A Problem with Werewolves

A Problem with Werewolves

  by Neil Benson

                                    @copyright 2010

On a crisp April night, Monica and I held hands as we walked to Broadway from a theater on the upper West side. Without a warning, she pushed me to the ground and turned toward the alleyway on our left. A dark, hairy form raced at her, emitting a growl that made my neck hairs stand up.


Monica ducked, put her hands under its body, and flipped the beast through the air into a light blue delivery truck. A second dark-haired creature emerged from the same alley, growling and displaying three-inch incisors glistening with saliva. When the second one tried to bite Monica, she grabbed its throat and snapped its head backward. She sank her fangs into the beast's neck and ripped the carotid artery. I gagged at the sight of the blood spurting from the large wound.


The first werewolf rose and was about to charge Monica when I raced forward to tackle it.


"No!" Monica yelled, and put herself between the beast and me. It swiped a hairy paw at her head, but she ducked and grasped it from behind. She squeezed its neck with her hands until the sounds of bones cracking made me cringe. She let go, and the werewolf fell to the ground.
Monica closed her eyes and sniffed the air for several minutes.
"Any more of them?" I asked. My thumping heart banged against my rib cage and perspiration formed on my forehead.


"I don't smell or hear anything for a quarter of a mile" she replied. "You just had your first opportunity to experience an attack by werewolves." Monica inspected the creatures she had killed with little effort.
"They weren't in action for long. I went to the nearest werewolf and examined the paws. Five-inch claws, tapering from one inch around at the base to razor-sharp tips made lethal weapons.


"That's why I screamed at you," she said. "I appreciate your courage, but the creature would have eviscerated you in one swift stroke."


"You described the damage that werewolves are capable of inflicting. Hearing or reading about these beasts isn't the same as watching them in action." I shivered at the thought of how easily either of them could have killed me.


She stared at me. "Dan, are you okay?" 


"I think so." My pulse had slowed down, and my lungs no longer screamed for air. A Croatian army captain had held a semi automatic gun inches from my nose, but the fight I just witnessed was more frightening. I glanced upward at the night sky. "No full moon?"


"They can inject themselves with a serum that enables them to become a werewolf whenever they choose," she said.


"Who says this country doesn't have the best medical system in the world?"


Monica rubbed my neck. "We'll go back to my apartment. Some excellent brandy will help calm your nerves."


Learning she was a vampire three weeks ago had unnerved me. Seeing her destroy two werewolves in less than a minute was a ghastly experience. I watched as her fangs disappeared, and her opaque pupils returned to their usual shade of light blue. The lovely gray-eyed brunette I had fallen in love with had returned, replacing the creature that belonged in nightmares, not my arms.


Monica smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "I know what you just witnessed must be difficult for you."


"Watching you change and kill the beasts shocked me. That said, I'm glad did your thing. I think."


The werewolves began to turn human while we talked. The creatures were muscular, though shorter than my 6"2" "What do we do with the bodies?"


"I'll take care of the mess," Monica said. She took out her cell phone, punched one number, and spoke a few words I couldn't hear. "Within a half hour, a truck will come with people trained to dispose of the carcasses and eradicate the blood stains. These are sites mortals shouldn't see."


"A special werewolf removal service you use?"


"You can hire someone to provide any service you need in New York." She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

#

She poured me half a glass of rare French brandy when we got back to her apartment. I sipped the drink to heighten my enjoyment of the exquisite liquor." Care to tell me why the two creatures attacked you?"


"I need to destroy a demon that is killing people in Brooklyn," she said.


"Did this demon attack you?" I asked.


"The creature killed the son of a good friend of mine." Her hardened eyes and compressed lips told me how serious this quest was to her.


"How are the werewolves and demon connected?" I asked.


"I am almost certain the demon sent them to attack me. This action was more of a test than a real effort to kill me. To kill this creature, I have to go into a warehouse surrounded by werewolves."


"You're going to do this by yourself?"


"No other entities in the dark world have anything to gain by taking such a risk. The police don't have a clue, and if they did, the creature and its minions would slaughter any police they sent." 


I swallowed hard. "Do you want my help?"


She canted her head, her eyes assessing me. "Are you serious?"


"Serious and stupid." What have I volunteered for, I wondered.


She hugged me. "You mean so much to me. I don't want you to get hurt, but I'm not sure I can do this on my own." She paused, putting her right forefinger over her lips, something she did when solving a problem." You must get a double-barreled shotgun. You'll need solid silver shot to kill werewolves."


"Just like in the movies?" I asked.


"Just like. Can you do that?"


"I will get the gun and bullets. So I'll be Doc Holliday, and you'll be Wyatt Earp."


"What we're going to face makes the gunfight at the O.K. Corral seem like high tea with the Queen of England."

###

Three days later, I was in a taxi on my way to her apartment, reflecting on the past few weeks. I had been in Iraq as a journalist at the height of the insurgency, as well as several other dangerous assignments. None of this had prepared me to learn the lovely French woman I fell in love with, when I returned to New York City was a vampire. A friend introduced us at a party. After he left, she took my hand and caressed it as I lost myself in her blue gray eyes. "Your place," were the only words she said for the next three hours. Our dates consisted of meeting at art galleries and museums where we held hands like young lovers. We would look at the art for an hour or two, and then she would say, "Come." Then, we would go back to her apartment, where we would make passionate love. She always had reasons why I needed to leave before dawn. I found her responses vague, but I cared too much for her to push the issue.
Finally, after three weeks, she invited me to her place just after dark, which was unusually early in our short relationship. My intuition warned me to expect something serious. I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell, not knowing what to expect.


Monica opened the door and pulled me toward her until our lips touched and kissed me passionately.


"Wow," I said. She was wearing black pants with a matching blouse that revealed a generous expanse of her pale white breasts.


"I'm always so happy to see you," Monica said. She hung my light leather jacket in the hall closet. Then she led me into her eclectically styled living room.


"There," she said, pointing to the plush mauve covered couch. I sat down while Monica took out a bottle of single malt Scotch whiskey out of her walnut liquor cabinet. She filled the large whiskey glass with the nectar of Scotland, turned around, and handed the glass to me.


"Drink," she said. Monica's smile was gone, and frown lines radiated from her eyes.


"I don't need to be drunk to make love with you." I laughed, but she didn't, which caused me to be concerned.


"Drink all of it," she said."


"You're kidding."


Her tightly compressed lips and flat, hard eyes showed her seriousness. I sipped the splendid Scotch, not wanting to do it an injustice. The continued lack of a smile and hardness of her eyes made me realize I was drinking the whiskey because of something she would tell me. I drank all but an ounce and then said, "Enough." My head spun from the whiskey.
Monica stepped back and captured my eyes with hers. "I'm a vampire."
A three-word statement of the impossible, I thought. I searched her face but failed to detect any sign that she was joking or subjecting me to some test.


"I'm a two-hundred and fifty year-old vampire. I was born in a small chateau not far from Grenoble. I was thirty years old when a distant relative attacked me and turned me into an undying creature. After that horrible evening, I lost my husband and two daughters, ages eleven and seven." 


I couldn't swallow, and the thrumming of my racing pulse vibrated my entire body. Her serious demeanor remained unchanged. I looked at the remaining whiskey and downed it in one gulp. Though the room was chilly, perspiration formed on my forehead. This isn't real, I thought.


"Dan, say something," Monica said in a soft voice.


"Jesus," was all I was able to utter. Without the whiskey, I probably would have fled out the door.


"Oh, you poor dear," she said, and sat beside me, stroking my neck.


"Do you have fangs?" I asked in a voice barely above a whisper.


"Yes." A look of sadness took hold of her face.


"Please show them." 


"Are you sure you want me to reveal them?"


I nodded and took a breath to brace myself.


She opened her mouth and displayed the sharp incisors that I didn't want to see. My throat constricted, making it hard to swallow, and I shivered despite the high room temperature.


"I would understand if you decided to leave" Monica said.


I closed my eyes, trying to digest what she had revealed. "Reason tells me to go, but my heart wants me to stay."


"Dearest, I could never hurt you."


I nodded.


She kissed me on the cheek and stroked the back of my neck.
Between the whiskey, and the shock of her revelation, I was physically and psychologically numb. She declared the intensity of her love as stroked me. Eventually, I fell asleep in her arms. Dawn was breaking when I awoke.


"Time for you to go," Monica said.


Now, I understood why. We had kissed passionately before I left. I made a decision without thinking through the consequences. Then again, don't we all?

###

The abrupt breaking of the cab in front of her building jolted me out of my reverie. I paid the driver and stood outside her apartment within five minutes. As usual, Monica opened the door before I knocked. She was able to detect my scent from a block away. I carried a rectangular walnut case when I entered.


"Hello, dearest," she said, kissing me. She pulled away and pirouetted about. "What do you think?" She wore black Nike running shoes, tight Calvin Klein blue jeans, and a black long-sleeve turtleneck pullover shirt. A black beret covered her brunette hair.


"You remind me of commandos in the old Second World War movies."


"Same basic idea. If I can hide in the shadows, our chances of survival will increase." Her soft gray eyes that so often sparkled had become flat and hard.


"You might have shared that plan with me." I wore white Adidas cross trainers and a light tan jacket.


"Stop whining," Monica said. "Please show me what's in the walnut case."


I put the wooden case on the dining room table. I unlocked it and pulled out the short double-barreled shotgun. Holding the lethal weapon in my hands gave me an eerie feeling.


"Where did you buy it?" she asked.


"I'll shorten a long story. I went to an illegal gun shop on the upper West side. The owner looked at me as if I was crazy when I said I needed a shotgun that could fire silver bullets. After he had decided I was serious, he sent me to an elderly gun collector in Brooklyn. A white-haired gentleman greeted me and invited me into his apartment. I mentioned the man who sent me and told him the rest of our story. He excused himself and left the room. He returned and gave me the shotgun and the walnut case. When I said I couldn't accept such a gift, he said to bring it back and tell him about my adventure."


"That's unbelievable," she said, smiling for the first time this evening.


"No more so than you being a vampire."


"Point taken. Where did you get the silver bullets?"


I grinned as I opened my jacket and revealed the brass studded leather bandoleer with solid silver slugs. "What do you think? I saw this in a pawnshop on Eighth Avenue and had to buy it."


Monica laughed. "You look like a cross between a 19th-century European game hunter and one of Poncho Villa's riders." She fingered one of the slugs. "How did you manage to get these?"


"Bought a dozen solid silver bars and had them melted and cast into the right shape."


"So quickly?" she asked.


"Several years ago, I was in Iraq working as a foreign correspondent for the Times. I helped a soldier whose father had a notorious reputation. The young man's father contacted me after I returned to New York. He told me to call him if I ever needed anything. Yesterday morning I called and told him what I needed. He said to bring the gun to his home in New Jersey. His men made a mold, cast the shots, and returned them to me within six hours. It's incredible what you can accomplish in Jersey if you know the right people." I laughed at what I thought was a witty comment.


"I'm glad you're able to keep your sense of humor. In a couple of hours, we will fight a pack of werewolves' intent on killing us. They are at their greatest strength tonight because of the full moon." Monica's grim attitude showed her fears for our survival.


"Will the fight be that bad?" I asked.


"You witnessed the ferocity and speed of the werewolves that attacked me. If we kill one of them, the rest fight until we are dead, or they are."


"Is this a suicide mission?" 


"No. Between my strength and your shotgun, we stand a chance, but only a chance. We must work together to survive."


"Will these be able to kill them? I asked, pointing to the silver slugs.


"Certainly," she said. "Aim for the center of their bodies and remember not to shut your eyes when you squeeze the trigger."


I had fired a hunting rifle a couple of times. Fortunately, I didn't come close to hitting a deer. I was armed with a deadly weapon, not by choice, but necessity. I took a deep breath to steady myself.


"Are you ready?"


"As close as I'm ever going to be."


"Let's go," she said and put on her black leather jacket."


"How do we get there?"


"I bought a special car for tonight," she said.


I placed the shotgun in its case and followed her out the door.
A block away from the entrance to her building, Monica tapped the hood of a black, mint condition nineteen sixty-four Cadillac. "Our chariot," she said.


The full moon had risen, and I examined the classic car.


"You might have chosen something more maneuverable, in case we need to get away in a hurry." 


Monica rapped her fingers against the front window. Then she bent over and jabbed a fingernail into the tire. "The car's bulletproof, something you might find useful in the next couple of hours. The vehicle has puncture-proof tires."


"Are they going to be shooting at us?" Werewolves with guns, I wondered.
"No, but the unbreakable glass will protect you from creatures that can tear you apart. I' want to be able to hug you at the end of the evening, not put you back together again."


The grim reality of what we were about to do settled in my stomach like a badly cooked heavy meal. "Who drives?"


"You do. You need to get the feel of the car before our battle with the werewolves. It weighs two tons, and you can use it as a weapon. Anything you hit won't remain standing."


"Okay, what's the plan?" I swallowed hard.


"I'll go to the demon pretending I want heroin. When I get close, I will throw a powder I purchased from a Chinese healer on the creature. He was certain his ancient mixture would render it inert for a few minutes, giving me an opportunity to end its existence. After that, we do everything we can to stay alive." The tone of her voice was flat and hard. Her eyes narrowed, and her jaw tightened. "Drive," she said.


We buckled up, and I put the key in the ignition. The powerful engine roared like a magnificent beast announcing its presence. I pulled away from the curb, merging with the traffic.
"Where do we find the demon?" I asked.


"In an abandoned warehouse in Redhook."


"A great neighborhood for getting mugged." Most of this area lay in ruins, waiting for contractors and real estate agents to gentrify it. 


"Addicts with little money go to the building looking for a cheap fix, but they unwittingly buy a lethal overdose. The area reeks of death because the creature feeds on the souls of the people it kills."


I made a left and we entered the southbound lanes of F.D.R. Drive. We crossed the Manhattan Bridge and then changed to interstate 278.
"Take the Columbia Street exit and make a right turn when we reach Dikeman," she said.


The neighborhood deteriorated as we drove west. Broken windows on boarded-up buildings became increasingly common. We continued driving and passed abandoned structures, ready to collapse. The area seemed fitting for our battle.


"Slow down and pull over to the curb," Monica said. "That's the place."
A hundred yards away, and old, two-story, brick warehouse missing most of the windows and a front door, waited for condemnation.


The faint cry of gulls flying over the harbor told me how close we were to the water.


"The creature is inside. I will be able to enter before they can stop me. The werewolves will almost certainly attack me as I leave the building.
"I don't understand. I thought they guarded the demon."


"The demon is immortal and assumes I will be one more victim. I plan to end its arrogance." Monique flashed a feral smile that chilled me.


"How will I know when to drive the car to you?"


I'll shine a small flashlight two times as soon as I am outside. That is your cue to come and get me. If I'm not out in fifteen minutes, drive the car to the front of the building with your gun cocked and ready to shoot."


"There are almost a hundred yards of bricks, bottles, and other debris I have to drive over before I reach you. I hope the puncture proof tires hold up that long."


"I won't be standing still, waiting for you," Monica said. She exited the door before I could say another word. She moved quickly until she reached the entrance. Then she stopped, scanned the area, and entered with the stealth of an expert burglar.


A quick glance at my watch revealed it was midnight. How fitting, I thought. I turned around, took the shotgun out of the case loaded it. When I checked again, fifteen minutes had passed. I sipped water from a plastic bottle, but I would've given anything for some of Monica's single malt whiskey. My hands sat on top of the steering wheel, enabling me to watch for her signal.


Two blinks of the flashlight alerted me. I started the Caddy and drove slowly until I climbed the curb. Then I increased the speed to ten miles an hour, which was as fast as I dared go over the rough terrain. The ride was bumpy and loud, as bricks and pieces of concrete hit the underside of the car.


Two dark shapes appeared and converged on Monica. Driving closer revealed the details of the brown-haired werewolves. When the closest one lunged at her, she bent her knees and tossed the beast over her head into the brick wall. The other werewolf wrapped its paw-like hands around her face trying to gouge her eyes. She rolled to the side and kicked its right knee. The beast howled and crumpled to its knees. Monica rose and bit the beast's furry neck. The werewolf pawed at her trying to pull away. She continued biting until the beast's head rolled to the side, and its body stopped moving.


I stopped the car within ten feet of her, opened the passenger door, and shouted, "Get in."


She took a step toward the car, but turned about when a loud howling pierced the night air. The werewolf she'd thrown against the wall was charging at her. Monica waited until the beast was almost on her, stepped to the side, and pushed it to the ground. Before it could move, Monica's knees were on its back and her hands under its chin. She pulled the werewolf's head towards her. I heard a snapping sound, and the beast lay still 


Monica stood up and pointed over my shoulder. "Behind you."


I got out of the car, turned, and fired both barrels of the shotgun towards a blurred figure racing at me. The werewolf howled and grabbed its right hind leg. I reached for two more slugs as the beast hobbled toward me. I put one slug in a chamber but fumbled the other. "Idiot," I said to myself and finally chambered both slugs. When I fired, the top of the werewolf's head disappeared. The beast's forward momentum carried it into me. The body and the rest of the werewolf's head hit my chest, and I bounced off the car. I lost the grip on the shotgun as I fell to the ground. I experienced a sharp pain in my left shoulder. Momentarily stunned, I took a deep breath and reached for the shotgun.


Two more brown werewolves ran out of the building while Monica was helping me to stand. "Down," I shouted and quickly loaded the gun.
Monica dropped to her knees, giving me a clear line of fire. I pulled the triggers as a growling werewolf jumped at me. Both slugs caught the beast in the chest, and it tumbled backward to the earth. Monica had risen and charged a werewolf that was coming at her. They collided and both fell down. The beast was more dazed than Monica was, and she wrapped her hands around its throat. The werewolf futilely grabbed at her arms as she tightened her grip and finally broke its neck.


I pivoted, looking for more werewolves. Seeing none, I took a deep breath. When I touched my chest, I felt a warm congealing fluid mingled with tufts of hair. Bile rose in my mouth, causing me to gag. I was about to say something to Monica when I watched her turn and walk toward the other side of the building. I went around the car and followed slightly behind, but parallel to her.


Clouds covered the moon, and I couldn't see what had caught her attention. A brief shaft of moonlight revealed an enormous, heavily muscled werewolf, close to seven feet tall. When the beast opened its mouth, three inch-long canines glistened in the light. This was the alpha male whose pack we had just destroyed. Its chest and arms were massive, and it slowly moved toward Monica. I put the shotgun to my shoulder and closed the distance with the beast.


The werewolf strode to within fifteen feet of Monica when it changed direction and charged me. The beast ran so fast I barely had time to pull the triggers. It anticipated my action, and pivoted to the side, avoiding both slugs. The werewolf turned and resumed its charge. I grabbed a slug, but I didn't have time to pull the trigger before it would be on me. I cringed as I awaited its attack. 


The werewolf was less than three yards from me when it fell forward and hit the ground with a loud thump. Monica had tackled the beast. She had wrapped her arms around its legs just above the ankles. The werewolf kicked her in the chest, and she grunted as she flew six feet in the air. 


Her action gave me enough time to load the gun. I fired both barrels when the beast rushed at me. The giant figure staggered backward after the slugs entered its chest. The werewolf stopped, and took a step in my direction, even though blood flowed freely from two large wounds. I reached for more ammunition but found I had used all of it. The beast took one more step toward me, and, I grabbed the end of the barrels. I was about to swing the butt of the shotgun at the beast's head, but it finally collapsed to the ground.


I walked to where Monica had risen to her knees. "How are you?"
"How do I look?" She brushed the dirt out of her hair and off her face.
"Alive." I extended my hand, helping her stand.


"I wondered what would happen if you had tried to hit the werewolf with the stock of the shotgun," Monica chuckled. The werewolves had torn the front of her leather jacket to shreds. Her fangs had disappeared, and she was once again my beautiful lover.


My shoulder throbbed. She held my right hand, and we walked back to the car. A final look at my watch revealed the time to be 12:30 a.m. Those were the longest thirty minutes I ever experienced.
I winced when I reached for the front door. The throbbing in my shoulder was distracting.


"I'll drive," Monica said, and sat behind the steering wheel. She drove slowly over the rubble-strewn field, picking up speed once we were on the smoother road. Long scratches on both sides of her face showed the damage inflicted by the werewolves. With her rapid rate of healing, her wounds would disappear within a few hours.


Though my heartbeat had slowed, adrenaline still ran me. I was too dazed to drive regardless of the condition of my body. When I closed my eyes, visions of werewolves running and leaping at me, filled my mind.


"Dan, are you okay?" Monica asked, peering intently at me.


"I think so." I had been through hell, and though I survived, being "okay" lay in the distant future." My ribs ached, and my left shoulder as if the Yankees had used it for batting practice. I had heard people talk about experiences they couldn't describe. Now I knew what they meant.


"You were terrific," she said, touching my left shoulder. "It's not dislocated, but you have a bad bruise that needs to be iced to minimize the swelling." She stroked my cheek. "I wouldn't be alive without you."


"We make a good team," I said. "But this game is out of my league."
"Don't underestimate yourself. You fought monsters that most people couldn't face." 


"Tell me about what happened inside the building?"


"A putrid smell caused by decaying bodies permeated the air." Monica's nose twitched as she remembered the odor. "I sensed an ancient evil that had been feeding on the souls of humans for many years. The demon hid in an alcove, waiting for me to approach before it showed itself."
"What happened next?" I asked.


"The demon started to cast a spell, but stopped moving when I threw the powder on it. Completely covering the demon with the intricate mixture immobilized it. I grabbed a piece of old wood, set the end on fire, and then used my makeshift torch to burn the creature."


"That simple?" 


"Only when I leave out most of the details. Everything happened so fast." Monica shrugged.


We stopped at a traffic light, and she put her head on the steering wheel. Monica was exhausted, but I couldn't drive. She raised her eyes and blinked when the light turned green.


"You're hurt and physically drained," I said. "There are limits to even your powers." 


"We'll be back at my place in ten minutes. Then we can clean up and rest until our bodies and spirits heal." 


I suspected my body would heal long before my spirit.


End