A Shaggy Werewolf Story: a short story by: GF Willmetts.
You would think being a werewolf was a good deal. Four nights of the month with a full moon you go all hairy, teeth and claws and go out on the hunt, get a good meal and back to normal. Sounds too easy until the neighbourhood thinks there’s a murderer on the loose and the word spreads. At least I’m not the only traveller and move on before anyone thinks to look at me a little closer. Keep inside, lock the doors and windows and avoid the full moon murderer. Makes it harder to get a meal. Paws are handy for running but a bitch for scratching through wood or glass. All that’s left is the local wildlife before deciding to move on. The town-crier never mentions a drop in the rat population although I doubt if I make that much of a dent in their population. It was only a light snack and didn’t last.
After a while, it became a habit. To move on, I mean. Wolves like to explore their territory, looking for new meat. Why should we were-counterparts be any different? The odd sheep, cow or horse going missing isn’t unusual. The farmers finding the remains and go hunting with dogs and shotguns not so clever. We don’t change our scent going to and thro. I’ve still got buckshot in my rear when I wasn’t fast enough. Better to be thought there’s a murderer out there than killing farm animals. Shows where the priorities are. Well, only that once when they put a dog looking for the murderer and I left a little earlier than I intended. Either my scent is too strong or I’m peeing in all the wrong places. Not that I couldn’t chomp a dog but their bites were crippling when they fight back.
I wasn’t stupid with my travels. It was easy to learn to be a cobbler. Make a few decent shoes, always in pairs, make some money and no one minded when I moved on. Who wanted a cobbler waiting for your shoes to wear out? Who’s going to associate a cobbler with a murderer, let alone a werewolf who wouldn’t need shoes? I always looked shocked when the victims’ bodies were found and used that as my excuse to move on.
The real problem was getting enough meat. It was all right eating enough for a human but the raw meat for me as a werewolf less so. I needed to eat a lot. Each transformation, I lost skin and hair. It took a while to realise I was on a diet. It only happened when I didn’t have enough meat in my diet. But it was becoming obvious I was becoming a toy werewolf if this kept going. I would not only be losing weight but height as well. I would have to double my diet and hope the reverse would happen.
It did occur to me again that I would have to break into people’s homes to get my quota of meat but paws can’t crash windows or doors, just leave scratch marks. Something we have in common with vampires and all they want is a drop of blood.
Ah! But what if I was invited in. Not as a werewolf but as a were-human. Change inside and have a family meal. If I can’t eat them all, it’ll just look like a were-fox. Eat one, leave the rest for someone else to eat.
Only problem is who’s going to invite a tradesman into their home? I never stay long enough to make any long-lasting friends, let alone any who would invite me home. To low on the totem unless they thought they would get a cheap deal. I wasn’t making that much money. After all, there’s a murderer at there. Better me outside than someone in their household.
My height drop was significant every full moon. When I could eat a complete human, it stopped my growing any smaller but didn’t let me grow any taller. I would need to eat more. I really needed to bite someone to become the next werewolf but I needed to satisfy my craving for fresh meat. The way things were going the most I could give a potential successor a sharp nip. Hardly enough to make him or her to howl at the moon.
Could it have gotten this worse for any of my predecessors? Contrary to normal wolves we don’t run in packs. With this lack of food, it makes sense not to. We’d do more than argue over who has the biggest share of meat or all of it. Someone or most would have to go without. Maybe I should go to one of the bigger towns where they don’t care so much. A few people on a late night razzle would suit me down to the ground. I might be lucky and no one miss them.
But time and height was getting to me. What was once a short distance at my normal height was now awfully long as I was now below four feet tall. It was also affecting my trade. People might joke I was the right gnome height to put nails in a shoe but in the marketplace who was going to pay attention to my squeaky voice?
No wonder werewolves were becoming extinct if the rest out there was having a similar problem. Four nights a month wasn’t enough. Raw meat any other time of the month gave me indigestion.
I did come up with one solution. On the afternoon of the new moon, kill someone ready to eat after turning. By then I was three foot tall and didn’t think I would be that successful. Looks like I was back to eating rats. I might not regain my height but it might not go down any lower. How small can a werewolf get? At least with my shorter height, stalking the drains would be easier.
Take that, Hamlyn citizens. I’m going to attack your rat problem. Well, for four nights a month. The rest of the time I would be avoiding the rats attacking me.
© GF Willmetts 2024
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