An Excerpt from Jill: She-Wolf

After I finish a project, I usually start a smaller WIP that I deem a “rebound”. I just completed a manuscript I’ve been working on for several years. And here is the beginning of my rebound.

She-wolf

Changing into a werewolf is sickening. You get cranky, you cramp, you shake. That’s just the days leading up to the full change. Then the moon shines its poisonous rays in full glory. There’s lots of nausea and you usually pass out. You wake up hairy and have to hide from everyone until the moon wanes enough that the residual fur can be shaved off.

At least that’s how it works for me. I don’t know about anyone else.

Being half wolf also causes chronic loneliness and guarantees I’ll die alone. Probably at the wrong end of a silver bullet.

Let’s face it, vampires are so much more attractive. For one, their hair probably doesn’t smell like wet dog all the time. (Seriously, no matter how often I shower.) I wouldn’t know for sure, I’ve never met a vampire.

If we’re honest here, I’m completely normal for two weeks a month-from the outside. My human form is pretty strong now. It’s also beneficial that my transformation is predictable. If I watch the moon, I know what to expect. A few days before total transformation I get taller and hairier. My clothes stop fitting. I don’t want to eat anything but meat. I’m only full wolf under a full moon. Then I start changing back.

My first transformation was torture. It was a thousand needles pricking my skin in waves. For days. I told my Mom all the changes I was going through and she decided to have “the talk” with me. But we were interrupted when I began to howl and hair sprouted on my face. We both freaked out. We called the Doctor and she told us that some people show more intense signs of puberty than others. It didn’t help much. We spent that weekend waxing and plucking. It got to where the only article of clothing that actually fit me was this night-gown I had used as a Halloween costume once.

Why would a sane, middle-aged woman accept her daughter as a werewolf? I’m her only kid. I guess if she had to choose between me dying or being a werewolf, she would pick the werewolf one. We didn’t tell Dad. He’s gone on business all the time, so it’s a secret easy to keep. Plus, he enjoys the variety of meat Mom keeps at our house as much as I do.

So there are the cravings. I’ve gotten a lot better. I’ve managed to avoid killing anyone by curbing my hunger. I eat squirrels. Lots and lots of squirrels. And raccoons. People around town have noticed the lack of raccoons—those thieving little varmints. So, in a way my transformation is a public service.

I don’t know who turned me. Apparently, I had been at a sleepover and we were playing “No bears Are Out Tonight”. All I remember of that night was my red pajamas,a black-hooded figure, a hairy arm with a gold watch, and my thick-rimmed glasses.

They found me in the forest, unconscious and bloody. They thought it was a real bear attack and brought me to the hospital. I went from being in critical condition to completely healed in a matter of days. The media went crazy and I became known as the miracle girl. But my fame was cut short when someone found a dead roach in their hamburger at Piggy’s Diner.

I started to rock gym class. My asthma faded. I was strong and had to learn how to hide it. I still wear the glasses, but I replaced the lenses with non-prescription plastic.

And today, I am back to school after a long weekend which coincided with the worst parts of the transformation. I did a lot of shaving and waxing to get ready. My hair is growing slow enough that it won’t start on my face until after school.

But my hands will be 80% wolfed-out by lunch. And since I’ve been in school for two hours now, my leg-hair is about a quarter of an inch long.

Which is why I have long-sleeves on under my character T-shirt and striped leggings on under my pink skirt. With fingerless gloves and a hood.

I hear my arch nemesis coming.She’s loud and gorgeous with silky blond hair strung up in her pony tail and visibly hairless legs. A class-president-cheerleader hybrid, she is arguably the most popular girl the school has ever seen. I’m pretty sure it was impossible to do both before she came around. She’s very nice when anyone important is around. But she’s a bully as soon as no one is looking.

Mom says I should gut her some slack. Especially after her family died in a car crash last year. Everyone cried. Even old janitor sour-apple. The funeral was ginormous. Mom made me go support my enemy. I felt bad for her—even the wolf isn’t that heartless—but I didn’t see how spending more time with her would help.

Her name is Tristan. I turn into the bathroom and take deep, ragged breaths until I’m sure she and her entourage passes.

I readjust my fake glasses nervously as I clutch the strap to my bag and head to chemistry. It used to be my favorite class.

Like Halloween? I wrote another eerie short-story you can get here.

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