by Molly Snow
“Oh, I guess so. I mean…, am I getting married?”
A blush brush fluffed across Stella’s cheeks one more time. “Pink is a lovely color on you. You look so alive.”
“Um. Thanks?”
“Oh, don’t forget to have me show you the latest in anti-aging serums. It’s an over-the-counter product, and works like a charm. I swear by it. Some other time, though. Today is your big day.”
Stella noticed the white veil puffing to the sides of her face, and looked down to her matching gown and gloves. How could she forget such a big event like this? “What’s my groom’s name?”
The woman touched her chest with a spurting laugh. ‘“What’s my groom’s name?’ You are too funny.”
Stella’s mind felt fuzzy. Everything made sense, but didn’t. She rubbed at her forehead and it felt like ice.
“Oh, honey, you aren’t getting cold feet are you?” She snickered. “Sorry, old zombie joke. Have no worries. It will be great.”
The next moment, Stella was prodded to exit the beauty parlor right outside to a cemetery. It was dark out and the wind blew her veil mystically around her. The place smelled like worms. She glanced all around, and saw no one, so she turned to re-enter the salon… only it wasn’t there anymore.
The sound of an organ playing “Here Comes The Bride” started up, and she whipped around toward the music. A man tickled the ivories, right there, in the graveyard, wearing an old suit and top hat.
“What’s going on? Where am I?” she timidly asked him.
He just turned to her, with a smile, and continued eerily playing the wedding tune.
The next moment, there was grunting and moaning all around. She spotted ancient hands thrusting out from beneath the earth. Caskets burst open and out limped corpses with patchy hair, missing noses, crusty or holey skin. They moaned some more, and Stella put her hands to her face in horror. She searched for a place to run off to, but the graveyard seemed endless, the decrepit bodies everywhere. Tombstones stole her attention, labeling never-ending rows of the dead—Lucille Butte, Sarah Butte, David Butte, Carrie Butte, Ebineezer Butte. Jim, John, Jason, Jerome. Butte. Butte. Butte. Butte!
A corpse with bedraggled remains of red hair and a squashed and pink hat approached Stella, hobbling from among the horde. Stella wished she could sink away into herself. It was too much to take in.
“My dear,” her gravelly voice said as sweetly as a corpse could speak, and she reached a crusty hand to Stella’s arm, “it is so good to have you join the family. I am so proud of my Billy boy.”
A dead preacher appeared to her right. “Are we ready?” he asked, wearing a dirty and tattered priest’s raiment.
“N-no,” Stella said. “No. Stay back. Stay back.”
“Cold feet,” the groom’s mother said.
“Cold feet,” the priest agreed.
“Cold feet,” the others echoed.
Billy suddenly emerged, taking his place beside the priest, and in front of Stella. “Cold feet?” He tilted his head. At least his skin wasn’t falling off. In fact, he looked perfect as usual—light curls and intoxicating gray eyes.
“I’m scared,” she told him.
“There’s nothing to be scared about anymore. We’re together, my love.” He lifted her pale cold hand and kissed it with his even colder lips.
“Do you take this man…,” the preacher started.
“I don’t. No. I don’t,” Stella choked out and took a step back. Her heel snapped into one of the guest’s foot bones. “Ew!” She stepped forward.
“…To be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“No.”
“…To have and to hold.”
“I said no.”
“…In sickness and in, well, sickness.”
“I don’t. Please. I say no, no, no, no.”
“Love, you are just like me now. Everything will be perfect now. Just say yes.”
“I’m not like you, Billy.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
He gave a little wave for someone to come forward. It was the woman from the salon, threads still tying her skin together. She lifted a mirror for Stella to see herself. Stella reluctantly looked at the reflection—she had no skin whatsoever. Worms slithered through her cheek muscles and out her hollow eye sockets. “Aaaaaah!”
~~~~
Stella woke up, her breathing shallow and sweat across her forehead.
THIRTY-TWO
Maggie joined Stella and the rest of the PAA at an outdoor lunch table. “Hi! What are you doing here?” Stella asked her friend, surprised.
“Just dropping by.” A Shoreline High visitor’s pass stuck to Maggie’s shirt, saying, “Patty Simcox.” Stella eyed it, but decided against asking what story Maggie told the office ladies. “We all need to talk some more. I’ve come up with a plan.”
“A plan?” they all said.
“Yes.” Maggie opened a sack and pulled out a banana. “Stella, you’ve got to ask Damien on a date.” She pointed with the piece of fruit.
“What?!” Stella could have choked on her sandwich. That was the last thing she expected to be said.
“Yeah. Think about it. Gordon’s probably right. The scanner blinked in Damien’s hands. He kept asking about werewolves. There were werewolf tracks around the inn. He’s strong, and incredibly sexy. Hottie is a werewolf. And what we need right now, what you need right now, is a werewolf.”
“Crap! You guys, he just asked me on a date the other day and I refused. I am tired of the merry-go-round. I do not want to ask Damien Capernalli on a date!”
Kit eyed her friend mischievously. “I know something you don’t know.”
“What?”
“Damien told me, back at the inn, that he was going to say yes to you asking him out. You know, that night Caleb and I had you follow through with your dare.”
“But he said no.”
“Did he really? Or did he say he had plans, and you went all ‘bi-polar’ on him?”
“Huh?” She jogged her memory and that actually seemed plausible. “Is that what he said? I went all bipolar on him?”
“Yeah.” Kit laughed. “The guy has been interested in you from the start. Give the wolf a chance. You know you want him.”
“Kit! You think he is a werewolf too?”
“Hey, I was the one who told you all he was turning into some sort of a monster. Totally. He is a wolf.”
Stella had been thinking about it off and on all last night. She remembered the picture of the werewolf on Gordon’s blog, of a beast by Damien’s jeep. She also couldn’t forget how Gordon was certain he saw a beast on their date, when in actuality he Tased Damien. The more she thought about it, the more it seemed possible. “But why? Why should I ask him on a date?”
“Well,” Maggie said, “if you are comfortable with us point-blank asking him if he’s a werewolf, then okay—he’s right over there.”
Stella turned around to see Damien standing in line to buy a Pepsi and Doritos with a couple of his friends. As if sensing her, he turned to look. She flitted her eyes away. Gah, he was still cute as ever.
“We should probably be really careful about this,” Kit said, lowering her voice, and sounding worried. “We can’t just confront him. He probably needs to earn our trust to open up. We saw how secretive he behaved on the trip. And Stella, if he likes you, then…”
“Exactly my point,” Maggie said, and Caleb slowly nodded.
Gordon added, “I hate to agree, but asking him on a date does sound like a good idea. While you two are alone, he can open up to you.”
“…But Gordon. Look what happened to you, when we went on a date. I don’t want that to happen again to someone else. I’m not comfortable with that.”
They sat there, stumped. Caleb tore into his beef stick before his eyes opened wide, like a light bulb just lit above his emo hairdo. “Bingo,” he said. “I got it. If Billy is stalking Stella, then we just have to outsmart him. Stella, we need you to meet up w
ith Damien somewhere. Have it look like you were just hanging out with me and Kit or something. Then, when the time is right, we get you and Damien alone together. That way it won’t look like a date. That way, we can keep an eye on things, too, in case Billy tries lurking around. He probably won’t attempt anything in public; we can go somewhere really busy, really hopping.”
The only thing hopping in Shoreline were the frogs. The population sign at the edge of town barely broke the seven-thousand mark last spring. “Have you forgotten where we live, Caleb? The biggest news around here is the ninety-nine cent pancake special at KD’s Diner. No, there is nothing hopping about this place.”
“Nothing hopping right now,” Kit said. “But next week is The Deathheads’ Reunion Tour, just forty-five minutes from here.”
A voice over the school’s speaker-system, interrupted: “Mrs. Patty Simcox, please report to room thirty-two.”
Maggie stood right up. “Gotta go, guys. Keep talking. This sounds really good.”
Kit and Caleb eyed Stella as if awaiting something.
“What?” Stella finally asked.
“We’re waiting for you to ask Damien on a date,” Caleb said.
Stella fingered her long hair and huffed, feeling her heart rate speed up. “I’m having major déjà vu right now.”
“You gotta do it,” Kit said. “Ask him to go to the concert with you. I’ll even give up my ticket so it can happen.”
“Man…” She didn’t want to do this. Okay, so she lied to herself; a big part of her did want to do this. The part of her who wanted a date, with or without her current situation with Billy.
Now Gordon eyed her expectantly. “Would you rather have me tell him you like him?” he asked.
“No, that is so fifth grade. I can do it.”
“You can do it,” Kit reassured.
“You can do it,” the guys said.
“Okay, I’m going to do it.”
By the time she stood up, she lost track of Damien. She turned around, eyeing the few other circular tables, packed with other teens. Then she saw him, sitting under a tree with a crowd of his surfer friends all around, and of course, a few gorgeous girls. Honestly, it had been easier the night of the dare, in Dough-licious. At least she had been able to talk to him alone. Now she had to approach him and his entourage. “Get a grip,” she told herself and whipped her hair behind her. “You were popular once. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Like a heat-seeking missile, Stella’s focus was completely on her one goal—asking hot stuff on a date. She marched over, wearing another preppie shirt and skirt, Doc Martin’s still her choice of footwear. As she approached, all eyes looked up to her, lastly Damien’s, covered by his cool shades. “Hi,” she said.
His mouth hung half-open. “Uhhh, hey…”
“I want to ask you something,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Okay.” He didn’t look too sure, as if he had done something wrong and was about to be chewed out for it.
“Will you go on a date with me to The Deathheads concert?”
A girl gave Stella the stink eye. “Deathheads?” she whispered with a teehee laugh.
“Well?” Stella prodded.
A smile grew on Damien’s face, white-and-bright happy. “I will go with you. Of course.”
“You’re kidding. Right, brah?” Tyler asked Damien. “The Deathheads?”
“Nah. Brah. I’m not kidding. The Deathheads are… rad.”
Stella softened, smiling back. It worked. “Meet me there.”
When she returned to her table, Caleb offered her his hand for a high five. Normally she’d ignore it, but quickly decided it’d feel good to let out the built up energy. Too bad it nearly knocked Caleb off his seat, making him look at his stinging red palm in pain. “Now,” she said, “all I gotta do is wait another week.” Another week… She knew that would feel more like six months, in dating time.
THIRTY-THREE
Rock music blared a guitar solo from an iPod’s speaker system. Damien stood in front of his bathroom mirror with a towel around his waist, and ran a comb through his wet hair. He was nervous. Really nervous. And excited. Never had he felt that way for any other girl.
He leaned against the counter and let out a long breath. It wasn’t ideal that his father would be at the concert, along with them. Neither would it be ideal that he was told to meet her there. Still, a date with Stella is a date, so he couldn’t complain.
Eyes settled on the few hairs on his chest. It was strange—he wasn’t a werewolf anymore, but still needed to wax? He decided to forget about it, and instead patted some Cool Water aftershave along his chin and neck.
After changing into some dark jeans and checking how his butt looked in the mirror, there was a knock on his bedroom door. Damien pulled a simple black shirt over his head and let in his father. “Son, I’m glad we get to do this together.” His father went and sat on the neatly made bed. He picked up the case for Teen Wolf and stared at it as he said, “I never really told you why your ma and I split. I told you that we decided it would be for the best, but I never told you why.”
“Yeah?” Damien wondered what his father was getting at. Would he confess to being, or having been, a werewolf? “You can tell me anything,” Damien assured, his interest causing his heart to pound.
“Yes, that’s what I’m thinking.” The DVD case was put back down, attention averted to nothing in particular. “I don’t want to explain it all right now, but I believe you deserve a real answer. I’ll make sure to tell you everything after the concert. How’s that sound?”
“Alright, Dad.” Damien scratched at his ear, still wondering. Ah, what the hay? “Does this… have to do with the moon?”
“The moon?”
“Or hair?” he further hinted.
“Hair?”
It was obvious his father wasn’t following the clues. “Never mind I said that. How’s my hair look?”
“Uh.” His father stood. “You look good. You look fine. Why?”
“A-uh girl will be there.”
“Ahhh, I see. You’re a handsome dude.” He winked. “Just like you’re old man. A real lady-killer, bud. And, hey, you know what? If you see this girl tonight, I can leave you two to yourselves for a while. You can rock out together, and enjoy.”
“You don’t have to do that…”
“Nonsense. I remember when I was eighteen.” He patted Damien on the shoulder. “Let’s get outta here already.”
*
“Aye, me mateys!” The strong sea wind rippled Damien’s fur. A red bandana handsomely wrapped around his head, fuzzy ears poking out. “We’ve landed. We’ve beat Captain Dread. We’ve got us our chest o’ pearls. And here is me lovely lady, me damsel in distress, me one and only true love.”
Stella pressed into Damien’s chest. He reached down with a paw, stroking her face. “It will just be the two of us from here on out.”
“The adventure has just begun.” She smiled sweetly.
“Aye, you be right about that.” The wolf leaned in for a kiss.
The End.
Stella closed the book. It was only natural to imagine Damien as the hero and herself as the damsel in distress. So, the story was cheesy, but that wasn’t the point. She knew from the moment she laid eyes on the piratey cover at the grange, she was in for something different. The point was… what if Damien were a werewolf? And then, what would that mean in context of what happened on the fieldtrip? she wondered. The conversation they had on the beach would make more sense, that was for sure.
Her cell phone vibrated. It was Kit. “Hello?”
“Hey, I’m out front. No sign of creepy.”
“Okay, bye.” Stella scooted off her bed and rushed downstairs. She could see the late afternoon sun try and push itself through the purposefully draped windows. After a quick peek through the peephole, just because, she opened the door.
“Hi!” Kit carried a makeup bag that looked more l
ike a miniature suitcase. A super serious expression was plastered to her face. “Let’s get to work!”
Stella sat in a robe on a cold toilet seat, as Kit enjoyed lecturing her. “No more super thick black liner. And what’s with your lipsticks? If you ever wear any, they’re always some shade of purple.”
“I was paying homage to your hair.”
Kit sputtered. “Stella, listen to me. I’m serious. I took professional makeup classes with my mom down at the community center. You know she’s a Mary Kay consultant. Anyway, I have all the tricks down.”
Stella had to admit to herself, Kit was good with her own makeup.
“I think I can do a good job with my makeup if you’d give me a chance, Kit. Remember I wasn’t always Goth. I was one of the bubbly, popular girls back in my hometown.”
“Hello? Didn’t you hear what I said? Must I remind you my mom won her very own pink Cadillac in 1984 as a star makeup consultant?” Kit swabbed Stella’s face with an astringent that made every pore scream.
“Holy cow. What is that stuff? Vodka?”
“Hush. Let me do my job.”
Some cream was squirted under Stella’s eyes. It smelled minty. “Now what’s that stuff?”
Kit rubbed the translucent cold stuff around. “It makes sure you don’t have bags under your eyes.”
“I’m seventeen, Kit; not thirty-something.”
Kit huffed and put a hand to her hip. “Do you want me to help you, or what, pooky?”
Stella honestly didn’t care either way, but knew this was super important to her best friend, so she bent. “Yes.”
“Alright then.”
Stella closed her eyes and let Kit ramble on and on about this or that. Then the inevitable subject of Damien came up. “I know you’re always, like, all rigid and goofy around him, but tonight you have to stop all that nonsense and be normal.”
“Rigid and goofy?” Jeez, she knew she had been uncomfortable, but what the heck? “Are you serious or exaggerating? I don’t look that bad around him, do I?”
“Um, yeah you totally do.” A blush brush flicked across Stella’s cheeks.
“Achoo!”
“Hold still.” The brush resumed. “You’ve gotta get in the groove tonight. Not only do you need to stop looking so awkward around him, but you need to be really friendly. Flirt with him.”
“Do you want me to be his girlfriend too?”
“Seriously, Stella. There’s nothing wrong with flirting. Look, I did it for forever with Caleb.”
