Werewolf Chronicles

by Traci Briery

"It's okay," she said. "Really, it is. I mean, if it's something that's been happening with you and Michael—

  "Him? Why do you think that?"

  "I-I don't know, I'm just guessing," Roxanne said. "But—cops had to take you home one morning, and you were out all last night—Forgive me if I'm just a little bit concerned."

  Phyllis stopped rubbing her forehead and straightened up on the couch. She scratched the back of her head as if in thought, and in fact, tried to start speaking several times. Finally she slumped back again and folded her arms.

  "Cops took me home this morning, too," she said.

  "Whaaat?"

  "They took me to my car, actually," Phyllis clarified. "See, for the last few days—God, I don't even know where to start all this. Maybe I should start with the bizarre dreams."

  "Okay, start there," Roxanne offered.

  "I would, except—I'm not even sure if they are dreams. See—I've been 'dreaming' about—I don't know, like—Have you ever had dreams where it's like you're in a movie, but at the same time you're watching it, too?"

  Roxanne shivered. "Rrrr, yeah, kind of, I guess."

  "Like you're a different person, or a character, I mean, but you're still yourself? It's like that's been happening to me."

  "Now, these are… these are the dreams you're talking about?" Roxanne asked, confused. Phyllis sat up and held Roxanne's arm gently. A light seemed to turn on in her eyes as she spoke further.

  "Yeah, only I wonder just how real they might be," she said in an excited whisper. "I've been dreaming that I'm… that I'm bigger, and stronger than I am now. And I've been running. All night long I'll be running, and jumping, and climbing and running some more."

  "Sounds exhausting!"

  "But it isn't!" Phyllis insisted. "The whole time I'm doing this, it feels really good, you know? And I'm totally, totally free. I just run and do whatever I want, and people run away from me 'cause they're scared shitless."

  "Why would they be scared?"

  " 'Cause I'm so big!" Phyllis said, opening her arms as if to indicate. "In these weird dreams, I'm not me at all, but I am! Does that make any sense?"

  "Yes, but—but how does this explain—?"

  "But the reason I can't figure out if these are dreams or not is, is I keep waking up in bizarre places. The first night I woke up under the Hollywood sign with almost no clothes on, and then this morning I was at Malibu!"

  "Malibu? Are you trying to say that you're sleepwalking all the way to Malibu? Noo, noo, I don't—

  "Sleeprunning is more like it," Phyllis said.

  "I can't believe that. How did you get there? You drove, right?"

  "I told you, cops had to drive me to my car this morning. I had to tell some guy that I'd been attacked before he let me into his house to use the phone. Oh—that's what that message was this morning. Why did Linda get us a machine? What do we owe her?"

  "Don't change the subject," Roxanne warned. "You told someone that you were attacked? Is that what happened?"

  "Nooo, nooo," Phyllis assured. "I just couldn't think of anything else to say. Everyone there lives in a goddamned castle, with moats and—what? Quit looking at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  "Like… look, I wasn't attacked," Phyllis said. "You're looking at me like you think I was lying about that."

  "I don't know what to think," Roxanne said quietly.

  Phyllis smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of her neck.

  "I know," she said. "None of this makes sense."

  "Well, no, it's not that, it's just…"

  "Nan, it doesn't make any sense," Phyllis said, waving it off. "I still need to figure this all out myself first. I should go somewhere quiet tonight. It's not such a big deal, really."

  "Wait, you said you're leaving again?" Roxanne said. "Where? But every time you leave, you… you…"

  "I'm just gonna go to a motel, Rox. It's going to be okay."

  "Why won't you stay here? The same thing'll happen as before if you keep leaving. Phyl… please don't go anywhere tonight. Stay here; I'll be here. We can talk about this and—

  "I can't stay here," Phyllis said, rising from the sofa.

  "But why not?"

  "I just can't!" Phyllis snapped, then quickly calmed herself. "I'm sorry. I mean… it's going to be dark soon. I just can't be here tonight, okay?"

  Roxanne sat in silence for a few moments as Phyllis disappeared into her bedroom to begin packing. Then she stood up quickly to follow her roommate to the doorway.

  "Phyl—"

  "I already know the answer," Phyllis interrupted, "but have you ever tried meditation?"

  "Yeah, I have," Roxanne said. "Uh—why are you asking about that?"

  "What's it like?"

  "I thought you've done it before."

  "I haven't."

  "Oh," Roxanne said, "I could've sworn you have."

  "What's it like?"

  "Ummm…" Roxanne said, straightening up. "It depends on what you're trying to do. To be honest, I haven't really meditated in a while. No time, unfortunately. Usually I'd… relax with it, but mostly to focus myself. My thoughts and feelings."

  "Have you ever done anything like… slow down your heart, or stop breathing or anything like that?"

  "Ummmm… I don't know," Roxanne said. "I mean, yeah, that happens when you're relaxed enough, anyway. You want to slow down your heartrate?"

  "S—s—s—something like that," Phyllis said. "I just wanted to know if you've tried to control your body while meditating. Mind over matter. That kind of thing."

  "Oh." Both women were silent for a time. Roxanne watched blankly as Phyllis finished shoving clothes into her knapsack.

  "I don't want you to leave tonight," Roxanne said finally.

  "Staying here tonight would be even worse," Phyllis said. She gently pushed past her roommate. "Trust me. I'm not sure why, but I just know this."

  "Why?" Roxanne said, ignoring that last comment. "Of course staying here tonight wouldn't be 'worse.' It's Michael, isn't it?"

  "No, I already said it wasn't about him," Phyllis said. "I'm just going to go to some… motel or something. Maybe I'll even camp out somewhere."

  "Here? No way, that's too dangerous. Not by yourself, and not in L.A."

  "I'm going to be okay," Phyllis said. "Jesus, I need a friend, not a mother."

  "I'm not—!"

  "The longer I stick around here, the worse it's going to be, so please!" Phyllis said in frustration. "I swear that I'll be back tomorrow morning, okay? Okay?"

  "Yeah," Roxanne said quietly. "Fine, whatever. Go on, whatever it is you're doing. You going to have cops take you home again, or will you get here by yourself?"

  Phyllis thought of a response, but it was getting late, and she didn't want to leave angry. She glared at Roxanne briefly, however, then mumbled a goodbye and a promise to return. If Phyllis was willing to discuss her new problem with anyone, it was Roxanne, but she couldn't bring herself to tell her much of anything—not until she knew herself what there was to tell.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Phyllis had a vague idea of where some mountains and canyons were. Those would be the closest things to uninhabited areas in Los Angeles on such short notice. She had only mentioned a motel to Roxanne in order to stave off any further argument or delay. Fortunately Roxanne had not had the time to force Phyllis to call the apartment once she had reached whatever she was trying to reach.

  Phyllis's original plan had been to stay locked up tight in her bedroom for the night and try to work through this whole mess. Or not work through it; ideally, ignoring it would make it go away. Then her mind flashed its memories of that smashed-up door at the club, the bizarre dreams that always ended with her waking up half-naked in some remote, almost-godforsaken place. If something was happening to her that made her strong enough to smash down doors, staying at the apartment would do no good. And what of her roommate? No, no one was safe who would be near her. Even so, she should have been heading for
the shrink, not the mountains. Unfortunately the shrinks would charge a lot of money before they would tell her that she was crazy; she would probably find this out for free at the mountains.

  Having left in the early evening, Phyllis expected the usual traffic, which was bumper-to-bumper. The bulk of it had resulted from rubberneckers catching a glimpse of someone being given a ticket. Such sights were so uncommon on southern California's freeways, after all.

  She took the off-ramp that would eventually lead her to Griffith Park. It was the best place that she could think of on such short notice. With more time, she might have gone as far as San Bernadino, but this would have to do. But would it be large enough? It took her a good half hour to wind her way through twisting back roads. She had no idea if there were any official campgrounds at the park, so anywhere smack in the middle would have to suffice.

  She pulled her jalopy off of one of those roads and began driving through and dodging trees and large brush. Any nearby police would have been pleased; what fun it was to haul in reckless drivers! Sunset was nigh, but it was already dark because of the trees. She parked amidst the tallest and thickest of them, flicked on her flashlight, and set to work setting up her essentials.

  She was supposed to be afraid now. After all, this business went against everything that she had been raised to believe: don't be anywhere alone at night. Stay in the car. Murder statistics. Rape statistics. Wild animals. Don't be anywhere alone at night…

  She was not afraid. When the sun went down, others would need to fear her. She couldn't be sure whose or what's blood had been on her hands two mornings in a row, but she was sure that it wasn't hers. A "big, hairy ape-guy" was on the loose. It ran through the streets of Hollywood and tossed people left and right. It tore attack dogs to shreds. It tore some other things to shreds, too. Phyllis was not afraid tonight, except for those who might come near her after she blacked out. If she blacked out. What if she didn't tonight?

  Phyllis finished arranging her gear. Her car's back seats had been pushed down to make a decent-sized sleeping area. She had a sleeping bag spread out, some food, drink, magazines, flashlight, kitchen knife (just in case) and her Walkman, of course. She sat cross-legged in the back seat and pulled out the magazines to flip through. Not that she was reading any of them, but it was comforting to pretend to. She did read the generic horoscopes that promised new and exciting things, especially regarding marital status. Sometimes she amused herself by reading every other word of several different horoscopes at once, usually finding that they made just as much sense that way.

  Bored, she flipped on the Walkman and opened a bag of chips and a diet drink. It was officially dark now. The sun had finished setting, and there was no light save the beam of her flashlight. The trees did a fine job of blocking out even the city lights. She did not finish the chips or drink, but set them beside her as she lay down flat onto the sleeping bag and shut her eyes.

  Her only plan of action that night was to try something repulsively "L.A."—meditation. Clear her mind of all thoughts and feelings, and perhaps the madness and bad dreams would leave her just this one night. Perhaps she would wake up whole and alive, lying flat on her back in her car with nothing on her hands. She pictured herself sitting cross-legged on the beach, the waves lapping at her toes occasionally, their sound keeping time to her breath. She pictured herself taking in deep breaths of the salt air, and she opened her eyes, but only in her mind, and looked out along the horizon. It was night in her mind as well. She pictured herself following a reflection in the water, following it up to its source, which was the moon, bright and round as her flashlight beam.

  This was supposed to be soothing and relaxing. This was supposed to be meditation, yet even this mental image of the moon made her shiver. She found herself unable to look away, nor could she open her eyes for real. She felt herself shaking, followed by sweat. The car was too stuffy; it was too hot, she couldn't breathe. She pushed her bedding away from herself and tugged at her shirt.

  Clear your mind, clear your thoughts, she chanted to herself. Listen to the ocean; it's soothing. It's cool, it keeps you cool! The ocean breeze—it'll keep you cool! Stop sweating! Calm, cool, clear your thoughts, clear your—

  "Miiiiiiind!!" she shrieked, her eyes shooting open. She sat upright and banged her head against the car's roof. The bump wasn't painful; this heat was painful. She tore off her shirt and tangled up the Walkman's wires along with it. With a yell she ripped those away and smashed them against the window.

  From outside, passersby, if any, might have thought that two people were inside the car and were giving in to nature, but would not have thought it was only one woman trying to fight against it. In a last ditch attempt, Phyllis forced herself to take slow, deep breaths and to clear her thoughts. She breathed erratically as before, then a little more slowly, a little more rhythmically. Was it working? It seemed to; the heat was leaving, a little. The shivering calmed itself some. Her mind was emptying itself of thought. She kept up the slow, rhythmic breathing, and dared to open her eyes. The darkness was as thick as ever. She could not see herself, but brought her hands together to feel them.

  Phyllis the woman was allowed one shout before Phyllis the woman went to sleep until morning. It may have been for the best. Her hands and arms no longer resembled Phyllis the woman's, anyway.

  The woman's arms were never as long, lean, strong, and hairy as they were now.

  Phyllis had only eaten rabbit once before, and remembered that she had thought it was extra-small chicken until someone had told her otherwise. It would never have occurred to her that she would remember the smell of a rabbit, but this was what she woke up to on this bright, shiny, and warm morning. She kept her eyes shut for a long time, for various reasons, after regaining consciousness. One was that she was comfortable. The air was warm and clean; she could feel the sun poking its way through treetops to caress her cheeks. The ground was noisy, but soft. She ran her arms up and down slowly, listening to the leaves crinkle and snap, as though making a snow angel in the middle of summer.

  Another reason was that she was afraid of what she would find. More blood? More torn-up clothes? A body, and human this time? She opened her eyes and shielded them from the sun while she turned over. There was blood on her hands, right on schedule. She ran an arm across her mouth. Now her arm was bloody. Leaves had stuck themselves to her body where the red glue had smeared. Some of it had dried; some of it hadn't. She picked them off and was by now not surprised to find tatters where her clothes used to be. This was why she had put spare clothes in the car.

  Her car—! It could be anywhere in this nigh-desolate place. Where had she ended up this time? Was she still in the park, or had she run all the way to Sacramento? Something caught her eye just then. Phyllis found herself staring at a pile of dead animals, mostly squirrels and one rabbit, before looking away in disgust. She stood up and hoped to run from this mess, but almost smacked her knees against a car's bumper. A car bumper? Her car bumper. She had transportation away from this place, and without any miles-long hikes or lifts from helpful authority figures.

  Then it had been rabbits that she'd dreamed about. She could still taste their juicy, but stringy meat, especially since some of it was still in her mouth. She wiped the other arm on her mouth, and now that arm was bloody, too. Brushing the last of the leaves from herself, she went to the car's side mirror and checked out the blood, scratches, and small bruise on her cheek. That was from… from something hitting her. She remembered now. She had hit her face against a tree branch while in hot pursuit of one of her meals. She had been chasing a "four-legger." That's what it was. That's how she perceived them. And people—they were "two-leggers."

  She remembered much more from this night than from the other two nights, yet she still had no memory of hurting, or worse, killing anyone. If it could only stay that way while she sorted out just what had brought about this insanity. She had no desire to be a news statistic—to be the girl who had been "so quiet… unti
l she started killing everybody, of course."

  Phyllis popped the hatchback of the car open and climbed in after her duffel bag. It was foolish of her to stand outside with barely even rags covering her body. Murders and rapes took place in the daytime, too, but her madness only came at night. She grabbed her bottle of water and drank half of it, then poured the rest onto a washcloth and wiped it all over her body. The washcloth was pink when she finished, but only a shower could finish the job. She squirmed into her clothes, crawled over into the front seat, yanked out her purse from under the seat, fished out the keys, and had just barely gunned the motor before shifting into gear and peeling out from her parking spot to speed for a road.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Phyllis forgot to have her keys ready before reaching the door. She wiggled the doorknob silently, then dug around in her purse after it proved to be locked. The door flew open, startling her, and there stood a much paler version of her roommate. Roxanne held the door open in silence and glared accusingly.

  "Um… thanks," Phyllis said breathlessly, pushing past her roommate. Roxanne shut the door behind them in silence while Phyllis headed for the bathroom.

  "I hope I didn't wake you," she called from there.

  "No, I was up," Roxanne mumbled.

  "Have you gone running yet?"

  "Actually… no. I waited here to make sure you got home okay."

  "Oh, you did?" Phyllis said, washing her hands and arms as quickly as she could in the sink. "You didn't have to do that. I told you I'd be home okay."

  "Yeah, well… some people just worry too much, I guess."

  Phyllis finished in the sink and wiped herself with some hand towels. Roxanne had followed her to the bathroom and stood in the doorway.

  "Are you okay this morning?" Phyllis asked.

  "I'm okay," Roxanne answered. "I'm just wondering about you, that's all."

  "Why? I told you I'd be okay," Phyllis said. "Look," she said, spreading her arms. "I'm not hurt. You didn't have to worry about me."

  "Well, maybe I did anyway. I didn't sleep much."