by Mac Flynn
"Where do your parents reside in the town?" he wondered.
"Oh, they don't live in the town, but about three miles outside on a small toy farm. My dad rents it out to a guy who actually knows what he's doing and they grow hay in the fields," I explained.
"That must have been a pleasant place to grow up," he mused.
I nodded my head. "Yeah, it was pretty nice. A little lonely, but I had chickens and sometimes a turkey to keep me company, though the turkey usually disappeared around Thanksgiving." I snorted at the memories. "My dad always said he escaped, and I believed him until I recognized a scar on the turkey one year. He always liked to protect me from-well, from the uglier side of life."
"What will he think of me?" Adam wondered.
"Can you hunt with a gun?"
"Yes."
"Do you eat meat?"
"Very much so."
"Do you like fishing?"
"Often, if I get the chance."
"How's your belching?"
He blinked at me. "I can't tell if you jest with me or if your question is serious."
"Oh, very serious. My dad prides himself on being a good belcher, and when my mom wasn't around he'd like to hold contests between us to see who could belch the longest and loudest."
Adam grinned. "Who won?"
I smiled and shrugged. "Sometimes it was a tie if I'd had a lot of pop that day, but usually it was my dad."
"He sounds like an interesting fellow," Adam commented.
"Quirky. He'd be eccentric, only he isn't rich," I quipped. Adam glanced out the window and I noticed his lips pressed in a firm line. I nudged him and gave him a bright smile. "He'll like you just fine. It's not like I'm bringing home a long-haired hippy, only a werewolf."
The corners of Adam's lips twitched up in a smile. "We needn't tell them the details unless circumstances force us."
"Yeah, I don't know how I'd explain that my boyfriend can become as beardly as a lumberjack in seconds," I quipped.
He chuckled. "It sounds like a trait your father would admire."
"Probably. He always wanted to live off the land, but the farthest we ever got was a garden my mom manages. She's got a pretty green thumb, and during the summer she takes the extra stuff in to sell at the farmer's market," I told him.
"It's most interesting to hear of such normal beginnings for such an entrancing young woman," Adam teased.
I grinned and shrugged. "I know, I don't know where my parents went wrong, but I turned out moderately normal. Anyway, to bring us to the whole reason we're going, do you really think it's a werewolf terrorizing my hometown? I mean, what are the odds?"
"Slim to none, but we must remember Ashton," he reminded me.
I cringed. "You just had to remind me. I just hope if this is a werewolf that they're not as psychotic as Ashton."
"We shall see," he replied.
The long drive was made all the longer by the snowy weather and road conditions. The two hours turned to four, and by the time we reached the crest of the hill that looked over the sleepy valley it was early-afternoon. In winter that meant only a few hours left of daylight. Even with the clock ticking I stopped the car at the crest and admired the view. The valley was a wide, snow-covered serpent that followed the bends and twists of a mountain river. The thick forests stood at the crest even with the car and was hundreds of miles deep. They ran far into the distance to near the tops of the snow-capped mountain peaks.
In the valley lay my hometown. The houses were nestled in neat little rows with a few quirky alleys between the blocks, and one could tell the main street by its nearness to the river and the tiny rows of shops. On the other side of the river and beyond the town opposite where we sat was the farmlands that supplied part of the town's livelihood. The other part was logging, and a large mill stood in the far back of the valley with white, puffy smoke billowing from its steam chimneys. A few inches of snow blanketed everything and a weak sun overhead caused the top of the crunchy snow to sparkle like stars.
"Norman Rockwell could not have painted a better picture," Adam mused.
I smiled. "It is pretty nice, isn't it? Anyway, my parents live on the other side of town, so let's get going."
Chapter 3
We drove down the road and through Main Street. The streets were bustling with activity as people bustled about for winter supplies and general shopping. We passed the familiar ice cream parlor, the drug store, the local jewelers, and even the old-fashioned general store much like the one managed by Agnes and her dad. Main Street was a short road, and the town wasn't very large, so that in a few minutes we left the boundaries of the town and drove into the country.
Adam gripped the handle on his door and the glove compartment as the car drove off the smooth street and onto a pot-hole riddled country road. "Is it always so bad?" he wondered.
"No, sometimes it's worse. They re-paved it ten years ago because somebody lost a tractor in one of the holes. Took two tow trucks to get it out," I told him.
"I see. Then we are fortunate," he mused.
"Don't say that yet. We're not at my parents' home," I reminded him.
He chuckled. "I'm sure there won't be any problems with your parents."
"Only with the werewolf," I returned.
He looked ahead and pursed his lips. "Perhaps, but I hope my intuition is wrong."
"And what exactly is your intuition telling you?" I asked him.
The corners of his lips twitched up. "That either there is another werewolf prowling these magnificent woods, or that you work for a disreputable online news site."
I snorted. "Cute. Well, you might be teasing me, but I'm hoping for the disreputable option." I leaned forward and glanced out the front windshield. "Looks like we're almost there. That's the turn." I nodded at a mailbox and a plowed gravel road.
Adam scrutinized the box and raised an eyebrow. "Why does it have the name 'Rogers' on the box?"
I sighed. "My dad's middle name is Buck, and he always wished his last name would have been that so he could have had a catch-phrase."
Adam started back. "In all the excitement I haven't asked your parents' names."
"Ralph and Anna," I told him.
"Those are very nice names," he commented.
"They work." I pulled onto the driveway and fifty yards away stood my old home.
It was an old, two-story white farmhouse with a covered porch on the front. It sat at an angle so the house faced toward the driveway and a circular gravel barnyard. Opposite the house was a large, red gable barn with a pair of large doors and a few square windows on the sides. The old station wagon sat in the barnyard, and I parked my car behind the other vehicle.
Even before I shut off the engine the creaky old screen door flew open and my mom hurried out. She was a woman of fifty-five with dark brown hair and a smile that brightened her pretty face. My mom moved with the agility of an angel, and the strength of a muscle man. She cleaned the floors and managed a half acre of garden behind the house.
Adam stepped out and was mobbed by her love. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug that would have broken a normal man. "Oh my, aren't you the handsomest young man I've ever seen!" she squealed.
"Mom!" I scolded her. My cheeks were redder than the barn as I marched around the car and pulled on one of her arms. "He's not here to have his back rearranged!"
"Oh, pish-posh. I'm sure such a strong young man is just fine," she replied, but she did release him from her bone-crushing hug. She took a step back and admired him from afar. "My, my. . ." she muttered.
Adam held out his arms to show off his physique. "Do I pass?" he teased.
"With flying colors." She sighed and shook her head. "Oh, if only I was twenty years younger."
"Twenty years ago you were still married to Dad," I reminded her.
"Twenty-six then, but I am very glad to meet you, Mr.-"
Adam held out his hand. "Adam Smith," he introduced himself.
She gave his hand a hearty shake. "
A pleasure, Adam. My name is Anna Monet, but you can call me Annie. Everyone else does."
"Annie!" came a yell from the barn.
Mom cupped a hand around her mouth. "What is it, Ralph?" she called back. Adam cringed. He was in the line of fire with my mom's loud call.
"Those kids here-" One of the barn doors opened and my dad peeked his head out. He was a balding man at the front of his head, of medium height, and the clearest hazel eyes I'd ever seen. When he was up to mischief they sparkled like glistening nuts, and represented his insanity perfectly. His eyes fell on the three of us and my car, and a sheepish grin slid onto his lips. He stood straight, stepped out in a large red hunter's jacket and pants, and closed the door behind himself. "I see you two made it," he commented as he walked over to us.
"And with not a moment to spare. I was just about to pull dinner out of the oven," Mom spoke up. She herded us into a small pack and pushed us inside.
I was glad for the change in location because the house was as warm and comfortable as I remembered. There were the framed photos on the walls of my growing up, the little knickknacks from our visits to beaches and through the woods, and some old maps. The dining room off to the left was no less cluttered with oddities, some of which rivaled even Adam's collection. The trinkets were placed inside a giant china hutch made of sturdy oak wood, and through the glass you could see all our most treasured items. There were old parts to first-generation tractors, rust-covered tools that were several centuries old, and then there was the crowning achievement on the top shelf. A large collection of small skulls, cleaned and staring straight at the table. There were squirrels, rabbits, mice, and other assortments of woodland creatures.
Adam couldn't help noticing we had an audience on the top shelf. He nodded at the fine bone collection. "You have a fine collection of skulls, Mr. Monet."
My dad snorted as he took his seat at the head of the small, rectangular dining table. "They're not mine, they're Anna's."
"It's a guilty pleasure," my mom spoke up before she whisked herself away to the kitchen that lay beyond a doorway to the rear of the house.
"How-um, very unusual," Adam commented.
Dad shook his head. "Weird, if you ask me, but if I don't humor her I don't get to keep my fine tools." The fine tools he referred to were the rusted bits of metal on the shelf below the skulls.
"Those rusted things might hurt someone," my mom argued as she flew into the room. Her hands and arms were laden with trays, bowls and a giant soup tureen.
"You have wonderful agility, Mrs. Monet," Adam complimented.
She smiled at him. "Annie, and thank you. It's from my time working as a waitress at the drive-in when I was a teenager. You had to be nimble and quick, or Jack, he was the owner, would pinch your bum to get you moving." She sighed as she set the food down on the table. "Oh, how it would make us squeal, but he always gave us a good tip at the end of summer just for working for him."
"I don't see any new skulls," I spoke up.
With all the food in place my mom took her seat at the end of the table. She frowned at my comment. "That's because your father keeps distracting me from going. He's afraid I'll get eaten or something."
"I'm not going to have you end up like that livestock over at Old Greg's place," he argued.
"The life-cycle isn't going to wait for those silly gossips to stop their yammering," Mom countered.
"What yammering?" I asked them.
Mom sighed and shrugged. "Just some stuff about a wolf. I'm sure it's all a mistake, and somebody saw a coyote."
"But Old Greg's seen it, and he says it isn't a coyote. It was too big," my dad argued.
"Where's it been seen?" I wondered.
My dad waved his hand in the direction of the hills. "Just up there in the trees. Mostly around old Eb's place. He's been prattling on about seeing the thing, talking to anybody who'll listen and a lot of people who won't."
Mom frowned at him. "I'm sure he means well, Ralph. He's just-well-"
"A loon," my dad finished for her. "Nobody in their right mind would live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere all alone."
I snorted, and my mom glared at my dad. "Ralph!"
He shrugged. "What? It's a lot of trouble living out there. I should know. I had to do an expose in college on one of the local loons and I nearly ended up getting my head cut off by his ax."
"That poor old woodsman was short-sighted and mistook you for a bear. There's nothing wrong with that," Mom argued.
"I was still using my head," he countered.
"Well, whatever the reason, I'm sure there's nothing more dangerous in those woods than a sprained ankle. The gophers were something terrible last summer," my mom commented.
My eyes flickered to Adam. He absorbed everything they said. I hoped he didn't take too much of their local gossip in or he'd end up as bad as some of the old ladies in town.
My dad turned his attention to Adam. "So, young man, I haven't heard your name, yet."
"Adam Smith, sir," Adam replied.
"Ralph, if you will. I'm old enough as it is with my daughter bringing home a young man for me to torture and harangue," Dad quipped.
"Dad!" I hissed as my cheeks resembled ripened cherries.
My dad shrugged, but there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "What? A father's got to have his hobbies, and you haven't let me indulge in this one since high school."
Adam raised an eyebrow, and I recognized the same evil twinkle in his eyes as in my dad's. "Since high school? Has there been others before me?"
Dad set his elbow on the table and leaned over towards us. His grin broadened to devilish proportions. "She hasn't told you about Stinky Peterson?"
"Mom!" I cried to my other parent for help.
"Ralph, dear, wouldn't you like to save some stories for another night? I'm sure these two are tired and hungry, and the soup's getting cold," Mom spoke up. She lifted the tureen lid for emphasis and a steam arose from the thick, yellowish broth. The scent of turkey wafted across the table and my dad inhaled deeply.
"Perhaps you're right, Annie." He turned to us as my mom laded the soup into the bowls. "So how long are you two staying for? Annie mentioned a week."
"About that long," Adam agreed.
"And you'll be staying in the extra bedroom, Mr. Smith?" he persisted.
"Dad!" I scolded him.
"He can stay in whichever bedroom he wants," Mom spoke up.
"Not ours. I'm still using that bed," my dad quipped.
I groaned and slumped down in my chair. This was going to be a long week.
Chapter 4
The rest of the meal was uneventful, or as uneventful as any meal was with my parents. They were a pair to be admired, envied, and concerned about. Perhaps it was the fresh air, the great scenery, or the isolation, but they were odd ducks. Collecting oddities other people would consider junk, bantering like-well, like an old married couple, and torturing me, their only child, into fits of embarrassment.
I was glad when the meal was finished and we all stood from the table. The hour was six, and outside night reigned over the land.
"Did you want any help with the dishes, Annie?" Dad asked my mom.
"I could do with an extra pair of hands," she agreed.
My dad grabbed my shoulders and pushed me toward the doorway to the kitchen. "Get to it, Chrissy, while Adam and I discuss a few important matters."
"You let him be and come help me," Mom insisted. She piled dishes into my dad's arms, grabbed him by the wrist, and dragged him into the kitchen.
I did the same to Adam, minus the piling of the dishes. "Come on, before my dad gets free," I whispered.
I led him to the entrance hall and up the stairs to the second floor. There were three small rooms and a bathroom up there, with two doors on either side of the long hall. I dragged him to the two at the end of the hall on opposite walls, and into the left-hand room. It was a simple bedroom with a queen-size bed covered in homemade quilts spun by my mom. A
dresser stood to the left of the bed, and a window on the right and in front of us just to the left of the bed. It was small, but cozy.
"This is the spare bedroom where you'll be staying," I told him.
"I would much rather see yours," he commented.
I rolled my eyes, but jerked my head in the direction behind us. "I'm across the hall, and my parents are next door to me. The bathroom's against your wall."
Adam stepped forward to the end of the bed and let his eyes sweep around the room. They rested on the quilt, and his hand touched the material. "I don't believe I've seen a better work."
I walked over and plopped myself on the end of the bed. "Yeah, my mom's really fond of making quilts. She even takes pictures and uses them as designs. Just be glad she gave you this one and not the one with the picture of her skull collection. She sometimes brings it out to show it off to people," I told him.
Adam chuckled and seated himself by my side. "Your parents are very interesting."
"And nuts," I added.
He looked at me with kindness and lustful affection in his eyes. "I can see the resemblance."
I blushed under his heated gaze. "And they have really great hearing, so any plans for fun will have to wait."
Adam sighed and stood. "Then I suppose we should carry in our bags and settle ourselves into our rooms."
We'd packed light so it was a single trip to the car and back inside the house. My parents met us by the stairs with our bags still slung over our shoulders and our feet facing towards the stairs.
My dad clapped his pruny hands together, evidence of his having washed, and looked between Adam and me. Behind him came my mom. "So what do you two want to do after you finish unpacking? There's the TV, polishing Annie's skull collection, or we could play some strip poker," he suggested.
"Dad!" I growled.
"Actually, I wanted Chris to show me the woods," Adam spoke up.
Mom's eyes widened and she gestured to the windows. "But this late, and in the snow? You could get lost," she fretted
"I'm sure Chris hasn't forgotten the paths. Not with as much as she's described to me," Adam countered.
