her in. She was a vision of Walmart heaven. A bright pink tank top stretched across her enormous breasts, allowing her overages to spill out the armholes. Her stomach was equally ponderous, falling over the top of her spandex leggings which hugged her until they gathered, flower like, above her flip-flops. Each toe, splayed under the weight it carried, was painted a different color.

She reached down, grabbed his hand, and lifted him effortlessly to his feet.

He found himself inches from her face. Ruddy cheeks, highlighted with a scattering of freckles, ballooned as she smiled. He could see, stuffed under her “Are We Having Fun Yet” baseball cap, that her hair was dark with bleached streaks. Only her nose and bright blue eyes belied the little girl she had once been.

“C-can I help you?” he finally stammered breaking eye contact.

Again, the cheeks bloomed. “Wal, yo' c'd let hoof it of mah han'.”

Peter stared, dumbfounded. “I’m sorry … Mrs?” noticing that the hand he held had a ring on it.

Here laughter echoed down the aisle. “It’s Miss. Miss Brenda Sue Jefferson. And, I said, you could let go of my hand. Unless, of course, you need help standing.” She looked at him quizzically. “You’re not from these parts. We can speak civilized but, trust me, the local dialect will grow on you.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean ... anything,” he finished lamely.

“Well just for future reference, around here, if you hold my hand for another 30 seconds, we’ll be formally engaged.”

Peter dropped the hand like it had suddenly burst into flames which set off another round of Brenda Sue’s laughter.

“I’m jez funnin’ ya. Now, who yer?”

“Oh, Peter. Peter Baker.” Before he could stop himself, he added, “I’m new here.” He shook his head and held up his hands. “Wait. Before you laugh at me again, I give up. Can we try this again?”

She smiled, strong white teeth shining behind fleshy lips. “Well, Peter, I rekon we can.”

He followed her, making small talk, as they went up and down the aisles. Hell, I’m more like a puppy dog than a wolf. Even with that thought ringing in his head, he didn’t seem to be able to break the spell she had over him. “So,” he finally worked up the nerve to ask, “what’s with the ring? Are you engaged?”

Brenda Sue held up her hand and peered at it. “It’s sure purty, ain’t it? It’s a promise ring. I’m betrothed to Harlan Jefferson.” She grinned again. “He’s a third cousin. We ain’t strange in these parts like them’ems over in West Virginy.”

“Betrothed?”

“Yeah. Our families decided we’d marry up when we was both young’ns. Harlan’s a right good ol’ boy but he don’t unerstan what a girl wants is a little romance. I’m thinkin’ maybe he’s not the one.”

“Customer Service help needed in Housewares,” blared through the walkie-talkie Peter wore on his belt. “Peter! That’s you!” Darleen’s voice scolded.

“Look,” Peter hurried, “I’ve got to get back to work. I’d love to see you again. Would you like to go out sometime?”

Brenda Sue grinned. “Sure, how about tonight?” She took a pen and scribbled her number on his hand. “Give me a call later.”

“Sure. Tonight. Later.” Giving up, he turned and headed back to Housewares, her laugh and scent tantalizingly following him.

Darleen was waiting. “Whut in tarnation happened t'yo'?”

“Uhh, I was helping a customer find … something.”

Darleen stared at him. “Uhh huh. Was thet th' Jefferson gal thet yo' were wif? Those Jefferson's err a strange bunch. Yo' watch yo'seff wif thet one! ”

Peter nodded, a big grin on his face. In his mind’s eye, that was exactly what he was doing.

The day seemed to drag by, unrelenting except when he’d get a lingering scent of Brenda Sue. What is it about her? Is this what love is? This ache that consumes me wanting to be with her, to touch her …. He quickly cut the thought off after realizing that he was mixing the salad forks with the dinner forks in the display.

Five o’clock came at last and he hurriedly punched out and practically sprinted to his car. He sat in the fading light, feeling light headed. “What is this? This isn’t me.” He took a deep breath and then it hit him; it was happiness, almost to the point of giddiness. He held the feeling up, letting the light of his insight illuminate it, admiring it, letting it wash over him. He pulled out his cell phone and punched in the numbers that were scrawled on his hand.

“Hello.”

That single word almost paralyzed him.

“Helloooo!”

“Brenda Sue? This is Peter.”

“Oh, hi Peter,” the lilt in her voice made his knees weak.

“Uhhhh. Would you like to go somewhere tonight? I’m not that familiar with the area but anywhere you’d like would be fine. I just want a chance to get to know you better.”

“Get to know me better? Why Peter, you little devil, whatever do you mean?” Her soft, earthy laughter confused his blood as to which direction to head.

“Oh – no! I didn’t mean …”

“It’s not what you meant Peter, it’s what I want it to mean.” Again, the earthiness of her voice confused and excited him.

“There’s a small park – Greenbriar – at the south end of town. Why don’t we meet there at seven? If you’ll bring a six-pack, we can loosen up a bit and … get to know each other.” Hearing her emphasis on the last part, his blood decided where it needed to go.

“That sounds … fine. Where should I pick you up?”

“Harlan’s not very understanding. I can walk there. You just be there … on time.”

“Of course! I’ll see you at seven sharp!”

Where the time went, Peter wasn’t sure. He knew he went to the supermarket and picked up a six-pack of Modelo Negro. A touch of the exotic – a beer from Mexico! He remembered to pick up a self-stick bow. A little romantic gesture to show how special she is. Now, he sat in a gravel parking lot waiting for the hour hand to slowly move toward seven.

His wolf senses came to full alert. Even in the dark, he could see movement in the area of one of the benches. His ears picked up the soft tread of … flip-flops on gravel. He grinned as her perfume reached his nose. Opening the car door, he waved at her.

“Close the door. We don’t need the light,” she said in a loud whisper.

He grabbed the beer and walked over to the picnic table. “May I offer you a beverage, my dear?” He took her giggle as a yes.

“You’re different from the other boys around here. I can’t put my finger on it – yet – but I’ll figure you out, Peter Baker.”

“Why yes. Yes I am,” he chuckled. “Maybe it’s my animal magnetism.”

Brenda Sue stared deep into his eyes. “Yeah, maybe that’s it.”

Peter stared back. “I have to tell you. There’s something about you that makes me feel … happy, excited, complete. I know we’ve just met and that this is crazy. Sometimes, when something feels right, you don’t question it. You just accept it.”

The moon, past its full phase so its claim on him was weaker, peeked over the tree tops, bathing the area in a soft glow. Peter felt the familiar tug but knew he could control it.

Brenda Sue reached out and trailed a finger, outlining his lips. “Yes, no questions, just acceptance,” she repeated.

Peter heard the smoky sound of her voice and was once more awash in her pheromones. He bent forward, allowing his lips to lightly touch hers and was surprised at the fierceness of her response. His tongue found the sweetness of her mouth and, distracted, he allowed a bit of the wolf to come out.

When the kiss ended, Brenda Sue sat back breathless. “Wow. That was some kiss. Are you related to Gene Simmons? What a tongue you have!”

Peter grinned. “The better to taste you with.” He leaned forward and kissed her again. She ran her hands inside of his shirt and pulled back.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, but you’re a hairy one. I can imagine snuggling up to you in the winter. Bet I’d never be cold,” she laughed.

Peter ran his hand up her front, pausing to lightly cup one breast before continuing up to catch her chin. He looked deep into her eyes and saw the needful response he was hoping for.

“My, what big eyes you have.”

“The better to see you …” They were the last words Peter ever spoke as a copper-jacketed .30-06 bullet struck his right temple and tore out most of the left side of his head.

~~~~

Brenda Sue screamed, falling backwards as the body of Peter jerked and then crumpled to the ground.

Harlan Jefferson came running out of the woods, his rifle bouncing at his shoulder. “Brenda Sue! Are you all right, honey?”

She stared at him. “Harlan? What the fuck did you do?”

“I saved you. I saw that wolf attacking you and shot the son-of-a-bitch. You’re lucky I was passing by.”

“Wolf? Have you been smoking pot again? Look, dipshit,” she screamed, pointing at the body of Peter. “Does that look like a wolf to you?”

“I swear, Brenda Sue. It looked like a wolf. I couldn’t let anything happen to the woman I love more than life, not while I have a breath in me.”

Brenda Sue wiped at her eyes. “Really Harlan? You mean that? Every word?”

“You bet! Look, honey-gal, I know I don’t always tell you how much you mean to me but it’s always in my heart.”

“Aww, Harlan. You need to remember to tell me stuff like that more often.”

“I will. I swear!”

Brenda Sue and Harlan stared at Peter lying on the ground. Gone was any resemblance to a wolf … or a human for that matter.

“What about him?” asked Brenda Sue, poking at Peter with a bright red painted toe.

“Well, if he meant that much to you, I guess I could have him mounted and you could hang him somewhere.” Harlan stared at the body. "Prob'ly take some doing to git him lookin' right again, though," he mumbled apologetically.

“You’d do that for me?” she squealed. She thought for a minute. “No, baby, all I need is you. We’ll figure out what to do with him later.” She beckoned him over and gave him a kiss. “Harlan, I didn't know you were such a romantic. Sit with me and have a beer while they’re still cold.”

An entry for Round 4 (March/April) of "Paranormal Romance Contest" 
Prompt: None
Word Limit: min ~ 1000, max ~ 5000
Word Count: 2786