Again, The Soul Idea
It was fortunate for Ethan's future peace of mind that he was in an isolated, unpopulated area. Because there was little he did for the next several days that was any different from that of a ferocious, bloodthirsty werewolf.
Passing into the forest, soon were-Ethan left the foggy warm weather, the depraved echo of August 1956, and entered the genuine winter of the present day.
And so, sadly, were-Ethan hunted prey, scratched trees, slept, and did everything a real werewolf did for the next four days. Except eat human beings; not because were-Ethan didn't want to, but because there were none around.
It shouldn't be forgotten that Were-Ethan was a lazy werewolf, and not all that smart.
Were-Ethan was, however, was lonely for his own (lycanthropic) kind from time to time. Werewolves tend to howl even more than regular wolves. So, he made a lot of noise across his territory.
The last time he had been a werewolf he had gotten used to clothes. So were-Ethan still wore what was left of them. Another red jacket, t-shirt and jeans. Muddy, bloodstained, and ripped. And getting worse all the time. Yet, they were the last signal of him being more than a demonic dog prowling the werewolf.
That was the state of play was exactly four days since Ethan had been placed into a werewolf's body. Were-Ethan marked the occasion by entering a fight to the death. With a pack of real wolves.
Were-Ethan had howled his loneliness after killing a buck, a white-tailed deer. The deer was, of course, much smaller than a moose but more flavourful.
Were-Ethan picked up his ears as he heard howls answering. It was in ten minutes that a pack of eight timber wolves, or grey wolves, arrived on the scene.
Wolves are, unsurprisingly, the one animal that tolerates a werewolf the night of the full moon. Werewolves tend to be their ally, the night of the full moon.
But, contrary to Dusk, a pack of wolves is a genuinely inter-related family members. Not allies, genetic family. And, what's more, wolves are natural as compared to unnatural animals. Real wolves are also territorial animals. Were-Ethan had been prowling in their neck of the woods.
It was not the night of the full moon. And they saw no reason to continue to tolerate a cursed teenager in their midst.
Were-Ethan was taken aback to see the wolves, much smaller than himself, start growling hideously as him. The look of hurt showed in his face as clearly as that of any dog.
Were-Ethan backed off. He had been constantly on four legs for the last couple days, but fear made him go back into the old two legged stance.
Were-Ethan was knocked over as the wolves attacked . . . .
Were-Ethan healed nearly instantly, the wolves didn't. Were-Ethan was over seven feet tall, the real wolves were only about five to six feet long. Were-Ethan's claws were much deadlier. And were-Ethan's fangs were much sharper.
It was like a scene from a horror movie. There was more blood at the scene of the battle than at Jesse's last vampire party.
Seven of the eight wolves were killed. Two slowly bled to death from being cut down by were-Ethan's claws. The remainder had their necks torn out by were-Ethan's fangs.
But the lonely werewolf seemed psychologically shocked by the attack; if in fact such a thing was possible for a werewolf.
Ethan, the human Ethan, would be disturbed if his friends decided to attack him. And it was this fight that gave Ethan's human soul the first fighting chance. To do the impossible.
On his large hind paws and claws (the shoes had fallen off in the woods), were-Ethan wandered confusedly back onto the snowmobile trail that used to be the rail-line to Leeblaine.
Again, faintly, he smelt four humans. The unappetizing walking-dead Benny. The shoe leather and acne treatment of Rory and the human version of Ethan. Yet Sarah and Erica smelt much better than Rory and Ethan. Something about girl's soap, and girls in general, smelt more attractive than boy's shoe leather and acne treatment. Not to mention the unappetizing smell of Rory's garlic and Ethan's shaving foam from his trip to the Thunder Bay Plaza Hotel barbershop.
Were-Ethan continued along the old railroad right-of-way. He stopped suddenly at the cut where the fog began. No other animals had crossed this barrier. They knew better. But the werewolf was encouraged to continue on.
Were-Ethan ignored the Wendigo's victim on the side of the trail. Werewolves aren't interested in corpses.
In the early morning hours, were-Ethan found himself in the main street of the village, still prowling on his hind legs.
And, again, were-Ethan was a lazy werewolf. And a nearly-always hungry werewolf. That led him to the Leeblaine General Store.
The door was unlocked. But were-Ethan, too stupid to use the doorknob, ended up dropping to all fours, and growling and clawing at the door until the latch gave way. He went in, but the door swung back and caught. Were-Ethan didn't notice.
The general store was dominated by a large wooden counter. The counter, in turn, was dominated by an enormous, black mechanical cash register. The wooden shelves behind were well stocked with cans and boxes. But this store was rather large, and the stock wasn't only behind the counter. Old school store displays abounded (with old school prices); there were cans of soup piled in pyramids, shelves of cereal boxes, coffee tins, a wooden pickle barrel and fresh produce on hand display. This was, after all, an important village. At least during the summer trade.
Further in back, were the "dry goods". Clothing piled on shelves. In front, by the window, a number of nineteen-fifties magazines.
None of this interested Were-Ethan. What did, however, was the refrigerated meat counter in the corner. It was this smell that had lured him in. The outside painted a bright white, with choice steaks, roasts, chops and sausages behind. Even the circular meat grinder atop smelt pleasantly of an amalgam of meats.
Were-Ethan didn't try to figure out how to open the refrigerator unit. He just smashed the glass and wolfed down the meat.
Disappointed by his recent experience with the wolf pack, were-Ethan decided to forgo howling. Besides, he was inside a dark cave! And, maybe, he wanted to keep the cave for himself.
Although curiosity wasn't in the nature of werewolves, it was in Ethan's. And the werewolf felt compelled to look around his new habitat.
And now, a combination of elements came into play. In their way, they'd be as much a lucky break for Ethan, as when, despite the teen's lack of athleticism, his perfect lighter set of the theatre sprinkler system a couple years before.
Ethan's human soul was attached to a werewolf, a brute animal without compunction or compassion. But even that night of the full moon, his soul had influenced his inhuman brain and body. A few days ago, Ethan had fought tooth and nail to keep control on the hotel grounds and was only finally overpowered by the impossibility of having human thoughts in a dog's brain.
Ethan was going to have to do the impossible. Or maybe it wasn't impossible? Just highly improbable.
Stephanie's special curse made it so Ethan would remember everything he did as a werewolf after-the-fact. This curse was made so he wouldn't suffer the typical "werewolf-amnesia". While Ethan's mind could be missing in action for a night, his thoughts had been scattered for four days and counting. Ethan only needed a trigger to return to consciousness.
Were-Ethan had just eaten the store's stock in meat. And his current mind, what there was of it, was at ease.
Were-Ethan was drawn to the glossy magazines. The first one that caught his eye was an old business magazine, Canadian Electronics Review. The cover had a photo of a room filled with cabinets of blinking lights and whirling round disks. "First IBM 704 installed in Canada". Lower on the page, the magazine noted "This amazing machine contains 18,432 bytes of memory in only nine imperial tonnes of equipment."
Were-Ethan couldn't read it. But he stared for a few moments at the old computer. Something about it seemed . . . funny. As if he should like looking at the picture. Were-Ethan sniffed it, but couldn't decipher a thing.
Were-Ethan went on to look at another magazine. Sirens of the Screen, Past and Present it announced. There was no photo on the cover, but the outside was painted red so it attracted the were-wolf's attention.
Were-Ethan clumsily picked it up with his right paw. But his paw wasn't meant for that type of work, especially with its two inches of sharp claw at the end. Not really knowing what a magazine was (were-Ethan had a vague idea there would be meat inside), he dropped it to the floor.
The magazine opened to a full page photo near the middle, as if it had been opened there before. It was a famous picture first taken a couple years before, from a movie called The Seven Year Itch. There was the famous blonde bombshell, Marilyn Monroe, standing above a subway grate. The breeze sent her skirt halfway up in the air.
Were-Ethan did a double-take, and then Ethan thought about Sarah. Ethan figured there was no way Sarah would go stand above a subway grate in a skirt, as awesome as that would be.
From the moment Ethan knocked his tray of food into Sarah, he couldn't get her out of mind. It wasn't the best way to meet a future girlfriend, but fate sometimes works in interesting ways.
And this was how Ethan's mind was again his own; although, at the moment, he was still stuck in the body of a werewolf.