The Lone Wolf
"God, it's cold." I whispered to myself as I strolled through downtown London. I folded my arms and pulled the sleeves of my jean jacket down over my hands in a futile effort to keep warm. The cold Canadian wind blew my hair this way and that, but luckily my long red mane has a habit of falling in the same place (which is fine and dandy when the wind's crazy, it puts a damper on styling it the way I want). It was New Year's Eve of 1987, and most 17-year-olds were probably either attending bush parties outside of the city and drinking illegally, or celebrating at home with friends and their parents' liquor stash. At least, that's what most normal teens would be doing.
Yet, I walked alone through the cold night. Loneliness was the only feeling I'd had for years. I abruptly stopped walking and snapped my head up to check for the millionth time that the full moon hadn't come out. The weatherman had said on the radio that tonight would be overcast, but I didn't trust him (he once predicted a ferocious thunderstorm on a July day that turned out to be beautiful. I'm surprised he wasn't fired).
Robby Sanchez, the cutest boy in school, asked me earlier that day to come with him to a party he was having at his apartment on Adelaide Street. I was so afraid of hurting his other party guests that I declined the invitation. I told him that I was meeting my friends downtown, as though I actually had friends, and he offered to drive me. So, I spent ten minutes at a party full of people I didn't know-two minutes waiting for him to drive away after he dropped me off, and eight minutes trying to get away from all the drunk twenty-year-olds wearing too-small plastic party hats who told me I was cool and begged me to stay. Suffice it to say, my night thus far had stunk out loud, and my hiding from everyone seemed unnecessary seeing as there was no moon out. I wondered if it was a mistake to say no to Robby.
A familiar nasal voice interrupted my thoughts.
"ELAINE?" someone nearly screamed. I turned in the direction the voice was coming from. Halfway down the block stood Candace Wodeham in a green-and-blue party hat, completely wasted. I could smell every drop of Jack Daniels she'd had. She had way too much purple eye shadow on, and I was surprised that I hadn't mistaken her for a streetwalker. She ran clumsily towards me, the stench of booze growing stronger and stronger until I had to force myself to not hold my nose in utter repulsion. When she got close enough, she slung an arm around me and starting talking to me.
"Elaine! Whaddaya doin' out here? Ya freak, why ain'tcha partyin' like the rest of us? C'mere, have a little sip 'a Aunt Candy's brandy!" she said, shoving a bottle of putrid liquid in my face.
"That's gin, you moron, and I'm not going to even get near that crap. It smells awful."
"Jeez-Louise, everything smells like shit to you, kid! Cologne, perfume, absolutely everything!"
"It's just really strong, is all. I could smell that junk from a mile away."
"Really?" Candace asked, putting the bottle under her nose. "I can't smell it unless it's right in front of me." She brought her arm down off my shoulders and took a half-step away from me. She looked me up and down, and then laughed her annoying Elmer-Fudd-while-he's-holding-his-nose-sitting-on-a-blender-after-he-just-inhaled-a-bunch-of-helium laugh.
"You're a regular freak, ain't ya? Ya got a pretty face, but you're a freak, kid." She took another swill of gin and leaned against a nearby telephone pole.
Freak? I thought. You don't know the half of it, Candy.
A thought whizzed through my mind. "Candace," I started, but my chest and throat tightened. We were both bathed a new, different light than the kind that came from the streetlamps. Every muscle in my body tensed, and I could hear my heart beating in my head. My eyes widened as I tilted my face up to the sky. Before me, among the glittering stars, the bright full moon shone. No. No, please no. NO! I screamed inside. Not now, not here! I don't want to hurt her! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, NO!
I sank to my knees as the pain of transformation surged through my body. Candace came over and put her hand on my back.
"Hey, what's wrong? You okay?"
"C…Candace. Stay a…away," I choked out. "Run."
Candace dropped her bottle of gin in shock as my form started to change. Small popping noises came from within me as the bones in my face broke and reformed in a new shape. My body hair became thick and grey and my fingernails shot from my fingers, creating claws.
"E-Elaine," Candace said shakily, walking backwards slowly, "What the hell's happening to you?"
My clothes started to tear, my limbs stretched, and my muscles grew five times their size. But the painful change wasn't the part I hated. I howled at the moon in despair as the transformation came to an end. I knew what was next.
Wave upon wave of bloodlust and hunger pulsed through me, and I turned to the nearest source of food—Candace. Throughout the city citizens shouted as the countdown began.
"TEN! NINE! EIGHT!"
Candace turned to run away from me, but she tripped over her gin bottle and did a face plant, giving me time to get closer. She turned to face me and scurried backwards.
"SEVEN! SIX!"
Her back hit the side of a mailbox, and her eyes widened in fear.
"FIVE! FOUR!"
I snarled and picked her up by her arms with one hand, grabbing her feet with the other.
"THREE! TWO!"
I pulled.
"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"