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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The alpha played with the newborns. Well, maybe they were too newborn for that, but he held them and examined them. Shimmy Kate pressed back against the rocky wall and watched. She didn't say a word. She just looked. Avoided eye contact, but she took it all in.
He sniffed the babies and studied their faces, so different from his own. And they looked back with the cloudy eyed stare of the innocent. The other females pretended not to notice, but they did. Made like they were grooming each other, but that was just an act. Betas chased a couple live rabbits down in this pit they had. That was a big game with them... like werewolf pinball. Only rabbits ain't ball bearings and if you chase 'em too much they die. But werewolves don't care. It's only a hobby.
Alpha flips one a the babies over and gently runs his index claw over the tail bump. He smiles as much as his lupine features allow. Remember, his 'caste' exists locked in wolf-mode, or semi-wolf-mode. Not human. Not wolf. Not nothin'.
Looks like they gonna have tails. Not big ones. Not like what timber wolf got, or even Lassie. Still, some a them 'daddy' traits gonna live on. Other youing'uns watch from the shadows. They got a paper sack full a Hershey Buds (old name for Hershey's Kisses). One a the females took 'em off a victim. Some guy waitin' for a bus late at night. You know how lonely the bayou can be. Wolf-kids munch on 'em. Sometimes they take off the foil. Sometimes they don't. Domestic dogs is allergic to that shit. Wolf-folk ain't.
Shimmy Kate find her tongue. She scared, but she talk. She go - I don't wanna keep 'em like that. Get 'em clothes. They need clothes..... But he don't answer. Maybe he glance at her a second, but that's it. Then he rub their bellies. The babies, I mean. Makes 'em purr, almost like kitties. One pees, but he a fast mover, so it don't get him.... He make with another stiff, wolfie smile. Then he whisper their names... 'Romulus and Remus.' ..... Shimmy Kate don't like when he say it. He know it, so he say it again. She get agitated and kick over a candle. Female wolfie-folk set it right. Other one start laughin' like a crazy woman. Alpha slap her 'cross the muzzle. That shut her up real good. She do curl up in a ball though.
One a the betas, down in the pit, get tired a the game and crunch that rabbit all the way through. Bones ain't nothin' to wolfie-folk. Young'uns howl when he do it. Beg for scraps too. Other one scream like a banshee. Most folks do not know rabbits can scream, but they do. It fixin' to die a fright, but not yet.
Female what ain't been slapped start nuzzlin' down in the pit. Make like she wanna lick the blood off the beta's face. Alpha don't like when they mess with the betas, 'cause it jazzes 'em up and makes 'em uppity. Gettin' 'jiggy' what he do, not them.
But he all occupied with them babies, so he don't pay no mind.
Shimmy Kate see he a good 'baby-daddy.' Least she got that. So she smile at him a little. Don't mean it, but she do it.
He ain't fooled. Wolfie-folk smart that way.
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The females all squeezed into a little niche, a warm, dark pocket at the back of the cave. The alpha male didn't enter. He never does, preferring to stand imperiously away from the rest.... Scipio Africanus surveying the troops, attended by his loyal, for now, betas.
They helped the human mother crouch down on a pile of rabbit skins and straw. ...'Daddy's gone a hunting to get a baby bunting. To get a little rabbit skin to wrap the baby bunting in...' Pity the poor rabbits. They get it every time. This 'daddy's' obviously accumulated a lot of skins.
Shimmy Kate (the mama) groaned. She wanted to lay down, but they wouldn't let her. Hard, lupine hands peeled off her torn, thin rags. Someone drizzled water on her head, using a wadded up piece of moss for a sponge. Another wolfie female shoved a leaf in her mouth. She chewed... an instinctive response, releasing a drug-filled resin... It helped.
Now we (the disembodied spirits who narrate everything in The Vampire wonderland) could tell you 'bout contractions and pains and rivulets of fluid squirting out from nether regions, but you've heard that before. A birth is a birth is a birth, at least among mammals. Some take place in sterile environments surrounded by shamefully high priced 'concerned do-gooders for hire,' and others happen in humbler places.
Romulus and Remus were coming. Two little organisms jockeyed for position, waiting for their chance to survive the birth canal and breathe. And as far as these wolf-folk could, they prayed, or rather radiated a desire for a particular outcome.
The mother might provide that. She had it in her blood. Let them look human. Let them blend in. Free them from the shadows and the swamps of the bayou. Other werewolves, higher castes, live that way. They talk. They look. They go and they see.... wolves when it's right and men when it isn't.
The alpha 'prayed' too. Such a selfless thing he did, though the reluctant mother wouldn't think so. But if this worked, his band, in their present state, would disappear... rather like the Neanderthals. Yet permit us to tell you, oh 'human' children, that first-formed lines do not disappear, not truly. They are with us still, running through creation like underground streams... cold, dark and abiding.
Romulus and Remus are coming. They bite and gouge and scratch even now, fighting to be first. And 'le monde lupiniere' will never be the same....
Allez le bon temps roullez.......
Pardon our French, but we disembodied spirits hail from another part of the forest.
And now the wolf-folk keen...
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You know how Disney would draw these talking 'dog' characters like GOOFY? Well, the second werewolf flavor is like that. The skeleton is mostly human, save for longer, stronger hands and feet. And the nails are claws, don't forget. Skulls are primarily human, but the ears are higher and definitely wolf-like. There's a bit of a muzzle too, sharp, wicked teeth and amber, lupine eyes. Bodies are covered in thick, soft, pale gray fur, with a bit of a neck ruff, or mane and a fairly respectable canine tail. The total effect recalls the feline dancers in Broadway's CATS, 'cept these ain't no kitties.
They live on meat, mostly people-meat, but other mammals get torn up too. Interesting creatures, locked in a middle ground, never human, nor completely wolf. Forest spirits to Native Americans (north and south), snow wraiths to their Siberiak counterparts. People in the Bayou call them Lupiniere.
Do they want to have a human phase? Of course. That's what the whole Shimmy Kate thing is about. Her blood's supposed to do it. Not just hers... human, lady-blood in general. She just happen to be the one they got.
And the whole thing makin' her crazy. Look, other bands done it with other ladies in the past. But now they doin' it here. Shimmy Kate wanna throw herself in. She wanna be gator food. Used to wrestle 'em. Hoochie dancer/gator-gal, that what she was. Now she fixin' a be 'maw' to Romulus and Remus. An' they fixin' a bus' out.
Come back in a couple hours. Right now they jus' sleepin'.
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While Shimmy Kate sinks into insanity and depression contemplating the birth of her human- lupine offspring, let us fill you in on some of the in's and out's of the lycanthropic world.
They come in three basic varieties. The first manifestation retains a completely human appearance, while possessing wolf-like stamina, strength and agility. Most also have an exceptional sense of smell on par with North American bloodhounds. Some report retention of what appears to be atavistic, small brush-like tail at base of spine that, even if surgically removed, always regenerates. Members of the breed form tight knit families, or 'packs,' often occupying important positions in various governments and industries throughout the world. In the past, certain 'noble' lines were rumored to possess wolf-like qualities, but verification is inconclusive.
Please know that we tried to post additional material about this werewolf phase and others, but were repeatedly foiled by suspicious computer cliches and outright, third party manipulations.
Those familiar with this site know much of what we share is fact. Indeed, we're only forced to pretend that it's fiction.
But before closing (after 5AM here), we will say, once again, that off-world genetic manipulation believed responsible for all forms of werewolf and werewolf-like manifestations.
More posted within the next twenty four hours...
Look, I know I shouldn't say this, but I will... Some scientific investigators believe recent upswings in blood sucking (and blood TRANSFERRING) insects such as fleas, mosquitoes, bed bugs and ticks are covert attempts to introduce artificially manipulated DNA into the human genome.
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It don't snow. Hardly ever get no ice. But it do get cold... damp cold. Steam come up off the water. Sky all gray. Gators sleepin' deep down in the mud, like they got a case a temporary death. Still hear them crickets, though. sing a little slower than they do in summertime. But you still hear 'em.
Don't know how long it take for no human-werewolf babies. Wolfie-gals don't know either. Not like they talk much to Shimmy Kate. One of 'em wanna kill her. Big male know it. He say he rip her head off. He say he bite right through her spine, crunch it all up and crip her real good if she even try. Wolfie-gal make like she wanna snuggle. Make like she wanna go lick-lick-lick all over. He let her do a little bit. Then he push her away. She laugh, like it no big deal. But it is.
Meat stash gettin' low. All dried up too. They like it that way, beef jerky like. 'Cept it not all beef. Some is sheep. Some be possum. Little bit still 'long pig.' Shimmy Kate don't eat much, not for somebody what got two cubs gnawin' on her innards. Wolfie-gal hope she die. But big male get her eggs, turtle eggs mostly. He know where to dig 'em up. She eat them. Get a catfish sometime too.
Shimmy Kate cry a lot too. Got bad dreams. One got a whole lot a kids on a picnic. They all eatin' egg salad sandwich. Laughin'... smilin'... You can see it 'tween their teeth. She a kid too. But she ain't got no egg salad sandwich. Look like egg salad. Got Kraft Miracle Whip, chopped celery an' all. But her eggs is maggots... fat, yellow, putrid maggots an' they still movin'. She wanna say - Shit, I eatin' maggots.... But she don't, 'cause law say they kill you for eatin' maggots. Not in Louisiana. In the dream, I mean. Got 'nother dream where she jump off roof somewhere's. Land on a puppy. Land on a gray, little yelpin' puppy. But it don't yelp long. 'cause it die and she cry and cry and cry.
Shimmy Kate sit real far in, back by the cave wall. Got two old bedspread. Don't know where she got 'em, but she got 'em. Wrap herself up like a lady mummy, or a tamale wit' a woman inside it.
Young one say - Shimmy Kate, you wanna play Yahtzee?
But she just shake her head 'no.'
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Contrary to Hollywood, they do it on nights when there ain't no moon. Less light. Less interference. More stealth. Shimmy Kate can't go, 'cause she human all the way. Can't make time like the rest of them. She slow. She'd twist her ankle and fall. Shit, there ain't no cryin' in werewolf. Old one stay with her. Female name Frizzy Ass on account a her fur. They playin' Yachtzee. But Shimmy make sure Frizzy win all the time, 'cause she is a werewolf after all.
Rest a the pack went 'runnin'. That what they call it, havin' a 'runnin'. Stream out into the dark and find somethin'. Rabbits hide. Bob cats hide. Two big monkeys what got lost from the circus hide. Everythin' hide.
Pad out to a road house off a little highway.... Jook joint really, full a moonshine drunks and dope fiends. Wait out in the bushes. Bayou got big bushes... real big bushes. Door open. Light shoot out. Fat bastid come out 'cause he gotta fart. It Ok shootin' quiet farts. But this round got special sound effects 'ttached to it, so best done outside...
Canines and them what like related appreciate a good stink. Butt sniffin' a hobby. How they find out who eatin' the good stuff. Fat bastid squat down to take a shit. Got shit hole inside, but it ain't been cleaned or fumigated in like... never.
Wolf-folk hunker down. Get real still. Get real quiet. Suck in that first wiff. He be eatin' pig. He be eatin' cheese. He be eatin' macaroni. Don't smell like it did goin' in. But never you mind, 'cause to them it smell better.
Little wolf-bitch-gal lunge in an' bite his ass real hard. He scream and fall over. Start wipin' the blood with his hand. Get scared, 'cause he see a lot a it. Start moanin'. Start shakin'. 'nother one score his ankle bone up real good. Fat bastid go - Oh, Gawd! Oh Gawd! Try to run, but he can't 'cause a his pants and all. So he fall in the mud and cry... just like a big, fat-assed Baby Huey.
Ain't no cryin' in werewolf. Already told you that. Cryin' make 'em mad. Somebody rip a nipple. Might a been one a the young ones. Then his pee-pee go missin', long with it's next door neighbors. One a the big females tear the neck, take a cheek off. That like a filet to her. Two heartbeats later they in a frenzy. Them what's inside watchin'. They watchin' everythin'... faces all squashed up 'gainst little glass window. Big eyes. Scared eyes. Open malfs. Nobody say a word. Feel bad 'bout that 'no audible fart' thing, but what can you do? Rules is rules.
Little bit later they drag him away. Leave his head, 'cause wolf-folk don't like brain. Think he busted up into two or three parts by then. Not fancy butcherin'. Nothin' fancy. But very effective butcherin' just the same.
An' Shimmy Kate gotta eat some, 'cause she carryin' wolfie babies an' all.
Only she don't know that yet...
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He built a little fire out of moss, or something that looked like moss. It smelled nice, like ambergris and musk, tinged with an unknown green scent that had a certain narcotic quality. The young ones fell asleep. His females quietly retreated back into the shadows and watched. There were other males in the lodge, but they were obviously betas, furtive beasts, just as imposing as their leader, though of quite different dispositions.... Three males... Two females... Maybe five or six children. All with the same gray pelts.
The human female, the one called Shimmy Kate, studied them, as she sat hunched against the rough, thatch, igloo-like wall. A surreal scene, as might have played out in paleolithic times, save all of the tribesmen were werewolves.
Their prisoner/guest stared at the tiny fire, seemingly hypnotized by the orange glow. And the 'king' studied her. She was right. He knew it. She was right. All was quiet. One or two of the young ones stirred as they slept, but that was it. And then the 'king' began to speak. He sat where he was and he spoke.
He said - We have souls. We have hearts. We know pain. Think not that we are monsters. Fear not for your life. Are you scared?...... The one called Shimmy Kate shook her head, for she was not scared. Perhaps it was the slowly burning narcotic herb, or maybe just the quiet peace about her, but she was not. He nodded and went on - They came from a different place and they changed us, taking essence of man and essence of beast. And we are still a new thing, for that was only ten generations past. Frenchman we were and Creoles and Spaniards.... those you call 'Indians' too. The settlement on the river was new then, filled with long, low dwellings and shuttered windows to keep out the heat. Dark skinned captives from a strange, exotic place spoke of 'old gods,' and so we learned the voo-doo. Spirits, rather curious spirits came to watch. They sailed in ghostly orbs... in ships made of light. We asked questions. Occasionally they answered. But we were clay to them, the same as Adam and so they made new things. Don't ask me how they did it. Such alchemy I do not know. They took different things, alien things. They worked miracles. And mothers brought forth wolflings. And she-wolves brought forth men..... One of the females began to moan and keen, obviously remembering an old sadness. He crawled over to comfort her and she kissed him. Shimmy Kate found her voice and said - Please, I want to leave.... Her host said - And how will you elude the bloodhounds? They who have guns lead them and they already come this way....... H-how do you know that? - she asked. The wolfman simply sniffed the air and smiled.
They left with the first light of dawn, silently snaking through the bayou toward another place, deep within a cave, beyond a little hidden waterfall, where trackers could not find them. And Shimmy Kate went with them, a lost, skinny white girl amid a stream of gray.
Breeding stock. That's what she was. Breeding stock. But she didn't know that yet...
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A crazy grandmother was the first one. She roll out of a camper in da middle of the night. Gotta go pee-pee. Got old lady bladder disease. And camper potty no good, 'cause it got da voo doo real bad. Give old huzzband monkey balls and now the dawg scared a go near him.
So she sneak behind a mangrove where them gators can't see her do it. And she pull up her shift and squat down real dainty-like, 'cause her mama got white gloves an' whole drawer full a clean underwear. an' dat make her a lady.
Old man huzzband yell - Where you gun what I got you for Christmas, you old bitch, you?.....She go - Trade it for my teef, you old shit-ass (cause he got like a fartin' hobby and she like a good set a choppers) ..... Old man cackle - Good bye! Good bye! No more that girl! You dead! You dead!.... Then he shut that door real hard an' lock it up tight. But she hear him dancin' 'round inside. Figure she gone let him have his fun, then bus' a window and get back in. Pissin' part a her outing all done. She on to part two now.. You know, one time she put two dead roaches in a biscuit batter and tell him it raisins. He say it good. Guess they mus' a been high quality roaches. I doan know. That how they do to each other.
It dark out there. Big trees. Spiders you could make a mink coat out of... bobcats..... crazy, killer chimp what escape from a zoo.... eight hundred pound gator what got a knock-off Rolex on it's back foot.... Old lady got big bites on her ass. I doan know what bit her, but she doan care. She not fussy that way.
Use a have problem wit werewolves. People gettin' theyselves all killed up all the time. Big turds all over. Deputy doan do nothin'. He say - Go to hell and drop dead.... Then he write out a citation, cause he very proud a his penmanship. But nobody ever pay 'em, 'cause that deputy jus' a big dumb nut.
You see, werewolves do like to move around, run wit' the pack and all that, specially when the pretty people all killed up. But one werewolf woman stay behind. She smoke cigarette. She stink. She wear dirty brassiere . Swim 'round the swamp water all naked and stuff. She like a low-life werewolf woman. Not like the high class ones. No siree. Not like dem at all.
Now bull shark like swamp water too. 'Voo doo shark they call 'em. Chomp on legs... Chomp on part a asses... whatever they like... It jus' what they do. An' them what's the man bull sharks full a pearl jam. Got more pearl jam than human beans. That for sure. That why they call 'em 'bulls.'
Low-life werewolf women and bull shark start mushin' up wit each other. She love him. He love her. They say he a very caring bull shark. But I doan know, 'cause they doan talk or nothin'. Ten week latter she have a baby an' ten week after that she have another baby. Got werewolf arms and werewolf legs... werewolf ears and werewolf eyes. But muzzle and teef is all shark. Tail all shark too. Look like part of a mermaid growin' outta its butt.... Got real short fur... Horse fur, it look like. Gray on back and white on the belly, like what shark do. I know, 'cause I see one once. A little one. A baby one, killin' a duck.
It almost growed now. An' it up a tree.... all still.... all quiet.... jus' watchin'... jus' lookin'... jus' sniffin'.... maybe fifteen feet from the old lady's head.
She doan know, 'cause she squeezin' real hard. Otherwise she be able to smell it. Stink from cigarette too, jus' like its ma..... an' now it creepin.... It creepin' real slow.... Soon the tail gone brush right on top a her head. Bet she go - What dat??...
But then it gone be too late... and she never gonna know...
(more later)
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