Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Wheel Wolf (werewolf horror)

Wheel Wolf werewolf horror

Don't go near the lake! Especially when a blood moon hangs overhead.

My werewolf ... my second skin ...
When the moon is on the rise,
I go naked into night.
I am never dressed to kill.

 —January Valentine

As I downshift, I make a mental note: Contact the game warden in the morning. Find out what the hell's creeping around the lake in the dead of night. Animals don't sound like that. I don't think humans do, either. The sounds were off. The sight was worse. Eerie enough to throw me into a panic. That's saying something for the guy who dove off Fisher's Bridge, which stands more than fifty feet in the air. Did I mention, in the dead of winter? My boots breaking through icy water. Did I also mention, a boatful of my buddies were waiting for me below when I crash-landed? They more than likely saved my life. But it was Jenny who brought me out of depression, booze, and addiction.

In my peripheral, trees whiz by like lines of wooden soldiers. Stationary troops. Alert defenders. Yeah, I'm losing it. Can't wait to get back to the house. Barricade the door. Pop open an ice cold Brooklyn Summer Ale. Hop into the shower, bottle in hand, then into bed with my cell phone. Dial my girl. Should I tell Jenny where I've been? What went down? What are you, crazy? You'll never hear the end of it. If she knew you were riding helmetless, she'd slash your tires. Or maybe glue the damn helmet to your head. You should know better, idiot.

Jenny ... My arms tighten around her. I can still feel her lips on mine. Then, out of nowhere ... something, other than my jacket, is clinging to my back. There's a thud. A guttural groan, gurgling, moaning. Silence.

Strange, I'm thinking as I'm airborne. I didn't see anything cross the road that I never took my eyes from.

Well, maybe for a second to unhook my helmet from the handlebar ...  
I'm trying to figure this out in the flashing instant of bone-shattering impact, mine with the pavement, then I'm no longer thinking.

Barnes & Noble

I'm tossing and turning. My brain hurts. It feels like it's fucking bubbling inside my skull. I'm twisting in and out of bizarre stages of sleep. I'm taking colorful naps. Beneath my sealed lids I'm seeing shadows and rainbows. Shuddering. Dancing. Circles. Lines. Dots. I bolt out of a fifth dimension of symbols and strobe lights, picturing faces, hearing voices. It's enough to drive me even more insane. A sliver of moon is filtering through the crack on either side of the blinds. Other than that, my room is dark. A tomb. A sexy tomb.

I'm smelling all kinds of mouthwatering aromas. Scents. Female. I'm tasting Jenny on my lips. Inhaling her peach perfume. I'm like a dog in heat, fighting incredible urges to hump something. Someone. I wonder if Rachel's around. Holy shit. Jenny would fucking kill me if she knew what was going through my head right now.

Unaware of how I got into this position, I find myself half hanging off the bed. What the fuck? I can move? Your arms dumbass. You're having nightmares, and you're dragging yourself across the bed.

No way. I'm awake. Which I know, because I'm sitting up wiping drool from my mouth, and about to jerk off. Then I stop myself. I've got to get this boner predicament under control. My skin is perspiring profusely and is itchy as hell. I'm scratching myself raw, delighting at the smell of my own blood that's seeping from claw marks and pores. My senses are so acute, I believe I'm about to learn the meaning of unearthly. Everything abnormal. Dark. Deadly.

Next thing I know, my legs are twitching, dangling over the side of the mattress. I'm wigging my toes. Shit. I think I can walk. I'm balancing on the balls of my feet, padding across the carpet, pushing up the unlocked side of the window with two furry things that don't look like familiar hands. Legs over, I suck in fresh air and leap onto dewy grass. Wearing boxers? The night smells beautiful, exotic, seductive, like Jenny. Jenny. 


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