The Legend of Boggie Bond

“...eleven…twelve…thirteen…”

“Hey, buddy, you gonna tell us a story, or you just gonna sit around and count all night?”

Fred glanced at the man on the other side of the fire before finishing, “...fourteen.”

Fred smiled. “Good, we’re safe.”

“Safe? Safe from what?” asked the stubby man.

“Well, you wanna hear the legend of Boggie Bond, don’t you?”

“Boggie Bond?” another man asked. Fred could see the man swallow hard in the light of the full moon.

“Sure, Boggie Bond,” Fred said. Then he gazed into the campfire and began his tale.

“You seen that marshy area out there to the west of the mine we work in?”

Some of the men nodded, some shook their heads, some just sat stone-faced.

“Well, legend has it that a monster lives out there. A man-wolf who walks among us during the day and goes on the prowl at night.”

“Aww, that’s bull,” one of the men said.

“Scaredy cat!” another man called out. Everyone laughed.

“I’m not scared of nothin’. But there’s no such thing as a man-wolf.”

Fred shrugged. “Maybe. But the legend says that if thirteen strangers gather ‘round a fire when the October full moon is at its zenith and speak his name, well…”

“So he’s gonna eat us?” another man snorted. Some of the others laughed nervously.

“No, not us,” Fred said. “There are fourteen of us, remember?”

“You got it wrong,” a voice said from a place to Fred’s left that was darker than the sun-bright moon should have allowed.

“That so?” Fred said. “Why don’t you tell us the real story?”

The man stood, and his profile looked somehow fuzzy against the moon. Something snarled in the darkness.

“You got the story right,” the man growled. “But you miscounted. There are only thirteen of you.”