The Lycanthrope Club, chapter XI (incomplete)

[Happygun]

That's right folks. I'm alive, I'm back, and I just finished the final chapter of the Lycanthrope Club!

...Well, mostly. I still need to do some major editing and write the epilogue, but after all the time I've made you wait, well, I think you deserve to see this much. I'll upload the final version in a couple of days. Once I finish with this I can FINALLY get back to the projects I've been working on with Leo.

Thanks for your support.

The Lycanthrope Club
By Happygun
Chapter IX - All's End


Cynthia glared at Melinda as they approached the house.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this,” she said. She glanced back at Melinda’s car sitting by the curb and the surrounding neighborhood. Crescent Heights was, for all intents and purposes, the bad part of town. Not exactly a slum, more a rambling expanse of rickety two-bedroom homes and mobile home parks surrounding the abandoned industrial park near the highway. For the moment, however, the urban squalor was veiled in the hazy orange glow of the setting sun. It was striking, if not beautiful.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” said Melinda, glancing at a passing motorcycle.

Cynthia shrugged. “Scared of coming here? Maybe a couple of months ago, but now? Nah. Any creep who messes with us is going to regret it.”

Melinda said nothing, but smirked.

The two girls made their way across the lawn of yellowing grass. As they approached the front door Cynthia looked at Melinda askance.

“Melinda, I know what you’re thinking,” said Cynthia. “Hell, it’s the first place I’d go.” She sniffed the air. “But I don’t smell Sophie anywhere, and you kno-”

“I wasn’t expecting to find her here,” interrupted Melinda as she trotted up the stairs leading to the porch. “We would’ve picked up her trail if she entered town coming from the woods.”

Cynthia sighed.

“Then why did we come here?” she exclaimed, throwing out her arms.

Melinda smiled despite herself. Cynthia was exasperated, but not outright angry. It was oddly satisfying seeing her react so calmly and, above all, rationally to the present difficulty –a far cry from the bitchy, narcissistic cheerleader brat she had once been.

“Two reasons,” said Melinda, reaching for the doorknocker. “First, I had to be sure she hadn’t gone home. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility – just highly unlikely.” She paused, frowning. “Second, well, we just know so little about Sophie.” She rapped on the door. “Maybe her parents can help us understand why she ran away or even why she can’t change back. Maybe her ancestors were werewolves like Yvette.”

“Wouldn’t you know? I mean, you spent a lot of time with her before she disappeared,” said Cynthia, frowning.

“Yeah, but she didn’t like talking about herself,” said Melinda. “Every time her personal life or family came up she changed the subject.” She shook her head in self-condemnation. “I should’ve realized something was-”

There was a sharp clicking sound. The door to the house slowly turned inward. A wrinkled, pug-nosed, middle-aged woman with graying hair poked her head through the door. She stared at the two girls, regarding them with far more suspicion than they warranted.

“Mrs.….Mason?” said Melinda, startled.

“Yeah, you found her,” replied the woman.

Melinda opened her mouth to speak, and shut it as a now all-to-obvious dilemma dawned upon her: She hadn’t even considered what she would say to Sophie’s parents to gain their confidence. No story, excuse, or fabrication seemed apt or indeed cogent. She certainly couldn’t tell the truth. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mason. My friends and I accidentally changed your daughter into a werewolf. When the full moon rises tonight she’s going to go on a rampage.” She’d sooner jump down a silver mine.

“Well? Whaddaya want?” snapped Sophie’s mother.

“Ah, um, you’re Sophie’s mother, right?” stuttered Melinda for want of anything better to say.

Mrs. Mason’s expression went…wooden. She gazed briefly down at the ground, lips tight, and then looked back up at Melinda.

“She ain’t around right now,” said Mrs. Mason as coolly as a glacier. “If’n ya’ll excuse me, I don’t have time to gab.”

The door began to close.

“‘Scuse us, madam” said Cynthia, stepping forward and pushing Melinda aside in a single motion. “We’re just here to pick up some books Sophie lent us.”

The door stopped.

“Books?” said Mrs. Mason. Her voice still had an edge to it, but was now tinged with curiosity.

“Sorry,” said Cynthia, flashing her sweet-16 supermodel smile. “I’m Cynthia and she’s Melinda. We are…er, were in Sophie’s U.S. history class.”

Mrs. Mason slowly opened the door, though she maintained a firm grip on the knob.

“You friends of Sophie?” she said. Melinda detected a degree of incredulity in her voice.

“Um, well, sort of,” said Cynthia as though embarrassed. She smiled again. “We were grouped together for a class project a couple months ago. Can’t say we got along at first, but we got used to each other.” She chuckled, but her grin quickly soured. “We really miss her, Mrs. Mason.”

Mrs. Mason just stared at them for a moment. She glanced over at the side yard, absently scratching her head. Then, she sighed. Her fierce scowl sagged into a haggard frown. She nodded dumbly.

“Any word?” asked Cynthia.

She shook her head.

“Damn,” muttered Cynthia under her breath. She gave Mrs. Mason an apologetic look. “I hate doing this, Mrs. Mason. We almost didn’t come down here, but…I dunno, it was like pretending she never vanished. Like avoiding th-”

For the first time since they met her, Sophie’s mother cracked a smile – albeit a brief one.

“Shit, gals, you don’t have to put on such a big act,” she said almost cordially. “I’ll get yer books. It’s going to take a while to sort through her things, though.”

“Mind if we come inside?” said Cynthia more than a little eagerly.

“Uh, sure,” said Sophie’s mother.

As they stepped through the doorway, Melinda turned to Cynthia.

“I don’t know whether to beat you or hand you an Oscar,” she whispered sourly.

“That was nothing,” replied Cynthia, grinning wickedly. “Remember that time out on the quad with Timothy Gallman?”

“You FAKED that tirade?” breathed Melinda, taken aback. “But you were bawling your eyes out.”

“You’d be surprised what a little method acting and lemon juice can accomplish.”

***

The interior of the Mason residence was not what Melinda had expected. Later she would chide herself for making assumptions in the first place, but for now she was, frankly, astonished by how clean it was. True, the carpet was worn and the furniture was the cheapest kind, but everything was immaculate. Melinda doubted there was a single particle of dust in the whole house. A faint odor of surface cleaner, discernible to Melinda by virtue of her extra-sensitive noise, lingered in the air.

Mrs. Mason emerged from the kitchen carrying a plastic tray with two ceramic mugs on top. One had an image of a cartoon puppy staring at the holder with big brown sad eyes. The other had the words “I Love New York” written on it in bright red font. She set the tray down on the coffee table besides the beige sofa where Melinda and Cynthia were sitting.

“Have some tea,” she said.

“Oh, um, thank you,” said Melinda. She took one of the proffered mugs.

Cynthia raised a hand.

“I’m good.”

“Suit yerself,” said Sophie’s mother. “I’ll go check Sophie’s room.” She hesitated. “Now, uh, which books did y’all say you were looking for?”

“Oh yeah,” said Cynthia. “The Last Unicorn, and, uh….”

“Momo and The Subtle Knife,” supplied Melinda. They’d had a chance to confer while Sophie’s mother was preparing the tea and had agreed on the titles on the basis that no self-respecting fantasy fan would lack all three novels.

“Alright,” said Sophie’s mother. She scratched her head. “I though she already had a copy of the first one, but uh, I guess you’d know. Back in a flash.”

As she left, Cynthia leaned towards Melinda.

“OK, we’re in,” she whsipered. “Now what miss pack alpha?”

“Quit calling me that,” hissed Melinda. “We’re not a pack of animals.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” said Cynthia. She leaned back on the sofa stretching her arms over her head.

Melinda harrumphed. She rose from her seat and glanced around the room. Her gaze slowly drifted to a collection of photographs arrayed along the wall. Frowning, she approached and examined them. One photo depicted a tiny, rambunctious looking dark-haired girl sitting besides a wooden barn, grinning mischievously as only children can. To its left was a picture of the child – Sophie, Melinda realized – a younger Mrs. Mason, and a tall, rugged looking man with a bushy mustache standing together in front of a field of yellow grass; fields of corn and silos stood in the background.

“I guess that explains the accent,” Melinda murmured to herself.

“What was that?” said Cynthia.

“Wha-?” said Melinda, glancing over her shoulders. “Just looking at these pictures,” she gestured at the wall.

The rest of the photos were portraits of family members. There were numerous children of every age and many uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents. The Mason clan was obviously quite large. Oddly enough, Sophie was not prominently featured. Indeed, there was only one other picture of her – a class photo by the looks of it. She was smiling bashfully, almost apologetically, at the camera.

Melinda took the picture off the wall and examined it. There was still a half-ripped barcode sticker on the back. She sniffed it.

Hmmm.

Melinda placed the portrait back on its hook. Sighing, she walked over to Cynthia and sat down on the couch besides her.

“Damn it,” muttered Melinda suddenly.

“Now what?” sighed Cynthia.

“Sophie!” exclaimed Melinda, rubbing her temples. “Why can’t she change back like the rest of us? This whole disaster would be a moot point if she could just…arrgh, it’s driving me nuts! And that damn spirit won’t help unless I agree to become the werewolf messiah.”

Cynthia shrugged.

“You couldn’t trick him into helping you fix Sophie by pretending to go along with his plan, could you?” she said.

“Nope,” said Melinda. “He lives inside my head. He’d know if I were lying.”

“Yeah yeah,” grumbled Cynthia. “I figured as much.” She rose from the sofa and nodded in the direction of the hallway. “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

Mrs. Mason passed Cynthia as she entered the living room carrying a pair of paperbacks.

“I see your friend had to use the bathroom,” said Mrs. Mason offhandedly. She placed the books on the table in front of Melinda. “I found The Subtle Knife and The Last Unicorn. “No sign of the other one,” she added.

“Oh, um, thank you,” said Melinda, mildly surprised. She reached over and examined the two books. They were rather sad, tattered things, their covers and pages torn and dog-eared.

“Funny thing is, I reckon these belonged to Sophie,” said Mrs. Mason mildly, slipping into a recliner facing the sofa. “I don’t know about The Subtle Knife but, uh, I bought the one about the unicorn for her when she was thirteen. Just remembered.”

Melinda froze, and then slowly looked up at Mrs. Mason, who was giving her a carefully neutral look. Melinda steadied herself and regarded her with what she hoped passed as innocent bemusement.

“Uh, you must be mistaken,” said Melinda. “I’ve uh, I’ve had this book for ages.”

“Then why does it have my daughter’s name on the back cover,” replied Mrs. Mason in a suddenly icy voice.

Those words struck Melinda like a knife in the gut. She glanced down at the book and flipped through the pages. Sure enough, there was Sophie’s name – written in the upper right corner in faded black ink.

“Now, why don’t you cut the bullshit and tell me why you came here?” growled Mrs. Mason.

Melinda – who had faced rampaging werewolves, psychotic witch-hunters, and the myriad horrors of high school – withered under Mrs. Mason’s glare. The shame of the deception coupled with the despair that had haunted her since Sophie’s desertion left her speechless and numb. A tiny corner of her brain told her to come clean; if anyone deserved to know what happened to Sophie, she was her mother. Yet she still could not bring herself to tell the truth; not when it would betray her friends.

But neither could she lie. Guilt aside, Melinda was a terrible liar and Mrs. Mason was clearly no fool. Mothers rarely were.

What could she do?

“I…didn’t mean to trick you, Mrs. Mason,” stuttered Melinda.

“Oh no, I’m sure you meant to,” replied Sophie’s mother nastily. “Y’just didn’t do a very good job ya little twat.”

Melinda’s temper flared. As bad as she felt over deceiving Sophie’s mother, she didn’t like being insulted. She nearly retorted with an unflattering comment of her own but stopped herself just before the words reached her lips. No need to aggravate the woman any more than I already have, she told herself grimly. Besides, Mrs. Mason had every right to be angry with her. More so than she knew.

“…I’m sorry Mrs. Mason,” she managed. She cleared her throat. “It’s just…well…” she tried frantically to come up with something to say “…Cynthia and I really miss Sophie and, um…”

“What?” barked Mrs. Mason.

“…We were wondering if there was something about Sophie’s disappearance that wasn’t reported on the news. I mean, was there a ransom note or…or signs of a struggle or anything? The report was kinda vague and the police wouldn’t tell us anything. If it’s a matter of secrecy I swear I won’t breathe a word to anyone. So will Cynthia. Please?”

Melinda silently congratulated herself. Not only was it semi-plausible, it was actually true. The only thing she had left out was that necessity – not curiosity – had prompted their visit.

Mrs. Mason glared at her for a moment, and then her demeanor softened slightly.

“If that’s why ya’ll come then why’d you lie?” she asked.

Melinda took a deep breath.

“We…weren’t sure how to approach you,” she said. “We’ve never met before and Yvette…Yvette kept quiet about things at home.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“That doesn’t surprise me none,” sighed Mrs. Mason. “No, no, don’t go thinking her father or I slapped her around or anything,” she said upon seeing Melinda’s reaction. “Stan and I have been having…issues for the last few years and Sophie usually ended up being in the middle.” She sighed wearily. “Course, I wish that girl had spent her time doing something other than sitting in her room all day reading those damn…hobbit books.”

“Hobbit books?” said Melinda, puzzled. It dawned on her. “Oh, you mean fantasy books.”

“Yeah, all those books with the elves and goblins and wizards and all that other shit,” said Sophie’s mother disdainfully. “Given the choice I suspect she’d live in one.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” muttered Melinda.

“Eh?”

“Uh, nothing,” said Melinda.

“Well, since ya asked so nice – eventually,” added Mrs. Mason meaningfully. “No, I really can’t tell ya anything else about Sophie.” She deflated a bit. “She just didn’t come home one night, that’s all. The police said they found some evidence that made them think she ran into the woods near the school, but they couldn’t found any trace of Sophie out there.”

“Any idea who took her?” asked Melinda.

“Don’t even know if someone took her. Could’ve ran away, could’ve gotten run over…Christ, don’t make me go through this again!” snapped Mrs. Mason suddenly. “I just got over worrying about her and am well into grieving. She’s gone; that’s all there is to it.”

“S-Sorry, Mrs. Mason,” gulped Melinda.

“Yeah, whatever,” grumbled Mrs. Mason. She rose from her seat. “Unless there’s something else ya want to know you’ll forgive me if I ask the two of you t’leave.”

“…Of course, Mrs. Mason,” said Melinda, hanging her head. “I…we’ll leave right after Cynthia finishes using the bathroom.”

Mrs. Mason nodded with a grunt. She stalked off towards the kitchen.

At that moment something inside Melinda snapped. She rose from her seat, determined to tell Mrs. Mason the truth about her daughter and damn the consequences. She wasn’t sure what drove her. Guilt, anger, frustration, sadness, fear – it all blurred to an indistinct, garbled mess. All she knew was she couldn’t stand to deceive Sophie’s mother any longer.

“Wait!” cried Melinda louder than she meant.

Mrs. Mason turned and gave her a sour look.

“Oh fur Christssakes, what now?”

“About Sophie, she’s…” Melinda faltered as Mrs. Mason’s indignant stare stole a goodly portion of her resolve. “She’s…there’s still a chance she’s alive,” she said lamely.

Mrs. Mason’s face turned bright red. At first it looked as though she were about to explode. Then, she slumped. All signs of anger slowly drained from her like hot air escaping a balloon. She shook her head.

“Honey, even if she were still out there she’d be in pretty bad shape,” said Mrs. Mason, almost kindly.

“That’s not the same as de-”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” interrupted Mrs. Mason. “Sophie…” she hesitated, then chuckled humorlessly. “Well, now that she’s gone I suppose there’s no point in keepin’ it a secret.” She took a deep breath. “Sophie…wasn’t quite right in the head. Without getting into any of the gory details she’d go apeshit every so often.”

“Apeshit?” said Melinda, taken aback.

“I think the shrink called ‘em “manic episodes” or something. One moment she’d be normal then she’d start babbling and yelling and banging her head on the wall like that gal from The Exorcist.” She chuckled again. “Ok, that’s exaggerating it a bit. She wouldn’t usually go nutty ‘less she was already scared or nervous. Anyways, they set us up with some pills that mellowed her out. Problem was they worked too well.”

She paused.

“They traded mania for chronic depression,” supplied Melinda.

“Explains a lot, don’t it?” said Mrs. Mason almost sardonically. “The drugs got better over the years, but no one would ever mistake her for little-miss-sunshine. Anyways, the point is without those pills she can’t look after herself – especially if she’s already stressed.”

That last remark completed a rather disquieting chain of thought that had been winding its way through Melinda’s mind ever since Mrs. Mason had mentioned Sophie’s condition. The effect was analogous to a burning fuse finally reaching a stick of dynamite; the outcome had been obvious from the beginning, but still packed quite a wallop when it finally hit.

If Mrs. Mason noticed Melinda’s reaction, she didn’t let on.

“S-So, how long do these pills last?” said Melinda.

“’Bout a day at most,” said Sophie’s mother. “After that…well, she’d still behave herself for the most part. The shrink said it’d take a couple of days before she’d start actin’ looney again.”

“I…see.”

Then, Melinda’s keen ears picked up the sound of a flushing toilet, soon joined by a running faucet. A few seconds later, Cynthia emerged from the hallway. She stopped, looking first at Mrs. Mason, and then at Melinda. She frowned.

“Something wrong?”

Melinda coughed nervously.

“Er…I told Mrs. Mason why we really came,” she said.

Melinda took a few moments to relish the look of panic on Cynthia’s face before continuing.

“Everything’s fine,” assured Melinda. “She understands we just wanted to know if there had been any word about Sophie.”

Cynthia’s expression instantly turned from alarm to embarrassed relief. For once, the transition didn’t require any acting on her part.

“Sorry, Mrs. Mason,” she said. “I, er, we didn’t know how to approach you on this so-”

Sophie’s mother waved her hand dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s alright,” she said. “Look, it’s getting late and this ain’t exactly a nice neighborhood. You’d best skedaddle.” She hesitated. “Um, we’ll be holding Sophie’s funeral at the Southgate Cemetery two weeks from now,” she added, scratching her head. “Y’all are welcome to come.”

The offer elicited cold, somber silence. Melinda shifted her legs uneasily while Cynthia stared at her feet.

“We’ll…see,” said Melinda, smiling weakly. “I…I guess we should get going, right Cynthia?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

Pausing for a moment to nod politely at Mrs. Mason, the two turned and headed towards the door.

“Should I go ahead and send ya the invites?” called Sophie’s mother.

“Um, we’ll stop by later to pick ‘em up,” said Melinda, looking at her over her shoulder while Cynthia opened the door and trotted down the front porch.

“Oh, alright,” said Mrs. Mason, staring glumly into space from her chair.

Melinda hesitated. The harmonics of despair in Mrs. Mason’s voice would have been evident to her even before her transformation. Now as a werewolf she could sense her misery though it was her own.

“Mrs. Mason?” said Melinda.

“…Yes?”

“I’d wait a few days before ordering the invitations for the funeral.” She smiled. “You never know what might happen.”

She left.


***

Phillip paused to wipe a trickle of sweat from his brow before turning to the next sheet of music. Behind him, the drummer had started his last solo. Every beat, every crash of the cymbals pounded Phillip’s already throbbing ears like a mallet. Smiling wanly, Phillip straightened his shoulders and flexed his fingers along the burnished surface of his saxophone, stoically enduring the aural bombardment. After what seemed an eternity the drum dropped to softer, insistent beat; soon joined by the winds, then the bass, until at last Phillip lifted his saxophone to his lips and belted out one final, explosive chord. Then, all faded to silence.

Applause filled the room. The ensemble rose from their seats as one. Individual sections – the winds, the brass, the bass, and percussion – were recognized, bowed, and cheered until at last the conductor himself turned and bowed, prompting a surge of wild ovation. A few seconds later, the clapping abated, leaving only the happy din of the crowd.

Phillip slumped gratefully in his chair. His eyes stung from the harsh glare of the stage lights, his back ached from the uncomfortable seats, and his ears…well, the less said the better. Still, what a night! He glanced around, duly impressed by the transformation the auditorium had undergone. The school had spared no expense to make this year’s dance a night to remember. It helped that Dairyville happened to be a part of the wealthiest districts in the state, remarked Phillip’s inner social pundit.

Eager to get off the stage and join the festivities, Phillip started packing up. He wrapped his saxophone in its cover and set it snugly in its case, slipped his music in the side compartment, and folded his music stand. He glanced idly up at the clock on the far wall. Two-and-a-half hours into the dance and Melinda still hadn’t arrived. Not concerned, but curious, Phillip reached into his pocket for his cell phone, cursing softly as he remembered he had left it in his locker – on the other side of the school.

“Hey, dude,” he said, addressing one of his fellow saxophonists. “Could you drop my sax in the band room? I gotta grab something from my locker.”

“Uh, sure man.”

“Great, back in a sec.”

Phillip jumped off the stage and wove his way through the crowd, heading toward the exit. Aside from a few odd looks, no one paid him any attention. He gently pushed the bulky double doors aside and slipped out of the auditorium. Campus was technically off-limits for the duration of the dance but he doubted anyone was enforcing the edict, let alone patrolling the building.

His skepticism was soon validated. The hallway was completely empty, silent and unlit. Only the faint light of the moon shining through the windows, reflecting weakly off the glossy surface of the lockers arrayed against the west wall, precluded total darkness. Phillip glanced back the way he came. The door to the auditorium was a sliver of light against an unmoving sea of shadows. He hesitated for a moment, then chuckled, embarrassed at his own nervousness. The door disappeared behind him as he turned a corner.

Phillip loosened his collar as he walked. The auditorium had been hot as hell and the stuffy suit he’d been forced to wear for the occasion hadn’t helped matters; tiny stains of perspiration dotted his shirt. He momentarily entertained the idea of stopping by the bathroom to tidy himself up. This was – might be, he corrected – his first date with Melinda since the night she had inadvertently revealed her secret to him.

That memory was enough to make him stop mid-step. Despite what he had told Melinda he was still a bit overawed by the fact she was a werewolf – a little nervous, truth be told. Who could blame him? Aside from the piddling fact that the revelation had changed his very perception of reality, having a girlfriend who was covered in fur, ten times stronger than him and sported claws capable of ripping through steel was a little…intimidating.

Kinda sexy too.

Blushing, Phillip quickly brushed the stray thought aside. He still couldn’t believe how taken he had been by Melinda’s alter ego. Certainly she was beautiful – Phillip doubted anyone would argue otherwise – yet a small but significant part of his brain kept calling foul. Fur and fangs aren’t supposed to be sexy! He desperately hoped the attraction on his part stemmed from his love for Melinda and not some nascent fetish. Probably both, he thought grimly.

Another, more troubling thought occurred to him: While he certainly wasn’t planning on dumping Melinda anytime soon things would get complicated if they ever did part ways – especially if the breakup was less than cordial. A werewolf ex could be a terrible thing. More to the point, would she trust him with her secret after they separated? If not, what would she do? It was hard to picture Melinda doing anything as ruthless as changing or killing him to ensure his silence, but the possibility was there, looming on the horizon – shadowy and sinister.

Still pondering, Phillip continued onwards. The shadows grew thicker as he ventured deeper into the school, passing by the cafeteria and teacher’s lounge. The only sounds were the squeak of his shoes against the smooth vinyl floor and the muted whirr of the AC. He realized he’d ultimately need some kind of light source. While he was capable of navigating the hallways by memory alone it wasn’t easy. More to the point, he couldn’t open his locker in pitch darkness.

Suddenly, Phillip slapped himself on the head, chuckling. He was such an idiot. He dug around his pocket and produced a tiny flashlight attached to a keychain – a memento from a trip to New York. He flicked it on experimentally. A halo of pale blue light appeared in the gloom. Phillip frowned. It didn’t provide much illumination – barely enough to see his hand by. Still, it’d have to do.

A loud clang filled the hallways. The suddenness and force of the sound nearly sent Phillip sprawling to the floor. He lost his grip on the flashlight and lost a few seconds fumbling for it in the air. Heart pounding, he looked around wildly for the origin of the disturbance. He saw nothing. He heard a distant, frantic rattling, almost as though…

…Almost as though someone was trying to force open a locker door!

Righteous indignation filled Phillip’s otherwise placid soul. Two years ago some punk had broken into his locker and stolen his CD player. The thing hadn’t been worth much, truth be told, and it had been all the thief had taken, but the memory still infuriated him. Phillip started walking – quietly but determinedly – towards the disturbance. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he actually caught someone breaking into a locker. The thief would probably just run for it. If not…well, he’d have to have a word with him. Phillip pounded his fist in his hand, nearly dropping the flashlight a second time in the process.

Phillip turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks.

A torturous metallic screech pierced the air as the intruder ripped the locker door from its hinges and hurled it to the ground. It hit the floor with a violent bang and skidded wildly away reverberating like a cymbal. Phillip watched as it disappeared into the shadows. He swallowed, and then turned back.

It wasn’t human – not a chance. It was bipedal, but the proportions were all wrong and its hulking frame filled a space that could have accommodated three people. His flashlight’s feeble beam could only illuminate a tiny section of its massive back, which appeared to be covered in thick, black fur. He couldn’t make out any more details in the gloom and was strangely grateful for this fact. It was digging through the contents of the locker it had broken into – searching for something, apparently. Books, papers, pencils, and other pedagogical accoutrements flew through the air, but still it dug.

Phillip took a step back. His foot arranged the movement all by itself without consulting his higher brain functions, which were paralyzed with fear in any case. He absentmindedly brushed his sideburn after he felt something small and heavy whiz inches away from his ear and hit wall behind him. The whole scene was so…surreal – like something out of a horror film. Then, as though a switch had been flipped in his head, he relaxed. This wasn’t the first time he’d stumbled upon a giant furry beast.

“Melinda?” he said with bemused relief.

The creature froze. Its head slowly swiveled. Two hateful, glowing red eyes narrowed. There was dull thump as it stepped forward, pivoting its enormous body to face him. Startled, Philip shone his flashlight in its face…

…Revealing the snarling, contorted visage of a lupine monster.

All relief evaporated. This wasn’t Melinda. Even if it was there was something seriously wrong with her.

The creature took another step. It blinked irritably and raised a paw the size of a hubcap to shield its eyes from the light. Not wanting to aggravate the beast in any way Phillip immediately flicked the flashlight off.

Darkness fell like a curtain. Phillip stood there – too afraid to move or even think. He could feel his heart throbbing in his chest and hear every breath he took, but his attention was entirely focused on the two savage red eyes suspended in the void. They moved closer, bobbing in a disconcertingly gentle wave in concert to the creature’s booming steps. The craggy black wrinkles encircling the beast’s eye sockets were just visible in the hellish red glow emanating from its eyes.

Phillip had lived a fairly sheltered life – a world where all needs were provided and few demands were made. He didn’t understand danger. Not in the true sense. He knew violence, hatred, and death only through books and television. But now – standing in the dark mere feet away from a bloodthirsty werewolf – he understood. He wasn’t simply holding his life in his hands; it was slipping through his fingers, and if he didn’t catch it soon he’d be lost. No one would catch it for him.

His mind unfroze. Ancient animal senses mingled with human intellect spoke to him: Don’t run. Running will only give it a reason to chase. Back off – slowly. Try to get something between it and you. You can fit through doorways and windows it can’t. Use that. And whatever you do, don’t look directly into its eyes.

Trembling, Phillip began backing away, taking each step as though expecting the floor to crumble beneath his feet. He slowly turned and began moving down the hallway keeping his gaze locked on the creature, which followed – neither closing nor widening the precious gap between them. Its steady, motor-like growl hung in the air like an executioner’s axe.

Every second passed with agonizing slowness. Phillip risked a glance behind him and saw only the dim, empty expanse of the hallway. He moaned. He was moving too slowly. All the classroom doors were locked and he seriously doubted he could beat the creature to one of the exits. Sooner or later the thing would tire of the game and attack. His only real option – he realized with a sinking heart – was to try reasoning with it. Assuming, of course, it could understand him…and could be persuaded not to kill him.

He opened his mouth, searching for the words.

“I…I…please, don’t hurt me,” he whispered hoarsely.

His words had no effect on the creature. Its growl did not waver in timbre, volume, or pitch.

“Do you understand me? Please. If you do, say something,” he pleaded.

The creature hesitated. Its glowing red eyes flickered out and into existence as it blinked. Then with a renewed growl it continued its unhurried pursuit.

“I know you can understand me,” continued Phillip, taking hope from the creature’s momentary diffidence. “I know you’re a werewolf. I…I have a friend who’s a werewolf. Her name is Melinda.”

That got a reaction. The beast reared back with a deafening roar that rattled the nearby lockers. Phillip had barely enough time to whimper ‘Oh sh-’ before it lunged.

***

“Are you sure she went this way?”

Lily glanced back at Melinda and gave her an annoyed scowl.

“Best I can tell,” she said, rising from her crouch. “It isn’t easy like this,” she added, brushing the grass from her jeans. She tapped the tip of her nose. “My nose isn’t as strong.”

Melinda nodded glumly. Even Lily’s preternaturally sharp sense of smell had its limits.

Suddenly, there was a muffled commotion from behind. Melinda and Lily whirled around. Cynthia, Heidi, and Yvette emerged from the shadowy undergrowth picking braches and leaves from their clothes. The two girls instantly relaxed their guard.

“That was quick,” said Melinda flatly, lowering her flashlight.

Yvette nodded.

“We cut through the forest,” she said, gesturing towards the dark expanse of trees southward. “It wasn’t easy, though.”

“Tell me about it,” said Heidi. “No night vision, one flashlight between the three of us.”

“Jesus it’s cold,” complained Cynthia, hugging her shoulders. “I’m wearing my cardigan and I’m still freezing my ass off.” Her voice dropped slightly. “I could really go for a pelt of fur right now.”

“You and me both,” said Heidi.

Disregarding the chatter, Melinda gazed up at the night sky and sighed. For the first time in over the year she stood beneath the pearly radiance of the full moon completely human. It was…liberating, in a way. For all the power and joy it brought the moon was still an object of fear and uncertainty to her – a reminder that strange, impersonal forces unchecked by natural law conspired to control her fate. Even under such dire circumstances it was something of a relief not to have her shape dictated by the movement of celestial bodies. Granted, the timing could have been better. It would’ve been nice to take a night off of being a werewolf – especially one with Phillip. Instead she had to track down, restrain, and possibly kill a bloodthirsty werewolf. And it hadn’t escaped her that they’d have to do it without transforming – lest they fall victim to the same insidious power that had claimed Sophie.

“Melinda?”

Melinda blinked.

“Yeah, Yvette?”

“The way the trail’s been going,” began Yvette. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say its leading right to the school.”

Melinda said nothing.

“The dance is tonight,” continued Yvette urgently. “You don’t think…?” she left the question hanging in the air.

Melinda didn’t reply. She rushed over to Lily.

“How far are we from the school?”

“Eh?” said Lily, slightly flustered. “I dunno. Not too far.” She looked up and pointed. “In fact, I think I can see the main building from here.”

Melinda rose and stared, squinting. Gradually, the distant, indistinct blob standing just above the treeline coalesced into the familiar silhouette of her school.

“We’re less than a mile from the soccer field,” she breathed. She turned back to Lily. “Which way is the trail heading now?” she barked.

Lily bent down and lowered her nose to the leaf-strewn ground. She walked along on her hands and knees, sniffing furiously. None of the girls laughed; they’d long since grown indifferent to the spectacle. In any case, the gravity of the situation precluded joviality. Lily glanced back at the rest of the girls and motioned them to follow. Melinda, Cynthia, Heidi, and Yvette exchanged glances, and complied.

“It’s getting stronger,” muttered Lily. “I…think Sophie may have been hiding out here.” She paused. “She followed the river to the school…backtracked a little west…and wound up here. I’m not surprised you didn’t find her, Yvette. The area’s too close to the school to risk searching it as a werewolf but too far away to smell her from the school as a human.”

“Clever bitch,” remarked Cynthia.

“I think she did it by accident,” said Melinda. “She wasn’t stupid, but I wouldn’t call her ‘clever’.”

A few minutes later, the forest abruptly gave way to the empty green expanse of the soccer field. The five girls stepped onto the grass and stared up at the cloudless night sky. The stars were plainly visible and, though not as bright or numerous as they might have been in the wild, quite stirring. The moon had waxed to a truly impressive size and had acquired an orange hue. However, the girls’ collective gaze was gradually and inevitable drawn downwards. Dairyville High loomed before them, its dark form punctuated by a smattering of bright yellow lights situated near the parking lot.

“Shit.”

Melinda wasn’t sure who uttered it. It might have been herself.

She ran out onto the field.. Yvette followed after barely a moment’s hesitation, soon joined by Lily, Heidi and Cynthia. If anyone had been watching, they would have been taken aback at the speed at which the girls moved. They cleared the field in less than a minute.

“OK, we know she’s around,” said Heidi, slowing to a jog as they approached the building. “The question is where.”

“Umm…” said Lily, pointing. All heads turned.

The side entrance had been thoroughly smashed. The heavy metal door lay several yards away and the wall around the frame had been torn down. Concrete and drywall littered the grass.

“This just keeps getting better,” said Melinda grimly as she hurried towards the gaping hole. As she passed over the threshold she stopped. None of the other girls were following her; they were standing uneasily by the door.

“Well, come on!” she cried.

“Just wait a sec, OK?” exclaimed Cynthia. “How the fuck are we supposed to stop her?”

Good question, thought Melinda. But she’d come too far to stop now.

“So we’re just going to stand around while Sophie kills half the school?” she retorted, stepping over the rubble.

“No, I never said that, Melinda,” snapped Cynthia. “I asked you a question: How the fuck are we going to stop Sophie?”

“Well…I was thinking we could try talking to her,” said Melinda, not nearly as confidently as she hoped. “Get her to calm down.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” said Cynthia. “Come on! Look at the door! She’s not in a mood to negotiate!”

“Fine! OK! What do YOU think we should do?” said Melinda. She could feel her temper rising.

“Pull the fire alarm and get out,” replied Cynthia. “Everyone will leave the building and we can deal with Sophie in the morning.”

“And hope she doesn’t chase anyone down?” snarled Melinda. “Besides, once everyone realizes there isn’t a fire they’ll just go back inside.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s pulled the alarm during a dance,” remarked Lily.

Cynthia shot Lily an angry look.

“I said it once and I’ll it again: whose side are you on?”

“Alright, that’s enough,” said Yvette, stepping between Cynthia and Melinda. “We don’t have the time for this.”

“But-” said Melinda and Cynthia simultaneously.

“We’ll go inside and see what’s happening,” continued Yvette firmly. “If we find Sophie we’ll try to reason with her. If not, pull the fire alarm and evacuate the school. Fair?”

There was a pause.

“Alright,” said Melinda.

“Fine,” said Cynthia.

Both girls turned towards the doorway.

“Hold up,” said Yvette, grabbing hold of them. “You need to calm down. Both of you!” She squeezed them gently. “You can’t lose control – not tonight!”

Melinda nearly threw Yvette’s arm off her shoulder and told her to go to hell. However, just as she was reaching for Yvette’s hand she stopped.

Yvette was right. She was right, goddamn it. They’ve been on edge for months now. With one thing and another she was amazed the whole thing had degenerated into a massive ca-…bitch fight. It almost had on more occasions she cared to count. But tonight…tonight too much was at stake. One psychotic werewolf was bad enough. Melinda stared at Yvette, looking deeply into her crystal blue eyes, amazed at how strong her friend had become despite the torment she had endured.

It suddenly occurred to Melinda just how much people change over time – especially when young, their body, mind and ego still plastic. How many could look back on their childhood and say with confidence they had not changed since growing up? That they were the same person? But, she realized, this did not imply you weren’t the same individual – that you were a mindless puppet of your biology and experiences. The core of terror that had festered in her heart since the beginning was that the transformation would eventually rob her not only of her mind, but her identity. That fear no longer haunted her.

The rage was gone now – completely gone. Melinda glanced over at Cynthia. Her face bore an expression of quiet reflection.

“Sorry about jumping on you like that,” murmured Cynthia, her voice tinged with genuine remorse.

“It’s alright, Cynthia,” said Melinda, somewhat taken aback. “I owe you an apology,” she added. “You were just looking out for us.”

All five girls smiled with relief.

Melinda nodded towards the door. “Come on, we have a job to do.”

***

“Phillip!”

Phillip heard the scream through the haze of pain. He lifted his head weakly, peering in the direction the voice had come. He scrabbled around the floor for his glasses – first with his good arm, then the hurt one – but found nothing.

“Hello?” he croaked.

The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in his ears. He inched his way towards the nearby wall, wincing every time his left elbow touched the cool vinyl floor. Once he felt a press against the tip of his head he slowly rose from his recumbent position. Explosions of pain wracked his battered body as he moved. With a final, agonized gasp he slumped up against the wall, wheezing for breath. He stared down the hallway. In his present condition – broken, bleeding, no glasses – his vision was a constellation of spinning blurs. He squinted. Gradually, the world slowly came into focus. The first thing he perceived was a concerned face inches away from his own.

“Oh, Phillip!”

His heart skipped a beat. It was Melinda.

“Oh thank God,” he whispered, reaching out for her despite the pain. He felt a pair of strong yet slender arms wrap around him and hug him tightly – too tightly.

“Easy, easy!” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Sorry!” whimpered Melinda, instantly releasing him.

“Jeez, deja-fucking vu, huh?” he muttered with more humor than anger.

Melinda stared down at Phillip. He looked as though he had been run through a meatgrinder. His shirt was now little more than a shredded mess stained crimson from the cuts covering his body. His left arm was broken or worse.

“Oh no,” she moaned. “No, no, no…”

“It looks a lot worse than it is,” said Phillip quickly.

“Bullshit,” cried a female voice from behind Melinda. “You can barely stand up!”

Phillip glanced around Melinda. Several figures were clustered around him – all girls around Melinda’s age. While he recognized none of them they were nonetheless vaguely familiar.

“Yeah, that thing really fucked me up,” he conceded. “But I don’t think any of it is life-threatening.” Suddenly, a panicked look came upon his face. “Shit! That wolf might still be around! We need to get everyone out of here.”

“That’s the plan,” said one of Melinda’s cohorts.

“What was that thing anyways?” asked Phillip.

“Long story, so I’ll give you the short version,” said Melinda, resting her arm on bent knee. “It’s a werewolf like us, but it’s out of control. We can’t transform because if we do we’ll wind up in the same boat.”

Phillip stared at her.

“We?” he said, perplexed.

Melinda blinked.

“Ah, I mean, me, err, I’ll…”

She trailed off, biting her lower lip. Phillip looked at her askance. Then, realization dawned. His eyes widened and his entire body shuddered as though he had been struck.

“I’m going to turn into werewolf, aren’t I?” he whispered

Melinda’s expression went from surprise, confusion, relief, and then to terrified alarm in the span of a second. She reached down and tore his shirt and undershirt off in a single deft motion.

“AH! Jeez, Melinda!” protested Phillip.

His lean, pale chest was an ugly crisscross of wicked claw marks. She ran a shaking hand along his chest.

“Fuck,” she hissed. She took hold of Phillip’s hand with her own and placed it on his chest.

“Here, feel,” she said.

Phillip gingerly rubbed the ravaged tissue. He frowned, mildly surprised by how shallow the cuts were; they’d looked far more egregious.

“Lycanthropic regeneration,” said Melinda, her voice dire, her expression deadpan. “It’s already started.”

“What about the Great Blood Moon?” asked one her companions after a brief pause.

“I’m….not sure how that applies here,” said another. “I…don’t think he’ll change unless he actually tries to, but we shouldn’t take any chances.”

Melinda nodded. She grabbed Phillip by the shoulders and lifted him – gently, but hastily – to his feet.

“Go to the men’s bathroom and hide there,” she ordered. “It should mask your scent. And whatever you do stay out of the moonlight.”

“Wha-wai-....hold on,” stammered Phillip. “What are you going to do? How long am I going to have to stay in the bathroom? What if that thing finds me?”

“In that order: evacuate the school, until sunrise, and…run away.” Melinda smiled apologetically. “Sorry Phil, you can’t leave the school but I don’t want you to get killed.”

“I…Ok,” said Phillip. Suddenly, a look of panic overtook his face again.

“Sis!” he half-screamed

“Sis?”

“My sister!” said Phillip frantically. “She saved me from that thing! She…she heard me screaming when I was getting mauled and…threw something at it. It left me and went after her! You gotta save her! There’s no way she can outrun that thing!”

Melinda stared at him.

“How long ago was this?” she asked.

“I-I dunno…I think I blacked out after it went after Christine,” Phillip gulped. “You don’t think she’s…”

“Don’t even say it” hissed Melinda angrily. “We’ll find Christine! Now go!”

“I…I’m coming too!”

“You’re still too hurt. I know Christine is your sister but the best thing you can do for her now is stay alive. Tell you what – I’ll call you on your cell phone when and if I find her.”

“I left my cell phone in my locker,” said Phillip weakly.

“Fine. Go get it and then hide!”

“But…”

“Enough!” barked Melinda. She gave him a light push. “Get out of here!”

Her tone left no possibility for argument. Phillip reluctantly turned and started walking down the hall. He had taken no more than three steps when he felt someone tap him on the shoulders.

“Almost forgot,” said Melinda softly.

Her arms drifted over his shoulders. Smiling, she pulled him towards her, holding him by the back of his head. Before he could utter another word she pressed her lips against his. Phillip’s body instinctively stiffened, then softened to the consistency of jelly. The terror and pain of the last hour were briefly subsumed by pure bliss.

“Oooo…you go girl!” called one of Melinda’s friends amidst a chorus of catcalls and whistles.

Melinda slowly pried herself off from Phillip, who nearly fell over.

“Feel better?” she asked, steadying him.

Phillip nodded. Boy, did he feel better.

“Good. Now scram.”

***

Several, tense minutes passed. The unspoken agreement between the girls was to conduct the search as quietly as possible. Although they had come looking for Sophie they knew it would be unwise to advertise their presence. Leaving aside the possibility of an ambush they were still technically trespassing on school grounds; the last thing they needed was some overzealous school official or chaperone escorting them off the campus.

“Wait, wait,” said Heidi, motioning for the group to stop.

All five girls skidded to a halt as though blocked by an unseen hand.

“We should split up,” she said, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes. “We can cover more ground.”

“Good idea,” said Cynthia, nodding.”

“Fine,” said Melinda. “I’ll check the north part of the school.” She pointed at Heidi and then Lily. “You two take the east wing. Cynthia, Yvette, you take the west. If you don’t find anything backtrack south and search the rooms we haven’t che-”

She was interrupted by a distant yet terrified scream. All heads turned. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, like the roll of thunder came a deep, guttural growl so powerful it rattled the nearby lockers, soon followed by the frightened, frantic din of a panicking crowd.

“The auditorium,” breathed Yvette.

Melinda blurred. One second she was standing there and the next she was sprinting down the corridor. No Olympian could have matched her alacrity. The other four girls stood there for a moment, gawking, and then followed – never quite catching up.

Melinda staggered under her inertia as she turned a corner, nearly colliding with the wall. She saw the entrance to the auditorium at the end of the hall. The doors were wide open. A faint blue light emanated from within. With a maddened howl she redoubled her efforts. Her feet barely touched the ground as she ran.

“Wait up, Melinda!”

Ignoring or oblivious to her friends’ protests, Melinda half-flew half-fell through the gaping double doors. Panting, she slowly gazed upwards.

The student council had selected “Night Under the Stars” for the theme this year and had made impressive use of the budget allocated to them. The entire auditorium was bathed in the soft, azure glow of several stage lights. Near the center of the room a small disco ball had been hung between the rafters by an absurdly long string; tiny motes of scintillating white light dotted every surface of the cavernous room. A large, pale-yellow cardboard moon had been posted above the bleachers. The center space was empty – presumably to function as the dance floor. Rows of tables laden with food and drink lined the east wall while clusters of small tables and chairs lay scattered around the west side. All this barely registered with Melinda. Her attention was focused on the occupants of the room – one in particular.

Whether not she had in fact grown since their last encounter was a moot point. Sophie towered…no she loomed over everyone and everything in the auditorium. Her ebony-furred body was as dense and massive as a concrete slab and her arms and legs were like tree trunks. Enormous, leathery paws sporting bone-white talons hung menacingly in the air, posed to strike. Her slow, rhythmic breathing sounded like steam escaping a locomotive. She had cornered a group of students – at least a dozen – near the rear exit. They stood huddled together in abject horror, several couples hugging, staring at the ebony monster through tear-filled eyes. Two of the braver male students had stepped forward and spread their arms as though to shield the group from the inevitable attack.

Melinda felt a wave of horror engulf her coupled with a tingle of excitement. At long last she had found Sophie.

“Don’t get any closer,” she whispered, not bothering to turn around.

“Wasn’t…planning on it,” said Heidi from behind.

Melinda swallowed as the rest of the Lycanthrope Club filed around her.

“What do we do?” murmured Yvette.

The group looked over at Sophie. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t noticed their presence and had her back to them in any case. She seemed intent on her prey.

“I smell blood,” hissed Lily.

Melinda sniffed the air. She smelled it too. Her eyes drifted downwards, instinctively drawn to a dark shape lying mere yards away. It was the body of a brunette girl lying face down on the floor. Melinda crouched and cautiously approached her, keeping her eyes on Sophie. Then she caught a whiff of the girl’s scent.

It was Christine.

Heart pounding, Melinda hurried over to her and kneeled. She rolled her over and stifled a yelp. Her chest and neck had been torn open; she was lying in a pool of her own blood. Melinda pressed an ear against her chest and shut her eyes, praying.

Please…no…

To her relief she heard the distinctive lub-dub of a beating heart. It was quite strong, actually.

“I guess you and your brother do have something in common now,” muttered Melinda.

“Melinda!” hissed Cynthia. “Is she alright?”

Melinda turned her head, smiled weakly, and gave her the thumbs up. She turned back to the auditorium, and froze.

Sophie was staring directly at her, growling. Her feral red eyes blazed like demon suns crowned by devilishly pointed ears. She lurched forward, her ponderous footsteps shaking the auditorium. Out of the corner her eye Melinda saw the group of trapped students edging towards the exit. She leaned slightly to her left so they could see her and mouthed the words Get…Out…

One by one the students slipped out the door and into the night. The last one – a brunette – gave Melinda a puzzled, plaintive look before exiting.

That objective more or less complete, Melinda turned her attention back to Sophie. She knew what had to be done.

“Yvette, Lily, Heidi, Cynthia,” said Melinda, voice quivering yet charged with manic resolve. “Take Christine and get her out of here.” Her lips moved silently. “Better yet, take her to Phillip.”

Yvette looked confused.

“But wha-…” her eyes widened “…No, Melinda. You’re not doing that.”

Lily stared at Yvette.

“What are you talking about?” she said.

“Melinda here wants to play the heroine and keep Sophie busy while the rest of us make a break for it,” supplied Cynthia, managing a sneer of contempt despite her fear.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” trembled Heidi. “Once she’s finished with you she’ll just move on.”

Melinda was now slowly backing away from Sophie. She was getting too close for comfort. Granted, a mile would’ve been too close for comfort.

“She’ll do that anyway if I don’t,” said Melinda firmly. “At least this way she’ll be attacking someone who stands a decent chance of surviving…and won’t be transformed.”

“Then let me go,” said Yvette, stepping forward. She glanced at the rest of the girls, and then Melinda. “You know I…I regenerate faster then you.”

Melinda nodded. It was true. In fact, if anyone stood a chance against Sophie, it was Yvette. Despite Melinda’s experience, Heidi’s training, Cynthia’s cunning, and Lily’s natural talent Yvette was easily the strongest among them. Still…

“No,” said Melinda. “She’s after me.” She hesitated. “Don’t ask me how I know. Just…go.”

“But…”

There was a terrible pause. Then, Sophie lunged.

***

Melinda had just enough time to raise her hands before Sophie plowed into her like a wrecking ball. The force of her attack sent the two of them sliding across the floor, slamming them into the bleachers, which shuddered violently under the impact. Sophie reared back and starting clawing Melinda. Melinda’s screams penetrated the walls of the auditorium and filled the night air.

Heidi was the first to reach them. The feisty redhead hit the Sophie with a flying tackle. She might as well have tried to tackle a mountain, but it distracted Sophie. Lily came next. She ran up, grabbed Sophie by her right arm and twisted it in a complicated circle. Sophie yelped, growled irritably, and swatted Lily aside with her free paw. Just as she was turning to deal with Heidi, Yvette appeared and rammed her. Yvette’s body slam sent the snarling she-wolf several inches in the air. However, Sophie rolled with blow and landed on her feet with surprising agility. But before she could completely recover Cynthia charged and drove something into her thigh.

Sophie roared so loud the girls were forced to cover their ears – all except Heidi, who was still clinging tenaciously to the embattled werewolf. Sophie staggered back and dropped to all fours. There was something small and shiny sticking out of her leg. Cynthia was cradling her left hand with her right; an ugly red mark had been burned across the soft tissue of her palm.

All this had occurred in less than ten seconds.

Melinda shakily rose to her knees and swore. Her chest felt as though it was on fire! She crawled a few inches and then collapsed in a heap. Whimpering, she clutched her wounds, attempting to stem the tide of blood.

Change…

Melinda froze.

Change…

Her ears registered nothing, but still she heard the voice.

Change…it is your only hope.

Melinda grit her teeth.

It’s you, isn’t it? she thought.

Your injuries are too severe and your friends cannot hold her for much longer. Change…

In a pig’s eye!

She tried to rise to her knees but her body felt as heavy as lead. Her vision was hazy. She found herself slipping in and out of consciousness.

If not for your sake then for the sake of the others. Even the healing power of the loup garou will not save them if their spine or brain is crushed. Change…

You…knew this…would happen, didn’t you?

Something like this, yes. Rage would consume her and you’d be forced to match her fangs with yours. Change…

Melinda screamed, if only to drown out the infuriating smugness of the voice. There had to be another way! She wracked her brain, rallying every functioning synapse and neuron to the task. Possibilities were entertained, alternatives weighed, and options considered, but no answer was forthcoming. Her mind – already weak from pain – began to sink into oblivion.

“No…choice…”

Sophie bucked wildly, sending Heidi sprawling to the floor. She then reached down and plucked the knife from he thigh like an errant thorn and tossed it aside. Dazed but not stunned, Heidi scooted away. Cynthia, Lily, and Yvette rushed to her side and lifted her to her feet. The massive she-wolf cast them a baleful glare, growled ominously, and started lumbering towards them. Her face was a mask of hate – devoid of any trace of mercy.

“Fuck,” said Cynthia softly.

The same thought ran through all four girls’ minds: if they ran she’d hunt them down one-by-one and kill them. If they didn’t run she’d crush them where they stood.

Sophie’s growl was steadily growing in intensity and vehemence. Now mere feet away from the girls, she lifted a paw to strike. Suddenly there came from behind a sound somewhere between a snarl and a bark.

Melinda had risen. She stood there, panting, chest heaving up and down. Blood was dripping down her body. Slowly, her lips peeled back, revealing a mouthful of sharp, wicked teeth. There was series of agonizing cracks as Melinda’s jaw bulged grotesquely. Her nose peeled back and stiffened, growing dark and coarse. Then, her entire face – her chin, cheeks, nose, and forehead – stretched like putty molded by unseen hands. Melinda lifted two trembling arms and felt her warped face. She broke into a manic, inhuman grin and started chuckling hysterically.

The growth traveled down her arms, inflating her triceps, biceps, and hands to twice their previous size. Her shoulders and back swelled, adding inch after inch to her height. Melinda could feel her T-shirt pressing against her chest, clinging to her like an undersized wetsuit. Tighter and tighter it grew until at last the fabric reached its limit. Roaring, Melinda stretched her arms over her shoulders, tearing the shirt in half. She brushed away the tattered remains and examined herself. Not an inch of fat or flab remained; tight, sinewy muscles dominated her body. More and more articles of clothing – jeans, bra, panties, shoes, socks – exploded from her bulk as she grew. Before long she was completely nude. Ebony fur blossomed over every square inch of her expanding body – thick, luxurious fur, as dark as midnight. Her ears twitched, folded into sharp points, and traveled up her head. Twin yellow flames erupted in the darkness as her eyes changed color and started to glow with an inner light. Melinda now resembled the classic wolfman – hairy, muscular, but only vaguely lupine.

Melinda had transformed more times than she could count, but this was different. She stared down at her paw-like hands. Tiny bulges appeared on her fingertips. At first they seemed innocuous enough but then they started to grow, turning the surrounding skin a bright, angry red. Blood began to seep out her nails. Her fingers stretched outward while her thumbs curled back. Then with a sickening crunch Melinda’s claws burst from her fingers. She curled and uncurled her paws, watching in fascination they emerged and retracted from and into their sheaths.

Melinda laughed. So sharp! So deadly! Just the thought of running them through soft, yielding flesh sent shivers down her spine. How could she have feared this power? This intoxicating sense of dominance? No rules, limitations, morals or obligations, to give and take as she pleased and damn the rest – this was her right!

The Change progressed. Her feet elongated, pushing her heels farther up her leg until fully digitigrade. She felt her skull contract as her jaw and nose lengthened in tandem. A tiny nub appeared above her buttocks as her tailbone pushed its way out of her body, ultimately forming her tail. There was pain, yes – excruciating pain – but Melinda didn’t care. She drank in every sensation of the Change no matter how terrible, savoring it, cherishing it.

Then, like a beautiful dream slowly but inevitably giving way to wakefulness, the transformation came to a close. Melinda lifted her head and bayed in triumph.

I am a werewolf!

Instinct flooded her mind. She wanted food. She wanted prey to chase. She wanted a pack and a mate by her side. She envisioned a world of crumbling cities and broken roads overrun with trees and vines where werewolves ran through the ruins, hunting and fighting and howling. Her rational side shrieked in protest but it was soon swallowed up by the blood-red tide surging through her brain. She felt no fear. She felt no doubt. Mercy and kindness were meaningless to her.

Sophie crouched low, growling, regarding the newcomer with caution. Melinda stared at her, narrowed her eyes, and returned her growl. The two werewolves began circling each other. In the dim blue light of the auditorium they were all but each others’ mirror image. Only their eyes – Sophie’s a fearsome scarlet red, Melinda’s a deep, feral yellow – and slight difference in height distinguished them. Then, as though prompted by some unseen signal, they charged, colliding in a tangled mass of fur, flesh, talon and fang.

A cacophony of bellowing roars and inhuman snarls echoed throughout the auditorium as they fought. Claws flashed in the air drawing explosions of blood. Teeth gnashed against muscle eliciting brief but pained yelps. No tactics or strategy guided their struggles. They twisted and snaked around each other with reckless abandon, seeking that one final, fatal bite.

At first they seemed evenly matched. Then, slowly but surely, Melinda began to take the advantage. Although stronger, Sophie could not match Melinda’s speed and agility. For every blow she landed Melinda answered with two; for every blow she dodged Melinda evaded three. And every time she managed to get a hold of her Melinda would simply wriggle out of her grasp. Blood dribbled down her fur from cuts so deep they had yet to fully regenerate. Pain was making her slow and clumsy.

Sensing her opponent was weakening, Melinda leapt at Sophie. Too tired to dodge or deflect the attack Sophie reached out and wrapped her arms around Melinda. To Sophie’s mild surprise Melinda made no attempt to escape. Not questioning her good fortune she hefted Melinda into the air and squeezed. Ignoring the mounting pressure around her ribs Melinda leaned forward and clamped her jaw around Sophie’s neck.

The two of them stood there for a moment, quivering. Then, Melinda felt Sophie’s arms slump. The massive she-wolf crumpled to the ground with a dismal whine.

Melinda glowered over Sophie’s unmoving body. She raised a blood-splattered talon and licked it, savoring the rich taste. Her black lips slowly curled into a wicked smile.

A bizarre sound filled the auditorium. It could only be described as a sort of gravelly, high-pitched cough.

Melinda was laughing. Giggling, almost – as much as a creature like her could giggle. It was really quite horrible-sounding once its source became evident.

Victory.

Her ears twitched. She glanced down at Sophie’s recumbent form and listened quietly. Yes. There was still some life left in her. She could hear breath – shallow as it was – quite clearly.

Melinda dropped to all fours and padded over to Sophie. She sniffed her cautiously. Satisfied that she was incapacitated she leaned in closer. She glanced down at Sophie. Her eyes ran up her stomach, her chest, her shoulders, her neck, and finally her face. Her left cheek was battered and bruised and her forehead and muzzle were streaked with a pair of long, ugly claw marks.

Sophie stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. Melinda’s own yellow orbs widened in surprise, and then narrowed. She seized Sophie by the throat and pressed her to the floor with an angry snarl. Sophie gurgled incoherently, utterly helpless.

It could have ended right there and then. Melinda could have snapped Sophie’s neck and killed her. It was that close.

But then, the glow in Sophie’s eyes faded. Melinda looked down and caught a glimpse her image reflected in twin pools of red, and froze.

I…

Self-recognition, lauded as the highest and rarest of mental capacities, is not unique to humans. To discriminate the *I* from the *It*, the *We* from the *They* is a hallmark of all life. To forget this is to become an object – a thing – full of energy, motion, and power, but hollow inside. Thoughtless. Dead. Propelled by forces as blind and meaningless as those which drive hurricanes. Melinda had always feared she would become such a nothing, and almost had. She had been saved when she looked upon the glossy surface of Sophie’s eyes and saw herself for the first time since she Changed.

She lifted a trembling paw from Sophia. Heart pounding, she stared down at her former friend. She felt no pulse. She heard no breath. There was a…stillness about her.

Tears brimmed in the corners of Melinda’s eyes. She slumped over Sophie’s body, weeping, sobbing – cursing the universe for allowing such a tragedy to take place. Even werewolves, it seemed, had their limits, and Sophie had reached hers.

You…resisted, whispered a voice.

Melinda’s lips tightened. She glanced down at Sophie, and then looked up, staring into the darkness.

Is this what you wanted? she thought, white-hot rage burning in her soul. Are you satisfied now?

How? How are you able to retain your sanity under the influence of the Great Blood Moon? continued the voice in awe.

Melinda grimaced. She could still feel the madness festering inside her. Keeping it in check was like balancing on a wire. You just did it. Thinking about it only caused you to wobble.

I don’t know and I don’t care, thought Melinda. Sophie…is dead! Don’t you care?

The voice was silent.

No, of course you don’t, thought Melinda sardonically. You’re just a memory. A ghost. No. Even a ghost has a soul! You’re just a…a…

I am what I am, said the voice. I cannot and will not apologize for this. It paused. If it had a throat, it probably would have cleared it. However, in retrospect I think I may have…erred in my judgment.

Erred in your judgment? ERRED IN YOUR JUDGMENT? YOU KILLED SOPHIE YOU SON OF A BITCH! And don’t you DARE say I was the one who did it! You set all of this in motion!

The child is not dead, said the voice calmly.

Melinda blinked. Those five words knocked all the anger out of her.

What? she whispered.

She lives yet, but will die soon. Look upon her.

Melinda stared down at Melinda through a haze of tears. She was vaguely aware of a great number of people crowding around her, but she couldn’t care less.

See her wounds? None of them have affected her brain or spine. All other injuries – no matter how severe – will heal in time. Or rather, they would.

What’s wrong with her?

Her will to live has been broken, and without the will to live the body will not mend. This is the case with humans, is it not? It is the same with werewolves.

You mean she’s…given up?

I believe so.

NO! screamed Melinda. She can’t die! I have to talk to her!

That is no longer possible, said the voice dispassionately. She’s incapable of speech.

Melinda’s mind raced furiously.

Can you…can you project my thoughts to her?

What?

You…you said you entered my mind after Stein bit me, continued Melinda patiently. Can you do something similar with Sophie?

You want me to enter her mind?

NO! I’m not letting you anywhere near her! I want to enter her mind. Can you do it?

There was silence.

Yes, I suppose I could, said the spirit eventually.

A bud of hope sprouted in Melinda’s heart.

Then do it!

***

Endless fields stretched on as far as the eye could see. A light breeze wafted in the dry afternoon air sending wave after wave of bent wheat stalks rolling across the plain. The radiant yellow sun hung in the cloudless blue sky. It was always summer here.

Melinda was walking along a small dirt road that lay between two fields. Narrow but well-worn ruts ran along the length of the path. Aside from the whisper of the wind and the buzz of the cicadas, all was silent.

“This is Sophie’s mind?” said Melinda, looking around in bemusement.

Not exactly, whispered the spirit, its voice a whisper. What you perceive is – for lack of a better word – a memory.

“A memory?” said Melinda. She thought back to the photo of Sophie and her family she had seen on the wall of her house. “A memory,” she repeated, now more a statement than a question.

I have never seen land such as this. No trees, no hills, just an endless sea of grass.

“A lot of the United States is like this,” said Melinda absently, still walking. “Why do you suppose we’re here?”

Difficult to say. We have gone where she has gone in her mind.

“Ok, so where is she?” said Melinda, shielding her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun. “All I see is fields.”

Oh?

Melinda blinked. A small farmstead had appeared out of nowhere several yards ahead.

“Ok,” said Melinda, slowly, thoroughly befuddled. Everything here had a dreamlike quality – hazy, indistinct, and unreal. Come to think of it, was she still werewolf? She glanced down where her hand should be and saw nothing.

…Hang on, that wasn’t exactly true. There was definitely something there – a palm and five digits – but for some reason her mind couldn’t articulate whether it was a hand or a paw.

Melinda shrugged and continued onward.

She stepped off the road and headed towards the farm. The place seemed completely deserted. She glanced over at the barn, the chicken coop, the mailbox, and the house. The scene was…vaguely familiar.

Melinda snapped her fingers. The photo. Maybe that was the key to finding her.

She jogged over to the barn and peered inside. The shadowy interior held little of interest – just collapsed bales of straws, barrels, pitchforks, metal troughs, and other agrarian accoutrements. She circled around the building heading towards the back. There was a field of grass facing the opposite side of the barn and a field of corn behind it. Two silos loomed in the distance; Melinda was certain they hadn’t been there a few seconds ago.

Sophie was standing at the northwest corner of the barn facing the cornfield, back to Melinda. She was human once more.

Melinda paused, taking a moment to examine her. She was wearing a dusty but serviceable pair of overalls over a white long-sleeve shirt. Look up the term “country-girl” and you would probably find her picture.

“Sophie,” said Melinda, taking a step towards her.

Sophie didn’t respond.

“Sophie?” repeated Melinda nervously.

“Go away,” barked Sophie with a fierceness that startled Melinda.

“I…” Melinda hesitated, uncertain what to say. “Sophie, you have to come back with me.”

“Why should I? said Sophie petulantly. She still hadn’t turned to face Melinda. “Y’tried to kill me!”

“Well, in all fairness, so did you,” said Melinda, smiling weakly.

“No I didn’t,” snapped Sophie. She whirled around. For the first time in a month Melinda saw her human face. It was full with hate and sadness.

“You attacked me out in the woods! You turned me into a monster!”

Melinda felt her stomach turn to ice.

“I…always wondered if Cynthia actually bit you that night,” she said quietly after a while. “You didn’t smell like a werewolf until I caught you. Guess I got…carried away,” she grimaced when she spoke.

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie.”

There was silence. A faint breeze blew through the plains filling the farm with the sound of rustling wheat.

“This isn’t real, you know,” said Melinda. “I know this was your home but…damn it, Sophie! You can’t just stay here.”

“Why not?” muttered Sophie. She gestured at her surroundings. “This is the only place I’ve ever been happy.”

“Sophie, if you don’t come with me, you’re going to die!”

“Fine by me,” she said. “Even if I came back I’d just be stuck as a werewolf.” She paused. “Actually, I kinda liked it,” she added wistfully. “But I’d still be alone most the time with you and the rest of the gals livin’ your lives. I don’t want to be alone any more.”

“You won’t be alone and you won’t be stuck,” said Melinda quickly. “We’ve figured out why you can’t change back.”

Sophie looked up at Melinda, her expression flickering between hope and skepticism.

“Y’have?” she said.

“It’s your medication, Sophie,” said Melinda. “You haven’t been taking your pills – it’s that simple. And you’re not alone - not anymore. You’re one of us now. You’re part of our pack.”

“Some pack,” sniffed Sophie. “All ya’ do is quarrel and fight.”

“That’s what people do when they’re stressed, Sophie,” replied Melinda, wringing her hands. “We were worried about you and what might happen if we couldn’t change you back.”

Sophie frowned. She clutched her left shoulder with her right arm, looking away.

“I’m sorry if we scared you, Sophie,” said Melinda, stepping towards her. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you because of me.” She hesitated. “There’s no reason for you to throw away your life.”

Sophie didn’t move. She kept her gaze focused away from Melinda as though disgusted.

“Why did you come to the school tonight,” said Melinda suddenly.

This nonplused Sophie. She turned completely around and hugged her sides.

“Sophie?”

I…I wanted to say goodbye to Phillip.”

At that moment Melinda could’ve been pushed over with the touch of a feather. Her mind mulled over this data, confused, uncertain, and bewildered, until at last it dawned on her.

“Oh,” said Melinda.

Sophie turned back to Melinda. Tears were streaming down her freckled cheeks. She was blushing.

“Oh,” repeated Melinda for lack of anything better to say. She scratched her head.

“He doesn’t know,” said Sophie, answering her unspoken question. “He doesn’t even know I exist. I’ve…well, I’ve never managed to work up the nerve to talk t’him. I wanted to leave him a note or something before I left, so I…” Sophie trailed off. To say she looked miserable would be a gross understatement.

Awkward silence pervaded.

“Jesus, Sophie,” said Melinda eventually, shaking her head. “No wonder you went after me.”

“I…I couldn’t help it, Melinda,” stuttered Sophie. “I was ever so mad. I mean, people talk about seeing red, but-”

Melinda giggled.

“What?” said Sophie, more than a little resentfully. “What’s so funn-…oh, seeing ‘red.’ Hah hah, very funny.”

“Sorry,” said Melinda, who had the decency to look embarrassed. “I know it wasn’t your fault.” She took a deep breath. “Sophie, please, you don’t have to do this.” She extended a hand.

Sophie stared at the hand, looked up, and smiled at Melinda.

“Alright.”

Too be continued…

[george.mikal]

i think u must be a professional writer..
well done..