“You? On the same page as me? Maybe you and I could’ve been on the same page back when we were both human. But now?” Dallas let out a harsh laugh.
“Now, you’re on the page with vampires and zombies and chupa.. rabras or whatever they’re called and other nasty stuff. Me, though. I am solidly on the humans who kill monsters page, which is pretty great for me, but honestly, kinda sucky for you.”
“You’re gonna kill me?” Dan gasped. “Because I, because of the bowling pictures? That’s crazy! You can’t kill me for that. You just can’t!”
Dallas squatted down again, elbows resting on his knees. He sat that way for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the man he used to know as Fancy Dan. Now he was something else. Something dangerous. Wicked. Evil.
“No, Dan. I ain’t gonna kill you because you taped yourself into some pictures. That would’ve gotten you a beat down at best, but not a killing. I’m gonna kill you because that moon’s gonna rise, and you’re gonna turn into a werewolf, and if I don’t kill you, you’re gonna hurt a lot of innocent people.”
Dallas’s stomach growled. “Man, I just hope the moon rises soon. I’m starving. Maybe I’ll celebrate with a fancy meal after I’m done saving the town again.”
Dan opened his mouth to protest. At that moment, the slowly rising moon cracked the horizon, painting the woods around the cabin with a cold, silvery light. Dallas tried to make out Dan’s words, not because he really cared what the monster in disguise had to say, but because he suddenly couldn’t hear the other man’s voice very well. A different sound rose up to fill his ears, like the roar of an ocean pounding a rocky shore, like a thousand buffalo pounding the hard earth, like a mountain splitting open.
The sound was followed hard by a sharp spasm in his gut. A harpooned whale might’ve been able to relate to the sudden and explosive pain that wracked Dallas and sent him sprawling to the floor, but then again, Dallas guessed that getting harpooned wouldn’t feel even half this bad.
Rolling onto his side, Dallas’s arms and legs pulled in tight. Curled up like a pill bug, he rolled from side to side, a collection of incoherent grunts and gasps escaping his mouth. They might’ve been words, but his mouth felt too large, his tongue too long, to make any sort of normal collection of vowels and consonants. Another spasm straightened his spine, and vertebrae split like wood beneath the woodsman’s axe.
A new sound cut through the heavy fog of his pain. A scream, high and loud and very close. Writhing and grunting, Dallas flipped himself back onto his stomach. Fingers tipped with thick, yellowed claws scratched and found purchase on the wooden floor. Pushing himself up, he felt his wrists, elbows, and shoulders crack in sequence and watched thick, dark hair sprout from his skin and start working its way up under his flannel sleeves. A primal growl rolled and roiled through him as the excruciating pain peaked and evaporated, leaving only two lingering sensations: a simmering anger and a deep hunger.
Rising up on his hind legs, Dallas looked down at the kicking, struggling, crying little human. Meat was right there. Within his reach. Sniffing, he shied away from the smell of cold silver. The scent seared his nostrils and fueled to his anger. Grasping with a clawed hand, he grabbed the chain and pulled, only to howl in agony and lurch away as it burned his skin.
Stupid. I know better. Can’t take the chain off the meat. Need to get the meat out of the chain.
Eyeing the evil silver and ignoring the meat’s incoherent screams of terror, Dallas grabbed two ankles. With a tendon-popping pull, he ripped the legs and waist free from the rest of the body and dragged them far across the floor.
Safely away from the silver, Dallas settled into satiate his deep hunger. Ripping away the purple velour with his sharp teeth, he exposed more and more flesh. Clamping down with strong jaws, he tore chunk after chunk of flesh free, chewed, and swallowed. Warm blood steamed in the cool evening air as it coated his chin and ran down his chest.
One leg finished, he picked up the second and continued to feed. Soon, he was happily chewing on a spongy loafer and licking blood from his fur.
Yum. Meat is good, Dallas thought as he looked around dispassionately. He’d quickly grown accustomed to his altered view and found that he could actually see quite a bit more. The shadows had a depth he’d never imagined, and his heightened sense of smell gave new dimensions to everything he saw. It was, he realized, pretty damn awesome. Looking at where the remaining half of Dan slouched against the cabin wall, he chuckled to himself, the sound coming out as a series of heavy chuffs.
Guess I got something fancy to eat after all. Still hungry though.
Tossing a half-chewed loafer aside, he lumbered over to the very dead torso sitting in a wide puddle of blood and gore. Carefully avoiding the silver chain, he gripped the shoulders and lifted what was left of Dan free of the chain and ropes. With a satisfied sigh, he rummaged around inside of Dan until his claws hooked the kidney. Pulling it free, Dallas settled back on his haunches and resumed his dinner.
Chapter 28
His world was shaking. Everything around him shuddered, each tremor growing more and more violent. Flailing to keep his balance, Dallas tried to run, to find stable ground. For a moment, all was calm, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief. Just when he thought the world had finally decided to settle the hell down, another tremor shook him to the core. At the same time, he heard a voice calling out his name.
Dallas. Dallas! Are you okay? Dallas, are you alright?
I would be if the world would stop shaking.
“Dallas! W-wake up! C’mon, Big D. You gotta wake up!”
“Churphlegurr shoobey. Wazzahell. Why you shaking me?” Dallas slurred, finally rousing from his slumber with a cough turned curse.
Opening an eye, his entire field of vision was filled with a twitchy, angular face. “Damnation, Stanley! What do you want? Why are you in my house again?”
Finally opening both eyes, Dallas saw a very confused-looking Stanley and a very shocked-looking Lois standing directly behind him.
“Both of you? What happened?” Dallas paused, a worried look crossing his face. “Did I get drunk and bust up my door again? Colton’s gonna be pissed…”
As the dense fog he’d been wallowing in finally started to disperse, Dallas began to notice details. One, he wasn’t in his bed. Two, he wasn’t in his bedroom. Three, there was an absolutely overpowering smell all around him, and four, he really needed to take a crap.
“Where am I, and where’s the bathroom? I’ve gotta drop the kids off at the pool.” Dallas braced his arms behind him and tried to stand, but his legs weren’t quite up to the task. Stanley reached out a hand to steady him and wrapped an arm around Dallas’s waist when he realized Dallas wasn’t able to stand on his own.
“Oh, thank g-god, thank god you’re okay, Dallas. You was c-covered in so much blood, I thought that werewolf did you in, too.” Releasing Dallas so he could stand on his own, Stanley stepped back and gave him an appraising look and approving nod.
“Yep. I should’ve known. Nobody, not nobody, werewolf or nothing can t-take down Big D. You’re tough as they come, Dallas, and that’s a fact.”
Lois stepped forward, her face still wearing a mask of terrified worry. “What happened here, Dallas?”
Frowning, Dallas tried to put his thoughts into some semblance of order. He thought he was doing a decent job until he turned and looked around the run-down cabin, the resulting view sending his almost-ordered thoughts back into a whirl. It looked like someone had taken buckets of red, gloppy paint and splashed it liberally over every surface. The floor, walls, and even the remnants of the cabin’s ceiling were splattered with tacky, smelly red. Strange, asymmetrical shapes stood out, scattered haphazardly across the floor. Puzzling over what they were, he realized they were parts of what used to be a body. Bones, parts of limbs, a stocking-clad foot, a hand curled into a half-fist. Worse, he realized that beneath the red, he could make out bits of purple and geometric patterns in what used to be a riot of col
ors. Fancy Dan’s pants. Fancy Dan’s shirt. Fancy Dan’s body parts.
Fancy Dan’s head.
It had been ripped off its neck and tossed into a far corner. By cruel coincidence, it had landed right-side up and was facing where Dallas now stood, sightless eyes rolled back, and mouth open in what had to have been a scream.
“Nahnahnahnahnah,” Dallas started to mumble incoherently, stumbling back and falling in a heap against the wall opposite Dan’s head.
Finally getting his mouth and brain in synch, Dallas looked to Stanley and Lois. “What happened to Dan?”
“Dan was the werewolf, he t-turned when the moon rose, and you beat the crap outta him,” Stanley pronounced. “That’s what happened, right Dallas? I mean, that’s how it was… right?”
Stanley’s eyes looked from Dallas to Lois and back, wide as a startled puppy. When neither one jumped on his theory, he tried again.
“Wait, no. Don’t make sense. N-not enough of Dan left.”
Looking down, Stanley chewed on a thumbnail in deep thought before popping his head back up.
“I got it! Dan wasn’t the werewolf. My bad, my bad. S-sorry about that. But the real werewolf g-got in here and ate Dan, and then you beat the crappers outta that werewolf. And then you, um. D-drank a whole bunch and, um. Rolled in the b-blood and, ah… p-passed out. Right, Dal? That’s what happened, right?”
Dallas finally tore his eyes away from Dan’s face. Unsure of what to say, he turned to Lois. As he watched, the shock left her face, replaced with a surprising calm.
“No, Stanley. Dallas didn’t fight off the werewolf. Dallas is the werewolf.”
All of the air in the room disappeared as Dallas sat stunned. His brain chugged while trying to pull some semblance of meaning from the string of words Lois had just uttered. Dallas, the werewolf? Him? A werewolf? Like cinderblocks dropped from a skyscraper, heavy, crushing realizations slammed down around Dallas’s head, each one shattering more of his paltry delusions.
“Well, duh,” Stanley said, turning an exasperated look on Lois. “Obviously, Dallas is a w-werewolf. Everyone knows that.”
“What?” Lois and Dallas gasped in unison, causing Stanley to backpedal in surprise.
“S-sure he is,” Stanley sputtered. “I mean, not like forever, but when Colton was talking about the s-signs, you know. The being really strong and fast, the hearing things and smelling things, and the, you know, the d-doggy stuff. Dallas, you’ve been doing that for a few w-weeks now.”
“Crap on a cracker, Stanley!” Dallas exploded. “You mean to tell me that you knew I was a werewolf, and you didn’t say nothing?”
Stanley’s brief glimmer of confidence faltered. “But I th-thought you knew.”
Indignation-soaked anger drove the weakness from Dallas’s legs, and he launched back to his feet.
“Dammit Stanley, we were hunting the werewolf! Looking all over town, tracking down Fancy Dan, dragging him out here, and the whole time,” Dallas seethed, “the entire time you knew that I was the werewolf?”
Stanley’s eyes shifted from Dallas to Lois and back. Nervously, he muttered, “But I d-didn’t think you was the werewolf.”
“Gosh, this is awkward.”
The tinny voice was a fresh bucket of surprise dumped on the already gigantic pile of what-the-hell Dallas was struggling under.
“Herb? You brought Herb?”
In answer, Lois reached into her purse and lifted out the dented Milwaukee’s Best can.
“Yes, I brought Herb, but now isn’t the time to talk about that, or you, or what you’ve done. We need to clean this up and get out of here.”
“I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Thanks, Herb,” Lois said, carefully setting the can on a window sill.
The absurdity of the moment burst through Dallas’s stupor.
“Herby, keep an eye out? He doesn’t have any eyes.” A high-pitched giggle found its way past his lips.
“I can see. Well, I’m not sure if I’d call it ‘seeing.’ Like, I can see you right now Dallas, but I can also see Stanley picking his nose, and Lois, and Fancy Dan’s head over in the corner. All at the same time. That’s not all though. I can see outside the cabin and even a good part of the woods around here. Weird, right?”
Another deranged giggle slipped past Dallas’s lips.
“Oh, that’s great. Stan got snatched up by aliens and she’s a witch and I’m a werewolf and the dead vampire can see the whole wide world from a beer can. This just gets better and better.”
A hard slap to his cheek brought his building rant to an abrupt end.
“I don’t think you appreciate the significance of this situation,” Lois snapped. “I know you’re in shock, and this is a lot to take in, but I repeat – now isn’t the time and this isn’t the place to talk about it. Now get up, scoop up the leftover bits of Fancy Dan, and bury them in the woods. I’ll start cleaning up the blood.”
Still reeling with the discovery that he was a monster, a goddamn monster, and more specifically, a monster that had just killed and gobbled up an innocent man, he couldn’t come up with a better course of action, so Dallas walked over to the closest piece of Dan.
Innocent, maybe, but he was still a douchenozzle, Dallas reasoned, trying to make himself feel just a tiny bit better about the whole ordeal,
“Stanley. Go to my truck. I’ve got a couple of five-gallon buckets in the bed. Empty them out and bring them here while I start gathering up Dan.” A winding pain pulled at his innards. “Actually, scratch that. I gotta crap. I’ll grab the buckets on the way back. You get my shovel and start digging a hole past the tree line.”
Face gone an unfortunate shade of green and lips pursed to hold in his breakfast, Stanley nodded and ran for the cabin door. Dallas followed, holding his stomach and shuffling in a half-crouch toward the small outhouse around the back of the cabin.
Business attended to, Dallas walked back inside, the emptiness in his bowels a hollow shadow compared to the emptiness in his chest. Walking over to the first Dan-bit he could see, he bent down and picked up a severed hand and gave it a perfunctory shake.
“Hi there, nice to meet’cha. I’m the Hero of Trappersville, member of the Society, oh, and a werewolf. A goddamn, bloodthirsty, murdering werewolf.” Voice cracking at the end, Dallas used the hand to wipe at an unexpected tear.
“Dallas!” Lois snapped. “We don’t have all day, so man-up and start scooping dead guy.”
For the next half an hour or so, Dallas hauled bucketfuls of body bits out of the cabin while Stanley dug a hole a few yards into the tree line. After emptying bucket after bucket into the hole, he finished by resting Dan’s head carefully on top, eyes looking up at a crisp, clear October sky. Taking the shovel from Stanley, he moved the pile of dirt on top of the improvised grave. The truth of his nature finally hidden beneath the ground, Dallas levelled the dirt off, patted it down, and covered it with fallen leaves and an armful of small branches. The grave blended in with the surrounding ground, and Dallas gave a satisfied nod. He turned to go back inside, but Stanley grabbed his sleeve.
“What, Stanley? Christ, I just want this nightmare to be done, alright?”
“B-but Dallas. We g-gotta say something, don’t we? For Dan.”
Dallas considered it for a moment. He wasn’t the religious type and would’ve been surprised if Dan was. What good would a few pretty words do for a dead guy? A guy Dallas had murdered?
His mind drifted to Herb. Herb had died, come back undead, got staked and burned to a crisp, and yet somehow was back again. In a really weird sort of way, sure, but still. So what did it really mean to be dead? Was there a heaven? A hell? And if such places existed, which one would a glammed-up ass hat like Fancy Dan go to? Dallas realized how little he actually knew about the man he’d been bowling against for years, which made saying something over his grave even more ridiculous.
“Sorry, Stan. I got nothing. You want to say something, go for it. Just make it quick.
&n
bsp; “Okay, Dallas. Okay. I’ll m-make it quick.” Clearing his throat loudly, Stanley lowered his head and folded his hands.
“So, um. Dear lord or whoever. I mean, maybe God, or B-buddha, or Zoroaster, or Shiva, or,” Stanley frowned and looked up at Dallas. “Who else is there?”
Dallas shrugged, so Stanley plowed ahead. “And whoever else might be up there. Um, we’re gathered here today because Fancy Dan got k-killed, and we hope he’s someplace better. I mean, I know he’s in a hole. Well, some of him. The parts of him that Dallas didn’t eat. But the other part, the part that you can’t eat, we hope that part’s someplace real nice. With, um. D-disco balls and a really big c-closet with lots of real nice clothes. And bowling. Please make sure Dan’s the b-best bowler. Even if maybe, you know, the other folks there could kind of agree to let him win. I th-think he’d like that.”
A lump the size of Dan’s kidney formed in Dallas’s throat. He’d never known Stanley had such a way with words.
Seems like there’s a lot of stuff I never knew, he thought. Believing they’d reached the end of Stanley’s improvised eulogy, Dallas again turned to go when Stanley suddenly spoke again.
“And, um, God-Buddha-Shiva-person, please d-don’t think this was Dallas’s fault. He thought he was keeping people safe. He really is a hero, even if he, um, well, kind of keeps killing the wrong p-people. But he’s trying to do right. Me and Lois and Herb, we’re gonna help ‘cause he’s our friend, and th-that’s what friends do. Amen and Namaste and, ah. Sorry, I don’t know anything other p-prayer words. The end.”
Raising his head, Stanley looked at Dallas. When their eyes met, the tears Dallas had been trying to control broke free. As they streamed down his face, a little bit of the blood, a little bit of the horror, was washed clean.
Chapter 29
With no real idea where else to go, the trio had returned to Dallas’s house. Lois had practically gagged when she walked in and was slapped in the face with the ripe smells of bachelor pad and raw meat.
Monsters in the Midwest (Book 2): Northwoods Wolfman Page 18
