LYCANTHROPY  CONTESTANT

 
Donny slid his thumb up and down the condensation bubbling on his glass. He watched the orchestra set up beside the stage.
 
A slender fleck with six legs and wings hummed in his ear. Donny slapped at his face. He missed. Those bloodsuckers fed off him all damn summer long. He’d asked the doctor about it the year before, ‘Change your diet and take vitamins’. He couldn’t decide what would be more miserable, living off little pieces of broccoli or having bloodsuckers deplete him of life.
 
He glanced around at the other tables. Women wore updos and evening gowns, men decked out in ties and suit jackets. Each table had a hurricane lamp, candles flicked inside them. Cedars surrounded the stage and tables. It made for a cozy enclosure. Romantic.
 
A hand slid up his thigh. When Jennifer gave him a light pinch, he forgot all about the mosquitoes.
 
She leaned to his ear. “Thank you for bringing me. It’s so beautiful out here. Authentic.”
 
Donny felt his face turn red. He couldn’t tell if it was because her hand was on his thigh or if it was the way her lips brushed his ear when she whispered.
 
“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, but she’d already moved her hands to the table and leaned forward. She didn’t hear him.
 
Evening fell across the sky, the full moon rose up against it. Cedars swayed to a light, jazzy breeze. Red curtains fluttered on the stage.
 
He glanced at Jennifer. She sat forward eagerly awaiting the show. His eyes were drawn to the purse she clutched between her hands. It was just a velvet sack, but it held something large and heavy. He didn’t think it was makeup, but who knows the way of women and what they put in their purse ‘just in case’. Humming buzzed in his ear again. He sat back and slapped at his ear, his face. Damn bloodsuckers.
 
“Oh, it’s going to start.” Jennifer reached over and grabbed his hand. He squeezed it back, pretending to not hear the buuzzzz in his ear.
 
The director stood in front of the orchestra, pointed his wand at the violinist and shook his head, as if scolding. He tapped the wand on the stand, glanced at the stage. Nodded. Then moved his hands in small circles. Violinists played a sweet, melancholy tune.
 
Red curtains parted. Stars on a black back drop adorned the back ground. Men in tuxedos stood on risers. Donny noted they were all balding with pot bellies, except the one who stood in front. He was younger, unshaven, and was slight of figure. There was something off about him. It was his abnormally large eyes, Donny decided.
 
A large lady in a gaudy purple gown opened her mouth. Opera, lighter and sweeter than she would ever be, poured fourth in harmony with the symphony.
 
The men picked up the chorus. They faded into the background as the evening grew darker, darker. Donny watched the younger guy in front. His mouth hadn’t opened once to sing. He stood there watching the audience with his ravenous eyes.
 
The melancholy tune ended to polite applause. The director pointed at the drums. Bass picked up. Donny thought it sounded more like pop than opera. The fat lady raised her arms and sang. Her ample bosom bounced.
 
Tacky, Donny thought.
 
The familiar high pitched humming sounded in his ear again. Damn bloodsuckers.
He glanced at Jennifer. She looked a thousand years away, lost in the music. At least she was having a good time. “Hey, I’ll be back in a moment.”
 
“Are you okay?” She skimmed him over. He felt himself blush again.
 
“Oh yeah,” he stumbled over words, “I just …need to use the restroom.”
 
She nodded, and turned back to the stage. He rose and walked to the back. Waiters waltzed in and out of the paths carrying wine glasses on silver platters. He tapped a tall man on the shoulder. “Excuse me, where are the restrooms?”
 
The waiter opened his mouth to speak, when a voice interrupted him.
 
“No worries, my good sir. I’ll show him.” A slight figure in a tux stepped out from the path. He placed a hand on Donny’s elbow and ushered him from the main candlelit path to another off to the side.
 
“I thought you were on stage,” Donny said.
 
“Oh, I was. I wasn’t feeling so good, so I slipped off when the audience couldn’t see me.”
 
 “I thought the restrooms were by the kitchen?”
 
“Staff only. The public restroom is down this way.”
 
Donny didn’t like this. He sensed the young man’s lie, and he had the most peculiar smell, like bad meat. “Look, I don’t know what you’re up to. I’m heading back.”
 
“It’s too late to go back.”
 
“Wha-“ Donny did a double take.
 
The transformation had already begun. Long hair grew out of his flesh. A stripe of iris glared from bright yellow eyes. Nails, long and curved, grew from his furry hands. They reached for Donny.
 
“Stop! Both of you!” Jennifer stood behind them on the path. Moonlight haloed her body, between her hands a pistol poised. She pulled back the hammer.
 
The werewolf snapped at Donny. Donny screamed. Gunshot broke through night’s curtain, and the creature dropped to the forest floor..
 
Donny gaped.
 
“Don’t just stand there. Come here!”
 
Donny leapt from the monster, and grabbed Jennifer’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
 
“Wait a minute. One more shot, just to make sure.” She fired again and the body jumped with the pressure of the bullet.
 
They walked down the main path. “It’s important you remain calm,” Jennifer said. They turned towards the parking lot instead of the stage.
 
“Who – how did you know?”
 
“Sokaw,” she said.
 
“So what?”
 
“Secret Society of Knowing About Werewolves. SOKAW. I knew one would be here tonight. There has been a lot of buzz about Enchanted Evening. We regulate their cell phones and twitter accounts. You wouldn’t believe how much those wolves can twitter. Stupid dogs.”
 
“How do you know its dead?” Donny asked.
 
“I only use silver bullets.”
 
“Those really work?”
 
“Yeah, just like in the movies,” she said.
 
 Donny stopped. “So that’s why you suggested I bring you last weekend?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
Donny felt depressed. Sure she was a kick ass werewolf killer, but he thought she was here to be with him.
 
They arrived at his car.
 
“Donny, I would have come by myself if you hadn’t brought me, but I wanted to be with you. Thank you.”
 
He reached to open the door. She kissed his cheek, then slapped his face.
 
Donny drew back in surprise. “What’s that for?”
 
“A mosquito…ewww.” She had blood on her hand.
 
“Here,” he offered his shirtsleeve. She wiped her hand on it.
 
“Damn blood suckers will get you every time,” he said.
 
Jennifer winked. “Not every time.”

__________

©2010 Jodi MacArthur

Jodi MacArthur’s mind has been invaded by imagination zombies. They ate her left hemisphere and filled it with folly fiction- not a string of logic has been left. To remedy this situation please help by sending wigs of lolly to www.jodimacarthur.blogspot.com

Randall knew it wasn’t a great idea to book a room at one of the most haunted hotels in Texas.

The Emily Morgan Hotel had quite a history, but he knew his wife Megan and their two year old Sophie would enjoy the Alamo and the gorgeous spring day in Texas. He had worked as a chef at the Mansion at Turtle Creek until a few weeks ago when a woman nearly choked to death on a free range pork chop.

A customer had quickly performed the Heimlich and she had survived. He had been chastised for taking food home and that combined with the customer’s near-death experience was more than he could deal with.
 
His wife Megan was a ghost buff. He hadn’t booked the room on purpose, he had simply been looking for a great hotel on Priceline. He didn’t understand Megan’s enthusiasm. No Ouija boards, he told her. No séances. Just a great night’s sleep on a comfortable bed. Tomorrow they would explore the Alamo and drink beer on the River Walk.
 
**
Megan wanted to take the elevator to the supposedly “haunted” floors of the hotel. He was starting to feel like Jack Torrance as his wife took pictures with her cell phone in the elevator. It was embarrassing and he wanted to strangle her.. Sophie wants ice cream, Megan said. If Sophie wants ice cream, I want some lager, he thought. They walked past Ripley’s Believe it or Not, past the Alamo, and ate dinner on the River Walk.  The Mariachi band played ”My Girl” and Megan and Sophie clapped, everyone smiled. They walked back to the hotel holding hands.
**

The beds were comfortable and Sophie fell asleep quickly. They were thankful to have the television to themselves so they rented an action movie, something with Denzel Washington, but they both got sleepy and cuddled.
**
Randall knew he had put the latch on the hotel door. So when the angry man walked into their
room he was more than a little shocked. “Get the fuck out of here,” The man said.

He was more than a little scared now. He glanced at Megan and Sophie sleeping. Where was the phone , he would call the police. He wished he had brought his gun.
 
He sat up in bed and everything was as it has been. The television was still on, with the screen lighting up the room in flashes.

The room door was locked and the latch still in place.

He walked into the bathroom for a glass of water. He knew it was a cliché to stare at his own reflection in the mirror to make sure he wasn’t still dreaming, but he did it anyway. He drank the water and crawled back into bed with Megan. He wanted to wake her up, but he didn’t.

**

He was taking the elevator to an upper floor. He was alone, Megan and Sophie were tired and he didn’t want to bother them. He had heard Megan say the hotel was at one time used as a Medical Arts Building. It also stood in the same spot where wounded Alamo soldiers had lay dying. The elevator opened on a floor that didn’t appear to have rooms, only books. He walked across the floor until a woman he assumed was a librarian walked up to him.
 
“Can I help you?” she said.
“I’m just trying to get back to my floor,” he told her.

“Let me see if I can get permission for that , she said, ”and she walked away.  She came back quickly and said that would be fine. He walked back into the elevator, but never pressed the button for a floor. Instead he watched as large stacks of paper were being burned. He felt the warmth of fire on his face. 
**
When he woke it was finally morning and Megan was brushing her teeth and running a bath, Sophie was still asleep. He looked around the room and walked towards the window and pulled the curtain open just enough to see people on the street below snapping pictures of the hotel. He pulled the curtain closed so he didn’t wake Sophie.
 
“Randall”, his wife called out of the bathroom. “Come in Here.”
He was thinking about the pork chop that had lodged in the choking woman’s throat. He had cooked it rare. He walked into the bathroom.

“Randall,” she said again, “bring me a towel, I feel cold.”

“Megan, he said, why must you always complain about everything? You are a malcontent. I want to show you something I learned about the hotel.”

 ”What?” she said.

 “It has a history, Megan.”
She stepped out of the tub and he walked behind her with a towel. He wrapped the towel around her shoulders and he noticed she was still shivering.

“Can we stay here a few more days?” she asked him and pulled playfully at the zipper on his jeans.
Her face was pink and lively just like the woman’s face had been before she had started choking.

“I call the shots around here, I’ll decide how long we stay.”

“What?” Megan said.

But when she turned to confront him he had vanished.

She walked into the room where Sophie was still curled up with her stuffed toy, Clifford.

“Randall?”
The door was still latched and when she pulled the curtain aside to look out at the street.

In front of the hotel she saw a man who looked like Randall for a moment, but this man walked differently.
His hair was darker. He looked up at Megan for a moment and smiled.

____________

©2010 Melanie Browne