New Anti-Werewolf Law passes

February 13, 1996
By Robert Hacker, jr.

Yesterday werewolves were under threat only if they were caught transforming and attacking, or propagating their culture. Today they will be hunted no matter their behaviour.

The US Congress, British Parliament, Russian Congress, Chinese Politburo and Canadian House of Commons have passed new bills making being a werewolf completely illegal. The punishment is now corporal punishment on the spot.

“What has happened here today is the world governance showing real leadership under threat,” said Wyoming rep. Thurgood Mansfield. “We have dealt with the werewolf threat in strong, uncompromising terms: you are not welcome on our planet. I feel blessed to be not only an American, but a human too.”

Canadian Prime Minister Orland Lobos used slightly more toned-down words after Bill C-666 was passed. “We can think of a bright future now, all though it is a shame it has come to this.”

The new powers gives the Anti-Werewolf Forces all the authority they need to kill off the werewolf species.

“This is a message to the werewolves who darken our bright world,” said a source speaking on condition of anonymity because of ongoing investigations. “We will shine the light.”

Discussion in the Woods

by Lucas Klaukien

She came up on them, two of them, in the woods, at night, hunched over a two-legger child. They dug into his torso with their teeth, tearing lumpy strings of flesh. They stopped when they heard her approach.

“Won’t you join us sister,” one of them said.

“We would be honored if you did,” the other said.

She was sure to keep her distance as she replied, “but I am not your sister, and you are not my packmates.”

“But tonight,” one of them said, “we are like you.”

“Tonight, we know,” the other said, “we know the ways of the wolf.”

“But for the rest of the month,” she said, thoughtfully, “when the mother goddess is not fully pregnant, you walk on two legs and worship the fearsome Sun God.”

“Are we to be denied your favor because we walk on two legs and worship the sun?”

“We were born this way, we cannot help our two-leggedness.”

“Forgive me the denial of my favor, as it cannot be given. To walk on four legs and be close to the earth is essential to true spiritual enlightenment for the true creatures of the forest.”

The two looked at each other and began to growl and talk in low halting gibberish two-legger-speak.

“Surely,” one of them said, “to walk on two legs can only be seen as an advantage. Two-leggers have a better vantage point in the obscure forest.”

“Yes,” the other said, “it is essential to survival.”

“But we have no need for better sight. Wolf sight is good enough. In the forest, we have only one enemy … two-leggers, who hunt not with speed or teeth or claws. They hunt by throwing rocks, and surely lower ground is better for the wolf, even in that regard.”

“Of course, you are right,” on of them said, “men do hunt wolves.”

The two of them rose up on two legs, their heads and hearts away from the sacred earth. She heard an unnatural clicking noise as she saw them cock a shiny long metal stick. She did not turn to run away. She knew from experience that two-leggers could throw a rock faster than she could run. She braced herself for attack, crouching low, drawing strength from the earth, preparing to leap. Even then, she knew her spirit would soon fill the belly of the mother goddess where all brave wolves go when the hunt is ended…

Meet Joe Werewolf

report by Robert Hacker, jr.

Joseph Veriticus is a werewolf. He knows it and you need to know it too. Because, as he warns, if the world doesn’t begin to believe they exist, they soon won’t. And that will have dire consequences for the world’s eco-system.

As new Anti-Werewolf legislation is being considered by most western nations around the world – and the possibility werewolf population decrease – the 32-year-old half-man, half-beast has ignored warnings by Werewolf Nation, coming out of the shadows to warn humanity of what might come.

Veriticus believes that the world needs werewolves to ensure that Mother Nature’s balance is kept in tact. As the head of the food chain, werewolves keep their prey from running amok on the earth’s surface. Of course their favourite prey is human. Keeping our numbers down, so that the rest of the world might enjoy the planet’s gifts is what werewolves are about.

“You can’t put a value on how many lives – animal lives – we have saved by eating humans,” said Verticus as he munched on a rare t-bone steak at The Porterhouse Grill. “Humans could become more than a nuisance if they aren’t kept in check. Because of their nature – their beastly desire to control – they pose a significant risk to the world.”

Representatives for the Anti-Werewolf Forces, a global unit set up to fight werewolf activity world-wide, commented solely on condition of anonymity because of ongoing investigations, including some on Veriticus. According to the source, werewolves have begun an eco campaign in efforts to stifle human drive to wipe them out.

“Their whole game is to keep citizens confused, to subvert what we do here in the AWWF and destroy our way of life.

“But we’ll sort them out… one silver bullet at a time.”

Veriticus warns that such action will lead to an end of the planets resources because humans cannot help themselves. As a worker for the Agricultural Land Reserve, Veriticus says he has seen what our way of life is and it distresses him immensely.

“Un-checked, un-eaten, the human will kill off our planet. And it is ours, too.”

The Further Adventures of Val Williams # 1 - Bad Moon Rising pt. II

Boann sat on the sidewalk, combing her hands through Little Gary’s hair. He was a strong new weapon in their arsenal. No one would pass by a mother and her child without throwing change, and, in the right parts of the city, no one would stop to ask too many questions either.

Dagda and Boann found Little Gary on the corner of the street, staring into the window of a McDonald’s. For over ten minutes, he stared dewy eyed and no adult claimed him. He was lost.

When they grabbed him he wouldn’t stop staring at Dagda’s trench coat, something about it made him think a million baby spiders would rush out of there the minute a strong gust of wind would flap it open.

Around Little Gary's neck was a rock attached to a string, Boann had a sickening impulse to snatch it from him, she didn’t know why.

“What’s that around your neck, Little Gary,” Boann asked him, crouching down to his eye level.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Little Gary said, intense. There was a strength in the boy. “My dad gave it to me, and he told me to hide it.”

“Where is he,” she asked.

“The men in white coats took him away,” he said.

Boann and Dagda exchanged weary glances.

“Where’s your Mom,” Dagda asked.

Little Gary shrugged, “at home, I guess.”

“Well, why don’t we give her a call and take you home,” Boann offered.

“No,” Little Gary shouted and turned to run.

Padraic triumphantly rounded the corner with a couple McDonald’s bags in his hands, sipping a drink.

“Padraic,” Dagda shouted, and pointed to the boy, running in his direction.

Padraic caught the boy across the chest with his right arm and reeled him in, dropping his drink in the process.

He made his way over to his friends with the boy, held up the bags and said, “someone left, like, half a burger. Who’s the kid?”

“I don’t know,” Dagda said, “but he’s got a moon rock around his neck.”

***

I don’t want you to think it’s grimmer than it is, but it’s darker than you think. When people start to believe in the existence of werewolves, vampires, ghouls and aliens or anything else that lives under their beds it opens the gates of hell. The guy who had my job in the 17th century had his hands full keeping the world in one piece. We’ve only just got things back to relatively normal. But I got my work cut out for me tonight.

There’s no brick in the park, no magnetic stone, nothing. Damn. Brick acts like a spiritual tape recorder. It’s gonna be harder to pick up any residual energy from those wolf forms, if they even exist, or that character in the trench coat. Most of it’s probably dissipated back into ether by now. Then again, maybe it’s not so bad, tonight I‘m watching over the city and the sun’s about to go down…

Stay tuned for part 3…

Werewolf calendar -- 14 Years Ago Today

July 18, 1994
More than 200 werewolves were taken in to custody in Germany and Luxembourg as they observed the seventh anniversary of the death of Sebastian "Ruwolf" Fang. Fang hanged himself on a silver chain in Spandau Prison in 1987 hours after Adolf Hitler's right-hand-man Rudolf Hess was found hanging by electrical chord. Mr Fang died at the tender age of 66.
-report by Robert Hacker, jr.

WEREWOLF ATTACKS IN THE UNITED STATES BY TARGET, BETWEEN 1990 AND 1995

Residences………………………………………………. 1
Private Residence……………………………………….. 1
Apartment House ……………………………………….. 0
Other Private Property ………………………………….. 0

Public Safety ………………………………………….. 1
Law Enforcement …………………………………….. 0
Building ……………………………………………….. 0
Vehicle ………………………………………………… 0
Fire Department and Equipment ……………………… 1

Persons …………………………………………………...3
Total: 5

Fear of wolves in the 'Couv

An elderly man claimed to be the latest victim of werewolf activity on Vancouver streets last night. According to police sources, he was attacked on the No. 10 bus heading home last night.
The attack took place at approximately 10:30 pm. There had been a full moon in the sky. Jay Swallow said he was making his way home as he always does on the Granville St. bus last night when he witnessed a man becoming agitated as he stared at the moon sitting on a bus seat.
Swallow, a retired police officer from Marpole, claims the agitated man transformed in to a werewolf and attacked teens sitting at the back of the bus. He claims that when the werewolf had finished devouring the teens, he turned his attention to Swallow.
“I just made room for him. He was behaving oddly but not so oddly for that bus route. I thought he was just another drunk that might have gone too far on the bus, probably was meant to get off on Hastings and Granville. We get that a lot. However, when fur started popping out of his flannel shirt, I knew we were for something far more dangerous.”
According to Swallow, the werewolf tried to take a bite out of him once he was done devouring the teens. But Swallow wears a silver bullet attached to his necklace, which he received from his time on the Vancouver Police Department. That was enough to scare the werewolf off the bus. Swallow could not say what direction the werewolf ran.
Officials with BC Transit would not comment on the story. Anti-Werewolf Forces said the matter was under investigation.

REALITY CHECK FOR HUMANS in'86

By Ruwolf Fang

For better or worse the world is not under threat of werewolves.

The world is troubled, not by any dogs or monsters but by the ineptitude of our so-called leaders who claim to know what they are doing and what we should be doing. This whole suggestion that the world should fear the werewolf threat is unfounded and if you consider that you are far more likely to be caught on the grips of gridlock horror than the fang-based terror, you will certainly see that werewolves just do not exist. If they did, then why haven’t you seen one? Where is the proof that they exit?

US President Ronald Regan claims the numbers prove the need for the Anti-Werewolf Forces. The stats don't bare this fact. It appears it is more convenient for the world’s governments to create bogeymen that hide from the light, which might attack us at any moment under the “right conditions”, then to deal with the real issues of our society that they themselves have pushed in to the shadows. We have a chronic homeless problem. Drugs have flooded our streets, carried on the ocean surface by the dark currents of criminality. Police abuse is on the rise. Society is indeed under attack. What have our leaders done to answer these issues? I can’t say. Neither can most of you.

Celebrating the end of lycanthropy might seem like a fine idea but for the $1.5 million we spent this year on the AWWF we might have built new homes for the poor or given free drug counselling for the addicted. The government could have made answers for real problems. Yet here we are listening to the US President claiming victories in fictitious battles with bogeymen.

“Werewolves” are not the issue. Bad policy is far more terrifying.

The Further Adventures of Val Williams # 1 - Bad Moon Rising pt. I

by Lucas Klaukien

I wake up when some kids ride by, afternoon time. My mouth is the Sahara desert. I smoked too much last night. This is life in the Church of the Holy Trinity. Dusty quiet, till some kids ride by. I’m mired in the kind of quiet that’s either easily tuned out or all-encompassing, depending on what kind of person you are. Worst case scenario, you could panic and drown in a quiet like this. Until some kids ride by to spoil the fun.

The Church was condemned years or even decades ago, left to rot in a long-forgotten corner on the outskirts of town. Generations of vandals have gotten in, pissing and partying, breaking beer bottles, marking territory. Palm smeared, nicotine stained walls, effluvia spattered floors and smoke dried ceiling, four graffiti sprayed walls and a leaky ceiling, the Church is my home.

***

“BAD MOON RISING?” on the front page of the newspaper. “Questions surround lunar mission.” Read on:

“Cape Canaveral, FL - Last week’s long-awaited lunar mission appeared to have been a complete success until the behavior of one crewmember had friends and loved-ones ‘shaking in [their] boots.’ Dr. Mark Taylor’s state upon returning to his family was reported to be one of ‘extreme agitation and anti-social tendencies.’ Dr. Taylor has been taken back to Kennedy Space Center for observation. NASA scientists are baffled as to the cause of the strange behavior. “He’s one of our top guys,” said Mission Captain Jamil Khaddafy… [cont. on page 3]”

Another story on the page read:

“JOGGER ATTACKED - Fourth in a string of recent attacks.
A fourth victim came forward claming in to have been attacked, this time at Quist Memorial Park at around 9 O’clock last night. Police spokeswoman Jane Dwyer was not available for comment at the time of writing… [cont. on page 5]”

I’m the only person on the face of the earth stupid enough to believe the two stories are connected.

The attacks have made the city stiff with tension. I’ve bumped and hiccupped my way through tenser spots than this, but it’s giving me a headache.

Strange words are being brandished by those in the media who know how to use them: werewolf, vampire, ghoul. Always used as adjectives, never as nouns, but still carefully done to arouse fear and worry and anger. I’m not here to sniff out a werewolf or a vampire in the fold, my job is to certify that such creatures don’t exist, by blasting them away and leaving no trace.

In the 17th century werewolf paranoia was tre chic. You’d wake up the day after a full moon with a few less neighbors. Consider me insurance against that happening again.

At Quist Park I get a feeling. The woman who was attacked the night before actually believed she was going to die, eaten alive by werewolves. In the residue of her mind I see four shapes like razor blades dancing around her at speed, snapping and showing teeth, and a mysterious man in a trench coat who appears to be their master. The Maestro. This is no good. They’ve done their job, they’ve done a number, the newspaper publishers. This woman isn’t supposed to believe in werewolves. No one is supposed to believe.

To Be Continued …

Psycho Babel

For every wolf within me, the surprising strength of the spirits rips my cares, tears my guilt, and worries my life away. All the people I've known, I've made a meal of every one. But it ain't me, it's the wolves within, howling, putting up a fight. Wild, resistant wolves, beasts, demons all. You want to know the truth, the moon brings it out of me, blame the moon. Every time something good's going on, the wolves take it. My lady, my job, they are rabbits. Don't blame me, you'll never see a rabbit dangling from my mouth, it's the wolves I tell you, the wolves they take it.

Numbers speak more than words

By Robert Hacker, jr

The Anti-Werewolf Force has been heralded by US President Ronald Regan as having prevented more deaths than any other policing agency in North America based on numbers released today by the AWWF office.

“These brave men and women are fighting the good fight against what can only be described as a test of our resolve,” said President Regan.

“And not only are they fighting the fight bravely, they are winning based on the numbers. Remember kids, say no to drugs”

Questions over the past few months have centred on whether or not there truly is a werewolf threat. AWWF agents scoffed at the suggestion, saying that the world is certainly under many threats and werewolves were one of the most dangerous. One agent, who wished to remain anonymous, said: “You won’t see them everyday. That’s how these half-men, half-dogs operate. They don’t want to be seen. They hide in the shadows of society and wait for their opportunity to dine on our relaxed nature – on our forgiveness. There will be no forgiveness. Those who look to destroy our way of life can be sure that they way will meet their end.”

No werewolves could be reached for reaction.

Werewolf stats by Robert Hacker, jr.

WEREWOLF ATTACKS IN THE UNITED STATES BY TARGET, BETWEEN 1980 AND 1985

Residences: 1

Private Residence: 1

Apartment House : 0

Other Private Property: 0

Public Safety : 1

Law Enforcement: 0

Building: 0

Vehicle : 0

Fire Department and Equipment: 1

Persons: 3

Total: 5

Astronauts driven by new sensation, wanted more moon

by Robert Hacker, jr. News Desk

Strange.

That’s how astronauts responded to questions about how they felt when leaving the moon for the last time before they returned to the space shuttle that would bring them back to earth.

Astronaut and Captain Jamil Khaddafy said that the sensation rolling through their nerves was something they had never felt before, something they felt grow stronger as they looked on the moon.

“I can’t really say what it is, to be honest,” said Khaddafy. “However, I do believe the sensation phenomenon we felt was not earthly.”

The mission to the moon was an attempt to discover the metallic nature of the inner crust of moon’s core. The research was meant to keep up the path to discovery of the moon’s origin and maybe even earth’s. However, all the astronauts could talk about was they strange emotion they sensed as they left the moon’s surface.

“I felt a strong urge to return and stay,” said Lt. Farah Sampson. “I don’t know if that was wishful thinking on my part because I had such a wonderful time or if it was something more. All I know is that since then, I am having a hard time ignoring that white plate on the sky table.”

Reports from anonymous sources claimed that one astronaut, Lt. Jimmy Jones-Marshall, had to be restrained on the return voyage to earth because of lunatic ramblings that the crew had brought too much back. NASA representatives claimed that that was true and that there had been some speculation that Jones-Marshall was a touch jealous of being the only member of the six-man crew not to reach the moon’s surface.

“I think Jonesy was howling about a lot of things on the trip,” said Capt. Khaddafy. “But we were able to put a bite in to his complaints and sedate him for the trip home. It is quite normal.”

The crew is scheduled give a full debriefing in two days at NASA headquarters.

Werewolves up the ante

In 1985, 30 werewolves made their way to France for what is believed to be a week-long party of flesh and fur. Three were killed in anti-werewolf actions, making the likelihood of a werewolf tourist in France becoming a fatality when travelling to the country 1/10 or 0.10.

In response to the greater threats on their lives, werewolves stepped up what has been termed “terrorizing” activity by anti-werewolf forces, or AWWF, by inserting a wolf-skin belt into travellers’ carry-on luggage, who believe to be receiving a wonderful gift. In reality they are normally are nothing more than pawns in this covert war. On April 17, 1986 an Irish woman at Heathrow airport was found to be carrying one of these devices in her purse as she was about to board an E1 A1 747 plane headed for France. Heathrow’s x-ray and luggage inspection, not made to detect such devices, clearly did not detect it, but a AWWF agent noted that the purse seemed heavier than normal and a false bottom was found containing the device which was seemingly timed to work once the plane had reached air. Al McGrew was arrested by AWWF two days later in a castle just outside of Cork in connection with the werewolf crime.

People are asked to remain vigilant when traveling and to check their luggage before, during and even after their trip to the airport.

“This is not acceptable and I fear that the war is about to get a little more serious in the coming months,” said the agent. “We must have vigilance. Or they will have vengeance!”

Werewolf article from HowStuffWorks...

I stumbled across this page late one night...

http://science.howstuffworks.com/werewolf.htm

Leash and Liege

By Lucas Klaukien

Shelley howled in pain as her bone structure warped, bones twisting, popping and cracking. The fur, the paws, the snout collapsed and grew, the eyes, the legs, the chest changed, revealing a beautiful, healthy and quite naked, young woman.

“Master,” she said, “we can be together now. I‘ve always slept on your bed, now I can sleep in it.”

Landon quietly said, “no,” and “Shelley.”

“Shelley…”

She was a beautiful dog, a German Shepherd with an off-colored eye, faithful as the morning sunrise. She was nursing a nasty bite of some kind. He hadn’t seen what bit her. He heard her yelps out in the woods and ran to find her with his rifle by his side. This far north, in such an isolated setting, there was no telling what she might have ran into. He found her limping and growling. He went to check the wound and she snapped at him. It was the only time she’d ever done that and he couldn’t restrain himself from belting her a good one across the chops.

She cocked her head sideways watching him sob gently. She went to comfort him.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he screamed, ashamed of her nakedness and how it stirred him.

“Master,” she said, confused, “my love. Will you beat me?”

“no.”

“Have I angered you?”

“No.”

“Maybe you’ll put the chain around my neck and we’ll go for a walk.”

“NO!”

The puffy, red, puss-infected bite mark was the only blotch on an otherwise perfect sheath of skin. It throbbed and ran yellow with puss every time she scratched it. She crouched down and tried scratching it with her foot, falling over on her side. She broke her fall with her arms, and as though touched by the genius of God, realized she could use her hands to scratch.

Landon tried desperately not to look. Oh God, just don’t look.

“I’m no sicko,” he said to himself, shaking his head, “I’m not sick. Shelley…” he began to cry, “Shelley, you’re beautiful … beautiful.”

He steeled himself and wiped the tears from his eyes, “I’m not sick, you’re the one that’s sick!”

He wept again and said quickly, nodding, “Yes, I’m sick. I am sick.”

He hadn’t been with a woman … he hadn’t seen very many women in the three years they’d been up there.

Shelley noticed the distinct bulge forming in his pants and crawled over on all fours to console her master, to hold him in her newly human arms.

Oh, how she’d waited for this moment! He was everything to her. Companion, provider, master.

He pounded his fist on the floor beside him as she brought her arms around his neck. Her perfect breasts dangled over, then pressed down gently against his chest. Their eyes met, his tear reddened eyes, her off-colored ones, for a second they fell in love.

He leaned in to kiss her and she licked his face. He threw her off and she thudded across the room. Picking herself up, she smiled.

“Lock me in a cage, put a chain around my neck. Let’s play rough, I want you to give me a beating.”

Landon grunted in frustration as he got up off the ground. She crawled back over to him and wrapped her arms around his leg, cradling the side of her face against his thigh and rubbing her vagina against the top of his foot. He stopped resisting for a moment, put his hands on his forehead and sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

When he looked back down, she was bent over in front of him on all fours.

“Master,” she said, “I know how lonely you’ve been. I haven’t smelled any women on you. Master …”

He started to hyperventilate, huh-huh-huh-huh-huh.

“… come in to me.”

He ran into his room and locked the door. huh-huh-huh-huh-huh.

He could hear her crawling along the floor, testing the door handle. She called to him. He grabbed the rifle off the wall above his bed.

huh-huh-huh-huh-huh.

What to do? He thought about jumping out the bedroom window. He thought about hiding in the closet. huh-huh-huh-huh-huh. He set the gun down and sat at the edge of his bed, frantic. He unzipped his pants and began to masturbate, wiping the tears from his eyes with his free hand. It didn’t take long to finish. huh-huh-huh-huh-huh.

He picked the rifle up and slowly made for the door, unlocked it, and slowly backed up to the edge of the bed where he had been. She came into the room, walking uneasily toward him. He raised the gun and squeezed the trigger, hitting her square above the right eye, she fell in a heap on the spot.

His ears rang.

“Master,” she said, picking herself up, “that was too rough.”

“Oh fuck, I should have used a silver bullet.”

W1 PART TWO

........................................THEN I SAW IT, MORE THAN A HALLUCINATION, MORE THAN PARANOIA,IT WAS CLEAR AS DAY,THE TO OF THEM KISSED BEFORE SHE GOT OUT OF THE CAR.I WAS SAYING TO MYSELF...JESUS I'M RIGHT HERE, HOW COULD SHE? AS SHE WALKED CLOSER I BEGAN TO PACE, KEEPING DIRECT EYE CONTACT,MY SKIN BEGAN TO HURT AND IT FELT LIKE MY BONES WHERE BEING CRUSHED INTERNALLY.EVERY STEP I COULD HEAR THE TWO OF THEM PANTING AND MOANING, I STOOD SILENT AND MOTIONLESS AS SHE REACHED THE TOP OF THE STEPS. AT THAT TIME DERRIK'S CAR PULLED AWAY, AND SANDRA CAME TO ME WITH A KISS ON THE LIPS, I COULD TASTE HIM. SHE SAID THAT DERRIK SAID "HI" I GRABBED HER RIGHT HAND AND FOR SOME REASON I PUT IT TO MY NOSE, I COULD SMELL HIM.THEN I SCREAMED IN HER FACE,"I CAN TASTE HIM IN MY MOUTH!", AND THEN I LOST CONTROL OF MY SELF, LIKE A BEAST HAD POSSESSED ME................I COULD ONLY WATCH IN TERROR. I WENT FOR THE THROAT LIKE AN ANIMAL AND JUMPED ON HER ,SHE WAS WINCING AND SCREAMING "STOP! PLEASE,I LOVE YOU" AND "WHY?", BUT I COULDN'T STOP, I WANTED TO, BUT I COULDN'T FIGHT IT NO MATTER HOW HARD I TRIED THE UNTAMED RAGE AND HUNGER. THE STRANGEST FEELING WAS THAT MY BODY AND SENSES WERE ACTUALLY ENJOYING THIS,IT FRIGHTENED ME TO THE PIT OF MY SOUL. I REMEMBER THAT I TRIED TO CRY OUT BUT DRAWL DRIPPED FROM MY LIPS AND A GROAN ESCAPED FROM MY CHEST.THEN I COULDN'T SEE, I HAVE NO MEMORY OF THE NEXT MINUTE OR SO , BUT I SUDDENLY LOST ALL MY STRENGTH MY BODY WENT LIMP OVER TOP OF HER AND FELT MY FACE BEGIN TO BURN LIKE SOMEONE WAS CUTTING MY FACE IN HALF WITH A CUTTING TORCH. THERE WAS BLOOD EVERY WHERE, ALL OVER ME. I LOOKED DOWN AND SAW HER THERE, HER THROAT WAS TORN TO PIECES, MY HEART SANK AND JAW DROPPED WITH DISBELIEF, AND SOME THING FELL FROM MY BLOODY MOUTH.IT WAS THE SILVER NECK LESS I GAVE HER FOR OUR ANNIVERSARY,THEN I VOMITED AND THE SILVER AND AMBER PENDENT THAT, HUNG FROM THE NECK LESS, HIT THE CONCRETE. IT WAS AT THAT MOMENT I UNDERSTOOD WHAT HAD HAPPENED, THE TASTE OF HER BLOOD IN MY MOUTH AND SINUSES, I CRIED FOR HELP AS LOUD AS I COULD, BUT BLOOD IN MY THROAT MADE MY VOICE GROGGILY AND INCOHERENT. I HELD HER CLOSE TO ME ROCKING HER LIMP BLOODY BODY BACK AND FORTH,REPEATING "I'M SORRY"AND "DON'T GO, I LOVE YOU", UNABLE TO BELIEVE WHAT I'D DONE. I TRUSTED HER MORE THEN ANYONE ,HOW COULD THIS BE? HOW COULD I HAVE DONE THIS? SHE WAS THE ONE THE ONLY THING THAT MATTERED TO ME,THE ONLY PERSON ON MY MIND AT ALL TIMES. THEN JUST BEFORE YOU AND THE AMBULANCE SHOWED UP, HER BODY TENSED UP . I LOOKED UP AT HER BLOODED BLUE FACE. SHE LOOKED RIGHT INTO MY EYES AND MOUTHED "I LOVE YOU", THEN HER EYES ROLLED BACK AND SHE WAS GONE........... . SHE'S GONE,SHE'S GONE AND I LOVED HER SO MUCH, HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN?
RECORDED 07/25/01 BY CONST. LYNN BENNET
CASE # 11115682
CHARGE: UNKNOWN (REFERRED TO RIVER VIEW PSYCHIATRIC
HOSPITAL FOR ANALYSIS)

W1

SIGNED CONFESSION

GIVEN BY PETER ASH

ON JULY 24TH 2001, I WAS WAITING FOR MY GIRLFRIEND, ONE SANDRA COTE, IN FRONT OF HER APARTMENT BUILDING AT 10:02 PM. SHE WAS OUT WITH A FRIEND, DERRIK SALVADOR,THEY HAD BEEN FRIENDS BEFORE WE GOT TOGETHER, AND I DIDN'T MUCH LIKE HIM. I WAS HAVING A CIGARETTE ,WONDERING WHERE SHE WAS, WHAT WAS TAKING SO LONG, SHE SAID THEY WERE GOING TO HAVE COFFEE, BUT SHE ALSO SAID SHE WOULD BE BACK BEFORE 10:00 PM, SO I BEGAN TO WORRY. THREE CIGARETTES LATER IT WAS 10:45 PM AND STILL NO SIGN AND I HAD NO PHONE TO CALL HER WITH, MY MIND STARTED TO WORK IT'S SELF INTO A FRENZY AND MY HEAD BEGAN TO HURT. I WAS AT FIRST TRANSFIXED ON THE NOTION THAT THERE WAS AN ACCIDENT OR A HOLD UP AT THE COFFEE SHOP. I WAS UNWILLINGLY IMAGINIG ,IN TERROR, THE FLIKERING LIGHTS OF A FIRE TRUCK OR AMBULANCE AT THE SCENE OF A HORRIBLE WREAKAGE AND HER LIFELESS BODY RESTING ON THE CONCREATE .MY STOMACH DROPED AND I ALMOST WET MY PANTS AS I SAT THERE TEARING UP. THEN OUT OF NO WHERE THE VISION OF SOME VICIOUS CRIMINALS RAPING HER AT GUN POINT, AT THAT VERY SECOND THAT ILL FEELING TURNED TO PURE RAGE, I STARTED TO BREATH HEAVILY AND EVERY MUSCLE IN MY BODY BECAME SO TENSE THAT I HAD TO STAND. AT THAT POINT 11:11 PM MS. COTE AND MR. SALVIDOR ARRIVE AT THE WEST GATE OF COTE'S APARTMENT.....................

Of werewolves and Zombies

By benzo369

Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood God! I am sitting at the bus stop of some forsaken neighborhood for so long and it is boring listening to TransEurope Express by Kraftwerk:

Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
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Wain-wain-wain-wain, Wa-wain.

My ears perk up to the sound of the words’ hypnotic sounds and, well…
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Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press… what the hell, if they don’t let werewolves on the bus fuck it cuz I’m getting on as easily as a teenage punk in the throws of teenagerdom, because it’s like so beautiful and frustrating and ain’t nobody telling this werewolf where and when he’s getting on a bus and ain’t nobody telling me how I should behave once on the f’n bus and I ain’t the only creepy crawly looking mother on the bus am I? Bunch of fucking weirdoes with me, well there is a Zombie or two (can’t get nowhere with out the eyes of a zombie track you) and at the front of the bus is a witch with blonde hair she certainly ain’t no run-of-the-mill witch, so what kind of witch is she…
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Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press … didn’t take to kindly to my werewolf appearance and slammed her broom in to my dustpan; so what a werewolf won’t get the love of a dear ol’ witch, it just isn’t necessary – not when you are riding the psychedelic highway like this paws in the offing – paws on the bus! – then there are the ghouls on the back of the bus laughing in their ghostly voices: “hahahahahaha,” and of course I am pissed off so I move on back there and ask them a little question that might have resonated properly in their empty spiritualism: “do you fancy a werewolf meal,” to which they haven’t got the clearest idea what the hell I am saying so I explain it in more existential form: and they are so off the bus, running…………………………………………………………………………………
My lips are numb. The bus driver, a man who can control and tear us apart as he aspires, cries out loud: “either you are on wolf man or you are most certainly off!”
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Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
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Go ahead, try to tear us apart – try to break my heart, BUUUUSSSMANN…

The world keeps on spinning but that spin is boring. It just keeps on doing the same thing, hour after hour, day after day. Here I am watching the world spin away and keeping time until the bus catches up.

NOPE! It’s time to move.
There is a sign on the road: SUCKER, TRY LUCK
NO SUGAR ADDED

I crawl along a road and there are more people trying to understand why I got off the bus, why I have fangs, why I am werewolf.

“You could be anything, why a wolf?” they ask.
“You could travel anywhere you want when you are on the bus,” I howl.

I feel like a werewolf could do anything if he wanted could go anywhere if he wanted and I am here in the city where dogs sleep with men in a weird animalistic joy and what do I do to stem the whole scourge of animalistic joy? Nothing. I’ve got nothing. But I don’t sleep with men. Not this dog.

“You could be anything, why a wolf?” they ask.
“A vampire, why not? A ghost, why not? A zombie… no.”

Never an f’n zombie, they just follow along and that’s not what you want to be doing when you are on the bus or off the bus. It’s got to be all about you, my good man. The whole trip is a voyage through existence and nobody thinks of werewolves nowadays, certainly not thinking they exist, certainly no thinking they eat and certainly not ever thinking that we can’t be anything else but werewolves, and they really don’t think we exist. But there we are.

More werewolves have joined in and why not, they want on the bus too cuz it’s freaking fantastic there but we are here waiting for the bus at another of one of those bus stops in a forsaken city block waiting…

“Have you ever seen the moon?” Wilcox asks.
“No way, brother,” Lycaon answers.
NO-WAY-BROTHER! Liar. He has seen the moon and if you are getting on this bus you had better see the moon, too Lycaon.
“Have you seen the movie?” Michael asks but what the hell could he know cuz he ain’t really a werewolf but a were-fox and I say as much to the small man to kill the time, while Wilcox and Lycaon keep on arguing the rights of moon. Me, I’m just howling.

A man in a dark coat walks past the rest of the pack and heads right to me, his hand out on an offering: “Are you ok, puppy? Whoooooose a gooooooood lillllllll dogggggggg?” his words stretch out like time, making our co-existence on this planet very… boring.

So Michael does something about it.

“Hey, hey. I want to live. I believe and I want to live!” the man cries out loud. This sends me in to a fit of laughter and Michael – maybe he is a real werewolf after all – lets him go, rolling on the grey-grey SEE-ment sidewalk. Selfishly I hope the man in the dark jacket would rub my belly. But he just runs………A………………………………………………………………………………………………………. ………………WAY…………………………………………..The thing is time is running and running and there is no bus catching it.

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Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Wain-wain-wain-wain, Wa-wain.

But we get on the slow bus and sink in to our chairs and the ghouls aren’t there, and neither is that blonde witch with the broom, but the zombies… they never really go anywhere, do they. But I can’t stand the zombies and I go to pick a fight with one of them, for I am the devil in fur cloth and I am the one they do not want to be on the bus with, cuz everyone is allowed on the bus with exception of the zombies didn’t they read the sign: SUCKER, TRY LUCK
NO SUGAR ADDED
The bus driver stops the bus and asks if we’re all right but the zombies as always have nothing to say so I go up to the bus driver and ask him: “either you are on, bus man, or you are certainly off this thing.”

“You are wrong, wolf man,” he shouts. But he is off and there is no one on the wheel so guess it’s me. Well I’m driving the bus now – even if I’m unwelcomed – and howling out the driver side window while I’m speeding one million kilometers-per-second blowing day-glow paint off the side thinking – always thinking – what a great place to hide and think. I begin to reflect on my life as a creature as the dimming moon hides the simmering prey from my night of lysergic lunatic lycanthropy on this bus baby, the No. 10 Joy. How long has it been anyways? How long has it been since I last saw a reason to march out and eat? How long has it been since I walked up Lucifer’s Path and kissed the devil’s pale moon sky? How long has it been since I dropped tonight’s hit? It’s all been far too long.

The dogs in the back are howling answers but fuck them too. Michael, who is so much more like a were-fox than werewolf, though he protests, yells at me to stop for were-chicks.

“But we don’t need any fowl on this bus, they’ll just crap on it,” I shout looking backwards.

Lycaon is yelling at the Zombies and Wilcox is laughing at the Zombies and Michael is afraid of the Zombies but these Zombies are on our bus now, they go where we want and where the hell are we going, by the way?

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Not for long. A zombie is out on the road and he is standing in front of the bus and staring at me. He hates werewolves, it is so clear to me that this zombie hates werewolves, WHAT-A-DICK. He gets on the bus and tells me that we werewolves are certainly off the bus in a BIG way. But he doesn’t call us werewolves. He calls us: “gentlemen,” if he only knew what we are, so time to get existential on his ass and I pull out my fangs and bite in to a zombie. Michael, that were-fox, wants off and so we all are off. That f’n were-fox. I am never again on the bus with a were-fox.

The next morning I am transformed back in to human. But that zombie knew from my bite what kind of danger I am. He’s got me behind bars with all my werewolf friends.

“Did he turn?” a werewolf named Chad asks.
I nod my head. “I ain’t ever gonna know, my good man. He pulled us off the bus that is sure. But whether or not a werewolf can turn a zombie in to a werewolf is unknown. Whether or not a zombie can turn a werewolf in to a zombie is unknown.”
“I think you get to choose,” a voice cries from the back of the cell.

But I can’t think of that now just as I can’t ignore that time itself keeps stretching. And the bus won’t ever catch it because it is so boring.

...OR A WOLF

by Lucas Klaukien

Christmas. Christmas in July.
He saw the black thing lying on the sidewalk, no one around to see. He picked it up. A thousand dollars. Just like that, just like that. He tossed the black thing over his shoulder and started to walk away. It was more than anyone could ask of him to contain the bounce in his step and the smile that beamed. The muscles in his face were locked in an expression that did not recall joy so much as … thrill.
Around the corner was a slight man (well, less a man than a male), walking franticly toward him scanning the pavement.
“Hello there,” the slight man said, his tenor recalling the White Rabbit of Alice in Wonderland, “excuse me, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”
“No,” the smiling man said and continued past the slight one without so much as a backward glance.
“Well,” the slight man continued, “have you seen a black wallet, lying on the ground anywhere around here?”
“No,” the still smiling man said as his pace quickened.
The smile did not reach the man’s eyes. It was an almost reflex reaction to good fortune. An impulsive thing, unnatural in its generation. The slight man would not forget the smile that conquered the man‘s mouth but not his eyes.
The slight man sniff, sniff, sniffed the air, caught the smiling man’s scent.
The smiling man shoulder checked all the home. No one saw. No one knew what great fortune he had.

Over the course of the many days and nights that followed, the smile on the fortunate man’s face sagged and sagged until the corners of his lips found their original position below the mainline of his mouth. He grew suspicious and short tempered in the face of inquisitiveness. Friends, co-workers, even his parents found his presence unreasonably tense for the most part and unbearable for the other part. The Fortunate Man couldn’t avoid it though, he tensed up every time anyone asked, “where’d you get the new jacket?” or “new shoes? How much did those set you back?” So, instead of answering, he just grew agitated. Agitated to the point where they thought twice about asking him anymore questions. Soon, his was a world of silence, dinner was a thing characterized by knives scraping on porcelain and loud smacks of chewing, but not conversation. His eyes would dart back and forth between his parents, who had come to visit.
“I like the new tablecloth, son,” his little old father said. But he said nothing, never responding to questions or allegations because he knew better. He was smart enough to realize that they were trying to nail him, trying to appeal to his vanity but he’d never fail himself. He’d never reveal the true origin of his new fortune. All the while too, there was something else that made him tense. It wasn’t guilt.
Eyes. Always eyes on him, always watching, always hiding. On his front step he felt them weighing in on him, spying with oppressive leaden clarity. On his way to the market his shoulders grew heavy with the burden.
“Boy, you’ve been eating like a king lately,” his kindly old grocer would say. The only response he’d give was an icy stare. You mind your own business old man, he thought, grabbing his bags with much purpose.
In today’s world a thousand bucks doesn’t stretch as far as it used to and there soon came the time when his newfound wealth had all but dried up. Indeed he had eaten like a king for two weeks and wore the finest new clothes on his back, the kind of finery he had long fantasized about. But there comes a time when all adventures must end and unearned wealth must surely waste away. So, with a wisp of melancholy and a dollop of nostalgia he picked his keys up from the table to set about on his last trip to the corner store to spend his remaining money on a pack of gum.
It was a warm night, the kind of humid air that made him itchy under his shirt. The kind of humidity that makes one feel hairier and heavier than they really are. Yet, somehow he felt a kind of relief.
Maybe he had felt guilty all that time, though he wouldn’t know why. But the eyes were off him, the burden was lifted. He began to feel like his old self again. Slowly the smile began to creep slowly back up from the corners of his mouth. Even the angry barking of the dogs as he passed his neighbors yards could not stop the momentum of his surging lips.
He turned round the corner and who else was there to greet him but the slight man he had seen that fateful night.
“Hello, sir,” the slight man said with a confidence that belied his stature.
The smiling man said nothing and continued to walk past the slight man.
“I know you took my money,” the slight man said, “and I’m giving you this last opportunity to give it back.”
“What,” the smiling man said, stopped dead in his track, “what did you just say to me?”
“I said, if you give me what’s left of my money, I won’t bother you again.”
The smiling man’s heart began to pound and race. He knew he got into trouble every time somebody got his blood up but he didn’t care.
“This is your last chance,” the slight man uttered with trembling voice. The smiling man was no longer smiling and he wondered if the slight man had a gun. He turned around to face the slight man, thoughts racing, heart still pounding, blood coursing, the slight man approached him and began to spit, “pth, pth, pth. Hair in my mouth.”
The slight man removed his glasses as his upper lip curled like a rabid dog. The clouds rushed overhead as though on rails revealing a thinning bright area. His back arched and fingers clenched into hideous claws. In a tone too deep for a man of his stature he growled, “I work hard…I work hard!”
At the office he put up with all of it. Co-workers dumping off the most tedious articles of paperwork at his office with chummy smiles and good natured quips and jibes. They didn’t respect him. The way the water cooler, for long moment the center of social activity, would clear out the moment he decided to get thirsty. The way he saw them gather around Sally Westrum, arms casually rested on the corners of cubicles, glance over from across the office in his direction and try to hide their laughter after he had asked her to see a production of Romeo & Juliet. The way he overheard Frank Catcher brag about the night he spent with her. The way he overheard Chip Dunsmuir brag about the night he spent with her. His perfect hair and good posture. The way he spent the Christmas party in the corner of the room, hanging out with the fake Christmas tree. And now he was being forced to put up with it outside the office. The way he needed the money. The way he’d had to bury his dog the day before because he suddenly could no longer afford the operation Chuckles desperately needed. The line was drawn in the sand. It all ended here and now.
The clouds parted revealing the perfect opalescent pearl of the moon.
The adrenaline coursing through his body he lunged at the smiling man who hunched no longer smiling and covered in a course mat of fur. The shirt he had bought with the slight man’s money ripped off his now hulking back and his face a snout that really was that of a rabid dog … or a wolf. And the eyes, the eyes were human but there was something about them something cold and distant, emotionless, eyes that didn’t smile.

The next day the smiling man felt great. Felt better than he had in about a month. He stopped on his way down the street and noticed people congregating along a line of police tape, the police gathered around what looked like black paint splattered on the sidewalk.
“Hmm,” the smiling man said to himself as he chewed his gum with a newfound vigor, “the black stuff looks like dried blood.” He walked away with his hands in his pockets, blowing a bubble.