Page 44 of Wicked Hungry

Something so easy to do, and just as impossible to take back.

Blood flows into my mouth. So there is a way to quench the thirst. Finally something that isn’t cold. I rip it apart with my claws, my teeth, crunching on bones and raw meat. Part of me wants to run again, find a deer or a moose. Yeah, right, you’re thinking, a moose in the suburbs? I was lucky to find a rabbit.

Maybe there are deer nearby. Can I smell wild turkey? My nose is keen, but dulled again by...

People, nearby.

The rabbit consumed, I sniff, my snout up in the air.

There is something familiar in the smell.

It’s the party. In my chase of the rabbit I’ve come full circle, back to Carolina’s house where Meredith and Carolina are still dancing the night away.

Except somehow I know Meredith isn’t dancing. She’s probably in Carolina’s room, crying.

All my fault.

I bring my snout up into the air and howl at the moon.

The change begins again. It would be a lie to say it feels any better in reverse. My face twists back, my claws retract into what already resemble long hands and feet. My body is tortured, squeezed into itself, as I straighten up on my hind legs, as my spine rearranges, shortening and straightening, and then I am a boy, standing.

Alone, naked, in the cold forest.

Chapter 18: BACK TO THE PARTY

My arms pump as I run furtively between the houses. Let me tell you, it’s a lot harder to run as a naked boy than as a naked werewolf. Embarrassing, too.

Although I run fast.

Now I huddle underneath the tree again, wet ground under my bare feet. From inside Carolina’s house, music plays on. I am still hungry, but not for blood or meat. My clothes are on the ground and I put them on in the dark. My human hands feel clumsy, like ill-fitting mittens. Luckily my clothes, protected by the tree, are only damp. I walk up to the door, clothes steaming against my hot skin, and knock.

No answer. No one comes to the door.

There’s nothing left to do but turn away and walk home.

Behind me, I hear the door open.

“Snowball?” a girl calls. “Snowball!”

I turn, hoping to see a baked potato. But instead there is just a girl, with brown eyes turned red and a black t-shirt and jeans, shivering in the cold. Meredith.

“Have you seen my rabbit?” she asks. “Snowball?”

“Your rabbit?” I ask.

“I brought him with me for the sleepover, but he was freaking out with all the noise. So I took him outside with me to get some fresh air. But then he ran off.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Which is true. But kind of inadequate, don’t you think?

“You changed your costume,” she says.

I nod, starting to shiver, despite myself. My blood may run hot, but the air around me is New England cold.

“Stanley, come on in. It’s wicked cold out there.”

I nod and move toward the door. Meredith holds the door open and for the second time tonight I have to squeeze past her, and I feel her warmth against me. How can I compare her to Karen? Where Karen is hard and cold, Meredith is soft and warm. Here there are no blood red roses, no prickling thorns to overwhelm my senses. Just the faint smell of her perfume, and the sweet smell of something rancid.