Untitled Werewolf Story

         Cain leaned back in his chair, feeling slightly uncomfortable and irritated. His client was late. He shifted in his seat again, glancing at the clock across the small diner. Fifteen minutes late and counting. If it were not for the fact that the client was offering him a large sum of money for the job, Cain felt every right to just leave the small town and move onto his next hit.

         “Can I get ya anything while ya wait?” An aged waitress asked, hands on her hips. Cain glanced up at her, his dark brown eyes trying to pierce through her.

         “Coffee. Two sugars.” He responded flatly. The waitress stared at him for a moment. She had seen this man somewhere before like in a magazine or something. She was not sure who he was, but she recognized his black hair that fell around his face to chin length and, more distinguishably,  the two streaks of blood red that ran down his bangs. She wanted to ask him his name but, noticing the cold look in his eyes, she decided to leave him be.

         “One coffee. Coming up.” She went to the kitchen and emerged seconds later with the hot liquid. She set the porcelain cup down in front of the strange man and headed back to her post behind the counter to serve another customer.

         Cain began to sip the coffee in quiet exasperation, noting how his tanned skin deeply contrasted the almost blindingly white porcelain cup. The bell at the door jingled, signaling the entrance of another customer. Cain glanced at the clock again. His client was nearly thirty minutes late.

         “Unacceptable.” Cain muttered as the bell rang again. “This whole thing is becoming one big pain in my-”

         He was cut off by a young man, probably in his mid-to-late twenties with unruly blond hair who planted himself haphazardly  across from him. His dull brown eyes had dark bags under them, indicating many sleepless nights. Cain sighed as the man began to frantically apologize and explain, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Cain! Really I am! It’s just last night was the first night I’ve slept in days! I am really sorry for being late! Please forgive-!”

         Cain held up his hand, effectively silencing the near-panicking man. “Let me make myself clear: I don’t care. You’re late and that’s it. Now on to business. I assume by your desperate appearance and... generous payment that this is no ordinary case. What kind of beastie am I going to be fighting?”

         “No sir, Mr. Cain!” Walt started, “I have a bit of a werewolf problem.”

         “That should be no problem for me.” Cain said, almost bragging, “I’ve killed many of those things in my career.”

         “No! You can’t kill her! Whatever you do you can’t kill her!” Walt shot up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table and breathing heavily, effectively capturing the attention of the diner’s patrons. Cain shot him a look mixed with curiosity and anger.

         “And why not?” He challenged, his voice reflecting his stare. “It’s just a beast.”

         Walt calmed himself,  quietly retaking his seat. “Because that ‘beast’ is my fiancee. I... I can’t let you kill her. I hired you... to help me cure her.”

         Cure her? Cain thought, both disgusted and horrified of the idea. There was only one ‘cure’ for a werewolf in Cain’s book and it involved a bullet going through its skull. The sheer notion that you could ‘cure’ a werewolf was an idiotic and idealistic idea that, like the beastie in question, needed to be shot and quickly.

         “Mister... ah...” Cain fumbled with his client’s name;  he always had trouble remembering names.

         “It’s Walt. Just call me Walt.”

         “Right... Walt.” Cain took a moment to register the name before continuing, “Walt. Do you realize how stupid you sound? ‘Cure’ her?”

         “Yes. ‘Cure’ her.” Walt said, glaring at him. “I hired you because you’re supposed to be the best. And if you want to get paid, you’ll do it!”

         “Listen you spoiled brat, if you hire me, I do things MY way. The only way. And that means I put a bullet through your girl’s head.” Cain stood, placing a tip on the table. He began walking to the door, “If you want a ‘cure’ I suggest you find yourself a voodoo priestess.  Maybe her goddamn mumbo-jumbo will show you how stupid you are!”

         “Mr. Cain!” Walt stood, chasing after the exiting gunman. He grabbed the taller man’s shoulder, trying to force him to stop with no avail. “Mr. Cain, please!”

         “Shut it, Wally! I’m off to find REAL business! I don’t have time to play dollies with you in Never-Never Land!”

         “Mr. Cain! Please. I’m desperate.” Walt pleaded, on the verge of tears. “I’ll pay you twice the amount I offered if you’ll just try it my way. Please!”

         Cain took a moment to consider the offer as he climbed into the cab of his truck. “...Fine.”

         A smile found its way onto Walt’s face, “Thank you Mr. Cain! Thank you so much!”

         “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Now that we’ve decided to play make-believe, what are the details?”

         “The full moon is in three days...” Walt began, filling Cain in on the finer points of the case. Cain jotted down the main things- her address, description, etc.- in his notebook and snapped it shut as Walt’s concluded with his “immense gratitude.” Cain waved him off and shut the door to his truck ad started it up.

         “It’s going to be a long weekend, Mark.” Cain sighed as he scratched the large, gray mutt between his ears. Mark laid his head on top of his paws as Cain carefully backed our of the diner and drove into town. Cain chuckled to himself as he commented, “Our client must hit the happy-juice a little too often... He thinks I can cure a werewolf.”
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         Mysty ran a brush through her gorgeous raven-black locks, humming to herself as she did. She was one of those people who knew she was beautiful and was not afraid to show it. In a crowded room, people would naturally flock to hr vain aura almost as though in a desperate gesture to absorb some of it and become a beautiful person like her. Her many admirers tried to win her over and claim her as their prize;  others, who knew they had no chance with her, tried merely to earn one look from her sparkling, sea green eyes. But none of them cared for her as a person; to them, she was a pretty porcelain doll on display for public view. If they knew her secret, they would run away and despise her. Walt, however, had been her friend since they were little kids and loved her for more than her looks. He knew her secret- he had even seen her transform- and he stayed with her and loved her all the same.

         Mysty was unaware of Cain’s observations as she primped and daydreamed in her bedroom. Cain had been skillfully watching and studying his prey for the past two days, especially in the evenings for sign of early transformation. He tried to keep track of his observations in his ‘work’ book, but for her entry he only wrote: ‘Vanity vanity oh the insanity.’
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         Cain met up with Walt at the place of their first meeting on the day of the full moon; while they ate their simple lunch, they discussed the night’s battle plan. They kept their discussion quiet in order to draw little attention to themselves and their conversation as possible. The plan thus far was as follows: Cain would serve as a distraction and protect Walt whilst Walt attempted a ritual he had read and researched. Cain had dubbed this mission OPERATION DUMB ASS but, not wanting to risk his paycheck, said nothing.

         Before they parted ways in order to prepare themselves for the night’s venture, Cain offered Walt a warning. “I’m bringing my gun tonight. If that chick of yours puts anybody in a life-threatening position then...” He motioned a gunshot with his hands, adding a sound effect.

         “No! I won’t let you! You’ll see! It’ll work! It has to work!” Walt argued pleadingly. Cain noted his client’s ragged, desperate appearance. The stress and exhaustion was effecting Walt’s thinking, putting Cain in a more dangerous situation. Now he did not only have to worry about a werewolf trying to eat him but also a crazed boyfriend who would do anything to try to protect his woman. If worse came to worse, Cain might would end up with a battle on two fronts and have to kill both of them.
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         Cain struggled through the underbrush; thorns snagged his clothing as though it were trying to hold him back, begging him not to go like a small child clinging desperately to its mother. After he broke through the bramble, Cain took a moment to rest and regain his senses, propping himself against an aged tree.

         Apparently, aware of her impending transformation, Mysty came to this forest’s huge clearing at dusk in order to stay out of public view. Cain understood her thinking: not only would it reduce the chance of her attacking a human but transformations themselves were very hideous, gut-wrenching occurrences. For someone as pampered and vain as Mysty, if public caught sight of her during or after her transformation, she would lose her adoring crowd and void of the public’s affection that she had grown accustomed to and that she so desperately craved.

         Upon catching his breath, Cain continued his hike and, in a matter of minutes, was approaching the clearing. He initially hid himself behind a bush but, upon the spotting of his prey, realized it would be wise to move to higher ground. He picked a sturdy tree and quickly climbed up it and perched himself on a thick branch about eight feet off the ground. Walt stood in the clearing with her, telling Mysty how much he loved her and kissing her goodnight. On a personal level, the exaggerated, gushy sentiment drove Cain to the brink of divulging the contents of his stomach to the forest floor.

         As the sun began to set, Walt kissed Mysty once more before leaving to prepare his supplies. Mysty still had no knowledge of his plan and, in ignorant preparation, settled herself on the ground. Walt expected quite fervently that, even if the ritual failed to work, his and Mysty’s love would prevent her from attacking him and could quite possibly cure her. Cain thought this whole process was a waste of time and figured he would have to shoot the beastie anyway. He only prayed that there would be one casualty.
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         Mysty visibly stiffened as the full moon began to rise in the sun’s final moments of glory. She let out a shrill cry and fell to her knees as her body structure began to change. Her jaw, after a series of painful creaking sounds,  stretched outward, causing her nose to flatten atop her mouth; Mysty panted, heavily and painfully, the breaths coming out in harsh snorts from her now lupine snout. The next to change were her ears which, as though were playdoh in the hands of an invisible child, stretched out to a point before folding back against her skull. While her ears finished forming, a fine layer of silky black fur began to sprout from her skin and her previously black hair turned white, seeming to form a beautiful mane in the sea of black.

         The bones in her hands creaked and groaned under the pressure as her palm elongated and her nails grew to form vorpal claws; her shoulders broadened, effectively ripping her blouse along her protruding spinal cord. Her haunches tensed, flexed, then nearly doubled in size while her feet transformed  in a similar manner as her hands: bone-crunching elongation. A long, fluffy black tail emerged from her tail bone and clenching proof of the finality of her transformation; how it happened Cain was unsure; the ‘tail growth’ was an inexplicable phenomenon that only occurred in a small percentage of werewolf transformations.

         After the metamorphosis was complete, Mysty crouched on her hind legs, lifting one of her front paws close to her chest, leaving the other planted on the ground. She thrust her snout into the air and began to sniff around, trying to track the scents of meat that lingered around her. Cain felt himself tense up as her bloodshot eyes and bloodthirsty body lurched his way with a jolt. He mentally prepared himself for a preliminary battle with the animal; his heart rate dangerously quickened  and a cold sweat broke out all over his body. Cain, and Mysty, became distracted, however, as scuffling could be heard in the underbrush; a timid brown rabbit hopped cautiously into the clearing.

         Mysty remained still for a minute, following the rabbit’s movements with hungry eyes. Finally, when the rabbit ventured too close to the predator, she pounced. The rabbit realized too late its fatal error and breathed its last as the talon-like claws ripped into its sinewy muscles. The rabbit twitched and jerked violently as the blood gushed out of its body, painting Mysty’s paws in warm red liquid, before finally, after one final spasm, fell limp. The beast quickly devoured the small animal whole; Cain could hear its bones breaking in her teeth.

         At this point, Cain was ready to defend himself, knowing that rabbit was only an appetizer and he could quite possibly end up as the main course.

         Cain carefully made his way to Walt’s hideout, keeping a cautious eye on Mysty, who had found a field mouse to play with. He was glad he had left Mark behind at the hotel, for the dog had an issue with werewolves and probably would have already begun to fight Mysty. Not only would that have left Can with an injured dog, but it also would have given his position away and put himself in unnecessary danger.

         He slipped through the brush and saw a panicking Walt rocking himself back and forth in the middle of a crude chalk circle. Upon closer inspection, Cain noticed several candles that had been tipped over. Cain knelt in front of Walt, noticing the burns on the man’s hands and arm, assuming the came from the spilled candles. “Walt... WALT!”

         The highly distraught man did not lift his head or show any signs of having heard Cain as he continued to rock back and forth and mutter to himself. Cain said an apology and a few obscenities under his breath before smacking the panicking man. Walt snapped out of his crazed daze, tears filling his eyes. “This isn’t going to work! The ritual... I dropped the candles and... it... the ritual... It won’t work! I-!”

         “Walt. I can’t do anything about that. Right now you’re up the creek without a paddle and a hole in the middle of your canoe. Now what are you going to do?”

         “I don’t know!”

         “You need to have a plan. If you don’t come up with one soon then we will just go with mine.”

         “No! Please don’t!” Walt begged, “I have an idea! Maybe... if I could just see her... for just a minute... to just talk to her...”

         “Did someone drop you on your head as a kid?! She’s a WEREWOLF! She’ll rip you apart!”

         “No she won’t! She loves me! If she sees me and hears me talk then our love... love might be the cure!”

         “Listen, Steamboat Willie! I don’t know what kind of fantasy world you’re living in, but this ain’t a fucking fairy tale!! There is no happy ending where the two love birds skip off to Lovey-Dovey La-La Land where no harm can find them! This is real and that thing doesn’t care one shit for you!”

         “Part of our agreement was that we’d try it my way, remember?!” Walt barked, a crazed look emerging in his eyes, “Well... THIS IS MY WAY!”

         “Well then... reality is going to dig in at about the same time her claws do.” Cain stood, disgusted. He motioned Walt to the clearing, “But if you’re so willing to due, by all means, be my guest.”
         
        Walt stood, hastily making his way into the clearing as Cain followed him. Cain pulled out his gun, fully prepared to shoot. As the men entered the clearing, Mysty sat back on her haunches, blood drying on her snout, and growled warningly at them.

         “Mysty? Mysty, sweetheart. It’s me... Walt.” He slowly approached her, holding his shaking hands in front of him as a gesture of peace. “Sweetie... please. I know you won’t hurt me because you love me. Mysty... please. Let us help you.”
         Much to Cain’s surprise, Walt’s words seemed to calm the savage beast. Mysty stood upright, her expression softening; her growl turned into a light whine. Walt took this as a good omen and began to approach her; once there, Mysty sniffed his hands and, upon recognition, nuzzled his shoulder lightly.

         “WALT.” Mysty said in a raspy voice. He smiled and petted his love’s snout lightly. Walt then turned to Cain.

         “See! I told you it would work!” He exclaimed, his eyes still holding their crazed panic, as Mysty grabbed him in a loving embrace. Walt relaxed and hugged her back, admiring the smooth feel of her fur.

         Cain was almost ready to put away his weapon, still feeling uneasy about the supposedly peaceful situation; this solution seemed almost too easily acquired; something just did not feel right.

         “WALT!” Mysty’s raspy voice bellowed, followed by a deep throated growl as she moved her paws from his shoulders to his lower back, sinking in her claws as she did. Walt screamed in pain as she pulled out and let him go, the deep gashes in his back gushing blood. Mysty sank back down to a crouch as the licked some of the fresh blood from her claws. Walt collapsed, his precious life fluid coating the forest floor.

         Cain, reacting as quick as possible, pulled up his gun, aiming at the beast’s head, and, as Mysty began to advance on his fallen client, he fired. Mysty’s eyes widened as she collapsed in front of Walt, blood steadily flowing from the exit wound in her head. Walt, with the last bit of strength he had, placed his hand on her paw, tears steadily flowing from his half-open eyes.

         “My...Mys...ty...I-I...I love you.”

         Mysty replied with a soft whine before they both died, each staring into the other’s eyes. Cain fell to his knees and groaned, feeling like he was going to vomit.
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         The sun rose above the trees, hitting Cain’s back as he placed the last load of dirt on the makeshift graves. He then tied off four sticks to form two crude crosses and placed them at the head of the graves.

         “Lord, I know that I am not welcome in your presence, but I beg you... cast mercy on the souls’ of these two lovers and allow them into your warm, loving embrace and to become part of the heavenly host.” Cain prayed as he knelt, touching the two graves. Tears stung his eyes as he stood and looked up. A white dove stared down at him from a nearby tree; their eyes locked and the bird cooed softly before it flew away into the early sun’s brilliant light. Cain smiled to himself, wiping the dirt from his hands. As he began to make his way back into town, he added, “Lord... if you can forgive a werewolf... you can surely forgive me.”