Fatal Moon

by L. E. Perry

  Jordan felt his stomach turn, then something at the other end of the creature caught his attention and he watched in horror as the monster's spine extended like a telescope. Throughout the process, Carl's skin appeared to be slowly turning gray as thick fur grew from every follicle. The tail was the last to be covered with fur, which shot out to several inches in length. Once the scene played out, it took several moments for Jordan to realize that there was nothing left of Carl. In his place lay a large gray wolf, panting as if exhausted.

  Unable to think of an appropriate response to the situation, Jordan went with his last orders as he tried to catch his breath. It seemed like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. He breathed hard for several minutes, trying to get enough air, then checked the time and wrote it down, trying to hold the phone’s camera steady as he jotted down the pertinent details in a notebook, always returning his gaze to the wolf. What the hell had just happened? Carl was gone. There was a wolf in his place. Jordan had watched the change occur, and he didn’t trust his senses, but he had it on video. He’d have to review what the camera captured to see if it matched what he thought he just saw.

  They stared at each other until the wolf pulled its lips back to growl, then leapt abruptly at the barred metal door. The notebook flew as Jordan jumped back in fear for his life, or his soul. The wolf shoved its paw between the bars, reaching out for him as it tried to chew on the metal. It wasn't long before the gnawing stopped.

  The wolf stared again at Jordan, then appeared to dismiss him. It pulled its leg back in and rose to inspect its prison, pacing along the walls and sniffing carefully. The walls were covered with vertical bars of steel, and there was a cage around the light in the ceiling as well as the small window in the top of the far wall. It proceeded to sniff the floor and walls, stopping in several places to test the metal with teeth and claws. It stood up on its hind legs to place its front paws on the wall, checking the high, short window, then paced back and forth a few times, and stood up on its hindquarters to scratch higher on the door, before turning around to sit, staring at Jordan with eerily human blue eyes. Jordan hadn't moved or blinked since he had marked the time, and he wasn’t inclined to, aside from blinking to quell the stinging in his eyes. He sat down, motionless. It was more than an hour later when he finally moved, his muscles protesting the tense inactivity. He sat down slowly and pulled his pistol from the holster. He flicked the safety off, pulled the slide back to load it, and set it down next to him, still eyeing the wolf.

  "Carl?" Jordan whispered. The wolf's ears swiveled to the front. "Carl," Jordan said, more loudly. The wolf showed no sign of comprehension. "Carl, if that's you, give me a sign." The wolf remained still, watching him. Jordan shuddered as he considered what he might do if the wolf attacked him. His fear of the supernormal creature before him warred with his need to protect Carl from this thing that had taken over his body. His mind shifted erratically from the belief that this was Carl who sat before him, to the idea that this was a monster superficially resembling a wild animal and that Carl wasn't any part of the shaggy grey form behind the bars.

  Through the rest of the night, he and the wolf stared at each other, the beast moving just once to drop to its belly and rest its head on its paws.

  After what seemed like days to Jordan, one of the wolf’s hind legs twitched. Jordan's eyes were stinging again, so he blinked, then quickly glanced at his watch. It was nearly 7:00 am. He stared at the wolf, wishing he could press his eyes closed for a few moments, but he'd let them burn forever if the wolf would become Carl – or any human at all – again. Less than a minute later, there was another twitch, more violent in the forequarters, and the wolf twisted to bite at its flanks. It was completely still for another minute or two before it arched its back suddenly and began to drool. Expecting something just as shocking as before, Jordan took out his phone to document the incident with the camera on his phone. The melting, shifting process began again, in reverse, but the fur and claws remained behind, falling out in patches all over the body of the transforming creature. The tail telescoped back in as the face flattened inward, the arms and legs lengthened, feet shortened, and paws resolved themselves into fingers while claws fell out and nails grew into place. The wolf became Carl, and Jordan was desperately gasping for air again. His vision began to fade, and he blacked out.

  When Jordan came around, he saw Carl lying motionless, curled in on himself and naked in the incandescent light. Bits of fur still clung to his damp skin. Jordan was half inclined to go in and cover him; Carl had to be cold in the chilled air of the basement. Carl whimpered, then was still. His head was tucked in, so Jordan couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. Ten minutes later, nothing had changed.

  "Carl," Jordan whispered desperately. Carl's flesh was covered with goosebumps, but he didn't shiver. What if he was dead? The loss of air had to have affected him as well. What had happened to the air? Had the transformation somehow sucked all the oxygen out of the room? "Carl!" Jordan nearly shouted. Carl finally shuddered, then uncurled slowly. His skin was pale, almost translucent. Carl sighed, hardly looking at Jordan. His eyes were unfocused. He shivered again.

  "Carl… You okay?" Jordan asked, not really wanting to open the door and check, but not willing to see Carl die, if that was what was happening. Carl watched Jordan's form as Jordan walked up to the bars.

  "I’m conscious," Carl breathed, his drive to submit scientific observations taking over.

  Jordan looked at his motionless body. What would a butler do? "Can I get you a blanket, a robe, something?"

  Carl was still for a moment, then answered, "A blanket."

  "Where?"

  It took Carl a while to answer. He was staring at the wall. "Hall closet, top of the stairs, by your room."

  Jordan yawned. He hadn't slept in twenty-four hours, and he was beyond exhausted. He jogged up to get the blanket, came back downstairs with a down comforter, found the release on the metal door and pressed it, watching the door open. Carl was still staring at the wall when Jordan moved forward to kneel and drape the comforter over him.

  Jordan sat back on the heels of his black street boots. "How do you feel?" he asked. After quite some time, Jordan decided Carl wasn't going to answer, then a wispy voice filtered through the quilt.

  "Fine."

  Jordan swore. "The hell you do! You're tired... lethargic... apathetic or... something…” Calling Carl out made the situation hit home for Jordan, and he felt as if the entire world tilted under his feet for a moment. Looking at Carl, who was currently human, Jordan managed, “Are you hungry?"

  Carl paused before nodding.

  Jordan could see he wasn't going to get much out of Carl, so he went up to the kitchen to get some food. He found bread and a leftover Cornish game hen, still prepackaged the way the gourmet stores sold them; pre-stuffed, precooked, just heat and serve. What Carl meant when he said the kitchen was stocked Jordan didn't know, but right now he didn't want to take time to find out. He took both the bread and the hen down. If Carl was anywhere near as hungry as Jordan was, he'd eat both.

  But Carl wasn't in the room when Jordan returned, only the comforter was. Carl's clothes were still strewn across the floor.

  Jordan heard a click down the hall, and strode down the corridor with the food. He found a laboratory of sorts and Carl, stark naked, was pulling a scalpel out of a drawer. Jordan watched in silence, until Carl placed the scalpel against his wrist. Jordan dropped the food and lunged at him, grabbing his arms from behind and prying them apart. He felt something wet and warm against his hands, and prayed he wasn't too late. Wrestling Carl over, he knelt on Carl's chest, binding his right hand to his side, yanking the tiny, razor-sharp blade from Carl's hand. Carl fought like a beast, then collapsed, panting. Jordan was glad for his own wrestling experience. Carl was covered with sweat and blood, and stronger than he looked. Jordan checked Carl's wrists. They were fine. So where had the blood come from? He started methodically checking
Carl's body. Carl gave no further resistance. There was blood spattered everywhere, but he quickly found the wound on Carl's belly, where Carl's hand had been when Jordan had grabbed for the blade. Jordan blanched as he saw how low on the abdomen the cut was. That swipe could easily have done damage to what most men considered a very important part of their anatomy.

  "Leave me the bloody hell alone," Carl hissed, staring at the wall.

  "That's not you talking, Carl," Jordan answered, holding Carl down with one hand as he looked around for something to stanch the bleeding.

  "I haven't been myself for months. Just… Let. Me. Die."

  "If you meant to die, you wouldn't have hired me. I intend to understand this before I let you go making permanent plans for a temporary mood. You’re going to take at least a few days to think it through, and I’m going to spend that time figuring out why you feel this way."

  Carl didn't speak for a while. "I'm tired of it all, Jordan," he murmured finally. "I just want to get it over with.”

  "If you die, I'll have to hire a lawyer to get my pay. Plan on living, if I have to chain you up."

  "No!" Carl yelped, and wrenched free of Jordan's tight grip. Jordan grabbed Carl's arm and twisted it behind Carl's back.

  "Agh!” Carl exclaimed. “Jordan, let me go! Set me free. I can't stand this. I feel – trapped."

  Jordan assessed Carl thoughtfully. "So, this is about being caged? Have you felt this way before?"

  Carl glared at the wall, his blue eyes fierce in the harsh laboratory lights. "I've never been insane before!" he gritted through his clenched teeth.

  “Have you ever been caged before?” Jordan asked. He could make no sense of the physical transformation, but he’d seen it twice now, once in each direction, so he had to accept it until he found a better explanation for what he’d seen. The man, however, he was sure he could figure out. And he’d better figure him out, his life might depend on it. "You're not insane, Carl, or we both are, despite your promises that it's not contagious."

  Carl continued to glare.

  "You're… a,” Jordan whispered, “… a werewolf," Jordan shuddered as he heard the nonsensical words fall out of his mouth.

  "Bullshit!" Carl shot back at him, with a look of revulsion. Jordan wondered if Carl was possessed. It seemed just as likely as watching him become a wolf. Carl had never been violent before, even on the football field. His classmates called him ‘The Earl,’ with his British accent and civilized way of handling the game. The Carl he had known had been a calm, gracious person, if somewhat ignorant about other lifestyles.

  "I watched you. You changed into a... a wolf," Jordan said while fumbling for his phone in his back pocket. He paused to fight down his own revulsion at the same time he retreated logically into a more academic view of the incident.

  "Do you know how many different cultures have myths about shape-changers?” Jordan remarked slowly, hoping to calm Carl. “I used to wonder why.” Carl continued to stare him right in the eyes. Not like a lunatic, not like a demon, more like an angry young man, a side of Carl he’d never seen in several years of shadowing him in the school halls and the football field. "Apparently… there's some truth to it… and you're the proof. Whatever happened last night, it's no excuse for dying," Jordan paused, thinking for a moment that, actually, it might be. "Not until you know why. If you can't stand it, cure it. And tonight, you might not want to stay in the room." Jordan saw a hint of relief in Carl's eyes, confirming his suspicions. Jordan recalled hearing somewhere that a wolf denied its freedom would die. Maybe it was true. “And tonight, you’re not staying in that cage."

  Carl hadn't struggled for a while now, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. He was still naked, which Jordan found disconcerting, as Jordan had never cared to be seen naked at all, by anyone. He had very little lighting in his bedroom for that reason. The closet he’d lived in under the stairs in L.A. had been ideal.

  "Are you actually hungry, or was that just a ruse?" Jordan asked.

  "I'm hungry – starving, really. I'm always ravenous on these mornings. Except at times when I wake up with the taste of... blood... in my mouth and bits of... something like fur on my face." Carl looked sick.

  Jordan felt his gorge rise, but he kept a straight face for Carl's sake. "Let me take care of this cut, then I'm going up to the kitchen and you're going with me. And for Christ’s sake, you're putting some clothes on!" Jordan lifted Carl to his feet. Carl wobbled. "You have a first aid kit here somewhere?"

  Carl pointed to a drawer, and Jordan found it stocked with alcohol, swabs, gauze and tape. Jordan swabbed the cut with alcohol, and Carl's abdomen tightened in shock. Jordan noted the apparent tone of Carl's muscles, and he began to devise a workout plan for upper body as he folded gauze and taped it down. "That'll hurt when you rip it off," he remarked.

  "It's only fuzz – it comes out a great deal easier than the hair on my legs." Carl was leaning against the counter, his legs trembling. Jordan helped him to the steel room, which Carl refused to go into. Carl stopped to grab the hen off the floor in the hallway while Jordan picked up the quilt. They went upstairs, and Carl began to rip hunks of meat off the bird, chewing briefly before swallowing. Disgusted, Jordan wondered if Carl would choke, but it didn't happen. This was not the fastidious Carl he knew from the high school cafeteria. After devouring the meal, Carl turned to go up the next set of stairs, yawning. Jordan grabbed a loaf of French bread and followed him up to his bedroom where Carl collapsed, immediately falling asleep. An exhausted Jordan remained to watch him, cramping himself into an uncomfortable position so that he wouldn't fall asleep himself, ripping off chunks the loaf of bread and chewing. He felt himself drifting off soon after, and stood to pace back and forth. He finally decided to lean up against Carl's bed and sleep.

  The next thing Jordan knew, something had moved and he was on his feet, whirling around in a crouch. Carl was awake, and rolling over to put on a robe. "Where you going?" Jordan growled.

  "I'm going to the john. Is that all right with you?"

  "I'll go with you."

  "Have it your way, then."

  Carl made no attempt to take his life with Jordan watching him closely, but he didn’t make any apologies either, and his mood hadn't improved. He went to a room on the main floor which had a two-story curved wall covered with ornate, wooden bookshelves and a ladder on wheels. Carl sat down in a recliner. Jordan sat in another. Carl pulled out a remote control, and a modern, roll-top, mahogany door on one of the flat walls slid away to reveal a large television. Carl flipped through hundreds of channels three times before Jordan reached over and took the remote control away.

  "Are you interested in my notes? Or the video I took?" Jordan asked. Carl shook his head. Jordan was sure, now, that this was a sudden difference. Last night Carl had hardly been aware of the world for his interest in his notes, but his attitude had changed since the transformation. Jordan flicked the channel switch a few times and landed on a Three Stooges show. He hadn’t even had a chance to settle in before the horrific events of last night interrupted the tour Carl was giving him. He wanted to check out the house, unpack, look at supplies, start writing lists. Looking over at Carl, he sighed inwardly. Jordan wasn't going anywhere until Carl's eyes focused again. Of course, since Carl wasn’t wearing his glasses, he probably couldn't see very well. The screen was most likely a blur.

  Jordan looked around to see if there was anything Carl could use to hurt himself with here. Carl had only slept for two hours and Jordan was still utterly exhausted. He had to sleep even if Carl didn't. He noticed a tiny sword on a small figure in the bookcase and got up to look at it. It was a letter opener. He took the sword from the scabbard and tucked it into his pocket sideways, so it wouldn't stab him when he sat down. He found no other obvious hazards, and went to lie down against the door and fall asleep.

  Four hours later, something suddenly dug into his back. He sprang up, knocking Carl against the wall behind them in th
e process. Carl must have been trying to open the door. Jordan grabbed Carl’s shoulder, pinning him against the wall. "You could ask," he hissed, his face barely six inches from Carl's. Jordan stepped back, exhaled, and decided he was done trying to sleep for the day. Carl walked through the doorway, down the hall, and out the front door. Jordan followed. Rain was falling softly, shrouding the trees in gray, and turning the rich lawn into a diamond-studded emerald carpet. It was impossible to tell the direction of the sun in the overcast sky. Carl stepped down the staircase and headed toward the tree line.

  Jordan wished he had left the sword in the library before following Carl. It had slid down in his pocket and was now jabbing his thigh. He caught up with Carl at the edge of the forest and found him leaning into a tree, his forehead against his arm. From the shaking of his shoulders, he must be crying. Jordan hadn't the faintest idea what to do about that since he himself couldn’t remember crying more than twice in the past twenty years. Not publicly, not even in front of his own mother. It made him uncomfortable to watch Carl like this, but he couldn’t leave him by himself. He wasn't ready to trust the young man with his own life yet.

  The rest of the day was just as disturbing. Carl wandered listlessly in the rain, resisting Jordan's attempts to get him inside where he'd be dry. At six o'clock that evening, Jordan stood in the front doorway and looked over at Carl, who sat at the base of the front steps getting wet. Jordan had thrown a jacket over his shoulders again, and it hadn't fallen off yet.

  "Carl, you're not staying in the room tonight," Jordan stated.

  Carl nodded.

  "That means you could be anywhere when you wake up."

  No response.

  "There aren't any phones out there."

  No response.

  Jordan cursed under his breath. Carl was not interested in helping, obviously. How could Carl let Jordan know where he was? It’s not like he could take an air horn with him as a wolf. But, if he howled... Jordan would have to stay up all night again, listening. And if Carl didn't howl, well…