Monday, September 2, 2013

A 'Tainted' Houma Chief Tells Shimmy Kate Some Things... LYCANTHRO-SHARK... 9/03/13

She fainted from the ordeal, but her rescuer trudged on, splashing through the black, bayou water with Shimmy Kate thrown over his shoulder like a sack a grits. Alligators respectfully swam away. Cotton Mouths and rattlers did the same. Ratty little creatures dragged their offspring deep into damp, muddy dens lest they offend the passing of such a wondrous being.

From time to time small excretions of swamp gas burped up from below the thick, greasy ooze ignited with a cool, ghostly light, revealing strange, exotic beasties trembling in the shadows. Night in this verdant wilderness is a special thing. And the Houma Indians knew it's name. They had outposts there for trapping muskrats and stealing turtle eggs and talking to spirits. 

He made for a beaver dam... a large beaver dam spanning a small, sluggish stream. But no rodent, however grand built this thing, for the lodge was human made. Well, partly human. The personage toting Shimmy Kate crouched low and went in, throwing her down onto a nest-like mound, made from dried, sweet grass and gardenia petals. Some children played about the place, nocturnal youngsters, partly French, partly Cajun, partly Indian and... partly something else. Light, such as it was, came from small, luminescent rocks scattered 'round like spoor. Lupiniere they were. A Cajun term meaning 'wolf-like.' Unlike other true werewolves they could linger in the borderlands between the species. Tall, well-formed folk with strong bodies covered in short, gray, coarse, wavy hair. Ears were different too. High up on the head and rather dog-like. Some had foxy tails. Some didn't. But I 'spects they were bitten off. Faces were strongly human, though, with just the slightest hint of muzzle.... deep set eyes and teeth like fangs. Some in the city, deep within the old French Quarter knew their names. Voo Doo gods they were. Goddesses too..... But shhh.... Their king, or leader, or whatever he was woke up, rousing himself from another nest. And he approached the Shimmy Kate thing with a feral curiosity, as he dropped to all fours and began to sniff her body.

She stirred. It tickled. She opened her eyes and gasped. He was so close... eye to eye... She could taste the wild peccary on his breath. He smiled and ran his claw-like fingers down her belly, mumbling something in a low, mysterious jargon. And that night, just before dawn, this 'tainted' Houma chief whispered secrets of a time when Frenchmen, Indians and wolves became one.

His females, two sleek, jealous things, watched silently from the corners. And the young ones yelped and giggled at the drama of it all.... squealing with delight when he stopped to lick her skin....
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