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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. |
| I wasn't the only one having a bad night that night. Crash was on his way from one emergency to another. The kind of night that is filled with excitement, but no fun. The exact type of night most of us think about when he think of what life is like for a cop – a night of stamping out fires and hoping none of them are just flaming bags of dog crap. His first emergency was relatively easy, though it got a bit bloody. Fortunately for the small community on the other side of the county, the ogres didn't make it into town. Crash said if they had it would have been a blood bath. But he won't go further than that. There are more dangerous mythical creatures out there. The types that would never live with humanity and sees us as basically food, an annoyance, or 'toys', creatures to be tortured and killed when bored. Think of it like a serial killer with a kitten type mentality. Perhaps that will give you a bit of a mental picture of what he was dealing with the ogres. He never told me what it was, but said he ended covered head to toe in “red goo.” There's a stream that runs through the county on the south side. At times it's small, other times it opens up wider, until it runs head long into another larger stream, which is part of a tributary system that feeds itself eventually into the Mississippi river a few states away. This stream is in a wooded area and is crystal clear. Crash said that even I could see clear to the bottom of it on a near moonless night. A coat of dead leaves cover the ground giving it the look of being shoved into one of the better slasher films from the eighties. He had stopped there on his way to another “stalk and check”, to check up on some other strange activity that had been anonymously reported. There was something different about his tranquil spot. The air felt energized somehow, as if he was standing near a power line. Even the trees, which were usually comforting, felt more like sinister sentinels. He walked towards the stream and stopped. Putting his nose to the ground, Crash brushed the leaves back. There beneath that blanket of leaves was a rune. It was thick, and held a dull light of its own, a soft sickly yellow glow. Apparently, it was part of a circle of runes that ran around the very stream Crash wanted to wash up in. He backed a single step and smacked into a solid wall of leaves, mud, and sticks. Crash leaped upwards, but was grabbed by the creature, who attempted to hurl him into the rune circle. If you learn nothing else from this little blog, learn this: never, EVER attempt to grab a werewolf. That is, unless you're a werewolf yourself. It will not workout for you. When this creature grabbed Crash, he lashed out with claws of his own, thrashing through mud, worms, leaves, sticks and other muck. He thrashed, snarled and fought, literally clawing his way through the mud mound until he was on the other side. Gasping for breath, he looked up, and saw twin eyes staring at him from the mud. Crash was fighting a creature he'd never fought before – a gollum. There was a hole in the center of the mud creature that glared down at him. Crash knew two things in that moment. First, that he had to avoid that circle at all costs. Second, was that somewhere out there, Kheid was up to something, and that it wasn't going to be good for any of us. *** The night at the house was one of those half moon kind of nights. The sort of night that felt waxing and waning, the kind that in my military days felt as if it was drawing itself out longer on purpose. The front lawn was covered in gnomes with red hats. There was no blue hatted gnomes left. None of the gnomes cheered my capture. They all glared at the both of us as I was walked down the stairs. “Alright,” Valyur snarled. The blue hatted gnome leader still held the gun on my back. “You bastards get back, or I'll blast a hole through his skull right here.” I heard a low threatening growl when he said that. I turned my head to see something I had never thought I would have. A smaller visage of a werewolf in sparkling white and gray fur, ceramic just like the rest of the gnomes. He had a collar on, with a bit in his mouth like he was a horse with a gnome seated on top of his shoulders. “Yeah, what he said,” the gnome growled. “His majesty wants him alive, you bastard.” “Mitch,” I said. “I never knew they could get you.” He turned he head down, his ears folded back. I looked at him riding high upon Mitch's shoulders. He was wearing a vest of some kind, with his beard braided into twin braids that hung almost to his knees. They rested on both sides of the werewolf's head he sat upon. “Yar! You bastard,” the gnome said as it grabbed his ear and wrenched it back. A whine escaped Mitch's throat as the gnome raised his head up to look at me. “What is your name,” I asked. “You don't get the pleasure of my name,” he snarled. “You're afraid to tell me?” That made the gnome sputter. “I fear no fleshpot!” “Then tell me your name.” He looked around at the others for a moment who all stared at him expectantly, then sat high and proud. “I'm Lavrishk, proud general of the one true Kheid's army. Tamer of the mighty werewolf.” And he grabbed Mitch's ear again and twisted it harder. “You're going to want to stop that,” I said. “Why's that,” he said, and twisted it one more time. A soft whine grew in pitch before leveling off. “Cause now, before the night's over, I'm going to kill you.” That caused a chorus of laughter. Valyur nudged me forward and forced me down the steps. Lavrishk kicked the sides of Mitch, and drove him forward with a growl. “I'd like to see you try, fleshpot. I'll have him naw your arms off and spank him with yer bones.” I remembered I still had my pistol, but, I didn't draw it. Something told me right then wasn't the time. “Tonight,” I shouted walking down the path that was set out before me. The path they cleared to the woods near our little home. “Tonight, you will all see what is inside a gnome. And I will show you all, what it takes to kill a...” A shot rang out. I felt it whizz by my head almost before I heard it. “Shut up,” Valur snarled. “And keep walking.” I expected there to be a bonfire of some kind, with gnomes dancing around it like a pagan ritual pulled straight from an Indiana Jones movie. Instead, there sat Kheid, upon a giant ceramic throne. The arm rests were made of skulls, and the back rest was built up as long bones which looked as if they were supposed to be femurs, but had been stretched and arched to make it into a more comfortable seat for 'his majesty.' “I told you I'd get you,” he said and smirked. The ground around him glowed in strange thick runes. “And...” he paused for a moment..... *** Crash leaped from tree to tree, trying to climb it. His only goal then was to get out of the woods. Flee the woods and race over to the next county, which was close. Get the assistance of the wolf next door, so to speak. Up he jumped, higher and higher. He leaped to one branch. Then to another. Then another. He was close to his goal. He could see the break in the woods in front of him. Just one more... He was hit with what felt like a wall of mud. The fall from the height and the added weight of mud knocked the wind out of him and dazed him. Crash stared up at the trees, as he was half dragged, half thrown into the rune circle. *** Kheid held up a single finger for a moment and smiled, “Now I have all of you. You shall join us and abandon that disgusting flesh for the proper ceramic you should have.” He leaped down from the throne. “And I know once you spend a little time as my subject like your friends,” he pointed to the edge of the clearing, and there they were. Zack, Kris, Sean. All of three of them standing there in ceramic, wearing red gnome hats, glaring at me as if waiting for something. “You will love it.” He grinned wickedly at me. “Still won't bring Faenie back, Falkurk.” There was a dangerous glint that entered his eye then. “Meaty one, I will make you pay for that!” |
| The thumping on the window grew to tapping. Tapping grew to a frantic, panicked pace. Tap. Tap. Taptap. Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap. I stepped towards the curtain and gripped it in my left hand. Holding my pistol in my right, I threw the curtain open, and pointed it at the figure in the window. A blue hatted gnome glared back at me through the glass. “Not me you fleshpot, I’m on yer side!” “Right? Cause I’ll be happier in ceramic.” My pistol didn’t waver. “No thank you.” “I don’t want you ceramic, you idjit! I don’t want you changed! I’m tryinta help you!” A rock smashed against the wall near him. It was a fake rock, the kind that one of those lawn gnomes are normally standing on. Behind the blue hat was a couple red hatted lawn gnomes with a catapult of some kind, loading it for another shot. I threw the window open and fired twice, nicking one gnome and hitting the string on the catapult, which sent the rock flying over the house. Then I looked down at the gnome, “You waiting for an invitation?!” He attempted to scramble, but I ended up helping him out, pulling him inside. The rickety box he had been standing on tottered then toppled as I slammed the window shut. The gnome in front of me had a blue hat, with faded blue paint that appeared almost more turquois now than actual blue. His beard was gloriously long with braids hanging from either side, and a single large braid with a thick brass ring in the center. “So, what’s your name,” I asked. “I’m Valyur, leader of the gnomes here. Or What’s left of’em,” he huffed. I am capable of keeping my mouth shut. In my minds eye I saw a familiar scene from an old Bruce Campbell film where he told the king there ‘Right now you’re the king of jack and shit, and jack left town.’ Knowing such a line wouldn’t help, I kept my mouth shut, and attempted suppress a smile. If Valyur saw it, he didn’t say anything. A couple of years ago, such a statement would have been too tempting for me not to say allowed, damn the consequences of saying it. In the grand scheme of things, I’d say I’m making progress. “There’s not many of my clan left,” he huffed, pacing around my room for a second. He stopped, then stared at the ceiling for a moment, his head tilted slightly in confusion. “So, this is how you fleshy ones live?” I nodded. “Yeah, climate controlled, fairly safe from bugs and such.” He shook his head. “There’s no sky. It’s so damn claustrophobic. Who cares if we’re warm, we don’t feel it anyhow. I cannot see what that other idjit sees in this. It’s unnatural for a gnome.” He left the room and headed towards the living room, with me following behind. “I did not want to involve you in our troubles, but it seems I have no other choice.” “That’s not a choice you made,” I said. “Kheid made that decision for you a long time ago.” “Yeah,” he said. “He picked a fight with you, and you and his clan have been warring ever since.” I smiled. There was no humor in my smile. Only a sad bitter anger that Valyur couldn’t understand. “I’ve not gone to war, yet. Up till now, I’ve only been defending myself.” “No,” he said. “I’ve seen you. You’ve been fighting for your king in your own way. But you’ve done so with one arm tied behind your back. It’s like you pull your punches.” I shrugged. “Neighbors get mad once you start making pipe bombs in your kitchen. They call the cops, there’s all those questions you have to answer…” “Well, your neighbors are gone now, most of’em anywho. Those left won’t remember much from this night. So, why aren’t you out there, tryin ton rescue your friends?” “Because I had a blue hatted gnome king tapping on my damn window like he’s Romeo come to talk to me about the sun and moon.” That did get a head tilt out of Valyur. “What?” “Nevermind,” I snarled. “How do we change them back. And better plan for all three, cause Zack ain’t made it home yet, so chances are he’s been turned too.” Valyur looked at my pistol. “You got one of those for me?” “I just have our back up,” I said. “Steel and such.” “Bring it to me,” Valyur said, and began drawing some symbols on the floor with his foot. They looked like a child’s approximation of runes. In my life, I had seen both cartoonish stuff that certain metal bands painted themselves with, and actual symbols used for religious things. These looked more like the cartoonish ones. I didn’t see much of a choice. Crash would be here in the thick of things if he could, but he already said he’d have his claws full on the other side of the county. The only other option was to try the “Home Alone” defense option again, but Crash has already said under no uncertain terms that if I tried that again, he’d give me the opportunity to see and count my every rib. Given how long it took him to get those windows and cabinets replaced, I don’t blame him. So, I went to the hallway and grabbed the pistol, setting it down in front of him. “There,” I said. He moved it to the circle of symbols and began chanting in some language I’d never heard before. Lights flickered, then flashed. And soon, the pistol was gnome sized, and ceramic. He picked it up and smiled. “Hey, hey! I’m finally packin heat.” “Yes,” I said, “now we need to discuss,” I began. Valyur turned the gun on me. “The plan…” I trailed off, shoving my pistol in its holster. For what it’s worth, I did see genuine sadness in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you dunnot know what sort of power that Khied has tapped into. I’m forced to take some drastic measures, here.” “You’re not as sorry as I am,” I snarled and started walking towards the door, with Valyur training his pistol on me the entire way. “You’ll understand this later, lad. For now, just get your fleshy bottom outside.” “My ass isn’t that big,” I snarked as I neared the door. “It is from where I’m standin,” he said. I rolled my eyes, but didn’t say anything. Outside, there seemed to be a battle of some kind going on. A lot of shouts and snarls, gibberish in high pitched voices, and smashes that was occurring. I held my breath and placed my hand on the door handle. Taking a single moment, I pulled the door open and stepped outside. |
| This little adventure didn’t start with lawn gnomes lining the streets, with enchanted people dragging me out of my home kicking and screaming. It started with a near miss car accident. My poor Topaz almost ate it. I was coming to a stop at a busy intersection in a nearby town when I began to ease my foot on the break. The break felt like a sponge. I yanked on the parking brake as I watched the traffic ahead of me zip along through the intersection their greenlight bright and steady. I was near a Wal-Mart which was connected to a major highway. The kind of highway that people regularly go fifteen over without question and the cops don’t bother checking unless they want to write more speeding tickets that month. I felt like a baby turtle trying to get across the interstate in the middle of summer. The parking brake was ratcheted to its max, but it did nothing to slow me down. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I grumbled, as I yanked the wheel off the road, and began sliding the gear shift on my transmission down through the gears, trying to get the engine to help brake. Fifteen, Ten, Three miles and hour. My car rolled over the white line, the bumper easing into the divided highway, and rolled to a stop. I stared at twin semi-trucks as they approached. But thankfully they came to a soft stop for the red light which had begun shining bright for them. I feathered the throttle in first gear, easing it across the road towards the shoulder on the far side of the intersection, my hazards blinking. Thankfully it wasn’t a steep hill so I didn’t have to worry about it rolling backwards, but I still turned the wheels towards the side so if the car did roll, it would just roll into the ditch. Two thoughts ran through my mind. Neither is fit to print here. Then the third thought was of one ceramic little demon. A certain smiley pointed hat jerk hell-bent on world domination had officially made a serious attempt at murder. The game was afoot as someone once said. Thankfully, I had towing and rental on my car insurance. It took a couple of hours, but I got the car towed home and dropped in front of our garage. The parking brake had been disconnected. The brake hoses themselves had micro cuts. It was enough that brake fluid would weep through the hose, so a short trip into town would be fine, but the trip through would be deadly. One of those nicks had worn through just enough to bleed out. Either that, or that crazy pointed hatted psycho had a gnome waiting inside the car to cut the brake line as soon as I neared an intersection. Either could have been possible. The trip back to the house had been surreal. Gnomes of blue hats were on properties to the south side of our small town. Hiding in bushes, or pretending to water gardens. Each with a smile on their face. The gnomes with the red hats approached from the north and east. There was a lot more of them. Everyone of the red hatted gnomes wore a snarl and a pair of sunglasses. They were forming a battle ground with our eclectic home at the center. Each property seemed to be pushing in towards us in what I could only imagine was military maneuvers. It felt like we were sitting in the middle of a real-life game of Age of Empires, only this time there would be no save states or redos. Our home was the prize and combatants were gearing up to win at any cost. When I got home, Crash was finally awake. He hadn’t shifted into his night form yet. I’ve seen him stay werewolf days at a time when it got busy, just to avoid having to go back and forth. In his words “it starts to hurt after a while. Hurt a lot,” he told me one day when I asked why he was still more wolf than man. That was some time ago, though, with snow still on the ground and a different kind of mischief in the woods. That afternoon, he greeted me with a yawn, and a full coffee cup. “More investigations,” he grumbled. “Got some strange activity south of the county.” “Exactly opposite this house,” I said. “Convenient.” “Yeah,” Crash replied, then yawned and stretched. “Larry should swing by for some checks tonight.” “By checks you mean crapping on the front lawn again and then not paying attention to the lawn gnomes everywhere?” I was very annoyed at Larry. The only ‘assistance’ that stone dragon’s given me since we met Khied was to bomb the front yard doggie style, then leave. It wasn’t even keeping the gnomes away; it was just getting annoying dealing with his rock-hard chocolate logs everywhere. Crash growled for a moment, then looked out the window to the yard. “I’ve talked to him about that. He says he’s got his claws full with some other stuff. Our land is at the bottom of the list, but it’s on it. He said he’d do what he could, but it would be better to ‘either give the human to the lawn gnomes or just start smashing them.’” “Dragons can be jerks,” I said, looking out the window. A red hatted lawn gnome had appeared near the garage and was mooning me. “I’ve advised the guys,” Crash started, a half yawn escaping him that turned into a full body stretch complete with a reach to the ceiling. “I’ve already advised the guys to stay inside. I’m telling you the same thing. Don’t go out. Just lock the door and let this play out. Larry will be by eventually to end things.” I rolled my eyes. “So, dial 9-1-1 and wait for the cops to come by while the little ceramic murderers attempt to murder us all in our sleep?” “You’re at the bottom of the list, but you’re still on it,” Crash said. “I got more of this ogre thing to deal with.” He did explain to me what the ogre thing was. There’s not a way I can dress the story up enough to make it fit to put here. Crash’s job at times is more dangerous than others, and in this case a community was at stake. If you remember the adventure I printed a while back about Crash fighting that minotaur who’d gone crazy, that’s a Sesame Street episode compared to the Ogre thing. It’d make Clive Barker turn green. “Zack’s at work, Sean and Kris are both at work and I’m the only here today,” I said. Crash nodded. “Yeah, none of them were happy. But things should be safe until nightfall. By then everyone will be inside playing video games or something.” I yawned. His dang yawns were becoming contagious. “I’ll escort them home if need be, but I don’t think they’ll want me to.” “Might work, but you know Zack,” he said. “I’ll try to twist his arm, give him the old ‘werewolf’s orders’ and all that, but you know he hates that sort of thing.” He poured himself a bowl of Reese’s Puffs, and sat down. “Ah, more dog food,” I smirked. He grinned, “careful, or I will swap it for real dogfood and not tell you.” “But,” I said, “I thought it was dogfood! I mean, you’re eating it, right?” We went back and forth like that over his cereal while Crash fired off a few texts to the other guys. Zack was angry, but said he’d text me when he got off. Sean and Kris said they’d watch each other and to not worry, that they’d go somewhere else that night. Don’t worry. Right. Zack was an hour late for texting me. Sean and Kris weren’t texting me, but I wasn’t worried about them. They were more than likely staying the night at a friend’s place, I didn’t have to go searching for them, now did I? Zack was the missing one after all. The one that I hadn’t heard from yet. After the second hour I called his work, but they said his shift had left over an hour ago and that Zack had left with them. “No sign of’em sorry,” the harried shift manager told me right before hanging up. My heart in my throat, I went to my room and grabbed my pistol. Two full magazines, and one in the pistol. That left me with about 45 rounds. There was already more than double that of lawn gnomes in the neighborhood. But hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. No car, no way to search other than rubberized troop movers, my own two feet in other words, I slid my pistol into my holster, and headed for the door, but never made it outside. Two ceramic statues were on the front step, Sean and Kris. Both looked very pissed at me. “Shit,” I growled, “sorry guys, but you can’t come in.” And I slammed the door shut. Zack was out there somewhere. Crash was on the opposite side of the county. And here I was, trapped in my own home, with two friends now statues looking very pissed at me. Crash doesn’t carry a phone with him in wolf form. Many times, there’d be no where for him to hold it, his claw would go through the screen anyway, and the phone isn’t designed with werewolves in mind, so he’d either be able to listen, or talk, but not both at the same time. So, I called his work and left a message. “Wait for Larry”, they said. Right. Where was Zack? There was a thump at the front door. I swallowed hard and slid a chair beneath it. Another thump at the front then one at the back. A tap on the glass near my bedroom window. I was trapped inside my own house. Whichever faction had gotten to the house first, red or blue, it didn’t matter. It wanted me outside. It wanted me ceramic. It wanted me dead. |
| I suppose I only have myself to blame for what happened. When you’re young, it’s easy to push yourself beyond your limits. If you’re in the military in any capacity, it’s a regular requirement. They want to see you pressed to your capabilities and beyond. How much more do you actually have when your body is at that point of one hundred percent, all-in? The only way to know is to go there regularly. When you’re down range somewhere, there may come a point that you have to dig deep inside yourself and pull out things you didn’t even know existed to accomplish the mission and get yourself and everyone home. How will you know how to get to that point if you don’t practice getting there? But as you get older, you begin to forget your age. It may be jumping to snag something off the top shelf, climbing behind the washer like you used to do when you were a kid to grab a sock, or just jogging down the street and back like you may have done in high school. You feel okay when things start out, your body feels fine and reports no problems: until you try it. Then it goes from no issues to broke in a blink, and you’re left on the ground clutching something that didn’t hurt while your brain screams at you “Dummy! Why did you try this?!” Last week I felt okay. My hip was just fine. I used to run four to six miles almost daily just for fun. It was a relaxing way to get out of the house that didn’t include finding a bottle of “forget-it” juice. And yes, I was getting a little bit annoyed watching Crash and Elouise out running off on their own and while I was cooped up in the house. Crash and Elouise are jogging partners. Crash will come out of the house, and start moving his considerable weight with her by his side, and they’ll go on long, slow runs just jawing and running. The kind of thing that I used to enjoy and now miss, terribly. So, I was determined to join Crash one day on a run. I wasn’t going to stick around for the whole run, after all, they go eighteen miles (damn mythicals and their supercharged biological systems), but I figured, a mile and a half would be just enough. When I brought the idea up to Crash his response was to laugh then say, “no.” “Come on! I won’t be a third wheel, I promise. I’m not going to interrupt you and your girlfriend,” I said. I tried giving Crash big pleading, puppy dog like eyes. He just rolled his. He was in his human form at that moment, shorts and a tang top, ready to hit the road on their morning run. “First, the answer is still no. Second, we’re not dating. Just friends.” “Sure,” I said with a wink. Crash looked to the ceiling with a ‘Lord, Grant me strength,’ look. “Answer is still no. Guys and girls can be just-friends, you know.” I patted his back, “sure they can buddy.” He grumbled then stepped out the door. The way it played out in my brain, they would make it to the stop sign, I’d catch up, we’d have a small conversation like I used to do, as I jogged about a half a mile, then turned around and went home. It wasn’t going to be that far. Besides, I felt good! I felt as though I could have made it the whole eighteen miles with them on that day. So, Crash stepped out the door to join Ellouise, I waited about five or ten seconds for them to get going, then opened the door as they neared the stop sign. They jogged their usual pace and I followed, making it much farther, Crash said later, than he ever figured I would have. It was about the second stop sign before my knee, hip, and back all started singing the exact same song: “STOP! IN THE NAME OF LOVE!” By the time I hit the ground, I had made it exactly a tenth of a mile. The ground rushed up as a cry escaped my mouth and stumbled. My leg was limp, with pins and needles running through the parts that wasn’t screaming in pain. Nothing in the leg was responding to my commands. It was like it was dead. “Come here,” Crash growled, then picked me up and threw me over his shoulder. “And shut up, you’re making a spectacle.” “Ow, bless your heart, you felt left out, didn’t ya,” Ellouise said. “I guess,” I said watching the asphalt move beneath Crash’s feet. “I just wanted to be normal for a morning.” Crash set me down on the step, and looked me in the eye, patting my shoulder. “But, you’re not,” he said with as much sincerity as he could. Then he and Ellouise headed back down the road continuing their jog. A few hours later, the leg throbbed, but less so. The hip throbs worse. The numbness and tingling shoot down my legs, both the good and the bad one, were worse. I probably won’t feel that good again for a number of weeks. What stung more than my leg, my hip or my back was to have Crash look me in the face and say that. I’m not normal. After a few minutes, I hobbled inside and just laid in my bed, staring at the Tuscan countryside mural on my wall, wishing that I was on those sandy beaches somewhere. Walking. Not paying any attention or having any care for anything. Not having to be in a world where I wasn’t normal. It took some time for him to return and pop his human head into my room. Sweat glistened off his brow, his hair was matted on his head. My mind flashed to a simpler time, when I was sprinting up the hill with another friend of mine in the service for fun, just racing to get to the top first. Friendly insults and names were thrown out at each other as the pavement pounded beneath my feet, the wind filled my lungs and I felt alive. Instead of like the half-baked zombie I feel like regularly. “You feeling okay,” Crash asked, bringing me back to reality. He only got a shrug in return. “You got to remember; you have a new normal now. That car accident changed everything about you. You can’t run for long periods like that. You can’t do a lot of the things you used to.” “I guess that’s what you meant by me not being normal?” I tried to hold back the bite of bitterness I felt when I said that. I wasn’t entirely successful. “Heh,” he chuckled nervously, then smirked, “I just meant you were never normal. I told you I’m a werewolf, remember? We met on that college campus and you kept hanging around me anyway. Well, till you dropped out, that is. Normal people don’t do that.” I smiled back, “I suppose that’s true. Normal people try to finish school.” “You’re still a good man, Jason. Normal is over-rated.” I stared back at the Tuscan countryside, gritting my teeth. My hip, my leg, my back they all throbbed at once in sequence as if to amplify the point. “You know,” I said, “it wasn’t even about trying to stay up with you and Ellouise. It wasn’t about being apart of your conversation. Life for me is a constant reminder that I’m different. That I used to be better than I am now. That I’m no longer whole. Sometimes, it’s just good to have a reminder of a time when I was better.” Crash grabbed my foot and shook it for a moment. “You were drunk all the time, too,” he said. I rolled my eyes and he just smirked. “It’s true. You were drunk so much and you ignored Sarah so many days.” “If this is you trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a horrible job,” I grumbled. “I’m just saying. I got an earful from her and you, then. You barely drink anymore. You help out so much more now instead of just running out the door with a ‘back later’ and disappearing. One time you were gone for almost three days. Even I was searching for you.” I nodded. “Friend made had home-made whiskey. It was A LOT stronger than he claimed. Was better that you didn’t find me.” He looked away, for a moment as silence filled the room. “I’m just saying,” he said, “You weren’t ‘better’ then. You could run farther, yes. But you weren’t better.” “I guess,” I said. “I just wish I could do normal things. It would help me keep some of my dignity.” Crash gave me a sad smile. “Trust me, you have far more dignity now than when you could have made that entire run with us.” That evening was supposed to be my turn to cook. Crash took over, giving us some monstrosity of a concoction that he swore up and down was Cajun. When I suggested we take some to Ellouise for testing though, he declined. Zack brought a plate into my room for me. Kris and Sean brought up my laundry, though I refused to let them help fold it. I’ll handle my own underwear, thank you. I had to use a cane for a total of one day. It’s still by my bed right now. A reminder that I’m not as young as I used to be. In your head you’re eternally eighteen years old. Capable of anything. But the reality is, you’re not. Your body has aged, it has a new set of limitations that even in those times that you feel the best you have to listen to. Otherwise, you’re just going to pay for it later. I suppose it’s not undignified to know your new limitations, to not press them in order to push some imaginary envelope. You can’t work out your way through an injury like mine. You can’t clean living your way back to being eighteen. This is what they truly mean when they say you can’t go home again. But it doesn’t stop the longing. The part of your soul that wishes you could make that jump you used to. To make that jog, to play basketball with your friends till dark. To reach for that intangible thing that was so easy to hold on to. It’s hard to say goodbye to who you were. |
| Sasquatch. The mythological beast of America. The creature that supposedly lives in the woods, often alone, who is mostly humanoid and covered head to toe in fur. This beast has large red eyes and sharp teeth in a mouth that if you look at it, is almost muzzle like. Sasquatch has been the subject of many documentaries and supposed “sightings” which are about as believable as all the “Elvis” sightings in the eighties and nineties. Now, this isn’t the same as Crash, who is a werewolf, a mythological creature that definitely does exist and time from time protects the citizens of our town and county from other creatures that definitely does exist. Sasquatch is pure fiction. Brought about, according to Crash, by a heavy dose of moonshine and a werewolf playing a prank. While I was away braving the streets of Nashville and trying not to die on the highway, Crash was back here busy with another problem. Someone in the town had been watching far too much History Channel. This person, who shall go by the name of “Bob” for legal reasons, began to be convinced that it was aliens who built the pyramids and that Sasquatch was real. Bob is a recently laid off engineer. Not the helpful kind that will explain how to better secure your wifi or assist you in finding the source of your vacuum leak in your car engine. Bob is the type of engineer with a God complex. The ones who are convinced everyone who doesn’t understand his technobabble is a drooling troglodyte only good for serving him fries at a drive thru. This is the type of person who began to believe in Sasquatch, and was going to prove his existence to everyone else. I still don’t know how the whole “glamor” or whatever the effect is called that myth creatures use to blend in. Apparently the crazier the things someone believes the easier it is for them to see. Or something. I’m honestly not sure at all and still get confused about the explanation, especially when Crash begins to bring in Calculus into it. I’m starting to believe he doesn’t know himself and is just doing that to mess with me. Now, Bob, who isn’t all that athletic or outdoorsy, figured the easiest way for him to catch Sasquatch on camera was to set up trail cameras all through the woods, right outside Crash’s place. Bob, being the out of shape, pasty skinned, skinny, ‘genius’ that he is, decided that since Sasquatch is mainly a night creature. So of course the best course of action would be to post the trail cameras in the woods near town during the day and wait. Crash for his part didn’t do anything. He sat on the back porch sipping a cup of coffee and watched Bob work in the trees. Occasionally he watched him through a pair of binoculars, but that was about it during the day. That evening though, Crash did pay a visit to the local thrift shop and purchased a few stuffed animals. Then Crash went home, shifted into his ‘night uniform’ so to speak, and had Zack snip the tags off the animals and attach them to Crash with glue. “Worth the pain,” Crash said with a smirk when he recounted this story. “Did hurt a bit when I pulled all the tags off.” The cameras it worked of an infrared light that it used to catch game and other things. This light acted as a motion detector, and turned the camera on to record whenever the beam sensed something near. Hunters and farmers use it for various functions around town. But for Crash these things light up with an “off-reddish” glow. So, this genius had lit up the woods for Crash like a Christmas light display on cocaine, and thought he was going to catch himself a glimpse of Sasquatch. On night one, all he had gotten was a few blurry images of fuzzy elbows, knees and feet, all complete with the tag of a stuffed bear attached to it. Bob wasn’t sure what he had on camera. But he was pretty certain it was ordered off of Amazon. Sean, it seems, is a devious guy at times. It was his idea to get close to Bob and set up the next prank. Bob was back in the local hardware store, talking to the guy behind the counter, who had this bemused look on his face. “I’m telling you,” Bob said, “I’m going to catch him on camera. I know what I saw! I know what’s in those woods!” “Yeah, sure,” the old guy behind the counter said. “I have aliens come in twice a week looking for plutonium 358 for their space modulator.” Bob scrunched his face and snarled, “I’ll show you,” he snapped and then grabbed a bag of things off the counter. Sean followed him to the parking lot and asked. “Dude, what are you trying to get,” he asked, then peered around as if looking for onlookers. “You’re trying to sneak a shot of something special aren’t you?” According to Sean, he first thought the guy was going for emphatic proof of a werewolf. Instead, Bob scrunched in the back of his Tesla, throwing things around and snarled, “Don’t you start either. I know what I saw!” “Me too, man,” Sean said. “I didn’t know what it was. I just know that it was dark. And furry.” Bob’s eyes grew wide and he turned to Sean. “Not furry, hairy,” he whispered. There was a crazed look in his eyes. “That thing is out there. I know it. Sasquatch.” It was at this point that Sean couldn’t help himself, he said. With ideas like this, I may invite him to my next family reunion. Sean gasped and held his hand to his mouth like a shocked southern belle. “You’re hunting him too?” “Finally, someone who knows!” There was literal tears in Bob’s eyes. “I don’t know who pranked me and wrecked all my trail cams, but I have more. And those were easy to fix. I’m going to get Sasquatch on film. And it might just be tonight.” Bob lifted a box. Sean said it took great effort not to begin giggling. Bob was going to catch Crash on film with a drone. Not only was it a drone, but it was one of the loudest drones on the market. He was going to try to catch a creature on camera with some of the sharpest hearing in the world with a flying camera that sounded like two hornets’ nests having an all-out war. “Dude, here’s what you do,” Sean said. “You’re going to need some pigs blood. You can get it from the butcher’s. Smear your legs with it. Then rub mud over that. Afterwards, you stand in the woods, like this,” and he squatted down, “and give your best injured pig squeal. Sasquatch won’t be able to resist. He’ll come running thinking it’s an easy dinner, and you’ll catch him on your camera!” I really wish I had been there when Sean convinced him to squat down in the parking lot and give a couple of practice squeals with him. Sean said a couple cars did slow down and take a look, but none were brave enough to stop and ask what was happening. “I’m telling you dude, it will work, I promise,” Sean told Bob with a heavy hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t a bag and a stick shouting “kaluka ku”, but I still count this as a successful snipe hunt. “Do you know how much it hurts,” Crash said when he was recounting the tale, “to be in mid shift and to bust out laughing? That poor idiot was out there, shouting ‘Squee! Squee!’ as loud as he could, that trail camera buzzing all over woods.” “So, he caught nothing,” I said. “Oh, he caught something,” Crash replied. “Laryngitis and a cold. He’s lucky he didn’t get pneumonia.” “Surely after about a half hour, he figured it out and went home,” I asked. “Nope,” Crash said. “Despite multiple complaints, dodging the local constable who begged me to tell him to shut it down, Bob sat out there all night. Shouting ‘Squee!’ until his voice was gone.” “Well,” I said, “at least that taught him a lesson.” “Oh no,” Crash said. “One of the guys who believe that they already know everything. He just thought that he came at it from the wrong direction. He tried something else the next night.” Apparently, after spending all night in the woods, getting sick, and catching nothing but a few fines for being a public nuisance, Bob decided he’d had enough and was going to science the problem into submission. So first, let’s analyze the issue. The “deep woods” Bob was searching was a small patch of trees on the edge of town that allows Crash to move around the community without being seen. It’s not exactly deep, and can barely be called the ‘woods.’ At some points you can literally see houses from one side to the other. If sasquatch did exist, he wouldn’t live in such conditions. Hell, anything wilder than a squirrel wasn’t likely to choose the location. Of course, you can’t tell that to a true believer and a conspiracy nut with no family, no real friends, and literally nothing else to do with their life than to catch this beast on camera. Bob set up Trail cameras on literally every tree. Some cameras were set up on top of others watching each other, so if something tried the trick the previous night they would still be caught on camera. He had a dummy set out with his old clothing, smeared in mud and blood, playing a loop of an actual injured pig squeal. Several flood lights were set up on motion sensors, so if anything larger than a cat passed by it, the flood lights would kick on, the cameras would kick on, and he’d have it on video. Bob was ready. Crash was on the other side of the county, dealing with that whole ogre thing that I can’t talk about yet. So, he didn’t see it. But was told later that every five minutes or so, it was Flash! Flash! Flash! And of course the Squee! Squee! Squee! On repeat. More fines. More complaints. Threats of arrest. And an entire night of nothing. Bob, the genius “I know everything, don’t tell me anything” had set up the lights wrong. Every time a strong breeze blew through, a large leaf close to the system would blow by, and set off the lights. At this point, I think even the animals of the woods were ready to revolt against Bob. “Finally,” Crash said, “the complaints reached my desk.” “So,” I asked, “what did you do?” Crash smirked. “I dealt with it.” For legal reasons I am not allowed to divulge what exactly occurred or what was said. The record is officially sealed. Bob has put his house up for sale and is searching for a job out of state as of right now. The hunt for Sasquatch is over. If you tour a certain house for sale in our neighborhood you may find black fur stuck in a broken board or two in the walls or a strange claw mark here or there around the door frames, in the floors and walls. Don’t ask too many questions. And don’t wonder why it’s so cheap. |
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