Haunted MTL Original – JANE – J.C. Alan
“JANE” by J.C. Alan
1
Derrick Randolph returned home from work, his hands were covered in filth and a blanket of sweat coated his forehead, his blue collar shirt was wrinkled, much like the dark circles under his eyes. The sun had set; dark clouds loomed above like levitating shadow figures. Derrick grabbed a milk pan from above the kitchen counter, the other pots and pans swayed like hanging corpses. The weight of the pan hurt his hands. He groaned. “I sure do hope I have milk left.”
He searched for the gallon of milk inside the refrigerator – the shelves were mostly empty, only a pot of cooked rice and chicken and a bag of vegetables remained – and was relieved to find it, although there was less than half. He hadn’t had the time to shop for more groceries, working 16 hours everyday kept him occupied. He poured milk into the pan and turned the stove on and went into the living room to turn on the TV as well. His dog, a Shih Tzu with beady eyes named Cutesie, yapped from her play area beside the TV stand. She hopped on Derrick’s lap and sniffed his face, and sneezed.
“Smell like shit, don’t I? Don’t worry, sweet girl, I’m gonna shower as soon I’m done watching the news,” Derrick said.
Cutesie yapped and raised her ears up.
“Hell, how can I forget? You haven’t eaten since lunchtime, haven’t ya? I’ll look for something, dear, don’t you worry.” He stood and returned to the kitchen. He opened one of the drawers and took out a knife to slice pieces of chicken from the pot in the refrigerator. Cutesie had followed him, she stood on her hind legs, her front paws resting upon the counter with her head raised up, licking her lips. “There, there, Cutesie. I’m almost done-” Footsteps above him creaked the second floor. He looked at the ceiling, perplexed, his brows furrowed.
“Strange,” he said.
Strange, indeed. He lived alone. The footsteps led to the left, towards the top of the stairs, and his eyes followed the creaks. Moonlight seeped through the window and shone the area where the stairs began. Whoever – or whatever – it was, descended down the stairs, stopping midway before the moonlight. A pair of shining eyes floated in the darkness.
Derrick’s throat clenched. Cutesie stood on all fours, her ears and tail rose. He gulped. “Who’s – who’s there?”
A hand reached into the light, it was like mist in the air. “She escaped.” A girl’s voice spoke.
Derrick put the knife down – Cutesie yapped her face off – he wished he hadn’t known what the girl spoke of, but he did.
“How do you know?”
The eyes darted to the left and it pointed at the TV, its volume increased by itself, it said:
“- we have the scary report of an escapee from The House, a hospital for the criminally insane. It is known that the individual had overpowered a guard and had climbed over the barb wire fence, leaving a bloody trail behind which the police are currently following. We will not reveal the suspect, but authorities recommend you contact the hospital or the police if you see anything suspicious -”
“I – it can’t be. It can’t be Jane,” he said.
“Mother is coming,” the girl spoke.
Before Derrick said anything, the figure retreated upstairs – a tail of mist followed – and disappeared from his sight.
2
Derrick’s hands shook. Cutesie yapped, but stayed in her place. He finished cutting the pieces of chicken and placed the bowl of food on the floor. Cutesie went up to it and began eating.
“Stay here, you hear me? Don’t you move. I’ll be right back,” his voice cracked.
He crept upstairs, his eyes peered into the darkness; they grew accustomed to it. An endless hallway stretched as far as he could see. He kneeled and sobbed. “Why – why is this happening to me, God?”
“YOU KNOW WHY,” the girl’s voice echoed from the hallway.
He jerked back; his eyes widened; he stood. “I’m sorry for what happened to you. I – I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her.” He walked farther down the endless hallway, in limbo, unknowing where it led, and followed her voice.
“Why did mother kill me?” she said.
The question struck his nerves like lightning, yet he kept walking. His stomach dragged on like the weight of a dumbbell.
“I – I didn’t think she was capable of doing such a thing. My poor sweet daughter. I’m sorry, Lani.”
A cold wave of air whooshed through him, as if the hallway took a giant breath. He trembled and rubbed his hands together.
“You’re lying,” the voice said. “You knew she would, but you denied it.”
Hearing Lani say that made him want to vomit. It was the truth after all, however, partially. He had married Jane and had even thrown her a wedding party and had bought her a diamond ring, despite them both growing up in poverty. A stupid decision? Perhaps, but he wanted to show her true happiness because she had never known it. Before their marriage, he would often find her staring out the window, either at the sky or at the children playing in the street; even date nights the local comedy shop wasn’t enough for her to crack a smile (perhaps she was dying of laughter inside).
Derrick believed it in his heart that Jane wanted to bear children, a child should bring nothing but happiness, after all, when your days consist of observing them. She stopped having an agelast personality when she became pregnant with Lani. However, not in the way Derrick thought. She continued to stare outside the window while rubbing her pregnant belly – as Lani kicked inside her, Jane curved a smile and said, “I can’t wait to show you eternity.”
Derrick overheard this, and believed she spoke of eternal life and her new found happiness – not death. With no personal and family history of mental disorders, it became apparent that Jane was strange to say the least. Besides the constant daydreaming, she would speak to herself in her sleep, or mumble that is. Phrases such as “she’s inside me” or “I will” would fill up Derrick’s ears for most of the night. When Lani was finally born, Jane began having spontaneous insanity – a short episode when she would randomly strike or scream at whoever was nearby.
This came at a wrong time. Years had passed; Derrick had been napping on the living room couch. Jane had gone out to shop for groceries with Lani. On their way there, Jane clenched the steering wheel and took sharp turns, spontaneously switching lanes whenever she desired, without using her turn signals. The surrounding drivers cursed at her, which only irritated and enraged her further more. She was nearly at the supermarket when she switched to another lane and hit another car which was speeding to beat her.
Her car twisted and turned like a spinning top. Lani cried and shrieked as if the world was ending. It wasn’t until hours later when Derrick got the phone call that Jane had been in an accident (though he knew that wasn’t the case). He scurried out of the house, not bothering to even put on shorts and left with only his shirt and boxers on. Jane’s car had been totaled, the front bumper was caved in.
She and Lani were safe, however, the same could not have been said for the other driver who had flown out of their seat and crashed through the windshield and hit a light pole head straight. With Jane pleading as the innocent mother who was going out shopping for her sweet little daughter and the discovery of the other driver’s past issues with reckless driving, the court had ruled the event as an accident with the other driver being at fault, rather than Jane; she got off scott free. Derrick kept his mouth shut, even though he knew it was really Jane who was at fault, he locked that fact in the subconscious part of his mind. Time went on, but he hadn’t. He kept returning to the accident, as if he were chained by it, pulling on his nerves – a fish caught by a hook.
He finally gave in, and drove to The House of The Criminally Insane. The walls were painted white, in between each square of the building block was covered in filth. The gray flooring wasn’t an improvement, it had missing pieces – some larger than others – as if someone had drilled and left the job unfinished. A security guard stood beside the entrance, and pointed at the row of chairs where other people waited for their turn to speak to the lady at the front desk. As he sat, an animal-like shriek spooked him enough to shake the chair as if he were being electrocuted.
The lady beside him chuckled.
“First time?” she said, her voice was like rubbing sandpaper together.
“My apologies. Yes, it’s my first time here,” Derrick said.
“Oh don’t worry bout it. You’ll get used to it over time.”
Derrick smiled.
“You here to visit someone?”
“No, I – um – came to see if I can get advice on something.”
“I know it’s none of my business,” she coughed, “but advice on what?”
“Oh, well you see, I-”
A man in white clothing, with blonde hair and missing teeth, ran out from the hallway, screaming his lungs out. Two police officers chased him, but were unable to catch him until the security guard tackled the lunatic onto the floor, his head hit the pavement like a watermelon, and he was knocked out cold. All this happened in less than a minute – Derrick’s mouth gaped, he fought the urge to vomit. He swallowed it instead.
“I – um, came to see if I could put my wife here. She needs help.”
“Oh no, honey, this place will make her lose her marbles even more. Has she crossed completely to the coo-coo side?” she twirled her finger near her head.
Derrick shook his head and gulped. “I’m – I’m not sure. She’s a decent mother and a decent wife.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad to me. Unlike my daughter, she bit off her boyfriend’s fingers and chewed on them like fried chicken. I think it’s safe to bet that your wife just needs more lovin’ that’s all. She’s probably grouchy all the time, that’s all.”
Derrick nodded. “That’s what I thought too.” He murmured. He stood. “Thanks. And goodluck with your daughter’s well being.”
“You betcha,” she nodded.
He exited the hospital and returned to the parking lot. Before he sped into the road he looked back at the hospital. His stomach churned with sick disgust, the feeling that he would visit The House soon again grew inside him, and he was right in the end.
Derrick gritted his teeth; his body shivered. The cold air blew.
“I – I – I wa – wanted t – to believe her,” he said.
The mist returned. Five feet away, a figure formed in the abyss of the hallway. Lani’s ghostly eyes paraylzed Derrick to a halt.
“Set me free, poppa,” she whispered, “it’s so cold and lonely.”
Derrick’s mouth gaped. “Tell me how, sweet heart. I want you to be happy, even if you’re not with me.” He murmured.
Lani stepped closer to him. “Set mother free.”
Derrick shook his head and stared into Lani’s empty-cold eyes. “What?
“SET HER FREE.” She shrieked.
Derrick winced and covered his ears, his palms frozen against his lobes. Lani’s shriek turned into a low yap. What had been a mist in front of him was now a four-legged creature with grotesque features – its enlarged eyes contained bloodshot veins; it had claws unlike Derrick had ever seen; its teeth were fangs much like a vampire’s; and it growled like a canine from hell.
“Cutesie?” Derrick said, in horror.
The creature yapped; it sent chills down his spine. The creature crept to him like a wolf. Derrick put his hands out and gasped.
“Cutesie, it’s me, Derrick. No need to hurt me.”
The creature jumped with its claws pushed out. Derrick screamed, pulling himself sideways. One of its claws caught onto his shirt. The creature howled and munched on Derrick’s rib, its teeth sunk deeper as he panicked, ripping a piece of his flesh. He fell on his back, groaning.
The creature shook its tiny head with flesh still in its mouth. Derrick punched on its demonic eyes, and it jerked back, setting him free from its teeth. But it wasn’t done. As Derrick stood and ran farther into the hallway, the creature chased after him, blood dripping from its fangs and hissing like a snake.
“Lani, help me,” Derrick said. “That – that thing’s gonna kill me.” He panted.
But there was no answer. Instead, the hallway took another giant breath; the cold wind whooshed upon his face, his fingers were ice shards. Again, the creature jumped, but this time, on his back where it chomped on his neck. His chest stiffened, his hands threatened to break into pieces, yet he reached his back and grabbed the creature’s head; it growled from the touch of Derrick’s cold fingers. He launched the creature into the air, it landed on its four legs with no issue.
Rather than stopping, Derrick ran towards it and kicked its hideous face. His shoe caved the skull inwards, its eyes enlarged even more and then popped like a balloon, squirting black goo on Derrick’s feet.
SNAP!
The neck bent and broke as well. Derrick clenched its back and launched the creature into the air, once again, splatting on the wall like a bird flying into a window. The creature slid down the wall and left a trial of the black goo. Derrick stopped. He hovered over the corpse, which made a low hum, evident that its diabolical soul still harbored life. He held the wound on his rib tighter. A tear trickled down his cheek.
3
What seemed like hours had passed, he hadn’t been any closer to what he deemed of as the end in an everlasting pit of eternity. His knuckles flushed, the bite mark behind his neck did too. His wound had stopped bleeding, but not because of the pressure he had put on, but due to it becoming frozen – the skin around it contained blisters which looked as if they were ready to burst. If he removed his hand, it would surely make him faint. However, his mind carried an immense weight that he knew he would do so at any moment.
“Lani.” He mumbled. “Lani. I – I can’t keep going.”
Another giant breath; the wind blew.
“Now that you’ve experienced death, you shall bring me mercy.” The voice boomed.
A shriek echoed behind him. Derrick’s heart dropped, his body became paralyzed. He slowly turned. “The creature.” He mumbled. But he was wrong.
In the dark, a figure became visible, it stumbled and dragged its leg as if it were about to tear apart from its limb.
Seconds later, a pale woman, with a trial of blood behind her, manifested. To him, she appeared to be bald, but as she got closer, it was apparent that her black hair matched the sable emptiness of the hallway. She carried a knife which leaked fresh blood. Her face had a blank stare, with eyes which stared at Derrick with great intensity. He wanted to vomit at the sight of Jane.
“My love,” he mumbled, “let me show you happiness once again. Please. It’s all I have to offer.”
Jane hissed, revealing yellow teeth that were also blackened with decay.
“Jane, please,” he begged, “I loved you and I still do, even if you don’t show happiness, I loved giving it to you,” he walked backwards.
She pulled her other hand from behind her back. She carried a four-legged animal, its neck and legs slouched towards the floor, leached from all life. Derrick swallowed the urge to scream. It wasn’t the creature he had killed hours ago. It was the real Cutesie.
“You were blind,” Jane whispered, her lips bruised from the cold, “You were blind, so you should not possess the privilege of sight.”
Derrick gasped. “Jane, I love you no matter what.”
Jane cracked a smile from ear to ear. “Then you’re an infatuated fool.” She shrieked and ran towards him. He screamed as the knife drilled deeper into his chest.
4
Derrick fell on his back. Jane’s paleness glowed in the dark, she crawled on top of him as if they were about to make love. She kissed his lips, hers were like blocks of ice. Her hair brushed against his forehead and cheeks. He searched for her brown eyes, but they weren’t there, replaced instead by white pearls and bloodshot veins.
Derrick groaned, his breath puffed hot breath. “I should’ve helped you more.”
“You couldn’t,” she said.
“Why? Why did you do it? Why did you kill Lani?”
“Sweety, because I simply had the choice to.”
He shook his head. “No, there must be a reason.”
She smiled, again. “Sweety, madness has no obligation to reason with anyone.” She grabbed the knife and twisted it despite hitting bone. Derrick’s mouth gaped, the pain nearly knocked him unconscious. Jane had killed Lani, escaped from the hospital, broken into his home, killed Cutesie, and punctured his chest – this woman caused nothing but pain in his life, and all he ever wanted was to make her happy. Derrick wanted a view of the sky, instead, he was greeted by a ceiling.
A mist manifested. Lani looked down upon Derrick’s flushing face.
“I can’t,” he mumbled. “I can’t do it.”
“Then you shall die,” Lani said and dwindled like she was composed of dust.
Jane giggled like a little school girl, then, gradually, went into a full blown maniacal laughter.
Derrick shook his head, his eyes filled with tears.
“Lord, forgive me,” he said.
He punched Jane in the throat; she stopped laughing and fell on her side, gasping for air. Derrick turned and pushed himself on top of her. He clenched her throat, his thumbs pressing deeper into her larynx. Her feet twisted and turned, she held his shoulders and stared into his eyes.
Derrick groaned. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracked, “I’m sorry, love.” Tears dripped down onto Jane’s cheeks.
Ten minutes had passed. Jane no longer moved. Her eyes had rolled to the back of her skull. The hallway was illuminated by the chandelier above. Derrick had fallen into an unconscious slumber.
5
Derrick awoke. His eyes were shone by an excruciating light. He winced. The pain is his chest had alleviated, but it still hurt to touch. A vital sign monitor stood beside him.
To his right, a nurse wrote on her clipboard.
“Sir? Do you need something? Water? New pillows?”
“Where am I?”
“You’re at Adventist Health Gray Memorial.”
“How – how did I get here?”
“The neighbors complained of screaming; police found you wounded on the floor.”
“And my wife, Jane?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Yes, my wife, Jane. She was laying next to me.”
The nurse tilted her head. “I’m not following.”
Derrick clicked his mouth. “My wife, Jane, the woman I killed by choking her to death with my bare heads – she is dead, yes?”
The nurse’s blank stare reminded him of Jane, and sent chills down his spine.
“Sir,” the nurse gulped, “the police were under the impression that you were attacked.”
Derrick squinted. “What? No, I killed her. Why would the police think I was attacked?”
“Because the police didn’t find a woman in the house.”
THE END
Alan Jair Castaneda Uribe, alternatively, known as J.C. Alan, is a Mexican American writer and filmmaker. His works fall into various genres including Horror, Science Fiction, Crime/Thriller, Mystery, and Fantasy.
What if ours weren’t the only reality? What if the past paths converged, if those moments that led to our current circumstances got tangled together with their alternates and we found ourselves caught up in the threads?
Marla returned home after the funeral and wake. She drew the key in the lock and opened the door slowly, the looming dread of coming back to an empty house finally sinking in. Everyone else had gone home with their loved ones. They had all said, “goodbye,” and moved along.
Her daughter Misty and son-in-law Joel had caught a flight to Springfield so he could be at work the next day for the big meeting. Her brother Darcy was on his way back to Montreal. Emmett and Ruth were at home next door, probably washing dishes from the big meal they had helped to provide afterward, seeing as their kitchen light was on. Marla remembered there being food but couldn’t recall what exactly as she hadn’t felt like eating. Sandwiches probably… she’d have to thank them later.
Marla had felt supported up until she turned the key in the lock after the services, but then the realization sank deep in her throat like acid reflux, hanging heavy on her heart – everyone else had other lives to return to except for her. She sighed and stepped through the threshold onto the outdated beige linoleum tile and the braided rag rug that stretched across it. She closed the door behind herself and sighed again. She wiped her shoes reflexively on the mat before just kicking them off to land in a haphazard heap in the entryway.
The still silence of the house enveloped her, its oppressive emptiness palpable – she could feel it on her skin, taste it on her tongue. It was bitter. She sighed and walked purposefully to the living room, the large rust-orange sofa waiting to greet her. She flopped into its empty embrace, dropping her purse at her side as she did so.
A familiar, husky voice greeted her from deeper within the large, empty house. “Where have you been?”
Marla looked up and glanced around. Her husband Frank was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, drying a bowl. Marla gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth. Her clutched appendage took on a life of its own, slowly relinquishing itself of her gaping jaw and extending a first finger to point at the specter.
“Frank?” she spoke hesitantly.
“Yeah,” the man replied, holding the now-dry bowl nestled in the faded blue-and-white-checkered kitchen towel in both hands. “Who else would you expect?”
“But you’re dead,” Marla spat, the words falling limply from her mouth of their own accord.
The 66-year old man looked around confusedly and turned to face Marla, his silver hair sparkling in the light from the kitchen, illuminated from behind like a halo. “What are you talking about? I’m just here washing up after lunch. You were gone so I made myself some soup. Where have you been?”
“No, I just got home from your funeral,” Marla spoke quietly. “You are dead. After the boating accident… You drowned. I went along to the hospital – they pronounced you dead on arrival.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank said. “What boating accident?”
“The sailboat… You were going to take me out,” Marla coughed, her brown eyes glossed over with tears.
“We don’t own a sailboat,” Frank said bluntly. “Sure, I’d thought about it – it seems like a cool retirement hobby – but it’s just too expensive. We’ve talked about this, we can’t afford it.”
Marla glanced out the bay window towards the driveway where the small sailboat sat on its trailer, its orange hull reminiscent of the Florida citrus industry, and also of the life jacket Frank should have been wearing when he’d been pulled under. Marla cringed and turned back toward the kitchen. She sighed and spoke again, “But the boat’s out front. The guys at the marina helped to bring it back… after you… drowned.”
Frank had retreated to the kitchen to put away the bowl. Marla followed. She stood in the doorway and studied the man intently. He was unmistakably her husband, there was no denying it even despite her having just witnessed his waxen lifeless body in the coffin at the wake before the burial, though this Frank was a slight bit more overweight than she remembered.
“Well, that’s not possible. Because I’m still here,” Frank grumbled. He turned to face her, his blue eyes edged with worry. “There now, it was probably just a dream. You knew I wanted a boat and your anxiety just formulated the worst-case scenario…”
“See for yourself,” Marla said, her voice lilting with every syllable.
Frank strode into the living room and stared out the bay window. The driveway was vacant save for some bits of Spanish moss strewn over the concrete from the neighboring live oak tree. He turned towards his wife.
“But there’s no boat,” he sighed. “You must have had a bad dream. Did you fall asleep in the car in the garage again?” Concern was written all over his face, deepening every crease and wrinkle. “Is that where you were? The garage?”
Marla glanced again at the boat, plain as day, and turned to face Frank. Her voice grew stubborn. “It’s right here. How can you miss it?” she said, pointing at the orange behemoth.
“Honey, there’s nothing there,” Frank exclaimed, exasperation creeping into his voice.
Marla huffed and strode to the entryway, gathering her shoes from where they waited in their haphazard heap alongside the braided rag run on the worn linoleum floor. She marched out the door as Frank took vigil in its open frame, still staring at her. She stomped out to the boat and slapped her hand on the fiberglass surface with a resounding smack. The boat was warm to the touch, having baked in the Florida sun. She turned back towards the front door.
“See!” she bellowed.
The door stood open, empty. No one was there, watching. Marla sighed again and walked back inside. The vacant house once again enveloped her in its oppressive emptiness. Frank was nowhere to be found.
So I guess it’s goodbye for now. Feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.
Today on Nightmarish Nature we’re gonna revisit The Blob and jiggle our way to terror. Why? ‘Cause we’re just jellies – looking at those gelatinous denizens of the deep, as well as some snot-like land-bound monstrosities, and wishing we could ooze on down for some snoozy booze schmoozing action. Or something.
Honestly, I don’t know what exactly it is that jellyfish and slime molds do but whatever it is they do it well, which is why they’re still around despite being among the more ancient organism templates still in common use.
Jellyfish are on the rise.
Yeah, yeah, some species like moon jellies will hang out in huge blooms near the surface feeding, but that’s not what I meant. Jellyfish populations are up. They’re honing in on the open over-fished ocean and making themselves at home. Again.
And, although this makes the sea turtles happy since jellies are a favorite food staple of theirs, not much else is excited about the development. Except for those fish that like to hide out inside of their bells, assuming they don’t accidentally get eaten hanging out in there. But that’s a risk you gotta take when you’re trying to escape predation by surrounding yourself in a bubble of danger that itself wants to eat you. Be eaten or be eaten. Oh, wait…
So what makes jellies so scary?
Jellyfish pack some mighty venom. Despite obvious differences in mobility, they are related to anemones and corals. But not the Man o’ War which looks similar but is actually a community of microorganisms that function together as a whole, not one creature. Not that it matters when you’re on the wrong end of a nematocyst, really. Because regardless what it’s attached to, that stings.
Box jellies are among the most venomous creatures in the world and can move of their own accord rather than just drifting about like many smaller jellyfish do. And even if they aren’t deadly, the venom from many jellyfish species will cause blisters and lesions that can take a long time to heal. So even if they do resemble free-floating plastic grocery bags, you’d do best to steer clear. Because those are some dangerous curves.
But what does this have to do with slime molds?
Absolutely nothing. I honestly don’t know enough about jellyfish or slime molds to devote the whole of a Nightmarish Nature segment to either, so they had to share. Essentially, this bit is what happened when I decided to toast a bagel before coming up with something to write about and spent a tad too much time in contemplation of my breakfast. I guess we’re lucky I didn’t have any cream cheese or clotted cream…
Oh, and also thinking about gelatinous cubes and oozes in the role-playing game sense – because those sort of seem like a weird hybrid between jellies and slime molds, as does The Blob. Any of those amoeba influenced creatures are horrific by their very nature – they don’t even need to be souped up, just ask anyone who’s had dysentery.
And one of the most interesting thing about slime molds is that they can take the shortest path to food even when confronted with very complex barriers. They are maze masterminds and would give the Minotaur more than a run for his money, especially if he had or was food. They have even proven capable of determining the most efficient paths for water lines or railways in metropolitan regions, which is kind of crazy when you really think about it. Check it out in Scientific American here. So, if we assume that this is essentially the model upon which The Blob was built, then it’s kind of a miracle anything got away. And slime molds are coming under closer scrutiny and study as alternative means of creating computer components are being explored.
Jellies are the Wave of the Future.
We are learning that there may be a myriad of uses for jellyfish from foodstuffs to cosmetic products as we rethink how we interact with them. They are even proving useful in cleaning up plastic pollution. I don’t know how I feel about the foodstuff angle for all that they’ve been a part of various recipes for a long time. From what I’ve seen of the jellyfish cookbook recipes, they just don’t look that appealing. But then again I hate boba with a passion, so I’m probably not the best candidate to consider the possibility.
So it seems that jellies are kind of the wave of the future as we find that they can help solve our problems. That’s pretty impressive for some brainless millions of years old critter condiments. Past – present – perpetuity! Who knows what else we’d have found if evolution hadn’t cleaned out the fridge every so often?
Feel free to check out more Nightmarish Nature here.
Continuing our junkyard dawg werewolf story from the previous St. Patrick’s Days… though technically he’s more of a wolfwere but wolfwhatever. Anyway, here are Part 1 from 2022, Part 2 from 2023 and Part 3 from 2024 if you want to catch up.
Yeah I don’t know how you managed to find me after all this time. We haven’t been the easiest to track down, Monty and I, and we like it that way. Though actually, you’ve managed to find me every St. Patrick’s Day since 2022 despite me being someplace else every single time. It’s a little disconcerting, like I’m starting to wonder if I was microchipped way back in the day in 2021 when I was out lollygagging around and blacked out behind that taco hut…
Anyway as I’d mentioned before, that Scratchers was a winner. And I’d already moved in with Monty come last St. Patrick’s Day. Hell, he’d already begun the process of cashing in the Scratchers, and what a process that was. It made my head spin, like too many squirrels chirping at you from three different trees at once. We did get the money eventually though.
Since I saw you last, we were kicked out of Monty’s crap apartment and had gone to live with his parents while we sorted things out. Thank goodness that was short-lived; his mother is a nosy one for sure, and Monty didn’t want to let on he was sitting on a gold mine as he knew they’d want a cut even though they had it made already. She did make a mean brisket though, and it sure beat living with Sal. Just sayin.
Anyway, we finally got a better beater car and headed west. I was livin’ the dream. We were seeing the country, driving out along old Route 66, for the most part. At least until our car broke down just outside of Roswell near the mountains and we decided to just shack it up there. (Boy, Monty sure can pick ‘em. It’s like he has radar for bad cars. Calling them lemons would be generous. At least it’s not high maintenance women who won’t toss you table scraps or let you up on the sofa.)
We found ourselves the perfect little cabin in the woods. And it turns out we were in the heart of Bigfoot Country, depending on who you ask. I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen one. But it seems that Monty was all into all of those supernatural things: aliens, Bigfoot, even werewolves. And finding out his instincts on me were legit only added fuel to that fire. So now he sees himself as some sort of paranormal investigator.
Whatever. I keep telling him this werewolf gig isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, and it doesn’t work like in the movies. I wasn’t bitten, and I generally don’t bite unless provoked. He says technically I’m a wolfwere, to which I just reply “Where?” and smile. Whatever. It’s the little things I guess. I just wish everything didn’t come out as a bark most of the time, though Monty’s gotten pretty good at interpreting… As long as he doesn’t get the government involved, and considering his take on the government himself that would seem to be a long stretch. We both prefer the down low.
So here we are, still livin’ the dream. There aren’t all that many rabbits out here but it’s quiet and the locals don’t seem to notice me all that much. And Monty can run around and make like he’s gonna have some kind of sighting of Bigfoot or aliens or the like. As long as the pantry’s stocked it’s no hair off my back. Sure, there are scads of tourists, but they can be fun to mess around with, especially at that time of the month if I happen to catch them out and about.
Speaking of tourists, I even ran into that misspent youth from way back in 2021 at the convenience store; I spotted him at the Quickie Mart along the highway here. I guess he and his girlfriend were apparently on walkabout (or car-about) perhaps making their way to California or something. He even bought me another cookie. Small world. But we all knew that already…
If you enjoyed this werewolf wolfwere wolfwhatever saga, feel free to check out more of Jennifer Weigel’s work here on Haunted MTL or here on her website.