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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack Audio book playlist is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8X_xENe6sXs&list=PLi3mnuNpfev16dP8v_QOvstYWQpu0W... My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| It's a classic mistake to focus on the kidnapper's gun. The weapons is a natural focal point of fear. It's the object through which death will come, so we study every inch of the barrel waiting for that deadly flash. But the longer you stare at that object, the more you'll remember it and not the details police may need to help catch the person who kidnapped you. The trick instead is to ignore the weapon as best as you can. The manufacturers have literally made millions of them. It's better to instead focus on the features of your kidnapper, and study every inch of their person. Mine thought he was some sort of cowboy. Jeans that were so tight they looked painted on. A shirt with the typical floral flare on the shoulders. A black cowboy hat set upon his head at just the right angle to try and make him look as menacing as possible. And of course, the aviator glasses. His face was that of a younger man trying to look older. He had a bushy brown beard he'd grown out. His hair stuck out at odd angles and sides from his hat. In truth, I believe the only thing thought was criminal was that he didn't have any gray hair to complete the look. I didn't just study his face. The surroundings was a lonely hilltop at the bottom of a mountain range. Various trees jutted against the gray sky, their barren branches brushing against the clouds like a giant broom. Around us was just about nothing. Except tripwires and explosives. Traps rigged with silver arrows and guns loaded with silver bullets. On his belt he had a silver knife. On the trip out here, right from the moment I'd awakened from his needle jab in the parking lot, I'd studied just about everything I could. Trees, the road types, the route up the hill and through the mountain. The one thing I didn't study was the gun. Cause in the end, usually a gun is just a gun. "In just a couple of hours, you're going to see their true viciousness on display. Isn't it fantastic," The man who called himself Vincent said. He was giddy. Fidgeting this way and that, his hands rubbing up and down his pants every now and again. The man was about to be torn apart and he was excited for it. "You're not going to live through this," I said again. "Crash will tear you apart. I've literally seen him get through worse than this a lot quicker than you're thinking." He looked to the sky a moment, a heavy sigh escaped his lips. Then sat in an old rusty folding chair. "You say that as if it isn't the fucking point." He waved a knife around in my face again. Instead of looking at the blade or his aviators, I studied his shoulders. Studied his shirt and the decorative stitching on the shoulders. Every fiber of my being wanted to spring at him and fight to the death. But I was bound down in such a way that sent pain and needles through my sore hip, knee, back. Those pins turned into weakness that left me without the ability to do anything other than sit there and watch his shoulders. "Don't worry," he said. "If I survive, I'm going to let you loose. You see that go pro? You're going to take a copy of that down the mountain for me." I rolled my eyes. "I'm doing this willingly?!" His mouth pulled up in a grimace. He looked more like the classic werewolf then than Crash had ever been. "After you see their viciousness. You see what I know they do, you'll do it willingly. The world must know. I will make the sacrifice to tell everyone." I laughed. "I doubt he'll kill you." He pressed the gun barrel to my non-swollen eye. "That's where you're all wrong! They are real! They enjoy it. They torture us and tear us limb from limb in our sleep, and they enjoy the terror they cause in us." "Killing is something they do," I said. "But they're our protectors. They run with..." "Blah, blah, blah." His face grew dark for a moment. "Tell that to my parents. To the rest of my family." "I don't know what happened to your family. I've lived with one. For years, I've never been threatened." "That makes you crazier than they claim I am! Living with a werewolf. Willingly! Not some hostage situation." A thought seemed to cross his head for a moment. Cause he looked up, then back down at me waving the pistol around casually. "You're not being held hostage, are ya?" I looked down at where I was squatting down on the snow covered hill. The rope was tied to a stake behind me. It was wrapped around my hands and ankles. I couldn't get up, I couldn't move. I arched an eyebrow at him as if to say, 'really?' "I mean besides me. Cause I know those werewolves. Vicious creatures. I'm going to show the world. I'm going to kill'em. I wouldn't put it past one to keep a human as some sort of freak pet." I tried for the billionth time that day to stand up and stretch something. My muscles in my legs and back were cramped bad. I was leaning on one leg, cause the other had no strength left. "What happened to you? To your family," I asked, gritting my teeth through the pain. "Not your fucking business," he snarled. I laughed. "I'm literally staked to a hill like a goat being used to catch Sasquatch. That kind of makes it my business." He still didn't talk, just snarled and looked down. "You're probably going to kill me, and you can't even tell me what I'm dying for?" His mouth grew thin. "I survived," he said. "Because she wanted me to. Wanted me to watch." He raised the pistol and held it to my face. It shook in his fist. It was holding my attention now, there was no way around it. "You're going to watch." A howl erupted through the woods then. It was followed by a second howl. Then a third somewhere. They were all around us. I shivered at the moment from the sound. That bastard giggled. "I can't wait, I can't wait. You're going to see. You'll show the entire world. Everyone will see!" There was an explosion somewhere behind us. He flinched, I stared at him. Another to our right. The werewolves were moving through the trees on the hill. Avoiding the traps. Even setting off some to disarm others. In less than a minute, they were around us. A tree shook, and something else went off. I couldn't tell what it was, arrows or knives or what. I could see that while one gray werewolf was cutting at my ropes, a dark brown and black furred blur that could only be Crash collapsed on top of Vincent. The damned fool was giggling. "Go ahead! Do it! Make my life complete. DO IT!!" Crash held him down and took his claw on his hand. He took the aviators off of his face and crushed them, tossing them aside. Finally, I could see his eyes. Vincent had ice blue eyes full of defeat and madness. He started to giggle again. Crash raised a single paw, claws out. His ears were back, he was snarling. "Vincent Ignatious Smith. You kidnapped one of my pack. You've made more than one attempt on my life in the past. Have made attempts on other innocent werewolves and creatures of the mythical community." He started carving into his skin on his forehead. It looked like he was carving two slash lines going diagnally. As if someone had been attacked with a claw. "Your punishment is banishment from our protection and community. Any outside the human family will shun you. They will remove you from their businesses. Your loans will be denied in any of our banks and interests. You chose to walk outside our protection, and now you must live there in the cold and dark." A cry rose up in his chest then. It built into a psychotic scream. "You must! You must kill me! Tear me limb from limb! It's what you do, what you're born to do! You hell spawn! Demons!" The insults grew worse from there. They devolved into just cursing. Crash carried me off that mountain top, holding me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He had to help me to a sheriff's vehicle that waited down the bottom, my back and legs were so numb. The sheriff sat outside his vehicle waiting, smoking a cigarette while he watched things unfold. He was a kind old man with a form that reminded me of the guy from the Longmire TV show. He took one look at Crash in his full werewolf form and crushed a cigarette out on the ground under his heel. "You sure you don't want me to arrest that sumbitch? He did take one of yours." Crash nodded. "I got something else in mind." Then he gave the sheriff a small tail wag. "Don't worry. It won't kill him." Whatever was planned took about a week, which I was thankful for. A week to stretch, to allow my body to recover from sitting up there on the hill top listening to the ravings of a madman. After I was able to walk around the house without a cane, Crash came home with an oblong box under his arm. He was in human form, and had a serious look on his face. "Come on," he said. "We got to finish this." He didn't explain anything else on the ride up to a mysterious cabin in the woods. We just started driving, arriving at the distant property at dusk. Faint light from windows in the distance glowed like guiding lamps in the dark. "Why am I here," I asked again for the millionth time. "Two humans most affected by this tragedy must have this ceremony performed for them," Crash replied. "Vincent is one, but he has no one else. You were kidnapped, so that makes you the second." "What am I supposed to do," I asked. Crash started stripping down. "Just follow me. Your confusion is part of the ceremony." He started forcing a change. The shifting was painful to hear. He grunted in pain a few times even as bone scraped against bone. Then he took two shuddering breaths and put on a red bandanna and grabbed a black leather loincloth. It was as if he was punishing himself. Or perhaps his pain was some form of penance? He took two shuddering breaths, then steadied himself. Afterwards he placed a red bandanna on his head, and a black leather loincloth over his waist. Each had a symbol of some kind in them hidden in the color. Later I'd come to find out those symbols were human hand prints. Holding the box out in front of himself, he took steps one a time towards the house. I swear I felt like I should have been playing a beat on a drum or something. I've been to plenty of Last Roll Call ceremonies. This had that sort of feel. There was a somber funeral feeling to the moment. One that for once, I didn't ruin with my chatter. With each step we came into the light. Vincent came out to greet us holding the pistol. There was a bandage over his forehead that looked old and used up. "What the hell do you want," he shouted. "You ruined my life! I lost my bank account because of you. They took my truck from me, now I can't even go to work. What am I supposed to do? What life do I have left?! Huh? Tell me!" When he raised his pistol, I pulled mine. He gasped and took a step back. "Jesus, that's fast." "Practice," I said. "Please, put the weapons down." Crash never stopped holding the box out in front of him. I looked at Crash, but he never took his eyes off of Vincent. I tucked my pistol into my holster and glared at him. Vincent's pistol wavered in his hand, but he lowered it to a ready stance, still not trusting us. Crash began speaking in a rehearsed speech. "As the two humans who are most affected by the tragedy of October ninth, 2010, I request of you permission to approach your home." Vincent snarled, "No you may not." I looked at Vincent, then at Crash. "I think you'll want to see this," I told Vincent. "I have no idea what is gong on, but I you might want to see this to the end." Vincent sighed, then looked at Crash. "It's not enough for you to carve your weird symbol in my forehead and destroy my life, now you have to come on my property to kill me too? Just fucking do it already. Just kill me!" "Look," I shouted at him. "Just point your weapon at me, okay? You don't like where this goes, you can shoot me. How's that?" He thought a moment, then nodded. "Okay," he said, then pointed the pistol at me. "If he attacks me, the last thing he'll see is you die." Crash turned his ears back, and tucked his tail. He lowered himself and crawled forward like a whipped dog. He stopped at the bottom step and held up the box. "The blackness of this wood represents the darkness of the sin that my extended pack has committed against yours." He took another step, walking the stairs and stopping within arms reach of the man. He turned the box so Vincent could see the hinges and clasp on it. "The golden buckles and hinges is but pitiful payment for such a heinous act. The gold has represented purity. Power. Honesty and innocence in ancient cultures. Innocence has a power of it's own. That innocence my extended pack has taken from you." Crash unclasped the box, and held it shut. "Long ago, when humans were hunters and gatherers, we followed you. Against the creatures and monsters of the night, we defended you. An agreement was made, between your kind and ours. You give us kindness and food. We give you protection." Crash took a breath, but his voice remained stoic. When I looked up at Vincent, I could tell that was crying. "We have many myths and legends as to how this agreement came into being. But one thing is common among all of them, is that it is a pact, between human and werewolf. Between human and mythical. We are allowed to take your form and live among you. You feed us and show us kindness. For that right, we protect you and promise to do no harm. That promise was broken for your family and you on October ninth, 2010 by my extended family. "A werewolf known as Elizabeth Donalds entered your home uninvited. She proceeded to attack your family and forced you to watch, slaughtering them for no known cause. With this action the extended pack has been disgraced. A greater disgrace was caused when you, Vincent where lost before we could complete this ceremony to restore some semblance of our honor and to start to give you peace." Then Crash opened the box. Laying on a bed of blood red velvet the ears and tail of a werewolf. Vincent gasped, falling backwards into the house, crying. "What the fuck is that!" "The red velvet represents the innocent blood she has spilled. In doing so, she has sealed her own fate. Elizabeth Donalds has been punished on Earth for her heinous crime. May she rest, but never in peace. May she forever be forced to toil for the protection and nurture of the human pack she has spurned." Crash raised his paw, then took a single claw and carved a line across the palm of his other paw. Blood splattered across the inside of the box. "My blood is given also in payment for the innocent blood that was spilled that dark day. It is but a small payment and cannot begin to make up for the loss that you felt at the hands of the extended pack. But may it one day bring you some small solace and comfort. May one day, you find peace." Crash set the box down at his feet, crawled backwards as he arrived. He then stood, bowed and turned. I have no idea what happened. I don't know if Vincent brought in the box or left it to rot on his front porch. But I do hope that he at least got some moniker of closure. On the way back, I couldn't hold it in any longer. "Why did I have to be there," I asked. Crash sighed. "At least two humans must be present for the ceremony. At least two. It is ancient, older than most nations on Earth." "Why didn't you do that before?" He drove a bit, then swallowed. "We couldn't find him. After his first pathetic attempt on me, we couldn't find Elizabeth Donalds remains to perform the ceremony." "Why the ears and tail?" "That part of the ceremony ties her spirit to his. Us werewolves are honor and duty bound to help you humans. If we break that honor, we are killed. The ears and tail are given to the living victims. If none are living, they're buried with them. This ties our spirits to theirs and forces us to be their guides and protectors in the afterlife. The role we spurned on Earth." I sighed. "Is all of that real?" Crash shrugged. "The ceremony is. So are the legends around it. The effects are real. I've seen people destroyed by a rogue werewolf actually come up to us and forgive us afterwards." "Vincent will never do that." "Crazier things have happened." He turned on the radio then. It took a little bit but we found 'Don't Fear The Reaper' on a classic rock station somewhere on the long trip home. Somehow, the song seemed to fit. |
| Snow. The arch nemesis of automobiles and sanity. My old Mercury Topaz dealt with it about as well as can be expected, especially for someone who was in the south for the holidays. The thing about mid-western states, is that they all have plows, and sand trucks and salt trucks and sorts of methods of dealing with the snow. They have the means and experience to make roads at least somewhat passable. Southern states though, they simply don't. They don't get snow at all, so when it falls down and you're visiting a distant relative in say...Alabama for the holidays, driving can get chaotic. Driving north through the snow was more than hectic. It was downright dangerous at times. My car is light to begin with. So with a good gust of wind and a decent patch of ice is all that's really needed to send it on a slow slide into the next lane. No amount of braking or turning will help. Heck, I even reversed and stepped on the gas one time. All I did was a semi-impressive burnout for such a light car as I drifted in front of a semi. Thankfully he had the exact same problem so he was barely moving. After our bumpers literally kissed, we both got out, assessed the lack of damage and laughed at a bad joke I made about exchanging insurance information just for the hell of it. "We can both call and annoy them at the same time," I said. We didn't even exchange paint! Talk about lucky. Cars aren't made for snow. Werewolves, though, are. Crash was having a ball at his parents place, running through the ice and snow, chasing down game. He caught three of their dinners with his claws hunting with his folks. He got time the time to spend in werewolf form for fun for a change instead of just chasing down villains or trying to rescue my broke ass. So much so, he nearly burnt himself out on it and was asleep for almost eighteen hours after he got home. Most of us went our separate ways for the holidays. I think Zack, Kris and Sean had a small celebration together of some kind at the homestead. Kind of like a lawn gnome survivors support group thing, I guess. Which was strange, cause our resident lawn gnome was also invited to whatever they were doing. Though Valyur insisted on staying outside and eating his own food while watching them celebrate. "Felt wrong to be inside with ya meaties. But I thank ye for the invite," he said. "But we're supposed to watch you." When we all got home, there we had a separate Christmas celebration here. Through the snow, slush and slog, we were all burnt out. There wasn't any Christmas music, though the decorations were still up. No more Charlie Brown on the TV, no more Garfield and Grandma in her rocking chair by the window on a snow filled night. Just us together. The food was a haphazard meal. It was my turn to cook, so I decided on a fried chicken dish that was easy to do. Which Crash, of course, had to add his own side dish to. Then Zack, then Kris and Sean. Before you know it, what was supposed to be a simple meal turned into a huge smorgasbord, with fried chicken, home made mac and cheese, biscuits and green beans. As well as something else I'm forgetting now, so we'll call it cabbage. Elouise even stopped by with a pie she took home from her own Christmas party a couple days prior. It felt abnormal it was so normal. No gunfire, no kidnappings. No strange threats from vampires. No gnomes plotting world domination. No werewolf hunters. Nothing. Just, plain, old food, family and fun. We exchanged gifts, and the occasional compliment veiled in an insulting joke. Exchanged stories of our childhoods and how we celebrated Christmas. It was wonderful. The snow of course still came down. It's still falling, and holds the promise of even more snow. It will eventually let up in a few weeks, I know. After what feels like a lifetime of being trapped within four walls the heat will slowly return, and with it the adventures. Those things that at times make me miss the slower things. The Christmases and holidays. You can miss it. From the near, nonstop celebrating that retailers do from June to January, Christmas can feel like it has lost it's magic and wonder. But there is still magic and wonder to it, there has to be. Cause snow, for all it's glistening white, frozen glory, is actually pretty dreary and depressing. It literally and figuratively sucks the life right out of you, like a demented vampire intent on killing you slowly. You're confined to your home unless you're lucky enough to live in a place where you can ski and snowboard. Sometimes you're stuck around the same people for days and weeks on and, and, well, you can at times be ready to kill each other. That's where Christmas comes in. Bright colors of green and red; the colors of life. To remind you that, despite all of the frozen lifelessness, there is still life out there within the world and within you. That's one of the things that I had forgotten about Christmas as an adult. Truth is, as soon as you can buy your own things, Christmas starts to lose it's appeal. It stops being magical. Why send a letter to Santa asking for a gaming console that your parents will just buy and put his name on? Just put it on the credit card. Pay it off later. Why stress over that leather jacket? You don't have to be extra good for your parents and do the dishes or what not. Just buy it yourself. Why wait till Christmas? When the getting has lost its appeal and the snow piles up, sapping your energy and even draining your mood, you have this bright tree and memories. Hot Cocoa and friendly conversations and jokes. You have this holiday to help you out. I'm not a very religious person. But this year, the holidays did warm my heart a little. The heart of a guy who had come home with the promise of writing a scathing blog post about winter and how it sucks. A small simple celebration turned all of that around. So, a belated Merry Christmas, from all of us. A belated Happy New Year, too. And if all your resolutions are already broken, remember, you don't need a year to start over. Sometimes all you need is tomorrow. Thanks everyone. And I hope you're at least somewhat enjoying the snow. |
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