MonstrousMay 1. Werewolf

The smell of cow patties and the sick tang of blood told Lara it had happened again. The last few stars in the sky were washed away by the rising sun. Grass jabbed at her exposed flesh, which ached from head to toe. Her stomach was uncomfortably tight, Thanksgiving full to bursting. Flies had already crowded on the cow to her left, one or two dancing along the sticky stripe that ran down her chin and onto her school spirit tee. Lara held up a hand to the bright dawn and saw her fingernails were caked with dirt and gore.

A tear slid out of her eye as she turned her head to see what she had done. She immediately rolled over onto all fours and vomited, a torrent of viscera pouring out onto the ground. The flies were giddy and couldn't wait to dig in. Lara rose to her feet, gripping her stomach, which still felt filled to the brim. She lifted her shirt to show a round, deep black-purple bruise, which wasn't helping the situation. Her bare feet, coated with mud, squished as she moved to stand over what remained of the cow. "I'm sorry," she said. Its eyes were still wide in fear, crazed, with whites exposed.

Lara shuffled back towards the general direction of home. She was sure her dad would be out looking for her. As she approached the road, the farmhouse appeared, its low windows watching her. She ducked behind a fencepost as old man Grider stepped out and let the screen door slam behind him. He whistled as he walked up the path to the gate. Lara's heart was heavy, knowing he'd be the one to find what was out there in the pasture. Lara would spend the next few days checking the paper and keeping an ear on the radio.

Theories ranged from coyotes, hunger foolish, to sicko sadists, to alien abductions. When she slept and whatever it was within her woke, it seemed it had a taste for farm animals. She was begrudgingly grateful that's all it had a taste for. So far, anyway.

Lara slipped beneath the fence as the old man tottered his way out into the field. Her dad's pickup was slowly crawling down the road. He was leaned up over the steering wheel, searching the trees and crops. Lara dashed towards him. 

"What're you doing, girl?" Mrs. Grider called out, a basket of wet wash balanced on her hip. Lara didn't stop, sprinting to meet the truck as it came closer. "Wait!" Mrs. Grider yelled, but Lara had reached the road. Her dad tried to come to a stop, but Lara leapt up and over into the truck bed and shouted for him to drive. 

The truck's tires squealed as he slammed on the gas. Lara hazarded a peek behind them. Mrs. Grider stood in the yard, watching them intently. Lara cried the entire way home, jostling about in the empty truck bed.

When they got home, her dad turned off the truck but didn't get out. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. Lara carefully climbed out of the truck, afraid any extra noise might just make her dad angrier. It wasn't her fault. Or maybe it was.

She made it into the house before the truck door squealed open and slammed shut. Her dad walked in, a thundercloud unable to hide its flashes of lightning. 

"Get ready for school," he said quietly. 

"Dad," she said, "can I just please stay home?" Her bones felt jammed into her skin, ill-fitting and and inflamed.

"No," her dad said. "Nothing out of the ordinary." Lara wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Ordinary. Sure. Her dad handed her a grocery sack from beneath the sink. "Put those clothes in here and I'll burn 'em."

Lara looked down at her shirt and wanted to vomit again. Her dad shook the bag at her so she took it. He couldn't look her in the eye. "Dad?" she asked. He turned away to pour himself a cup of coffee. "I'm sorry," she said. His only answer was a long slurping sip from his mug.

Lara thought of the day that stretched before her. School. Cheerleading practice. Friends. All while her body fought the raw meat that now simmered in her gut. She sighed and went to walk out of the kitchen.

"I tried to stop you this time," her dad said solemnly. 

"I don't remember," Lara said. There were lots of nights missing from her memory. She wondered if her full moon foe remembered anything she did during the daylight hours.

"No, I don't reckon you do," he said. He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a white bandage, red splotches blooming through the fabric. Lara apologized again. "My fault. You came down the stairs and…" his voice cracked. He gripped the counter tightly, leaning on his arms. "And there wasn't even a little bit of you in there. So I- I-" he stuttered, sobbing. Lara tried to lay a hand on his arm but he jerked away. He snorted loudly and rubbed the tears from his eyes. He stood up, grunting to clear his throat. He fished in his shirt pocket and pulled out a little chunk of metal. He tossed it onto the counter in her direction. "Well, at least we know now. When it happens, you're damn near bullet-proof."