Fangs And Fur: A Werewolf Story.

Katherine took a sip from her styrofoam cup as she calmly watched the bustle of the crowd in the coffeeshop. The shop was filled with a blend of people, from nine-to-fivers on their laptops to high school teenagers with backpacks and chiming cellphones. Typical Perkins evening, she thought.

Her attention was drawn to the door as a middle-aged man with white hair entered the coffeeshop. The raucous chattering in the shop was reduced to a low murmuring as the customers turned their attention to the man. His stance was intimidating. He isn't even tall, Katherine thought as he located and walked towards her. What he lacked in height he made up for in a frightening aura.

He reached her table and took a seat without asking for an invitation. She watched him as he placed his hands on the table and folded his fingers.

"You're avoiding me." He began "What did I do, Katherine?" His English was thick with a Russian accent, but Katherine could decipher his words due to practice.

"Frank, you must understand that we're over. You should forget me and move on. The things I saw you do... I cannot live with that."

"That doesn't stop us. You know how I feel for you, my dear Kat." He placed one of his hands on hers.

She stared at his long, tapering fingers on her hand and instinctively flinched, remembering how those fingers had felt on her body, the lines of passion they'd drawn on the most intimate parts of her. Being with him was a terrible mistake she would never live down.

"Whatever happened between us," she said tremulously "happened months ago, and I would like it to be buried there."

He stared at her for long seconds, then gave a small smile and withdrew his hand. "You're really going to throw away everything you hold dear just to be with your-with him?"

Katherine knew very well that he was subtly threatening her. She'd worked with him long enough to know that he hated being confronted and she'd done just that by rejecting him. "I'd do anything to be away from you. You're a freak." She spat.

She saw his eyes darken with concealed rage and her courage failed her. He looked like he would like nothing more than to smack her across the face, then just as swiftly as the rage changed his eyes, it diffused and he smiled at her again.

"Very well then." He murmured, then stood up with a groan. He made towards the door, then stopped and turned back to her. "If I were you, I wouldn't feel too safe. "The days ahead will be full of terrors, and you wouldn't want it coming close to your new family now, would you?" He said, then patted her cheek and left the coffeeshop.

Katherine watched him walk away through the coffeeshop window and swallowed past the lump of dread in her throat. She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes, then patted the growing bulge of her stomach. She knew what he expected her to do in exchange for her family's safety, and she would do it. Whatever happened, she would keep her family safe.

☆

Clyde Roberts had never trusted policemen, which was why he'd instantly hated Mike Sommers as the other man had first walked into his bar a few months ago, badge flashing, pistol in his belt. He only started to tolerate the man after he had thrown his weight around that day and ordered a round of drinks for everyone at the bar. If there's one language Clyde loved to listen to and understood perfectly, it was the language of money.

However tonight was the drunkest the old barman had ever seen Mike. He was literally swaying on his stool and his eyes were half closed. What could have bothered the man so much for him to run through one bottle of whiskey?

"Another shot!" The drunk Mike yelled and slammed his glass on the bar. "Clyde!"

"No can do, officer. I think it's time for you to head home to your daughter." Clyde said and forcefully dragged the glass from his hand.

"Don't...tell me what to do" Mike wagged a shaky finger at Clyde "Don't–" he retched.

"If you puke all over my bar I will personally drag you out of here with your collar." He threatened the policeman "You wouldn't want that, would you Mike? Leave my bar, please."

"Bah!" Mike waved away his words and stood shakily, swaying on his feet. He withdrew a couple of ten-dollar bills from his pocket and slammed it on the bar, way too much money for a couple of shots. Clyde shrewdly grabbed the money and stuffed it in his own pocket.

The drunk man stumbled out of the bar and into the cold night air outside. The air seemed to sober him up a little bit as he looked around in search of his POLICE CAR. Sighting it a couple of yards to the left, he staggered towards It, and stopped abruptly as he saw the figure in white leaning calmly against the car.

Ghost! His alcohol-soaked brain screamed, but he reminded himself that ghosts only existed in his daughter's fairytales. Taking a few steps, he walked towards the figure and realised within about a metre of his car that the figure was no ghost, only a white-haired man with a whiter moustache in a lab coat. The man was smoking a cigar and the smoke from the cigar sobered Mike even more.

"You!" He growled. "What do you want, Einstein?"

"Hello, Michael." The man replied, with the cigar bouncing about in his mouth. It didn't seem to restrict his speech. In fact, the man's accent was heavy, like English wasn't his natural tongue. If Mike was sober enough he would have been able to correctly place his accent, but for now his brain felt like little more than a heavy, wet towel in his skull.

"What," he repeated "Do you want, Einstein?"

The white-haired man brought out a tranquilizer gun from the pocket of his lab coat and pointed it at Mike "This will hurt if you move, so you might want to stay still" He said.

"Bloody hell!" Mike swore as he sighted the gun. Policeman instinct kicked in as he tried to retrieve his pistol from his belt. He was still stone-drunk though; his hand shook and the gun tumbled out of his hands.

The other man aimed at him and shot. The shot was unusually quiet, was Mike's last thoughts before a dart made contact with his neck and his body was racked with inexplicable pain. He screamed and fell, writhing with agony.

"I told you it would hurt if you move." The old man said and pocketed the tranquilizer gun. He watched as Mike twisted and turned on the cold, hard ground until his body went still. Mike felt himself let go of all consciousness and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was the man's white hair and the cloudy sky beyond him.

Like a fish on a hook, Mike was yanked back to the brink of consciousness. He twisted, trying to take stock of his surroundings while making as little noise as possible. A little shake of the wrists and ankles told him that he was being held down with something, presumably metal clamps since he still had a little wriggle room for his wrists. His behind was extremely sore, which meant he was probably on a hospital bed, not too comfortable, probably covered with sterile sheets.

His surest guess was that he was in a sort of hospital or facility, and his being held down was probably down to the fact that he was some sort of lab rat for an experiment. The alcohol had completely worn off, and all the bad choices he'd made the night before was coming back in torrents. Why had he gotten so drunk in the first place? Why had he left his daughter at home unsupervised? And what type of tranquilizer gun in God's green earth caused so much unbearable pain?

He opened his eyes. Shafts of artificial light from above pierced his eyeballs and he groaned and blinked a couple of times.

"Don't move too much." A voice said "It'll only cause more pain"

Mike turned his head abruptly. The voice belonged to a tall, redheaded woman. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms folded, wearing a white lab coat.

"What..?" Mike tried to say but the woman shushed him. She moved closer to his bed and laid a rubber-gloved hand on his wrist.

"It would be over before you know it." She said, smiling. "You've gone through too much pain already. Dr Makovsky and I would fix you up in no time. You are not the first case of lycanthropy, neither will you be the last, but Dr Makovsky and I have successfully perfected an antidote. You will be the first in a long line of recoveries, Mike. You will set the record for scientific breakthrough."

"What are you talking about?" Mike croaked "Antidote for what?"

The woman dialed on the intercom by the bedside and spoke into it "Dr Makovsky? He's awake"

"I don't know what is going on here, but I really need to go home to my daughter. I left her at home alone overnight and–"

Mike was interrupted by the opening of the door. The white-haired man from the night before walked in, labcoated and carrying a tray of syringes and needles and strange liquids, which the woman promptly collected from him.

"Hello, Michael." The doctor said "We meet again"

"What are you doing to me?" Mike yelled "I demand to know. I am an officer–"

Ignoring Mike, Dr Makovsky turned to Beth and gave a swift nod. Beth neared him with a syringe full of clear liquid in her hands, the smile still on her lips. "Hold still, Mike." She said, then injected into him a shaft of pure pain. Mike let out an inhumane scream as his body was racked with a hundred times the pain of the tranquilizer gun. He tried to roll over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side.

"Give him the buprenorphrine." He heard the doctor say after a couple of seconds.

Mike's head cleared as the pain went as fast as it came. His clothes were drenched in his own sweat, along with the sheets on which he was laid. His throat felt like he had never had a taste of water in his life. He tried to speak but all he could let out was a desperate croak. The woman forced a glass of water into his lips.

"What are you doing to me?" He asked after taking a few sips.

Ignoring him for the second time that night, Dr Makovsky turned to the female assistant and gave another set of instructions. The woman drew another syringe, with more of the clear, water-like liquid.

"Please..." Mike whispered, shaking his head vigorously "No..."

The woman approached him with the syringe and injected him on the arm. Immediately he started to shudder and jerk more violently. His eyes rolled into his head and veins popped out on his forehead. He released another guttural scream as pain coursed through his veins. Within his agony Mike vaguely heard the woman say to the doctor "Is it supposed to hurt him this much?" At which the doctor gave a muffled answer.

Both doctors walked out of the room and into a corridor, where all that shielded them from the screeching man was a wall of glass. They both watch impassively as the man writhed and stretched against his shackles.

"How long will this take, doc?" The female asked the old man

"Not too long, now. We should leave him here. Just in case..." He replied in his halting English.

"Just in case?" The woman turned to the doctor "Just what..."

"Beth," The doctor interrupted "This... antidote might not work as well as we thought. Let's wait and see."

"You said the pain was supposed to last for a few seconds at the most." Beth protested. She turned to the shrieking man, and her eyes widened as the man slowly broke free of his manacles. "What have you done?"

"It was just an experiment, Beth. A scientific breakthrough, remember?"

"This was not what we planned. This... you've created a monster out of an innocent man!" She grabbed at his lab coat, shaking the old man "Where's the antidote? Where is it?"

He forcefully freed his lab coat from her hands, his face devoid of emotion. "There was never an antidote. Beth, let's get out of here and I'll explain. I'll explain everything."

Mike Sommers had broken free completely. Savagely he tore off the hospital garment he wore and let out a fierce, ear-piercing howl. He was completely unrecognizable as the effects of the drugs had set in. His eyes were yellow and glowing, slitted vertically like a cat's, his body completely covered in fur. His hands were now claws that ended in four-inch dagger-like claws appropriate for tearing the flesh off bones. His lips were jerked back in a snarl and saliva dripped from his fangs as he regarded the two scientists behind the glass wall.

An alarm had gone off, and the whole corridor was drenched in swirling red lights not unlike that of a police van. A metal grate had blocked the door, leaving a barrier between the glass wall and Mike. He yanked them off their hinges and threw them across the room, then barreled towards the glass wall and hit it with a loud thud.

Beth let Frank Makovsky drag her away, her eyes never leaving the monster-man she had created. Sobs built up in her throat, threatening to let loose. She watched as Mike hit the glass wall repeatedly. It started to show serrated cracks at every impact. Dr Frank must have seen what she saw as they reached the elevator on the other side of the corridor and he started punching the elevator button frantically.

The elevator doors opened and revealed two scientists armed with long guns. Dr Frank gave them instructions in rapid Russian and they nodded, face grim, hoisting their guns. They faced the monster bravely as he ran towards them on all fours, having rid the room of its glass wall. Before Beth could see any more, the elevator doors slid shut and began its descent. She slid down the wall of the elevator, a boneless, bereft sliding, and began to sob. "What have we done? What have I done?" She said.

"What we have done is make headway in a scientific experiment, Beth dear. I had my doubts, never thought it would work this well. Cut yourself some slack. You did well."

"I did well?" She looked up. Tears had clouded her vision "What I did was send two innocent men to their deaths at the hands of a monster I created."

"A terrible loss, no doubt, but nonetheless. With our experiments a human became a werewolf without contact with another werewolf. Think how huge this could be for us, Beth. We could create an army of werewolves, even." The doctor said these words, his face still lacking any emotion, his voice passive.

"If I had knew... If-"

With an abrupt movement too fast for his age the doctor yanked Beth off the floor by the arm. She struggled against his iron grip. "If you had known, sweetheart," He breathed into her face "There is absolutely nothing you would have done to stop me." The elevator doors slid open with a ding into the large foyer that was the entrance to the science facility. Other scientists stood waiting, staring at the duo in the elevator.

"Do you want to go back upstairs and save your little monster, or do you want to escape here with your life?" He whispered.

She nodded almost imperceptibly, and almost slid to the floor again as Dr Frank let go of her hand and stepped out of the elevator.

☆

Fiesh! That was all Mike could think of as he tore into the throat of the second scientist. The first was lying a few feet away, his insides gored out, blood running in rivulets. He could smell the soft flesh of people a few floors down. Their scents, their different intoxicating scents, almost calling out to him. Infact, everything called out to him. Colours stood out to him in a way they had never before. He could see the sterile whites of the walls around him, could even see the smaller, darker patches made by hands. He could hear things. Could hear the harried voices of the people downstairs, as close as if they were whispering behind him.

The monster-man bounded on all fours to a flight of stairs. He could hear the frantic voices of people many floors down. Almost running mad with hunger, he leaped down the first staircase and then another, almost losing his balance as he covered the distance between himself and the delicious flesh waiting for him. The voices grew louder as the distance grew smaller, and soon he found himself on the ground floor, at a whitewashed foyer full of scientists in lab coats.

They all stopped their murmuring and looked at him in trepidation, fear gripping them to the spot. One of the scientists stepped forward with a gun in his hand, squinting as he tried to focus it on the beast. Mike growled, strings of saliva hanging from his fangs, and charged at the man. The other scientists dashed out of the foyer in fright, and the gun dislodged with a cracking noise, burying a bullet in the beast's left limb and slowing it down.

"Axel, run!" One of the scientists screamed at the man. Ignoring them, he cocked his gun again and released another bullet at the werewolf, this time hitting it square in the chest. Mike whimpered and pawed at his wounds, as the man cocked the gun a third time, limping towards him as the latter let off a few shots, all of which ricocheted off the walls and missed the beast completely. The werewolf leapt over Axel, blood dripping from its wounds, and escaped into the night with a terrifying howl.

That same rainy night in late April, the whole town of Perkins was deathly silent, save for the overexcited crickets and frogs in the bushes, and perhaps one late night driver or two.

The clouds parted to reveal a full moon high in the sky, hanging like a hunter's lantern over the house where Mike Sommers lived with his daughter Lauren. Twelve-year-old Lauren was in her room, reading a book in the warmth and comfort of her bedcovers.

"Mr. Phillips took a chalk crayon and wrote on the blackboard above her head," she read in her mind. "Ann Shirley has a very bad temper. Ann Shirley must learn to control her temper,' and then read it out loud so that even the primer class, who couldn't read writing, should understand it."

The young girl shifted on her bed and drew the covers closer, "Anne stood there the rest of the afternoon with that legend above her. She did not cry or hang her head. Anger was still too hot in her heart for that and it sustained her amid all her agony of humiliation. With..." She stopped.

There was an almost indistinct creak coming from the door of her room. Any other person wouldn't have heard it, but if nothing, Lauren Sommers prided herself in her impeccable hearing. There was another creak, then a series of taps. Two taps. A scrape like fingernails on wood. Pause. Then three taps. Another pause. Morse code. She smiled. That was definitely her dad. He'd had taught her the special code since she was seven, and it was a special way of communicating with him.

She threw aside the covers and slipped her feet into her pink bunny bathroom slippers. Soundlessly she tiptoed to the door and peeked. The hallway beyond her room was thick with shadows.

"Dad, are you back?" She called into the gloom.

Another couple of creaks, like someone was trying to open the door while making as little noise as possible. Using the yellow light from her bedside lamp, Lauren walked into the hallway.

Immediately she stepped out of her room she heard a grunt, then a sniffle, like a dog smelling the air. Then a growl; low, menacing and full of danger.

"Dad, did you bring another stray dog home?" Her voice became resigned as she rolled her eyes and folded her arms." Her dad loved all animals, perhaps a little too much. He was forever bringing stray animals into the house. Once he'd forgotten she was allergic to cat fur and brought two kittens home.

The growl continued. Lauren walked into the darkness of the hall. There was a distasteful smell in the air: the smell of wet dog. She wrinkled her nose and let out a "Yech!", walking closer to the growl. She reached the end of the hallway, where the kitchen was. The kitchen windows were devoid of curtains, and the room was filled with the light from the full moon outside.

The growling was coming from the direction of the fridge, whose door was wide open. Lauren could see from the illumination of the fridge that the floor was strewn with food items. There was a milk carton on the floor, its milk forming a puddle like liquid moonlight. The bowl of casserole her dad had made the night before was upturned too. Cans of diet coke were flinged everywhere, and two packets of raw sausages had been torn open. A figure–Dog? Raccoon?–was face-deep in the packets of sausages, chomping away.

As if sensing her presence, the animal raised its head. Its eyes glowed with a bloodthirsty light, the pupils slitted. It bared its teeth in a growl and got up from its haunches. The beast was easily taller than Lauren, towering over her in a massive six feet. It continued to growl, its canines bared and dripping with slobber.

Lauren let out a scream and backed out of the kitchen. The beast lumbered after her snapping its teeth and knocking her down before she could escape. She cowered on the floor in fear.

"Please... please don't hurt me" She whispered in tears as the beast pinned her down with its front paws. It raised a paw, ready to take a swipe at her face, then lowered it, its growling reduced to a whimper as it regarded the small girl beneath him. It seemed to reconsider killing her as its pupils dilated in recognition. Then the eyes of the beast hardened as it let out a terrifying growl and buried its incisors in the little girl's neck.