LIFE AS A WEREWOLF'S BABY-MAMA IN THE BAYOU... 9/26/13 ..part of our LYCANTHRO-SHARK ARC

Did she ever forgive him for what was essentially a rape, or damn close to it?... No, she did not. But that thing kicks in, the 'Stockholm Syndrome' and remember there was Romulus and Remus too. They were hers. She loved them. So she stayed with them, nursing her babies who would grow up to be like princes of the wolf-folk. 

The alpha tried to make things pleasant for her. He caught pheasants and fat, little wriggling salamanders for her dinner. Shimmy Kate ate the pheasants. Taste like gamier chicken or slimy duck meat. The other stuff she gave to the other young ones in the pack. Once he brought back a baby. Said it was a monkey with the hair singed off. Maybe to wolf-folk like him they looked alike. But she knew and started to cry. He said he was sorry. She said - Couldn't you tell it was a baby? Didn't you see how much it resembled Romulus and Remus?..... He said he was sorry again. But he wasn't. Wolf-folk lie. So she took the dead baby from him and buried it outside the cave. Said a few prayers too. Never wanted to know who killed it, or how they killed it, 'cause she was tryin' not to go crazy as it is. Nobody ever poked 'round lookin' for no baby. But that didn't prove nothin'. Bayou folks got lots a extra 'suckers.' 'Fore she put it in the ground, Romulus and Remus sniffed it a little. You could tell they were sad. Might have the ability to shape-shift into werewolves, but the shape they shifted from was human and sometimes all that human stuff came out.

Alpha male never pestered her for no nookie-stuff no more. They talked and all. He was curious about her and she didn't want no trouble. Figured later, when it got warmer, she'd steal something. They had lots a old human crap lyin' 'round the back a the cave. Some of it was valuable. Maybe she could sell it in New Orleans and run away? 

But you can't run from wolf-folk, less they want you to run... less they want to get rid a you.... and then they mostly kill you..... mostly eat you too. 

Shimmy Kate was naive that way. She was naive 'bout a lot a things. Wolfie-wimmen used a laugh at her. She'd tell 'em to go to hell. But they didn't care. They just laughed some more.

One of 'em slipped Remus a piece a human ass-bacon an' he liked it too. 

Shimmy Kate made like she didn't know... 
But she did...
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THE WOLFMAN AND THE DUESENBERG ..... 9/25/13 .... a part of the LYCANTHRO-SHARK story arc

A werewolf pack has many parallels to a true wolfpack. Offspring are raised by the group. 'Aunties' are ever eager to raise the little princes and princesses. And in this case, Romulus and Remus, being 'high caste' got lots of attention. Sometimes their human mother, Shimmy Kate, watched from the shadows, as wolfier in-laws entertained the little ones. They played games, tickled bellies and sang songs. Most people would say the songs were simply long drawn out howls, but human ears lack subtlety and that's a shame. At two months, the infants already raced 'round the cave on all fours, snapping at big, fat bugs in the larder. Their daddy was very proud.  Shimmy Kate stepped in to nurse. Of course she did that. And she loved the strange, little beasties. They were hers, after all. But she was not 'wolfen' and they, although not on the surface, were. Initial transformation had yet to occur, but it would. They had that ability. Tell-tale signs had already begun to manifest during dream time. Infantile faces contorted into tiny muzzles. Babyish fidgets became little growls and imaginary mice met gruesome ends. They kissed like wolves too, not with the mouth, but with the tongue. 

The alpha spent time with his human consort, taking her on long midnight walks through the trees.  Not every part of the bayou is wet. Some portions are higher than others, if only by a few feet. And those places are dry. That's where the roads run through. Granted, in the lupine lair those roads were more like foot paths, but foot paths were good enough.

 Conversation was minimal. Wolf-folk of this caste can articulate. Not with the nuanced grace of a French Quarter, or Garden District dandy, but well enough to be understood. He asked if she was cold. He pointed out hawks, bob-cats, gators and other neighbors too. Sometimes they sat and listened. Every species had a language of its own, blending into what Count Dracula would call 'the music of the night.' 

Once they found a car, an old, crumbling Duesenberg, long and sporty. Just the thing for discerning bootleggers and the like. An ivory-boned skeleton smiled from the back seat. But a bullet hole 'tween the eyes made its expression look down right idiotic. 

The alpha laughed in that raspy way of his. He said - Look how dumb he look. What can you expect? No brains..... And although she didn't want to, Shimmy Kate laughed back. He asked her if she used to ride in cars (the thought of a female actually driving one never crossed his mind). She said that she did, failing to add what else went on in those back seats.  He listened and nodded. Automobiles and other accoutrements of human culture were mysteries to him. What was an egg-beater, or a toaster, or a jock-strap to one as feral as he? Though he did run his paw-like hand over the hood. Shimmy Kate asked if he liked it. He nodded. She told him how it was in the city.... how cars looked when they were new, all shinny and fragrant and fast. He liked that, so she told him more... about picture shows and oyster houses and places where people went to get high colonics. The part about rectal irrigation didn't appeal to him, although she could tell he was very interested in everything else..... He asked if his children would see those things. She thought for a moment and said - I suppose they will, so long as you allow them to grow up human too..... The alpha studied the car again and said that he would.

On the way back he told her what it was like to never wear clothes or see unbroken glass, or taste fresh eclairs. His caste, due to their permanent lupine state, lived apart from men, except for those times when they ate their flesh.

And in this way, little by little, they began to understand each other...
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FIRST CHILL AUTUMN NIGHT WAKES THE GHOUL, JOHNNY JUMP UP... 9/23/13

When the thermometer falls below forth eight degrees certain things begin to happen. Big, shiny, black, crunchy bugs begin to die. Roachie-roaches disappear and city dwellers breathe a sigh of relief. Kitchens seem less haunted, that is until the mice move in.

And deep in the twisted rabbit warrens of the old quarters of Philadelphia spirits slowly awaken. Perhaps the cold still air is more to their liking? The gaseous molecules of the atmosphere slow down. Lines appear sharper. Shadows grow darker. Vampires look forward to the Autumnal Equinox for it signals the triumph of the night. And they do so love the dark. 

But we reference another monster now, a puzzled being unsure of his own provenance. A ghoul, given to midnight suppers on torn, living flesh, ripped from startled sleepers, alone in their beds. 

Johnny Jump Up solidifies. The ghost-like being drips from his summer sleep among the crumbling plaster of a late nineteenth century merchant's palace, a shuttered, forgotten, narrow dwelling surrounded by grander things. 

Tall and thin he is... impossibly thin. Wraith-like would be a better word. Wrapped in a tight, black suit, like an eighteen forties undertaker. Could be he was. Who knows? A cadaverous hungry fool, though in no way short on cunning. 

Do you live alone? Are you in the city? Listen for the rattle of a window late at night. Is that noise just the refrigerator, or is it something else? Would the neighbors come if you screamed, or would they cower in their beds and pull the covers close?

Shhh, the ghoul roams free, his small sharp, pointy teeth revealed by an evil smile. Such white skin. Such dead skin. Such cold flesh he has. But your warm meat can fix that. You know oysters are alive when we eat them. Perhaps you'll be an oyster tonight? The experience of a lifetime. Pity it comes at the end.

They say he can soundlessly leap from pavement to rooftop... three or four stories at least.

What floor do you sleep on?

Maybe you should move?
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A WEREWOLF BONDS WITH HIS NEW IMPROVED OFF SPRING... 9/23/13 .. part of the LYCANTHRO-SHARK story arc

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 SCIENCE OF FANTASTICAL HUMAN ODDITIES... 9/22/13

Whatever force it is that deems to call unusual forms of humanity into existence (aliens, spiritual manifestations, our own descendants from the future) is constrained by a simple fact... life is hard. 

Mere frivolities, such as giants (the really big ones), delicate limbed, ethereal elves and the like MUST be able to survive in nature. That's why we don't see 'fire' people who swim through granite, or glass maidens with amethyst eyes. Poetic license is one thing. The isolated, organic life form may be compelling and irresistible to look at, but that 'magic' thing only goes so far. The phrase 'comfortable in his own body' says it all. Would you enjoy being half spider, or having a psychotic, parasitic, profanity spewing twin sprouting out of your body? Be mighty hard buying clothes, if you know what I mean. 

That's why them that messes with us usually stick to a few basic forms.... 'vampires' (actually life-force-absorbers), 'werewolves' (shape-shifters, some of whom can adopt forms much more unusual than simple feral canines) and manipulators of matter, or witches, if you will. 

Please know that I do not speak of self-taught manipulators, who are able to learn certain things... 'wizards' of the Harry Potter type. True manipulators are born that way and need no special training to accomplish their feats. In the distant past they were demi-gods, remote and often rather sad.

The advanced being responsible for our bayou band of lupine-humans knows all of this. Our talented explorer is a juvenile among his own kind, though possessed of a certain well developed responsibility. He wants his hamsters to live.

But that doesn't mean his all-powerful, alien classmates won't make trouble. 

You know how 'kids' can be...
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Don Jon Trailer Official 2013 Joseph Gordon-Levitt Movie [HD].. BAYLAH, our BEYONCE LOOK-ALIKE VAMPIRE who has a cool piano bar in Center City, Philadelphia & a rich boyfriend down the shore turned me on to this...

Although we go off on a million tangents in '... the Wonderland' our vampire 'besties' are still here. And Baylah really likes this. You wouldn't think so, but she does. So, please watch the video and see the movie. Maybe after, go tip toe through~>  THIS ... then join me on TWITTER at ~> @wilkravitz ... Can't channel no werewolves tonight because I keep slipping into a catatonic trance caused by the hypnotic, 'white noise' hum of my refrigerator. Klactu borada nicto, y'all... Til next the world spins again....please COMMENT

THE LUPINE TWINS ARRIVE... 9/19/13 .... The Lycanthro-Shark Arc continues

They were hungry, so the wolf-women wrapped each twin in old sheepskin and presented them to the mother. Shimmy Kate felt the weight on her belly, but that was it. Maternal she was not. An old she-wolf stimulated her teats with a bit of grease. Shimmy Kate didn't care. She just stared. 

Each baby weighed about four and a half pounds... small for humans, but big for wolves. And they didn't look 'wolfie' at all... No muzzles... No fur... although wolf-folk cubs are only born with a light pearl-gray down. Their eyes were closed. Their fists were clenched. They yawned and they trembled. Each had a tiny bump... no more than a bug bite... at the base of the spine. Maybe later there'd be a little tail... And maybe not. 

Their sire was pleased. High caste... He wanted 'high caste.' And he got it. But they had to feed. She had to nurse. Shimmy Kate had to play 'mama.' So he picked up the twins, placing each on a breast. Remus locked on first and the mama-woman did bleed just a little bit. Lupine newborns are born with teeth, even 'high caste.' When Romulus heard the contented mewing he latched on too.  After a few heartbeats the mama seemed a little bit interested. The wolf-folk liked that. She'd come along. Might not be no big love affair between her and that alpha, but she'd settle in. They were her babies... and that's a whole other thing all together. 

So in a deep, dark cave ('cept for a few fat, sputtering, wolf-folk candles) a strange clan welcomed new members. Outside, along the banks of nameless, shadowy waterways, isolated piroques made the rounds. Them gator boys like those hides, you know. Buys 'em drink. Buys 'em cigs. Makes 'em fat.... Wolf-folk like 'em that way.

Shimmy Kate (she the mama) commence to singin' a little song. She go - I got joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart, down in my heart, down in my heart... It the only 'churchie' song she know.  An' considerin' the occasion it like a baptism too. When it done she croon 'Happy Birthday,' 'cause in a very real way, that what it is.

But Romulus and Remus don't care. They eatin'.  An' if you stick your head in close and look, she ain't even bleedin' much no more...
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