Felt like drawing something cute. Father Yerv, son Travis, and mother Zai.
The First Cold Winter is WarmestThe snowflakes were numerous as grains of wind-blown sand. They dimmed the sunset and brought a freezing, premature nightfall. Bundled humans hurried past the lure of shop windows aglow with inviting warmth, toys, and tasty smells. A ribbon-clad tree towered over all from the place of honor cleared for it in the town square.
Hidden amongst rubbish in an alley where he could search for food unseen, Yerv was too miserable to enjoy it. He buried his hands in his coat sleeves and tried to thaw them against his arms. He shivered and watched his breath form clouds in front of his muzzle. The unnatural sight gave him a different kind of chill. Though his kin assured him this was a normal byproduct of harsh northern winters, it still gave him the creeps.
When feeling returned to his fingers he dipped his hand into a pocket and read the imprints left on the coins he had collected. None of their stories were very interesting (all had traded human hands in exchange for work and been lost on the s
A Ghoulish DilemmaDetective Travis Hade regretted his timing the moment he dipped his pen into the inkwell. Thunderous knocks threatened to bust his office door off its hinges, and he jumped high enough to bang his knee on his desk. The inkwell toppled on its side. It rolled, trailing an oily stain, and fell off the desk with a petite smashing sound. Travis leapt from his chair and ran to the door.
Like an impatient bear, Sergeant Kaighn wouldn’t let up until his demands were answered. Travis threw open the door and looked up at the sergeant’s broad face. “What can I help you with, Sir?” he said.
The sergeant grinned. “You take care of that crazy wag?” he said.
Travis grimaced. He spun around and pulled the papers away from the spreading pool of ink. “Just a moment,” he said, fumbling for his pen. He dipped it into the spill and signed his name on the report. “Yes, Sir,” he said. “Mr. Loupinacci has paid the fine, and I advised Mrs. Weath
From the Strong, Something SweetThe vampire’s ninth victim was found with sticks jammed in the four ragged holes marring her throat. A branch had been snapped from the tree her body was propped against, broken in two, and shoved up her nostrils. Her glazed eyes stared at the detectives, mercifully unaware of this final indignity.
Detective Charlie Vimont shook his head. “Takes a special kind of twisted mind wants to turn himself into the undead,” he said.
Cricket songs filled the night air. Frogs croaked from the pond in the center of the little park. Under less tragic circumstances Detective Travis Hade would have considered it a relaxing environment. He took off his coat and knelt beside the woman. He removed the foreign objects, laid her on the ground, and draped the coat over her. Detective Coleson had already been sent to fetch the undertaker. Storm clouds rolled over the stars. A light drizzle fell, signaling the tightening grip of spring. Droplets of the victim’s blood mingled with the
The Honor of HesiemPhil curled into a ball on the filthy cobblestones, felt the blood soak through his shirt, and tried to remember if werewolves were cannibals. The mugger had plunged a knife into his gut and extracted the money from his pocket with practiced efficiency. He could imagine no other motive for the owners of those glowing yellow eyes to be assembling like a flock of nocturnal vultures. He shivered with pain and yelled, each cry for help growing feebler than the last.
The sole functional street lamp was aflutter with moths enjoying the cool summer night. Yellow eyes bobbed at the edge of the light. Phil caught glimpses of long claws and lanky canine forms. He found a loose stone and threw it with a pitiful scream of rage.
A small figure broke away from the others and crept into the light. If it was a werewolf it was a sickly looking one. It had oversized round ears and appeared to be missing any trace of fur or a tail.
Phil squeezed his eyes shut. Perhaps this was just a hallucination, the f