Hairy Bromance

by T L Barrett

  He slipped and rolled in Damien’s blood, coming up against the pile of bones. A fat werewolf, gnawing on Damien’s foot, belched and laughed.

  A werewolf stooped very close to Barry’s face.

  “Welcome to the hunt, brother!” the werewolf said.

  Barry found his feet and ran to the door. The werewolves had opened it for him. He ran eight miles, bleeding and naked before a cop car pulled in front of him, forcing him to stop.

  * * * *

  “So, that’s it?” Glen asked.

  “Pretty much, yeah, that’s how it happened.”

  “How did you get away with running down the road naked and covered in blood?”

  “Well,” Barry said. “That was the weird thing. The police were already looking for me. They said that Damien and I were on PCP and totaled our car. Damien was killed and I went running about the countryside delusional and covered in Damien’s blood. There wasn’t an investigation or anything. I guess I must have sounded like I was on something, I don’t even remember fully what I was raving about. The thing is, it all got covered up. I just don’t think we should go anywhere near that place.”

  “They let you go back to school?” Glen asked.

  “Yeah, on academic probation and with counseling. I couldn’t go back, not for long though, that became apparent pretty quickly. I started feeling really weird.”

  “Don’t tell me you just quit?” Glen said. “There’s more to this story, and we both know it.”

  “Well, I left after I first turned. I kind of made a mess of that bigoted bunch of frat boys. I don’t remember it, but I knew I had to go after that.”

  “Yes, man! That is awesome! I hope you ate their little steroid fed puds!” Glen said.

  “Jesus, Glen, you are disgusting,” Barry said and started picking up the remains of their meal.

  “So the beast was born,” Glen said.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Barry said, picking back up the map and folding it. “We should get some shut eye.” Glen nodded and stretched out beside the dying fire.

  “I just have one thing I didn’t understand,” Glen said, his voice already sleepy.

  “Yeah, what’s that?” Barry asked.

  “So, are you a gay or aren’t you?”

  Barry threw an empty bean can at Glen’s head. Glen’s hand came up and deflected it into the bushes.

  “Just kidding, buddy. I’m proud of you. You are a brave son of a bitch. Don’t let anybody ever tell you different.”

  “You know, I guess I am. I guess I am,” Barry said and stretched out on the other side of the fire.

  “I’m jealous of you, really. That was totally a bad ass origin story. Mine sucks. I mean, you saw my dad. What a total hole, huh?” Glen said.

  “It’s not about where you come from, Glen, it’s about where you’re going.”

  “Is that another Doctor Philism?” Glen asked.

  “Just go to sleep, Glen.”

  “It’s about where you’re going,” Glen muttered, “and we’re going to Comic-Con!” Glen pumped a hairy arm up at the morning sky and let it fall. Within seconds, Glen was snoring.

  Barry smiled at himself. He hadn’t ever told the story to anyone ever before. For the first time, Barry felt like everything was going to be all right.

  * * * *

  Barry woke with a start in the evening dark.

  “Oh, man. Glen, wake up. We have to hit the road.”

  Glen groaned and opened up his eyes. He put a hand to his swollen face and groaned again.

  “Come on! We’ve got to keep moving. The darkness is wasting.”

  “Dude, I’m friggin’ hungry! I ain’t going anywhere on an empty stomach like this.” Glen didn’t look good. The Sasquatch was a fast healer, but nowhere near as fast as Barry. Barry himself still felt sore and was bruised up from their time in the basement of that awful farm house. He also knew he was hungry. They could both use some serious protein.

  “All right, you sit tight. Don’t do anything. I’ll drive back into the last town and get us some grub,” Barry said.

  “Meat, Barry, meat!” Glen said.

  “Right,” Barry said and scurried off to the car.

  “Holy shit, I almost forgot!” Glen called.

  “What?” Barry jumped.

  “Beer, Barry, beer!”

  * * * *

  The honed and uncanny instinct of the experienced monster hunter kicked in when L. P. Kahn saw the nondescript sedan with the Vermont plates parked outside the general store. He got out of his jeep and scurried over to the side of the car. One whiff told him that he had picked back up the scent. The stink of Sasquatch was one you never forgot. He chuckled to himself.

  He doubted Trucksmasher would be inside the store, so he guessed he was stashed in the woods somewhere. That meant either the vampire boy or the werewolf was in the store. His money was on the werewolf, Trudeau. He had the werewolf and the Sasquatch pegged as lovers. Heck, maybe all three were involved in an obscene triangle. “Disgusting.” He wouldn’t put it past the filthy creatures of the night. L. P. Kahn had been at this too long to be surprised by the depths of their depravity.

  It wouldn’t do to bag the vampire, the werewolf or both with witnesses. Professional pride also prohibited Kahn not letting the others lead him back to the Sasquatch, thereby allowing him to kill all three. He would just go back to the jeep, drive a distance away and follow the sedan back to the beasts’ lair. It was textbook, really.

  I should get paid for this, Kahn thought to himself.

  He turned to a dog barking in his face. His hand went to his satchel, where his automatic pistol lay.

  “Sauron, naughty dog! Down, boy, now,” a woman shouted. The dog whined and turned obediently back to his young and leggy owner.

  Kahn glanced up and moved to walk around the woman and her dog.

  “Oh, my gawd! I can’t believe this! I can’t believe you would be here!”

  Kahn looked up at the pretty young woman, but did not recognize her face. He looked up at the door of the general store, afraid that one of the monsters would come through it at any moment.

  “Willow? Willow Ofgood? I mean, I know that’s not your real name, but, I am like your biggest fan!” She gawked, with a hand just above her impressive bosom.

  “I’m zorry, I don’t know vat you are talking about,” Kahn said and tried to scurry around the dog, without provoking it.

  “You aren’t…oh, God…what’s your name? Warwick Davis?” The dog pulled her between Kahn and his jeep.

  “No, my name is L. P. Kahn,” he said.

  “Oh, my God. That is so awesome. Shit, the girls are going to freak out. I totally forgot, you are the leprechaun, too!”

  “Vat?” Kahn’s hand went into his satchel again.

  At that moment, the door to the general store opened. Unnoticed by his owner, Sauron sniffed the werewolf in the evening breeze, whined, squatted and urinated. Barry Trudeau shifted the shopping bag of raw meat and the six pack of beer to one hand and fished for his keys. Kahn looked up at the same moment that Barry did. They looked into each other’s eyes.

  “Hey, listen, mister, could you do me a favor and take our picture together?” the woman called to Barry. She came forward, drawing her terrified dog behind her and held up her cell phone for Barry to take.

  “Sure,” Barry said, noncommittally. He wondered if he could throw the red meat and beer cans at the little man and make it to the car and away before getting shot. As he put down the groceries on the store stoop he could see the little man’s frustration at being caught here with this enthusiastic woman.

  “Great! I can’t believe Warwick Davis is here in our town!” she said as she stood beside the little man and put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him close to her side. “I’m your biggest fan!”

  “Say cheese!” Barry said. He took a picture. The woman played with her hair and asked him to take another. Barry did.

  “You need to smile, too,” Barry told the glo
wering little person. Kahn feigned a smile. Barry took a third picture.

  “Thanks a lot!” the woman said, and came forward to take her cell phone back. Barry gave it to her and advanced on Kahn. Kahn slid his hand inside his bag.

  Barry stopped just out of arm’s reach and crouched down.

  “Listen,” he whispered. “I feel obligated to inform you that you have a huge opportunity right in front of you, just in case you didn’t realize it.”

  Kahn narrowed his eyes. “Vat?”

  “This beautiful woman would be totally willing to take you home and make sweet, sweet love to you,” Barry said, stood up and picked up his groceries.

  “Think about it,” Barry said, walked to his car and waited for the silver bullet to pierce his heart.

  Instead, Barry got in his car and drove off.

  “Hey, Mister Davis, I hope this doesn’t sound too forward, but I was wondering if you were going to be in the area tonight,” the woman said. Kahn’s eyes widened. He watched the car drive east and disappear in the gloom.

  “Uh…I’m doing nothing, I think,” he heard himself saying.

  “Great! So, you want to come back to my place?” she asked, tracing a finger sensuously down the side of his face.

  A feeling that was not obsessive determination or cool hate wormed its way into him.

  “I think I’d like zat very much, danke.”

  * * * *

  Glen was just about to commence masturbating for the third time since Barry had left him, when he heard a car turn off onto the little logging road. He jumped up and jogged into the trees. He wondered if he could finish before Barry made it to their camp site.

  “Glen,” Barry yelled, “grab the stuff and hurry!”

  Glen sighed. He tried to think of something that didn’t turn him on. Due to his limited experience and his rampant sex drive, this was not an easy task.

  “Jeez, can’t we wait a few minutes? I said I was hungry. Did you forget the beer?” Glen called back.

  “No, I’ve got the beer, but you’ll have to drink it on the road. We’ve been followed.”

  “Shit,” Glen cursed, losing his immense erection. “The tribunal?”

  “No, the monster hunter. Hurry!” Barry yelled. Glen crashed through the trees, grabbed the few things lying about the camp site, and ran to the car.

  “How did the munchkin find us?” he asked as he squeezed into the back seat.

  “I don’t know. He was distracted, thank God. Otherwise I’d be a goner.” Barry got behind the wheel and threw the car in reverse. He jerked the car back and forth, sped out through the clearing and drove down the humping road.

  At the highway, Barry stopped.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You have to stop. I was looking for lights of oncoming traffic.”

  “There’s none. Go! Go!” Glen shouted. Barry pulled out and picked up speed.

  “Jesus, what are we going to do?” Barry whined.

  “Drive right through werewolf central, that’s what we’re going to do,” Glen said.

  “That’s nuts. No way!” Barry said.

  “Think about it. If that little bugger wants to hunt some monsters, let’s give him some monsters. Let the town and the munchkin fight it out. I’m getting pretty sick of this little bastard, myself.”

  “Okay, okay, all right,” Barry said. He put on his directional. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  Barry continued to mutter to himself as the little town common came into view.

  “Is this it?” Glen asked.

  “Yes,” Barry said through gritted fangs, “this is the place.”

  “Okay, pull over near that house with the kid out front.” Glen was already opening his door.

  “Glen, no, shut the door!”

  “Slow down. Don’t be a candy-ass. We can’t exactly get the town all ready for the mighty munchkin unless we stir the pot, can we?”

  Glen forced Barry to slow down to a stop by hanging one hairy leg and dragging it on the dirt road.

  Glen got out of the car and turned to the mouth-breathing red-haired kid standing out on the lawn with a paddle in one hand and a rubber ball in the other.

  “Hey kid! Go tell your folks that Barry Trudeau is back! Go tell them that he’s brought muscle with him this time, so they might want to tuck their tails and head for the hills, cause there’s a new sheriff in town,” Glen announced.

  “Jesus, Glen, you are suicidal! Get in the car!” Barry shouted. “I swear I’ll leave you here.”

  “You won’t leave me here,” Glen muttered. “Hey, kid. I’m talking to you. Get the shit out of your ears!” The kid continued to stare, open mouthed, at the Sasquatch on the side of the road.

  Glen stooped, found a bit of gravel and launched it at the boy. It hit the boy square on the forehead.

  The boy growled. His overbite shifted into lupine form. Ginger hair sprouted over his pre-pubescent face. He came forward, loping on all fours.

  Glen waited, a smirk on his face. At the last minute he swung his fist down on the werewolf’s head.

  The boy fell back onto his lawn. He yipped in pain and fright and tore up his walk. He hit the front door in his panic and bounced off. Glen guffawed. The boy found the doorknob and scrambled inside.

  “That should get their attention,” Glen said and dusted off his hands.

  “Get in the car!”

  “You’re the one who’s always telling me that you can’t run from your past. You can’t let people like this walk all over you. You have to show them whose boss.”

  A werewolf howled in the night. A chorus of howls answered the first.

  Out of doors and bushes, out of second story windows and from down the street coursed a legion of furred townspeople.

  “Oh, cripes,” Glen said. Barry started to drive away. “Wait, Jesus, Barry!” Glen screamed. Glen tried to hold onto the car and run beside it as Barry increased his speed. Inadvertently, Glen stumbled. The back door shut. Barry slowed down.

  Glen looked over his shoulder to see the pack of slavering werewolves about to descend upon him.

  “Drive, Barry!” Glen screamed and launched himself onto the trunk of Barry’s car. The car rocked, and the hood collapsed under Glen’s weight. Barry hit the gas, throwing up a shower of dirt and gravel in the oncoming werewolves’ faces.

  One of the werewolves came from the side and gripped onto the side of the trunk. Glen punched him in the face, driving the snout back into the creature’s brain. The werewolf flopped lifelessly to the road.

  Seemingly from the sky a werewolf landed on the roof of the car. It fell back into Glen. As the two grappled, Barry’s car slewed about the road. Werewolves came from all sides.

  Barry hit the gas hard. Werewolves bounced off the front corners of Barry’s car. A werewolf turned and tried to get out Barry’s way. Barry let out a high battle cry and swerved. The car caught the werewolf in the back of the legs and leapt into the air as it drove over him in a sickening crunch. The car careened through a white picket fence and then swerved back out in the road.

  On the back of the car, Glen buried his fingers into the car’s hood with one hand and tried to hold back his assailant with the other. The werewolf’s jaws snapped again and again, inches from Glen’s face.

  Glen let go of his hold and brought his great simian brow forward. The werewolf fell back against the back window, howling in pain. It shook its head and came up for another go.

  Glen stuck two fingers of his left hand up at the werewolf in a ‘V’. The werewolf went for those fingers. Glen snapped them away from the werewolf and came forward with his other hand. Two fingers from his right hand poked the werewolf in the eyes. The werewolf put his hands over his eyes, stumbled back and fell to the road.

  Barry’s car sped away from the town common, toward the darkness of the road beyond. A few remaining werewolves chased after resorting to barked threats as the car sped out of range.

  Glen panted, leaned bac
k against the crumpled hood and flipped them the bird.

  Chapter Six

  The Littlest Gunslinger

  The monsters in the battered sedan fled across upstate New York, and L. P. Kahn followed.

  Kahn had given the monsters some extra time, staying the night with the young woman. The passion he had found in her arms had surprised him. For a moment when he awoke in the morning light, he hadn’t known where he was, or why he was there. He tried to slip out of the bed without waking the graceful beauty, whose name was Gretchen, but she caught his arm and dragged him back to her appetite’s attentions.

  Later, lying in sweat and sunlight they made gentle confession to each other. She admitted that she had known that he wasn’t the star who once donned an Ewok outfit, she just had always fantasized about being with a little person.

  “…but not little, everywhere!” she added, so he forgave her. He admitted to her that she was his first for many years. She sweetly argued that such a thing could not be possible. He told her then that his first true love had been taken from him years ago.

  “How did it happen?” she asked. Little tears formed in the corner of her eyes. He marveled at that. For months he moved through the world of the monstrous. He hadn’t seen anything like those tears.

  “It vas a monster. A monster took my love from me,” he said.

  “My ex-boyfriend is a monster,” she said and nodded sagely.

  “Vampire, demon, or ghoul?” he asked.

  “All three, I’d say. Yeah, all three, at different times,” Gretchen said as she idly played with a lock of Kahn’s hair.

  “Mein Gott! Zat is unheard of in all my travels!” he said, sitting straight up in the bed. Gretchen laughed.

  “Oh, I love how you talk! You make me laugh.”

  “Tell me about zis monster you dated,” Kahn demanded. Gretchen told him then about her ex, Carl. She told him about how he tried to control her, how he stripped her first of her feeling of self-worth. She told him how Carl had emotionally and mentally abused her long before he started to use physical intimidation and violence to control her. She told him about how she had left, how she got a restraining order. She told Kahn about how she sometimes still feels like he is watching her. She shivered and drew the little man closer to her ample bosom.