Werewolf Perks

Bonus Chapter 1

Bonus Chapter 1: Werewolf Perks

August 1993

“If you try to abduct me, I’ll scream,” Wendell warned the man. Standing on the front porch, he kept the doorknob within reach.

Of course, his parents and Wylan weren’t home. They were together doing a family therapy session with the special psychologist they found for Wylan to talk to.

The doctor they found for Wendell praised Wendell’s resiliency and quickly discharged him as a patient, saying his physical and psychological recovery was miraculous.

It probably seemed that way because Wendell kept his nightmares to himself. The nightmares where he was running on all fours in the woods and preying on his friends and fellow scouts. The nightmares where he tore into their flesh with his teeth and nails. The nightmares where he killed them and ate them.

Wendell was twelve, not two. He knew that adults didn’t have all the answers and that even if that doctor was the best in his field that two hours of talk therapy a week wouldn’t magically fix him.

Plus, if that doctor or anyone else knew about those dreams, there was a chance they’d send Wendell to a special hospital. The kind that kept really sick kids locked up for months, if not years. Wendell couldn’t let that happen.

The cure, he was told, was time. Everyone said time would ease the pain and dull the trauma.

But it was a month after the attack on his Boy Scout troop, a month after everyone, including the boy he loved, died in front of him, and Wendell didn’t feel any better. Time hadn’t healed any of his wounds.

“Hey, kid, at least hear me out,” the guy said.

Wendell was relieved that he kept a distance and stayed in the front yard. This is what I get for answering the door, Wendell thought to himself. Now I have to deal with whatever this creepy old guy wants from me.

“If you’re selling anything, we don’t want it,” Wendell said. “My dad is right inside. He’s in the kitchen. And he has a gun.”

“Easy,” the guy said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m not here to sell you anything. I’m here for you. To talk to you.”

“What if I don’t want to hear what you have to say?” Wendell challenged.

“I’m going to say it whether you want to listen or not,” the guy shrugged.

“Why are you dressed like that anyway?” Wendell asked, eyeing him critically.

“Like what?” the guy asked.

“Like you’re playing dress up as a ninja cowboy,” Wendell said.

“So you think I look cool?” the guy smirked.

“No, I think you look stupid and weird, and I want you to leave,” Wendell said firmly.

“You might not think it now, but you’re a lucky kid,” the guy said with the same smirk.

“So you’re here because of the newspapers and magazines, huh?” Wendell said, crossing his arms tightly.

“Those wolves? The ones that slaughtered your little troop of Boy Scout friends? They had a real axe to grind with someone in your troop. Enough to go nuclear and cut you all down. Or maybe you all were just ‘in the way’.”

“There aren’t wolves in Connecticut,” Wendell insisted. His heart pounded in his ears, and he clenched his sweaty hands into fists.

“I’m surprised you’re still wearing your glasses. Normally, those sorts of, mmm, conditions, clear up before your first moonset,” the guy smiled.

It didn’t feel friendly. It felt predatory.

“I’ll call the police,” Wendell warned.

“I thought your dad was home, though,” the guy said innocently.

“He is, but I’ll still call the police,” Wendell said, fighting to keep his words steady.

“Those were their grounds. Their territory. They were descendants of the carnies who were there before. Some of the damage they left was purebred shit.”

“Territory? Purebreds?” Wendell asked.

“If I wasn’t passing through that day, you’d be six feet under with the rest of them, kiddo,” the guy said.

Wendell looked at the guy, long and hard. His eyes looked familiar. And when he smiled, his teeth were especially pointy. Wolfy even. No way, he thought to himself.

“Yes way,” the guy said, as if reading Wendell’s thoughts. “Say it.”

“You’re a wolf… you’re a werewolf…” Wendell said, feeling like he was losing his mind.

“BINGO was his name-o! But not yours, Wendell Batty,” the guy grinned. “And I was a lone wolf, actually. I wasn’t part of that pack. But if I know about you, they know too. And they’ll be coming for you,” the guy said.

“They? Who’s they?!” Wendell asked.

“The authorities! Be ready for paperwork and being under their watchful eye until your final days.”

“My final days,” Wendell repeated.

“Yeah, you know. When you die. Maybe you’ll eat a monster hunter’s silver bullet. Or fangs from a rival wolf will rip your throat out. Or maybe you’ll be the lucky bastard who drifts off to deathland during a sweet, sweet dream as an old man. Maybe you won’t be just another dead werewolf. One can dream, right?”

“So there’s a … werewolf police force?” Wendell asked skeptically.

“No. They’re called DONHE. The Department Of Non-Human Entities. A stupid name for a stupid organization. They treat werewolves like dirty criminals. I hated ‘em. All of ‘em. I was an off-the-grid kinda guy.”

“Was?” Wendell frowned, “What do you mean was?”

“You got away that night, Wendell Batty, thanks to me giving you the bite.” He pointed at Wendell’s left ankle. “That’s one scar that never will heal, by the way.” He held up his arm to show off the bite that turned him.

“I did,” Wendell agreed in a shaky voice.

“Well, I wasn’t so lucky. I was on their turf, and I stole their meal,” the guy said with a humorless smile. “Another werewolf perk, Wendell Batty? You can see ghosts!”

“I’m a werewolf,” Wendell said numbly. “And you’re a ghost…”

The guy grinned and vanished.

Two days later

The doorbell rang and Wendell waited for his dad to answer it. He hovered behind him.

A man and a woman wearing what looked like police uniforms stood on the front porch.

“Agent Sterling,” the woman said, holding out her hand to Wendell’s dad. “This is my partner, Agent Blackwell. Is your wife home, Mr. Batty?”

“Is this about something Wylan did?” Wendell’s dad asked nervously.

Wendell felt a surge of relief and happiness that his dad didn’t think he was up to delinquent activity. Wylan had been acting out a lot lately. Maybe he graffitied something he shouldn’t have. Or picked a fight with the wrong type of kid.

“We’ll tell you more once your wife gets here. Is she home?” Agent Sterling asked.

Wendell’s dad cautiously nodded, then called Wendell’s mom over.

“Honey, what is it?” Wendell’s mom asked hesitatingly.

“Agents Sterling and Blackwell are here to talk to us about … something,” Wendell’s dad said uneasily.

Wendell held his breath and hoped he would suddenly develop powers of invisibility. He had to know what this was about.

“Wen, kiddo, why don’t you go crack open that new book you took out from the library?” Wendell’s dad said, keeping his eyes locked on the mysterious agents.

Darn it, Wendell thought to himself.

“Actually, maybe Wendell should stay,” Agent Sterling said. “This is about him after all.”

Wendell felt cold all over. Did they know about the ghost of the lone wolf that talked with him? Wendell kept his conversation secret, and maybe now, here it was coming back to bite him.

“There’s no easy way to say this, Mr. and Mrs. Batty. Your son Wendell is a werewolf,” Agent Blackwell said sternly.

“A werewolf,” Wendell’s dad repeated in a voice higher-pitched than his usual one.

“A werewolf,” Wendell’s mom echoed skeptically.

“A werewolf,” Agent Sterling said seriously. “It wasn’t feral dogs that attacked and killed Wendell’s Boy Scout troop. It was a pack of werewolves that were inhabiting the abandoned Wonder Hills Fun Park. That bite on Wendell’s ankle still hasn’t healed,” She clicked her pen and pointed it at the scar on Wendell’s left ankle.

“None of the doctors have an explanation,” Wendell’s mom frowned.

“And they never will, unless they’re DONHE doctors,” Agent Sterling said.

“DONHE? What’s a DONHE?” Wendell’s dad asked anxiously.

“The Department of Non-Human Entities. We’re both DONHE agents,” Agent Blackwell explained.

Here they were. The authorities that the ghost of the lone wolf warned Wendell about. He swallowed thickly and felt a cold sweat break out under his armpits and on his back.

“And you waited a month to tell us this,” Wendell’s mom said faintly.

“It’s almost the full moon. We need to get Wendell ready for his moons,” Agent Sterling said.

“Moons?” Wendell asked.

“Moonset technically,” Agent Blackwell added. “The nights you transform into a terrible and savage beast.”

“That’s not funny!” Wendell snapped.

“Do you see any of us laughing?” Agent Blackwell said dryly.

“Moonset? What’s a moon set?” Wendell’s mom asked.

“A werewolf’s moonset is the night before the full moon, the night of the full moon, and the night after the full moon. Three nights every month where Wendell here–”

“Becomes a werewolf,” Wendell cut them off. “So I really am… a monster.”

“You’re still mostly human,” Agent Sterling said. “Once you have a plan you’re less likely to have … accidents.”

“A plan?” Wendell asked.

“Safe spaces and restraints,” Agent Sterling said. “We have a werewolf containment unit equipped with everything Wendell needs for a safe transformation. It’s not advisable for you to manage Wendell’s condition on your own. Here’s how you can reach us,” she passed them a business card.

“And here’s a list of all of the upcoming moonsets for this year and next, and resources for the newly bitten,” Agent Blackwell handed them a thick folder.

“So, Wen’s a werewolf now. That’s cool,” Wylan snickered.

Wendell whipped around, his face flaming. “This isn’t about you!” He hissed to his twin.

“Oh, I dunno. If I’m living with a big scary werewolf,” Wylan eyed his brother with a smirk, “it kinda is.”

“They’re serious!” Wendell insisted.

“We’re serious,” Agent Sterling said.

“Mom? Dad?” Wendell appealed to their parents.

“It’s…well… they…” their parents stammered.

“Nice one, Wen, you broke Mom and Dad,” Wylan laughed.

“We’re also here to give you this,” Agent Blackwell passed over a second, equally thick folder. “You’ll see the paperwork inside of it is extensive. We need to get Wendell’s information for our werewolf registry. His full name, how he was bitten, and all of his biological details. We’re talking teeth x-rays, bloodwork, body measurements, saliva tests, eye exams, and a professional photo, like the sort you get taken for your passport.”

“And you need us to do this now,” Wendell’s dad said, looking dazed.

“Yes, the first part is easy enough. It’s the biological details that we’ll need new data on every year. If Wendell turns fifty–”

“If? If?” Wendell’s mom cut in a high-pitched voice now.

“Werewolves don’t exactly have the longest lifespan, ma’am,” Agent Blackwell said grimly. “Anyways, as we were saying. If Wendell turns fifty, it jumps to every five years. Indefinitely.”

“Indefinitely?!” Wendell’s parents asked at the same time.

“That means as long as Wendell’s alive,” Agent Sterling said.

“We know what it means,” Wendell’s mom said. “It’s just… indefinitely.”

“It’s for the safety of the community. We understand it’s not easy. But this is how it’s done. You’ll have a two-week grace period after each year to update Wendell’s registration. If you flip to this page, you’ll see the DONHE doctors you can take Wendell to for his yearly physical. Non-compliance carries the risk of incarceration,” Agent Sterling said.

“That means jail, little buddy,” Agent Blackwell said, “So it’s on you to stay on top of this, Wendell.”

“Putting a werewolf into a public jail sounds like more of a risk,” Wendell fired back.

“It’s not a public prison. It’s a DONHE one, and it’s fully equipped to contain any and all non-human entities,” Agent Blackwell said smugly.

“So here’s the rest of the paperwork,” Agent Sterling said, “Oh, and there’s a two thousand dollar first-time registration and processing fee.”

“Two… thousand…” Wen’s parents gaped.

“We accept checks and bank transfers,” Agent Sterling beamed.