The Deadly Silver Dollar

Ethan's first thought after being jolted back into consciousness, was . . . . "Where the heck am I?"

Then the skeletons, the nightmare at the hotel, the fate of Benny and Rory, and the unknown "punishments" meted out to Erica and Sarah came slowly to mind. Ethan's miserable days as a wolf too. And how he was in the ghostly copy of the Leeblaine General Store.

And the fog. It wasn't just the fog outside. It was as if his mind was full of fog, making his wits dull and slow. It was almost a dream-like state. It was the consequence of Ethan's human mind running a werewolf's brain.

Ethan jumped to his feet, and promptly toppled over. He didn't realize how top-heavy he was. He didn't even realize he was still a werewolf.

The involuntary growling brought it to Ethan's attention. So did the black, wet nose at the front of his field of vision. And if those didn't, Ethan's long paws ending in two inches of razor sharp nails would.

"I can't be!" Ethan tried to complain. But he couldn't speak, all that came out was a strangled growl. He couldn't even talk.

Ethan wondered what to do. He suddenly hit on an idea. Ethan stumbled over to the back of the store, near the dry goods. Ethan had the vague idea that he could go and wear a trench-coat, like The Thing or one the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. And no one would notice him being a werewolf!

Usually, Ethan was a lot smarter and far more practical! He knew the difference between real life and comics and cartoons. But in his fogged mind, he really liked the idea of dressing like a comic book hero!

There was a full length mirror near the back of the store. Ethan caught a glimpse. The first glance at himself as a werewolf since he was chained up the night of the full moon. Then he stopped and cringed as what passed for his face fell. He realized the trench-coat idea wasn't going to work.

The werewolf in his reflection cringed back at Ethan. It was so bad it would be the stuff of nightmares.

Ethan wondered if werewolves "naturally" had black fur or if it was a holdover from his hair colour. But it did camouflage Ethan into the night. Where it wasn't splashed with red blood. That was bad, but it was just the start. He had a look at the wolf ears atop his ear, the long snout, and the sharp fangs when he looked inside his mouth. And the yellow eyes.

Ethan waved one of the paws back and forth, looking unhappily as its reflection followed. The forearms, or forelegs were exposed. Ethan's arms were, he remembered miserably, stretched to be as long as his legs.

The red flannel jacket was missing most of the buttons, and the t-shirt underneath was torn, blood and mud splattered. Because Ethan's trunk had been reshaped like an ordinary wolf's. It explained why Ethan felt top-heavy.

All at once his eyes blazed. Ethan lost his temper. He knocked down a hat stand, a sale on socks. He send some oranges flying. Then Ethan stumbled into a pyramid of sale price Rover-brand dog food cans. Ten cents each.

For a few minutes were-Ethan was back as he madly opened each can using his claws as a can opener. He swallowed the contents whole like Popeye swallowing a can of spinach.

But the were-Ethan instincts soon yielded to the control of Ethan's rightful mind and soul. Four cans of dog food and his mind was back for good.

Ethan looked about, remembered who, what and where he was. With decidedly less enthusiasm, he continued to use his claw as a can opener and eat the dog food. He realized food kept him happy, even though eating dog food was a major embarrassment.

"I still don't have my mind back" Ethan tried to say to himself, although nothing but growling escaped his mouth. "It's not just that I hate being a fracking werewolf; I can't stay like this and keep control . . . for long. I wish someone here to talk to . . . I wish I could talk."

Ethan continued to eat dog food, and battled with the cobwebs in his dog's brain. Mind over matter, the figurative wheels in his head slowly and rustily turned.

Ethah wasn't in "werewolf form" because the full moon revealed his "true self" (yeah, like that was his "true" form!). It was only a second spell from Jesse, the "Canis Lupis", that put him in werewolf form. There was nothing shining in the sky keeping him in werewolf form. If Ethan could break that second spell, he'd be human. Well, a werewolf in human form.

Ethan growled with disgust. If Ethan could do that, he would break the spell that had turned him into a werewolf in the first place! Not only was Jesse a spellmaster, Stephanie more powerful than ever, Ethan's smart phone with the antidote spells was stored in Malcolm's wrecked Challenger.

Well, Ethan couldn't get to the smart phone. What else would revert him? That potion he took the last time. That potion that nobody the frack knew how to make or find. Someone, (was it Evelyn or the King Gremlin?) someone had identified it as the Master Reversal Cure, that undid all curses. Maybe it was hidden in the general store? Ethan snarled.

"I need to get real!" he thought, with a groan that came out as growl. "I'm a werewolf eating dog-food and I'm . . . telling myself to get real? Ethan, get real!"

What else did Ethan know about reverting werewolves? He thought back to when Doug Falconheart had visited with the fake werewolf paw. Ethan the seer had seen it was a fake. He told Doug it was a fake, a real werewolf would permanently revert when he was killed and the curse left his body.

"That's too permanent" thought Ethan miserably. "But . . . what if . . . I could shock my system into reverting. Without killing myself?

Ethan remembered that his first "shock" forced this curse on him. And the shock of being thrown out the window ("defenestrated" as Rory pointed out a couple weeks ago, Ethan's mind was wandering) help turn him quickly. So, what kind of shock would work? Something a werewolf couldn't stand. Like silver? And where would you find silver in a 1956 General Store, deep in the forest and just north of the Canada-US border?

Ethan swallowed his last can of dog food. He remembered the silver quarter Erica had used to "test" him.

Ethan looked at the old mechanical cash register.

Never was a werewolf so quick to his hind feet. Ethan wobbled for a moment, then clumsily ran over. He pounded the cash register with his paws, until it opened. The silver coinage positively glared in his eyes, and forced on him a wave of nausea.

Nothing! Ethan thought more drastic measures were necessary. He looked into the drawer, ignoring the copper pennies and nickle nickels. He only gave a cursory glance at the 1950's series of bank notes.

In 1956, there were four silver coins in Canada. The dime, the quarter, the half dollar. But the largest was the old Canadian Silver Dollar, with a voyageur . . . a French fur trader . . . travelling along with an Indian in a canoe. On the opposite side, was a portrait of the queen.

Ethan took a deep breath. He picked up a silver dollar and immediately dropped it to the floor. Ethan put a paw over his mouth (or muzzle) to suppress the howl of pain. Ethan didn't howl, but only because he managed to punch himself in the nose; Ethan wasn't used to his nose extending six inches from his eyes.

The horrible smell of burnt fur wafted up in his nostrils, but it finally disappeared.

Still nothing! Ethan was stuck as a werewolf.

Ethan was desperate. Very desperate. A dangerous idea occurred to him when he had punched himself in the nose. Some antidotes you have to eat or drink.

"If I don't, I'll never be human again" thought Ethan. "It's this or nobody gets out of this town alive. I'm seven feet of werewolf. Once coin shouldn't kill me."

Ethan grabbed a paper bag from behind the counter, and gingerly picked up the dropped silver dollar. He closed his eyes and dropped it down his six-inches of muzzle and sharp teeth.

It was worse than the ghost pepper. Worse than anything he imagined, as it slowly went down his gullet. Ethan literally felt it fall into his stomach. And then, instantly, not a burning but an icy cold flowed through him. He collapsed.

The next thing Ethan knew was the dullest, faintest daylight was shining through the thick fog and the front window of the General Store. He rubbed his eyes and felt his natural nose.

"YESSSSSS!" said Ethan, jumping up and ignoring the wave of nausea at the cash register.

"Dude, do I ever love my voice! How long has it been three days? Four days? A week?"

Ethan rushed to the mirror. He still had the pointed ears, and the scraggly beard was back. His teeth were slightly too sharp, and too white. Ethan also had an unsettled feeling in his stomach, as if he had ate something that had disagreed with him. But he was otherwise human.

"I swear!" Ethan said, raising his right hand. "I'm going to save everyone. Sarah, Benny, Rory. Erica. And I'm not going to rest until Werewolf Ethan is a thing of the past!"

Ethan gave a wry look at his wrecked clothes. But he was in an abandoned General Store! At first he was going for another red flannel jacket. But then he thought better of it.

"I could risk breaking into the hotel" said Ethan to himself, leaning again a cupboard. "But I think I have a better way to get past the skeletons and the zombie staff. I might even be able to get Bellboy Benny . . . Jack . . . to work for me. That stupid trench-coat idea gives me a much better idea."

About an hour later, Ethan walked back to the cash register. He was clean-shaven, wearing a black suit and tie, and carrying a small black suitcase at his side.

Ethan not only had a plan to get into the hotel, but how to finally defeat Stephanie.

Ethan took a deep breath, opened the cash register and removed the bills. He counted out $200.00 in 1954 series banknotes and put it in a wallet he had picked up.

Ethan looked back at the cash register guiltily. He had taken a lot. And there was a lot of damage to the store.

And Ethan was the guy who had once fought to protect a blood van from vampires.

Ethan removed a note pad from behind the counter.

Ethan wrote "I.O.U Owner of Leeblaine General Store in 1956. And no one or nothing else but owner of the Leeblaine General Store in 1956! $201.00. Refrigerator full of meat. 25 cans of dog food. 1 man's suit, black. 1 dress shirt. 1 undershirt. 1 pair spaceship-pattern boxers. Pair black socks. Pair black boots. 1 suitcase. 1 wallet. 1 electric razor. 1 copy of Sirens of the Screen. 1 copy of Canadian Electronics Review. Ethan Morgan."

"Leaving an I.O.U. is something Rory would do" Ethan said. "This place shouldn't even be here any . . .."

But to Ethan's surprise, his written I.O.U. vanished and was replaced with another handwritten note:

"No charge. My compliments. Sincerely, Leslie McAdams. The last proprietor of the Leeblaine General Store. Get rid of the witch and let my town and store rest in peace."

Ethan looked at the note for a second, then he looked around. But there was nothing to look at. His seeing power was gone. So Ethan gave a nervous grin, and rushed out of the store.