Gwen put the finishing touches on making her bed, pulling up the corner of her Universal Monsters bedspread to cover her pillow. The deep blue/gray of the bedspread was be speckled with classic horrors: Frankenstein’s monster, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, the Phantom of the Opera, the Mummy, the Wolf Man and, of course, Dracula replete with cape and penetrating eyes. Gwen grabbed her backpack and skipped her way down the stairs. She made a quick detour to snag her lunchbox off the kitchen counter and headed towards the door, the swishing of her summer dress being all the alerted her parent's to her having been there.
"Come straight home after school, young lady," Her father yelled over his shoulder from the kitchen sink where he was washing out his coffee cup.
"Yes dear, you know what night it is tonight! No hanging out after school!" Her mom chimed in as she finished stirring half and half into her own cup of coffee, to her father's left.
Gwen heard them both as she opened the front door and yelled back over her shoulder a loud, "Okay!"
The walk to school wasn't long, per se, but it was several blocks. Gwen worked her way up to her usual, casual lope and listened to the birds chirping all around her. It was still warm in the morning, but summer was over, though you couldn't see any real signs of fall yet. Gwen sniffed the air and caught a familiar if unpleasant scent carried on the thin morning breeze. Chucky was on his way to school too.
"Werewolves suck", Charles Meyers yelled, as he crossed the street in Gwen's direction. She'd never liked "Chucky" as he was more commonly known, so she just kept her gaze straight ahead and kept on walking.
Chucky didn't seem to care. He just watched Gwen walk on ahead of him, her bouncy pig tails bobbing up and down, classic "The Wolf Man" lunch box swaying by her side. Gwen Talbot wasn't the prettiest girl at Crystal Lake Junior High, but she wasn't homely neither. Chucky watched the pig tails sway and followed them down to the waistline of her dress, noting with a 13-yr old boy's approval how Gwen's waist became slender here before curving out below. As always, her dark blue dress was long, modest by Crystal Lake standards but Chucky liked that it left things to his imagination.
Coming back to the bobbing pigtails Chucky thought about the word, pigtail, and, from there, he had images of pigs, being slaughtered, cut up and squealing in terror as blood erupted from wound after wound like so many bursting pimples, mini volcanoes of dark red, liquid lava, spraying this way and that. Chucky thought about the switchblade in his pocket. He had the urge to run up to Gwen and grab one of her pigtails and pull it back hard. She was a little taller than him, having gotten her growth spurt earlier, but if he yanked on a pig tail, he could pull her head back. It'd be easy then to use the switchblade and slice her throat open.
Chucky lost himself in imagining what Gwen's eyes would look like: the shock, the fear. He imagined the sounds her now open throat would make. Would air come pouring out of it, as well as blood? Could he smell the blood, like some killers said they could? How dark would it be? How hot? He felt himself stirring between his legs as he thought about how he'd be the last face Gwen would ever see.
He'd drag her off into the bushes of the bike trail that ran along their shared path to school. He knew that much. He'd watch her twitch and gasp as the color of life drained out of her face. He'd slip his hand down into his jeans and touch himself. He'd do it, just to feel it, but as soon as she stopped twitching and gasping, he'd stop. He'd have a better idea. He'd peel her blue dress off her shoulders, being careful not to touch her any more than he had to and wriggle it down her now stilled body. He'd stop and stare at her then, looking to see if all of her was as tanned as she looked.
He'd slide off her panties. He imagined them pink, with a red bow, decorated with hearts. He wondered to himself what it would look like. He'd seen pictures of cunts before, in his dad's "Hustlers". He had a general idea of what he should do next. Still, he wasn't sure that he'd put his thing in there. If she was dead, what if she clammed up? What if he got in but couldn't get out? He might try and practice on it first, with a stick. If the stick went in and out okay, then he might give it a try himself. Or, he might just stab it, use his switchblade and cut it all up, leaving it a bloody mess. He wasn't sure, but, he was sure it'd be awesome, no matter what it was!
Chucky caught himself in his reverie. He was ready to take the steps up to the front doors of school. Other kids got out of his way, shooting him nervous sideways glances, like they always did. There were whispers, the occasional breathless snicker. No one got in his way, not even the taller boys. Everyone knew about Chucky and everyone gave him his space. There was a general consensus among the students in particular, that he wasn't quite right.
Class after class, hour after hour, Chucky navigated his way through the halls of the school, wandering about with an aimless shuffle. His long greasy bangs hung down and partly covered his eyes, an advantage, he'd found, allowing him to stare at other without being noticed. Other students moved by him, touching one another, hugging, laughing, waving across the hall while Chucky moved alone, as if in a bubble of his own making, seeming to both occupy space with the others but, also, seemingly not there, all at the same time.
Lunch hour found Chucky looking for a place to sit. The school year, though still fairly new, had already settled down into familiar patterns for most. There was that one lunch table, to be shared with those particular friends. Chucky had thus far made a habit of taking his lunch outside, seeking out a place of his own to eat, but today, he felt wired, buzzing off the high he got from all the energy around him. He looked around for a place to sit and saw that Gwen had a table all to herself, off in the corner.
Gwen liked finding a place by herself to eat. She had unique dietary requirements and, as most every 13-year old did, she was afraid of being labeled "weird" or "gross". She was a pretty girl, seemingly transitioning to her teen years easier than some of her friends. She wasn't shy, but she was reserved. Smart as she was, she didn't seek to flaunt it. Though she dressed modestly, even in gym class, she had impressed her PE coach by being both stronger and faster than he'd expected a "frail looking thing" like her to be.
Gwen didn't think of herself as frail, though, her aloofness may have given some that impression. She liked people well enough, she just liked being outdoors, exploring the woods behind her family's home, even more. She climbed trees and ran trails. She had talked her father in getting her a tracker's guide book which had pictures of animal prints and she'd taught herself how to differentiate one animal from another. She could easily tell a buck deer from a doe now and rabbit prints from cat ones. She knew what a bobcat's paw print was like and how it differed from her friend Nancy's cat, Mr. Bojangles. She'd also become very good at noticing the smell of things. Her nose automatically crinkled as she sniffed the air and caught the scent of Chucky coming up behind her again.
"Werewolves suck", Chucky said, as he sat at the table, on the opposite side of Gwen.
"I heard you this morning," Gwen wiped her mouth with her napkin and fastened up her lunch box, seemingly done already. She drank some water out of her store bought water bottle.
"You scarfed down your lunch fast, huh?" Chucky eyed her under his bangs. He couldn't really see her boobs, her dress not being that tight, but he wondered what they looked like anyway. He imagined them with razors, or, syringes sticking out of their nipples.
"Or, did you even eat anything at all? Maybe you're one of those barfer babes."
Gwen snorted a demure little snort. She saw no point in eating anything she was going to turn around and throw up later. Some of the girls were into that, while, some others preferred eating nothing altogether. Not her though. Gwen liked food. She liked meat.
Chucky poked at the slimy Salisbury steak that had come with his school bought lunch. He stabbed it a few times with his fork before using his knife to rip a piece off to eat.
"Serial killers are better than gay werewolves."
Gwen just stared at the way Chucky talked with his mouth open. He had the manners of an animal she thought to herself.
"Werewolves do not suck. They're stronger than serial killers anyway. They can kill any of them."
"Nu uh!" Chucky almost spat out the piece of meat he was chewing before he pulled off a save with his tongue. "Jason can't die. Michael Meyers neither. Freddie Krueger. No big ugly dog can kill them."
"They can't die because they need to have other movies. If they fought a werewolf though, they'd die."
Chucky thought about this. To his mind it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Clearly, serial killers were real and werewolves weren't.
"Whatever. They can't die. You shoot them and they don't die. Some big dumb dog couldn't hurt them."
"Wolves are very smart, actually." Gwen knew this as she had a whole bookshelf at home dedicated to wolves. "Maybe they can't die from regular stuff. You know, bullets and stuff like that. But if regular stuff can't kill them, they must be magic. And everyone knows that if you're magic, you can be killed by something else that's magic."
Chucky thought this over but had a hard time concentrating. Wendy Bussard had walked buy wearing her way too tight jeans again. He tried to see a panty line somewhere but couldn't. He lost himself in imagining what the bottom half of her would do if he cut her in two.
"Yeah. Whatever." Chucky drank his fruit punch and slurped the last few sips out of it loudly. The school fruit punches never had enough drink in them to satisfy anybody, he thought.
"Any wolf come after me, I'd just stab it to death."
Gwen stared at him a moment and got up to leave. Chucky had a mean spirit, she thought to herself, and on top of that, he wasn't very smart. Anybody who knew anything knew you couldn't kill a werewolf with a simple knife.
Chucky watched her go but got distracted again, as one of the new sixth graders suddenly got sick to his stomach and threw his lunch up, all over the place, in front of the cafeteria trash can.
The afternoon went on uneventful. Chucky stumbled his way through class after class, his mind lost in dreams of bloody mayhem he wanted to bring upon his classmates and teachers. Mr. Winchell was fat, so, Chucky imagined cutting his fat belly off it landing on the floor of science class and all its contents oozing out. They could have a quiz, or a contest, in identifying what everything was. Sally Trueblood was Indian and she got Chucky to wondering if she was the same on the inside as everybody else. Maybe he could kill her and that annoying Norma Bates and peel their skin off. Then he could cut into them and start comparing their insides, see what sort of differences there were. He had cut them open around their belly buttons when the final bell rang, letting school out for the day.
The afternoon sun shown lower in the sky now that fall had come. Students piled out of Crystal Lake, heading this way and that. The bus stop was off in the other direction, large yellow buses all lined up waiting for their passengers. Chucky shivered just thinking about being trapped in one of those things as he made to head back home the way he'd came.
Of course, Chucky never went back home right away. His mom was likely drunk and passed out, as she often was. Sam, the man who was living them was likely drunk and, unfortunately, not passed out. The last thing Chucky wanted was to see him. When he did, he got dizzy and felt a loud pounding, mixed with a high pitched buzzing in his brain. All he could see was red, all around him. Whenever he thought of Sam he felt himself shake. There was nothing he wanted more than to kill him, to slice him open. Chucky was sure if he did, that Sam's blood would look bad. Maybe it wouldn't even look like blood, maybe it'd be more like bugs, roaches and spiders and centipedes, living inside him all crawling out through the holes Sam would make with his switchblade.
Sam laughed at the thought as he imagined himself stomping the bugs as they tried to skitter away from him. He'd yell, "Take that muthafuckas!" and he'd dance as he stomped them, yellow gut sprays blasting this way and that.
As he wandered off along the bike path and into the woods that ran alongside it, he kicked his feet at any and anything in his path. Off in a clearing that seemed to be getting just a sliver of light, he noticed a dead rabbit, its throat torn out by some dog or cat. He headed into the clearing to play with the rabbit. He pulled out his switchblade and started stabbing it, cutting at it, ripping pieces off it. Soon though, his thoughts got foggy and Chucky found himself yawning. Before he knew it he was fast asleep, lost in a late afternoon nap.
A shriek owl woke up, bobbing its head around in circles and staring down at him from the branches above. In the moonlight Chucky could see it's big round eyes staring at him. A full moon was out and though the forest was dark, it had a magical light to it. Chucky pulled himself to his feet and decided that he should walk through the forest and make his way home. He wasn't sure how late it was, but it felt late. He headed off out of the clearing and into the trees.
The forest at night was filled with sounds to things Chucky couldn't see. He liked it during the day, as he was able to creep around and watch any people that happened to be around, hiding in the underbrush unseen. At night though, he was always on his guard, always restless, certain that instead of doing the watching, he was the one being watched. He clutched his switch blade tightly in his pocket.
Another clearing ahead had sounds coming from it. Two kids from Springfield Senior High had chosen tonight to spread out a blanket and make love under the stars. Chucky took the guy for a jock, seeing as he had a letterman's jacket, piled atop the rest of the clothes he wasn't wearing. He huffed and puffed and made load groaning sounds as he rocked his body on top of hers. From his angle, behind them, Chucky couldn't make out much about her but he could hear her, moaning and giving litte yelps of pleasure. Chucky pulled his blade out of his pocket and pushed the button, activating it, swinging it out from its long dark handle with a swoosh as it locked into place.
Other people might see two people having sex in the moonlight but all Chucky saw was two people, naked and vulnerable. He licked his lips and thought how easy it would be to surprise them. He could get on top of the guy and slit his throat from behind. He'd bleed out, right there, on top of her, Chucky on top of him. She'd scream and scream and scream, unable to do anything. Chucky took a step in their direction when he heard a twig snap somewhere off to his right, in the shadows.
He looked into the dark to see what was there. In the dark, through the branches, he could see a pair of glowing eyes looking back at him. The eyes disappeared and were suddenly replaced with an unearthly sound, a howl, a wolf's howl.
In spite of himself, Chucky felt a shiver go down his spine. The groans and moans in the clearing stopped, suddenly, and were quickly replaced by a load shriek and a desperate fumbling for clothes. The two midnight lovers scrambled, in sheer terror, to both get dressed and out of the forest as quickly as they could, the time they took to do one necessarily slowing down the time it took to do the other. As they disappeared into the shadows Chucky looked around, searching for the large glowing eyes. Everything was quiet. All he could make out were shadows and darkness all around.
Stepping out into the clearing he tried to straighten himself up. Whatever the glowing eyes were, he told himself, they were gone and, good for them! They must have sensed their danger, being so close to him. He bared his teeth into the dark and attempted a growling sound. Nothing.
"Yeah! You better fucking fun!" He yelled at the top of his voice, to no one and nowhere in particular. The forest was unmoved, responding only with silence.
Chucky walked over to the discarded blanket the lovers had been using and peed all over it. He looked around the clearing and seeing nothing, went back to making his way home. Nervously he began to peel the skin off of the fingertips on his left hand with the switchblade, re-opening old scar tissue in the process. As he tramped through the trees, stomping his feet as loudly as he could, he wondered how he could get over being afraid of things the way real serial killers did.
"Jason would never be afraid of a fucking dog," he mumbled under his breath. He saw the bike path cutting close to the forest up ahead and headed towards it, deciding to take it the rest of the way home. As he stepped out onto the path, just ahead of him, he came face to face with the largest dog he'd ever seen in his life.
The dog, or, more clearly, a wolf, stood across the path facing him straight on it's eyes glowing in the dark. It was big, amazingly big, and black but its form could be made out clearly in the moonlight. Chucky froze. Instinctively, he pointed his switchblade ahead of him and started to shout but found it hard to find his words, as he saw his hand trembling. He felt a warm liquid run down his pant leg.
At his display the wolf seemed to smile and, as it did, it uttered a low, earthy growl. It took one slow step towards him, followed by another. It was that second step that was the last thing Chucky would ever remember.
The wolf's paws knocked him down, on his back. Once on his back, Chucky dropped his knife and closed his eyes, paralyzed with fear. In one clean swift bite, the wolf had torn Chucky's throat out as he made is very final sound, a tiny gasp of surprise. Grabbing the body by what was left of the neck, the wolf dragged it off, into the trees and thrashed it from side to side finally succeeding in separating the head from the rest of the body as the spinal cord severed. Lost in the shadows of the forest, the wolf's ghastly work continued, out of sight and heard only, it seemed, by the darkness itself. Soon, all fell quiet.
Gwen Talbot came out of the forest, adjusting her dress, covered in blood that wasn't hers. Seeing the switchblade on the bike path, she walked over and picked it up. She pushed the button and watched as the blade sprang to life and locked in place. She looked it over, side to side but she didn't look overly impressed. Locking the blade back into place she threw it into the underbrush and started to walk her way home.
In a quiet voice, with a big bloody smile on her face Gwen whispered to herself, "Werewolves suck, my ass."
Copyright 2010, M.R. Caffery. All rights reserved.
"Come straight home after school, young lady," Her father yelled over his shoulder from the kitchen sink where he was washing out his coffee cup.
"Yes dear, you know what night it is tonight! No hanging out after school!" Her mom chimed in as she finished stirring half and half into her own cup of coffee, to her father's left.
Gwen heard them both as she opened the front door and yelled back over her shoulder a loud, "Okay!"
The walk to school wasn't long, per se, but it was several blocks. Gwen worked her way up to her usual, casual lope and listened to the birds chirping all around her. It was still warm in the morning, but summer was over, though you couldn't see any real signs of fall yet. Gwen sniffed the air and caught a familiar if unpleasant scent carried on the thin morning breeze. Chucky was on his way to school too.
"Werewolves suck", Charles Meyers yelled, as he crossed the street in Gwen's direction. She'd never liked "Chucky" as he was more commonly known, so she just kept her gaze straight ahead and kept on walking.
Chucky didn't seem to care. He just watched Gwen walk on ahead of him, her bouncy pig tails bobbing up and down, classic "The Wolf Man" lunch box swaying by her side. Gwen Talbot wasn't the prettiest girl at Crystal Lake Junior High, but she wasn't homely neither. Chucky watched the pig tails sway and followed them down to the waistline of her dress, noting with a 13-yr old boy's approval how Gwen's waist became slender here before curving out below. As always, her dark blue dress was long, modest by Crystal Lake standards but Chucky liked that it left things to his imagination.
Coming back to the bobbing pigtails Chucky thought about the word, pigtail, and, from there, he had images of pigs, being slaughtered, cut up and squealing in terror as blood erupted from wound after wound like so many bursting pimples, mini volcanoes of dark red, liquid lava, spraying this way and that. Chucky thought about the switchblade in his pocket. He had the urge to run up to Gwen and grab one of her pigtails and pull it back hard. She was a little taller than him, having gotten her growth spurt earlier, but if he yanked on a pig tail, he could pull her head back. It'd be easy then to use the switchblade and slice her throat open.
Chucky lost himself in imagining what Gwen's eyes would look like: the shock, the fear. He imagined the sounds her now open throat would make. Would air come pouring out of it, as well as blood? Could he smell the blood, like some killers said they could? How dark would it be? How hot? He felt himself stirring between his legs as he thought about how he'd be the last face Gwen would ever see.
He'd drag her off into the bushes of the bike trail that ran along their shared path to school. He knew that much. He'd watch her twitch and gasp as the color of life drained out of her face. He'd slip his hand down into his jeans and touch himself. He'd do it, just to feel it, but as soon as she stopped twitching and gasping, he'd stop. He'd have a better idea. He'd peel her blue dress off her shoulders, being careful not to touch her any more than he had to and wriggle it down her now stilled body. He'd stop and stare at her then, looking to see if all of her was as tanned as she looked.
He'd slide off her panties. He imagined them pink, with a red bow, decorated with hearts. He wondered to himself what it would look like. He'd seen pictures of cunts before, in his dad's "Hustlers". He had a general idea of what he should do next. Still, he wasn't sure that he'd put his thing in there. If she was dead, what if she clammed up? What if he got in but couldn't get out? He might try and practice on it first, with a stick. If the stick went in and out okay, then he might give it a try himself. Or, he might just stab it, use his switchblade and cut it all up, leaving it a bloody mess. He wasn't sure, but, he was sure it'd be awesome, no matter what it was!
Chucky caught himself in his reverie. He was ready to take the steps up to the front doors of school. Other kids got out of his way, shooting him nervous sideways glances, like they always did. There were whispers, the occasional breathless snicker. No one got in his way, not even the taller boys. Everyone knew about Chucky and everyone gave him his space. There was a general consensus among the students in particular, that he wasn't quite right.
Class after class, hour after hour, Chucky navigated his way through the halls of the school, wandering about with an aimless shuffle. His long greasy bangs hung down and partly covered his eyes, an advantage, he'd found, allowing him to stare at other without being noticed. Other students moved by him, touching one another, hugging, laughing, waving across the hall while Chucky moved alone, as if in a bubble of his own making, seeming to both occupy space with the others but, also, seemingly not there, all at the same time.
Lunch hour found Chucky looking for a place to sit. The school year, though still fairly new, had already settled down into familiar patterns for most. There was that one lunch table, to be shared with those particular friends. Chucky had thus far made a habit of taking his lunch outside, seeking out a place of his own to eat, but today, he felt wired, buzzing off the high he got from all the energy around him. He looked around for a place to sit and saw that Gwen had a table all to herself, off in the corner.
Gwen liked finding a place by herself to eat. She had unique dietary requirements and, as most every 13-year old did, she was afraid of being labeled "weird" or "gross". She was a pretty girl, seemingly transitioning to her teen years easier than some of her friends. She wasn't shy, but she was reserved. Smart as she was, she didn't seek to flaunt it. Though she dressed modestly, even in gym class, she had impressed her PE coach by being both stronger and faster than he'd expected a "frail looking thing" like her to be.
Gwen didn't think of herself as frail, though, her aloofness may have given some that impression. She liked people well enough, she just liked being outdoors, exploring the woods behind her family's home, even more. She climbed trees and ran trails. She had talked her father in getting her a tracker's guide book which had pictures of animal prints and she'd taught herself how to differentiate one animal from another. She could easily tell a buck deer from a doe now and rabbit prints from cat ones. She knew what a bobcat's paw print was like and how it differed from her friend Nancy's cat, Mr. Bojangles. She'd also become very good at noticing the smell of things. Her nose automatically crinkled as she sniffed the air and caught the scent of Chucky coming up behind her again.
"Werewolves suck", Chucky said, as he sat at the table, on the opposite side of Gwen.
"I heard you this morning," Gwen wiped her mouth with her napkin and fastened up her lunch box, seemingly done already. She drank some water out of her store bought water bottle.
"You scarfed down your lunch fast, huh?" Chucky eyed her under his bangs. He couldn't really see her boobs, her dress not being that tight, but he wondered what they looked like anyway. He imagined them with razors, or, syringes sticking out of their nipples.
"Or, did you even eat anything at all? Maybe you're one of those barfer babes."
Gwen snorted a demure little snort. She saw no point in eating anything she was going to turn around and throw up later. Some of the girls were into that, while, some others preferred eating nothing altogether. Not her though. Gwen liked food. She liked meat.
Chucky poked at the slimy Salisbury steak that had come with his school bought lunch. He stabbed it a few times with his fork before using his knife to rip a piece off to eat.
"Serial killers are better than gay werewolves."
Gwen just stared at the way Chucky talked with his mouth open. He had the manners of an animal she thought to herself.
"Werewolves do not suck. They're stronger than serial killers anyway. They can kill any of them."
"Nu uh!" Chucky almost spat out the piece of meat he was chewing before he pulled off a save with his tongue. "Jason can't die. Michael Meyers neither. Freddie Krueger. No big ugly dog can kill them."
"They can't die because they need to have other movies. If they fought a werewolf though, they'd die."
Chucky thought about this. To his mind it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. Clearly, serial killers were real and werewolves weren't.
"Whatever. They can't die. You shoot them and they don't die. Some big dumb dog couldn't hurt them."
"Wolves are very smart, actually." Gwen knew this as she had a whole bookshelf at home dedicated to wolves. "Maybe they can't die from regular stuff. You know, bullets and stuff like that. But if regular stuff can't kill them, they must be magic. And everyone knows that if you're magic, you can be killed by something else that's magic."
Chucky thought this over but had a hard time concentrating. Wendy Bussard had walked buy wearing her way too tight jeans again. He tried to see a panty line somewhere but couldn't. He lost himself in imagining what the bottom half of her would do if he cut her in two.
"Yeah. Whatever." Chucky drank his fruit punch and slurped the last few sips out of it loudly. The school fruit punches never had enough drink in them to satisfy anybody, he thought.
"Any wolf come after me, I'd just stab it to death."
Gwen stared at him a moment and got up to leave. Chucky had a mean spirit, she thought to herself, and on top of that, he wasn't very smart. Anybody who knew anything knew you couldn't kill a werewolf with a simple knife.
Chucky watched her go but got distracted again, as one of the new sixth graders suddenly got sick to his stomach and threw his lunch up, all over the place, in front of the cafeteria trash can.
The afternoon went on uneventful. Chucky stumbled his way through class after class, his mind lost in dreams of bloody mayhem he wanted to bring upon his classmates and teachers. Mr. Winchell was fat, so, Chucky imagined cutting his fat belly off it landing on the floor of science class and all its contents oozing out. They could have a quiz, or a contest, in identifying what everything was. Sally Trueblood was Indian and she got Chucky to wondering if she was the same on the inside as everybody else. Maybe he could kill her and that annoying Norma Bates and peel their skin off. Then he could cut into them and start comparing their insides, see what sort of differences there were. He had cut them open around their belly buttons when the final bell rang, letting school out for the day.
The afternoon sun shown lower in the sky now that fall had come. Students piled out of Crystal Lake, heading this way and that. The bus stop was off in the other direction, large yellow buses all lined up waiting for their passengers. Chucky shivered just thinking about being trapped in one of those things as he made to head back home the way he'd came.
Of course, Chucky never went back home right away. His mom was likely drunk and passed out, as she often was. Sam, the man who was living them was likely drunk and, unfortunately, not passed out. The last thing Chucky wanted was to see him. When he did, he got dizzy and felt a loud pounding, mixed with a high pitched buzzing in his brain. All he could see was red, all around him. Whenever he thought of Sam he felt himself shake. There was nothing he wanted more than to kill him, to slice him open. Chucky was sure if he did, that Sam's blood would look bad. Maybe it wouldn't even look like blood, maybe it'd be more like bugs, roaches and spiders and centipedes, living inside him all crawling out through the holes Sam would make with his switchblade.
Sam laughed at the thought as he imagined himself stomping the bugs as they tried to skitter away from him. He'd yell, "Take that muthafuckas!" and he'd dance as he stomped them, yellow gut sprays blasting this way and that.
As he wandered off along the bike path and into the woods that ran alongside it, he kicked his feet at any and anything in his path. Off in a clearing that seemed to be getting just a sliver of light, he noticed a dead rabbit, its throat torn out by some dog or cat. He headed into the clearing to play with the rabbit. He pulled out his switchblade and started stabbing it, cutting at it, ripping pieces off it. Soon though, his thoughts got foggy and Chucky found himself yawning. Before he knew it he was fast asleep, lost in a late afternoon nap.
A shriek owl woke up, bobbing its head around in circles and staring down at him from the branches above. In the moonlight Chucky could see it's big round eyes staring at him. A full moon was out and though the forest was dark, it had a magical light to it. Chucky pulled himself to his feet and decided that he should walk through the forest and make his way home. He wasn't sure how late it was, but it felt late. He headed off out of the clearing and into the trees.
The forest at night was filled with sounds to things Chucky couldn't see. He liked it during the day, as he was able to creep around and watch any people that happened to be around, hiding in the underbrush unseen. At night though, he was always on his guard, always restless, certain that instead of doing the watching, he was the one being watched. He clutched his switch blade tightly in his pocket.
Another clearing ahead had sounds coming from it. Two kids from Springfield Senior High had chosen tonight to spread out a blanket and make love under the stars. Chucky took the guy for a jock, seeing as he had a letterman's jacket, piled atop the rest of the clothes he wasn't wearing. He huffed and puffed and made load groaning sounds as he rocked his body on top of hers. From his angle, behind them, Chucky couldn't make out much about her but he could hear her, moaning and giving litte yelps of pleasure. Chucky pulled his blade out of his pocket and pushed the button, activating it, swinging it out from its long dark handle with a swoosh as it locked into place.
Other people might see two people having sex in the moonlight but all Chucky saw was two people, naked and vulnerable. He licked his lips and thought how easy it would be to surprise them. He could get on top of the guy and slit his throat from behind. He'd bleed out, right there, on top of her, Chucky on top of him. She'd scream and scream and scream, unable to do anything. Chucky took a step in their direction when he heard a twig snap somewhere off to his right, in the shadows.
He looked into the dark to see what was there. In the dark, through the branches, he could see a pair of glowing eyes looking back at him. The eyes disappeared and were suddenly replaced with an unearthly sound, a howl, a wolf's howl.
In spite of himself, Chucky felt a shiver go down his spine. The groans and moans in the clearing stopped, suddenly, and were quickly replaced by a load shriek and a desperate fumbling for clothes. The two midnight lovers scrambled, in sheer terror, to both get dressed and out of the forest as quickly as they could, the time they took to do one necessarily slowing down the time it took to do the other. As they disappeared into the shadows Chucky looked around, searching for the large glowing eyes. Everything was quiet. All he could make out were shadows and darkness all around.
Stepping out into the clearing he tried to straighten himself up. Whatever the glowing eyes were, he told himself, they were gone and, good for them! They must have sensed their danger, being so close to him. He bared his teeth into the dark and attempted a growling sound. Nothing.
"Yeah! You better fucking fun!" He yelled at the top of his voice, to no one and nowhere in particular. The forest was unmoved, responding only with silence.
Chucky walked over to the discarded blanket the lovers had been using and peed all over it. He looked around the clearing and seeing nothing, went back to making his way home. Nervously he began to peel the skin off of the fingertips on his left hand with the switchblade, re-opening old scar tissue in the process. As he tramped through the trees, stomping his feet as loudly as he could, he wondered how he could get over being afraid of things the way real serial killers did.
"Jason would never be afraid of a fucking dog," he mumbled under his breath. He saw the bike path cutting close to the forest up ahead and headed towards it, deciding to take it the rest of the way home. As he stepped out onto the path, just ahead of him, he came face to face with the largest dog he'd ever seen in his life.
The dog, or, more clearly, a wolf, stood across the path facing him straight on it's eyes glowing in the dark. It was big, amazingly big, and black but its form could be made out clearly in the moonlight. Chucky froze. Instinctively, he pointed his switchblade ahead of him and started to shout but found it hard to find his words, as he saw his hand trembling. He felt a warm liquid run down his pant leg.
At his display the wolf seemed to smile and, as it did, it uttered a low, earthy growl. It took one slow step towards him, followed by another. It was that second step that was the last thing Chucky would ever remember.
The wolf's paws knocked him down, on his back. Once on his back, Chucky dropped his knife and closed his eyes, paralyzed with fear. In one clean swift bite, the wolf had torn Chucky's throat out as he made is very final sound, a tiny gasp of surprise. Grabbing the body by what was left of the neck, the wolf dragged it off, into the trees and thrashed it from side to side finally succeeding in separating the head from the rest of the body as the spinal cord severed. Lost in the shadows of the forest, the wolf's ghastly work continued, out of sight and heard only, it seemed, by the darkness itself. Soon, all fell quiet.
Gwen Talbot came out of the forest, adjusting her dress, covered in blood that wasn't hers. Seeing the switchblade on the bike path, she walked over and picked it up. She pushed the button and watched as the blade sprang to life and locked in place. She looked it over, side to side but she didn't look overly impressed. Locking the blade back into place she threw it into the underbrush and started to walk her way home.
In a quiet voice, with a big bloody smile on her face Gwen whispered to herself, "Werewolves suck, my ass."
Copyright 2010, M.R. Caffery. All rights reserved.
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