Movie Monsters Chapter III

I arrived at the cabin on the evening of Friday, August twelfth. A little over twenty-four hours lay between me and finding out how my inner beastie would respond to the full moon. I could already feel her stirring, growing stronger like some alien parasite in the pit of my stomach. If this wasn't something I could control, I would have to be content with surviving it.

The cabin was meant to give other people a chance to survive it as well. It was on private land, belonging to an old family friend who used to invite us up to spend weekends there. It overlooked a large pond, the place where my father taught me how to fish. Deer roam the surrounding woods. Getting out of the car and testing the air with my newly enhanced sense of smell, I felt like I could be a thousand miles from the nearest person.

Once I reassured myself that no one had come here in the time it took for the scent to fade away, I turned my attention to the cabin. The door was unlocked. I entered slowly, scanning for human smells but finding only the mustiness of the air, the charcoal odor of ashes in the fireplace, and the nostalgic aroma of old books which came from a shelf in the living room. Staying without asking for permission unnerved me, but if something went wrong I could not risk letting people know I had been there.

I kept myself busy with one of the werewolf mythology books I bought for research. So far the information proved more believable than what I had seen in the horror movies, but it had the same problem of contradicting itself. One source said that werewolves were evil men who made pacts with the Devil, another that you could become one by drinking water collected in the paw print of a wolf, and another that sleeping under the full moon was enough to do it. I was bitten, and Ian mentioned being born into it. Either there are a buttload of ways to become a werewolf, or people let their imaginations run away with them and made stuff up.

I read late into the night, warm and comfortable in a chair beside the fireplace. No electricity reached the cabin, and helping father start fires was one of the activities I enjoyed as a child. With a bit of concentration I could shift my eyes until the muddy brown gave way to pale gold, and with this came the advantage of night vision. Colors lose their vibrancy and details their sharpness, but it feels good, no longer having to be afraid of unseen things in the dark.

The next morning, after a breakfast of raw steak I brought in a cooler, I decided to take my werewolf body for a test run in the woods. I changed inside the cabin, still feeling a bit weird about the idea of running around outdoors in the nude. Before leaving I strapped on a simple black elastic cinch belt. A leather knife holder attached to the belt held a small knife with a blade made of silver, a precaution in case I encountered any other werewolves who were as unfriendly as Ian. After a few fumbling tries I got a good grip on the doorknob with my meaty, paw-like hands and was ready to take my first steps outside in my non-human body.

I was already getting used to my enhanced senses, but they were not the only things that had changed. Movement takes on new meaning when you are a werewolf. Walking on my toes like a wolf lengthened my stride, bringing greater speed. I could keep up a jogging pace for hours without tiring, allowing me to quickly inspect large portions of the woods on the property. Thick pads protected the balls of my feet. Even though I knew that any cuts I got from stepping on something sharp would heal themselves quickly, I felt little and was relieved to be spared the distraction of pain.

Nonetheless, distractions were plentiful. My wolfy ears had a mind of their own, constantly swiveling to pinpoint faint noises. My clumsy crashing through the undergrowth scared away the deer whose scent trails crisscrossed my path, but there were rabbits and squirrels and other things I couldn't identify to tempt me. The signs of prey nearby made the beastie inside me even more restless, until I worried she might hijack my mind to get what she wanted. I reluctantly decided to give it to her before that happened. Feeling like a villain in a cartoon for picking on cute forest critters, I allowed my ears and nose to guide me to the nearest target.

My wolfy eyes almost missed the rabbit in the tall late summer grass, frozen still and camouflaged by its earth-colored coat. Even as my nose helped me pinpoint it I could tell there was no point in trying to sneak up on it with how much noise I was making. I tried to not let on that I had seen it, walking casually in its general direction while watching it out of the corner of my eye. It bolted sooner than I would have liked, bounding through the undergrowth with impressive speed. I broke into a run, but before I could catch up it dived down a rut underneath a fallen tree. I leapt over it, in what would have been a fluid motion of pure grace if it wasn't for my knee connecting with a broken off branch that stuck up from the trunk. I flew through the air and faceplanted on the ground. By the time I got back on my feet I had lost sight of the rabbit.

The pathetic results of my first hunt hurt my pride, but it hurt my nose even more. I couldn't tell if it was broken, but landing on a long snout with all that momentum behind it was bound to do some damage. I ran my long tongue over it, tasting blood and dirt. The blood brought a pang of excitement from the beastie. That part of me urged me to keep going, to search and chase and kill. Not about to let her order me around anymore, I climbed over the fallen tree and retraced my steps back to the cabin.

When I reached it I felt energized, not tired as I would have expected. Despite how alien it still was I felt oddly comforted by the werewolf body. I was alone, no need to become human again just yet. I had an enormous dinner, devouring the rest of the meat in the cooler and feeling the sensation of slicing through it with my wolfy teeth for the first time. My plan was to gorge myself, killing my appetite in case the full moon allowed beastie to take over. I spent the rest of the evening reading out loud, practicing how to form human sounds while in my wolfy body. The later it got the harder it was to pay attention. Eventually I couldn't sit still any longer, getting up to pace from room to room after every few minutes of reading.

Beastie talked inside my head. I didn't hear voices, like delusional people do on TV. She spoke with feelings, not words. The memory of the rabbit hunt kept forcing its way into my head. The hunger that made me give in. The warm scent of its fur. The thrill of the chase. I would do anything to experience that again. I listened to beastie's voice as it grew stronger. The last thing I remember is staring at the full moon through a window in the living room, a pleasant excitement spreading through my mind to consume my body.

I woke the next morning curled up on the hard ground in a part of the woods particularly thick with brush. I yawned and stretched my sore muscles, noting that I was still in my werewolf body. A wave of panic gripped me, and I panted and shuddered as I tried to recall the events of the night. I could not even remember leaving the cabin. Standing and twisting to examine every inch of fur for blood, I was relieved to find none. Maybe I wasn't hungry when the instinct took over, or maybe my hunting skills really were that pathetic. I followed my own scent trail back to the cabin. It zigzagged like crazy all over the place as if I had been chasing rabbits all night, but there were no grisly scenes of death, human or animal, to discover.

The liberation I felt after the passing of the full moon was incredible, as if the beastie had worn herself out and curled up for a nap, leaving me blissfully alone for the time being. Returning to my temporary hideout, I discovered the only victim of the night- the cabin. With my werewolf mind in full control I no longer remembered the purpose of doors and had crashed through a window in the living room to get out. Wincing at the damage, I let myself in through the door to get my things together and head for home.

I was not prepared for the gruesome scene inside the cabin. The beautiful old red chair that sat by the fireplace was on the floor, chewed and slashed to bits. White stuffing had been pulled out of the cushions and spread across the living room floor. The smashed cooler lay in the mess, the lid torn off and thrown into the fireplace where the heat had warped and partially melted it. Worst of all, however, was the sole bedroom. The bed sheets were messy, sporting a few rips and plenty of shed wolf fur, as if I had gotten on the bed to investigate my own scent. An impressive set of claw marks dug deep into the wall beside the bed, reaching almost to the ceiling. A heavy, animal smell permeated the air, and I did not need to see the stain on the wood floor to know what it was. Thoroughly embarrassed, I quickly changed back to my human self, dressed, and loaded everything I brought with me back in the car.