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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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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It's funny how much you can see by moonlight. I guess we forget what it was like before fire. The control of fire, I mean. Simple souls wandered through the night... looking at things. They saw, because they had to. And the cool, silvery disc in the sky was enough. Sometimes it wasn't even a disc.
Shimmy Kate saw. She saw quite clearly, not like someone in a laboratory under harsh florescent lights, but she was able to interpret shapes, lines and masses. There were trees (lots of trees) and murky puddles filled with wriggling things. Tiny, buzzing, singularities danced about the clammy air. They bit too. She itched, but she was used to that.
The decomposing corpse ghost laying in the chill, soupy water looked at her. Well, the eyes were gone, but a presence behind the bug eaten, flaccid lids saw her anyway. It breathed a raspy breath, nodded toward the strangely pregnant, near nude hootchie-woman-alligator-wrestler and spoke. She heard it. Shimmy Kate heard it. It said, or rather whispered - Go back.... And even the drowsy crickets seemed to echo those words. The flesh cracked and peeled off from the bones. Not everywhere, but along the arms and around the rib cage. One shoulder joint was clearly visible. It's amazing how white bones appear in the night. She wanted to run. She NEEDED to. But her muscles wouldn't move. Animals know that. They know, so they freeze. Monsters only 'get' you if you run. But stones pose no attraction, so she became a stone, there in the presence of the man she had killed. I suppose someone dragged him from the truck and dumped him in the swamp after, when they stole it. But she didn't know that. A few moments later the dead thing said it again --- Go back.... She whimpered a little. She did do that. But she still couldn't move, til the wolf-gal touched her spine. Then she got up. Her big belly, filled with Romulus and Remus made it hard, but she managed and together they went back to the cave. There was no escape. Neither made a sound and although no one saw it, the corpse-thing disappeared.
The birthing time was near...
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She get real docile. Shimmy Kate, I mean. Lay next to big, boss wolf-man. Eat all them grubs they give her. Wolf-folk like grub. Give 'em to all what 'spectin' babies. Taste like warm, salty taffy candy set in pickle juice... all sticky and gummy. Guess you gotta be part like a dog. Shimmy Kate gag. She cry a little. But that jus' make them give her more. She mostly numb, so she don't care.
One day she say - I wanna go someplace. Y'all gotta let me outta here... 'Cause you gotta remember. They in the back of a cave. But not like he gone take her for no pancakes, or nothin'. An' she ain't no good when they go people-killin'. Sit in mud. Go - Eww! Eww! Eww!..... One a the wolfie-woman wanna take her snail huntin'. Snails is better than grubbs. They sweeter. Taste like funny oyster. Big, boss wolf-man say - OK.... He not say 'OK,' 'cause he don't make that sound, but that what he mean. So nex' night they go off.
Wolfie-woman got like a little basket. It really dried up bird nest, but they use it like basket. Snail slide out at night. Go down tree trunk. Go up tree trunk. Move slow, but snails good hunters. People think mouth up where head is, but it not. It down the neck near the stomach. Got like a tongue... a rough tongue. Dig into all kind a meat... bugs... silver, little fish what dart through mangrove root.... tiny, little, marsh people what like two peanut tall. They don't fly like Tinkerbell, but they still there. Wear spider web clothes. That like silk when you scrape the sticky crap off. Wolfie-woman snatch one right off a root. hold it up so Shimmy Kate can see. Got like a little, gray, baggy wife-beater. Jus' long enough to hide what for. But they so little it don't make no difference. Shimmy Kate go - Oh!..... This big surprise to her. She wanna touch it, but wolfie-woman jump back. That how she say 'no.' Put little person in her dried up nest. Think it a little man. Try to climb out, but she put a snail on it. Call Shimmy Kate over to look. Snail glide all over that little body, silver in the moonlight and greasy-like. It shake. It tremble. Tongue scrape half the skin off. Blood run out. Then it go over again an' start diggin' out flesh. Shimmy Kate don't wanna look. Make her think 'bout how she slice up that truck driver. Wolfie-woman don't feel that way. She like to look. Do it all over with another one. Tiny marsh man, I mean. This one cry jus' loud enough so you can hear.... Wolfie-woman like it. She hypnotized . Jus' wanna look. Guess little people meat make 'em sweeter. Snails, I mean.
That when Shimmy Kate slip away. Now wolf-folk good tracker, but bayou got water and water wash scent. It cool at night an' she mostly naked, but she don't care. Wanna jump in a gator pool. Wanna get herself chomped up real good, all dead an' all. Kill off that Romulus an' Remus she got growin' there inside her. Snappin' turtle cut her feet. Spider bite back a her hip. An' that not like bug bite. It almos' like snake bite. She cry. She shake. Not like she no delicate flower. She a trashy gal. Once ate a smoked up cigarette butt on a bet. It time for her to die. She cut up a fella. She livin' wit' monsters. She carryin' two inside her.
Shhhh... That when she see the ghost... layin' right there in the mud An' from how he cut up she know who he is.... even before he open his malf...
(more next time)
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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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Some night ain't got no moon. Moon still there, but you not see it. It hide down 'round other side a Earth, like bad boy back a tree trunk. Them nights is dark... black nights. Milky Way arc 'cross a sky like God done a 'spit take.' Some folk can't look at it. Reminds 'em how small they is and what all's out there. Big rock come down, go BAM! Them what see it wanna shit themself, only rock not give 'em time. Burn 'em up fast. BOOM! pfft! Uh oh.... That how it is.
Shimmy Kate crouch down by 'the terrace.' It not fancy like a real one, but it flat and out front, so what else you gonna call it? Wolfie-gal there with her. Rest a them off huntin'. They like a good, dark night. Gator-boy go out. Try to catch a gator. Wolfie-folk go out. Try to catch gator-boy. 'Cept with them it ain't 'tryin' 'cause they get 'em every time. Fat gator boys best. They juicy. Taste like pork. Two fat ones even better. They cry. They squeal. Kick they feet. Bat they hands like little girl. Alpha wolfie-man like to play with 'em. Bite ass-cheek real hard. Scratch 'em up. Let 'em go. Let 'em run. Chase 'em. Jump on top. Do it again. Maybe three time. Rip ear off... piece a face-meat. That like appetizer.
Shimmy Kate seen 'em do it, but she don't care. She crazy. Don't want no wolfie-babies. Let 'em get her. Let 'em catch her. Let 'em rip her up real bad. She laugh. She go - Wheee, I free! I free!... 'cause she believe in heaven an' all. Not that she so good. Jus' ain't got much else.
Wolfie-gal watch her. See her leg tense up. See her ass flex. She know. Shimmy Kate a runner. Don't want no trouble wit' boss-wolf. She got a job, so she do it. Jump on all-human gal an' pin her down. She growl. She snarl. Shimmy Kate get like gator-boy, bat her hands and go - No! No! No!..... Then, real fast, wolfie-gal nip her tittie. Sting her up real hard, like wolf do wit' bad puppy. Human gal stop. Breathe real hard an' cry. She jus' cry an' cry an' lay there an' cry. It the time a night when bite-'em-ups is out. Bite her up real good. But she don't care. Itchin' ain't no big thing.
Wolfie-gal lick her belly. Wanna stop her... but it don't do no good...
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