Tuesday, October 1, 2013


Romulus Lupine is essentially a solitary individual. True, he does maintain a pack, but much prefers a singular existence. He haunts the woods on cool, autumn nights. Now you all up in Philadelphia, or Chicago, or Toronto, or Boston might not think them nights so cool, though down hereby The gulf, they are. 

From time to time folks report seeing 'the man.' He don't come near them. They don't go near him. Well, he does come near some, but they ain't the ones who live to report it. Them what does recollect the encounter describe a well-shaped, rather feral specimen, completely unclothed, sitting out in the moonlight gazing up at the stars. To the wolf part of his brain they ain't but hypnotic silvery, lights in the sky. The human part knows them for what they are, unbelievably huge, swirling cauldrons of hellish fire. In fact, it would be fair to say that star stuff is to plain old flame as plain old flame is to ice. Imagine what it's like to know that, while at the same time craving hot, steaming human entrails. Yet it's not really fair to say they kill people all the time. They kill them incidentally. Deer and bears do just fine. Take an owl every once in a while too. But wolves and by extension wolfie-folk have a salty, blood-tooth for human flesh. Been that way since forever. Neolithic canines waited just beyond the firelight, out in the darkness. Life was cheap then. Folks died all the time. Twenty years old was middle aged. Thirty years old was dead time, or pretty near dead time. And young-uns died like dime store turtles. 

Wolves knew what they did with 'em too. Used to sniff 'em out and dig 'em up. Tear off whole chunks. Snap it off like squid meat. You know how people flesh get when it age? Well, maybe you don't. But them what know say it acquire a certain, savory gaminess... akin to wild boar, or somethin' like that. Better when it hot and fresh... Steam comin' up an' all. You know, fresh killed people meat (98.6 degrees F) just as hot as restaurant steak what lie on plate for a minute..... Steak tar-tar with hair and eyes and gristle an' toenails. 

Romulus like 'wiggle food.' He like ripping into a fat belly while the mouth goin' - No! No! No!... 'Sept after a few heartbeats them 'no.. no.. no's' get weaker and weaker. 'Breathin' food.'.... That another name them werewolves call it.

I know 'cause I the disembodied spirit a one that got et. Crunched me up like soft shell crab. After while I numb wit' shock... But 'after while' can be pretty long time.

Romulus fixin' a catch hisself a crooked judge, jus' like he tol' that trucker he will. If you miss it, only gotta scroll back two or three nights. It there. Trucker gone watch... If he smart trucker, he run 'way while all that chompin' goin' on, 'cause sometime werewolf want more. An' if trucker close by an' naturally handy, guess who gone be that? 

You know trucker sit a lot, drivin' them long hauls an' all. Eat scrambled eggs an' pie at all them truck stops. Ass real fat an' tender....

Jus' the way a werewolf like it.

An' I do know what I talkin' 'bout...

'Cause I use a be a fat-ass too.

Look how bright that moon is. This gone be a real good show...
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