Some Blood on the Moon

What kind of music do werewolves listen to? I think a lot of people would say death metal, Satan rock. I mean, I can see that, but that’s lame vampire shit. Go slit your wrists and bleed on someone, Dracula, give me a fucking break. I get down with a little Goth rock now and again, some Type O Negative and what not, but mostly I’m an alternative punk rock kind of girl, er, werewolf, she-wolf? But tonight I’ve got on Ozzy; yeah, Bark at the Moon, baby. Tonight I have an agenda. Now you may say that Bark at the Moon is some clich├ęd shit for a werewolf to listen to. Well, you know what? I also like Warren Zevon’s ‘Werewolves of London’ and loads of other transformation-inspired songs. I like to listen to them on nights like this, when I know I’m going to tear someone’s throat out, when I know I’m going to become the big bad wolf they talk about in horror stories. So it’s me and Ozzy at the wheel of my piece of shit car, covered in Misfit stickers, and the questioning song title ‘Mommy Can I Go Out & Kill Tonight?’ flashes in my head. I switch CDs to Walk Among Us — thank you, Glenn Danzig.

He deserves it. I know he does, because I’m one of his beautiful victims. Usually I wouldn’t waste my time with a fucker like this, but he has to be stopped. The girl he’s with is smiling stupidly and I know it’s because she doesn’t know any better, but also because she’s probably a dumb fuck. I don’t want to hurt her, and I won’t, but I’ll probably scare the shit out of her. My large paws flex and my hind legs shiver with anticipation, I suppress a growl. I don’t want to ruin the surprise. I had changed in the alley by Sushi Lounge, so I could stalk him from there and not be seen, what with all the unlit connecting back streets. If someone saw me they would call animal control for fucking sure. I was a large gray and black wolf. Bigger than an average wolf, with bright gold eyes. It would be best not to be seen right now; I didn’t want any more fatalities, just this one.

He was petting her suggestively, sending a wave of hatred down my spine. I’m glad he’s so predictable. I usually reserve my kills for really evil people; I wouldn’t have typically considered him an ideal candidate for my tearing treatment, but he’d proven himself time and again. I didn’t trust average justice for the ones I killed; they were repeat offenders who always got off. This guy was a different breed of murderer. He spread his disease to girls, like this one, whose skirt he’s lifting up right now, delicately fingering her scarce panties. He sold his drugs to kids, like the one who died last week. He was a parasitic virus, and now he was going to learn a lesson.

I crept behind parked cars, this spot of downtown was free of people and onlookers. It was dark and sickly, like the man who was moving in for his own brand of killing. It only took one forward leap to take him down. The stunned girl waited a pleasant moment before screaming her lungs out. I turned and showed her my finest smile and deepest, echoing growl. That put the fear of god in her and she fell back, like an idiot. Giant wolf beast, propped up on your boyfriend! RUN, BITCH! Finally she got it through her skull and sprinted down the street. I only had moments now; she would bring police, that is if they listened to her incoherent ramblings. But I didn’t want to hurry things; I wanted to relish this, because it had gotten personal. I force my hot breath and dripping saliva in his face. I run my teeth against his skin, my fangs caressing his cheek, and I make him look into my eyes, which change from gold to my own human green, and I know he recognizes them. I was waiting for that moment of recognition, because that’s when the real terror seeped in. Up until this point I was a mad dog, and he might be able to get away if he played dead, but now it was different. He knew I was vengeance, he knew I’d come for him and he knew I was going to fucking eat him alive. With a finite snarl and what I imagine would have been a smile in human form, I place my jaws, my steel trap jaws, around his neck. I feel his heart pounding like a kick drum: Do not have a heart attack before I get my kill, I think. I bite down and take his whole throat with me — esophagus, jugular, windpipe, everything. He is now an almost severed head. Blood soaking on my muzzle, I bound away into the night, satiated, in more than one way.

By Emily Smith-Miller

Red Riding

You smiled at me because I couldn’t fold a fitted sheet, and I laughed at you because your “whites” were grey. You read steampunk, and I read smut. We’d swap sentences under the flickering florescent lights. The change machine was broken, so you went out in the rain to get more quarters at the Gas-N-Sip. You’d always bring back a slushy for me. My lips would turn blue, and you’d steal my panties, put them on your head, and parade around the launderette. I lost you to the waxing moon, and now, sitting alone in the dark, I realize this … this the dishonest parting of my soul.

You accost me with chaos; eject your black death into me. You stink of the sewer, of the shadows and the rats. You’re a thrill seeker. A phantom. You say I am ugly when I cry. Then you make me cry. You were charming once … at the launderette. Now you’re just a beast. I dream you gnawing on my bones.

You say our love, it’s been more complicated than expected. Just short of an anagram, so I say, “Light the candles and make a list of what you need.”

You ask if it can be personal — of wood with a hint of silver.

I say yes.

I’ve called out to you from the cold, from snowdrifts and rotted trees, but you never answer. You just claw at my door and gut the neighbors’ cat.

We’ll meet again in the dark.

In the confusion of us.

I’ll bury you there. No one will know where.

It’s what’s expected.

I’d warned you before, but you’ll never see, the carnage that is you and the vengeance that is me.

By Cheryl Anne Gardner