Chapter 13: Wolf O'Clock
By Allen Frost
Her change was occurring a lot faster than she could control. At first she thought she could shave her wrists and hands and that would hide it for a while more, but by the time she got to the bathroom at the back of the Lucky Note, the full moon was taking its fearsome effects. Frances just had time to slam the door and scream into her muffling paw.
Cornelius Barter bopped his buzzing soundtrack to the transformation as she grabbed the wall and howled. Powerful arms swung around and gripped the porcelain sink. It was so easy to tear it out of the tiles and pile it at the door.
Water broke across the room in jet sprays, flicking diamonds on the fur grown all over her. There wasn’t much left of Frances in the creature she became. Some white stocking. Her eyes were closed when she was done; she seemed to purr with the sound from the other room. Yellow eyes snapped open.
The door was being shoved. The music was pushing in loud around scrabbling hands and nightclub yells. The room was a mess of debris and waterfalls.
Frances bounded to the window, out in a leap, luffing the curtains, gone. Mid-air she writhed against the full moon pinned like a moth on its backdrop, before the fog spirited her down.
She was falling at a world that already had another life going, that didn’t know anything about her arriving.
A white half candle flickered on the dashboard in front of George. He had carefully tabbed open the can of cactus juice and was drawing it towards his mouth, really looking forward to it at last, when something like a loose turning dam turbine slammed into the long engine cowling. The crushing kerash knocked George down onto the floorboards.
Frances popped up beside the car spectrally, an outraged roar that shook the fog. She snarled and snapped in a circle. The only thing directly near was a telephone pole that she hit with enough force of her claws to slice into it like butter.
George cowered down near the foot pedals. He held his breath in and didn’t move again until he was absolutely sure that the beast—or was it raining lions?—must have moved on. Only then did he pull his crumpled legs and arms out from him, uncurling himself like a night flower, to push up onto the seat. The can of cactus juice clacked empty to his feet. The contents were all over him again. He smiled wide enough for three photographs…It was the second time Green 17 had spilled on him and saved his life.
Her change was occurring a lot faster than she could control. At first she thought she could shave her wrists and hands and that would hide it for a while more, but by the time she got to the bathroom at the back of the Lucky Note, the full moon was taking its fearsome effects. Frances just had time to slam the door and scream into her muffling paw.
Cornelius Barter bopped his buzzing soundtrack to the transformation as she grabbed the wall and howled. Powerful arms swung around and gripped the porcelain sink. It was so easy to tear it out of the tiles and pile it at the door.
Water broke across the room in jet sprays, flicking diamonds on the fur grown all over her. There wasn’t much left of Frances in the creature she became. Some white stocking. Her eyes were closed when she was done; she seemed to purr with the sound from the other room. Yellow eyes snapped open.
The door was being shoved. The music was pushing in loud around scrabbling hands and nightclub yells. The room was a mess of debris and waterfalls.
Frances bounded to the window, out in a leap, luffing the curtains, gone. Mid-air she writhed against the full moon pinned like a moth on its backdrop, before the fog spirited her down.
She was falling at a world that already had another life going, that didn’t know anything about her arriving.
A white half candle flickered on the dashboard in front of George. He had carefully tabbed open the can of cactus juice and was drawing it towards his mouth, really looking forward to it at last, when something like a loose turning dam turbine slammed into the long engine cowling. The crushing kerash knocked George down onto the floorboards.
Frances popped up beside the car spectrally, an outraged roar that shook the fog. She snarled and snapped in a circle. The only thing directly near was a telephone pole that she hit with enough force of her claws to slice into it like butter.
George cowered down near the foot pedals. He held his breath in and didn’t move again until he was absolutely sure that the beast—or was it raining lions?—must have moved on. Only then did he pull his crumpled legs and arms out from him, uncurling himself like a night flower, to push up onto the seat. The can of cactus juice clacked empty to his feet. The contents were all over him again. He smiled wide enough for three photographs…It was the second time Green 17 had spilled on him and saved his life.
posted by Miguel at 1:55 PM
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