Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy

Also by Keith Gouveia

The Eternal Battle

Dream Demon

Killing Faith

The Evil Men Do

Children of the Dragon

The Goblin Princess

Devil’s Playground (with A.P. Fuchs)

On Hell’s Wings (with A.P. Fuchs)

Bits of the Dead (editor)

Death Puppet: Revolt of the Dead

Animal Behavior and Other Tales of Lycanthropy

Behind the Stained Glass

The Black Cat and the Ghoul (with Edgar Allan Poe)

* * * *

Coscom Entertainment

winnipeg

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons living or dead or suffering from lycanthropy is purely coincidental.

ISBN
 
978-1-926712-42-0

Animal Behavior and other Tales of Lycanthropy is Copyright © 2010 by Keith Gouveia. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce in whole or in part in any form or medium.

“Lady of the Forest” originally published in Carnival of Wicked Writers
Raw Meat
anthology 2007 and reprinted in WolfSinger Publications’
Wolf Songs
anthology 2008.

Published by Coscom Entertainment

www.coscomentertainment.com

Text set in Garamond

eBook Edition

Cover Art by C.J. Hutchinson and Jesus Morales/Dark Riddle

Like the vampire, werewolves—or any sort of animal-shape shifter—have had a long standing in our history. Tales of lycanthropes have been documented from as early as the 18th century and can be found in all cultures across the globe. Some even consider vampires and werewolves the same.

It’s no secret to those who know me that the werewolf is my favorite beasty. As a kid, nothing frightened me more than the half-man-half-wolf. The combined efforts of
An American Werewolf in London
and
The Howling
forever sealed the deal and forever changed my mind on the monster. Compared to other genre tropes, the werewolf is far more interesting and menacing.

Traditionally, zombies could be handled on a one-on-one basis with their slow motor skills and dim-witted mindsets. Even for the fast-moving zombies found in the
Dawn of the Dead
remake and in Brian Keene’s
The Rising
series, any bludgeoning weapon will get the job done. Nothing about the walking dead ever scared me. Same could be said for vampires. They were far too romantic to be truly terrifying especially considering their numerous weaknesses, their ego being the greatest. But when faced against the ferociousness of a werewolf, one-on-one, you will surely lose to its killer instinct and those deadly teeth. Whether cursed or chosen, the werewolf is a monster capable of unimaginable brutality.

 Over the years I’ve learned all I could about the myths and legends. Read numerous books, saw every film, and watched them slowly fade out of popularity, but my love and my fear never died. Though werewolves have remained a staple in the horror genre, there have been less leading roles for them.

With the werewolf’s popularity on the rise again, A.P. Fuchs approached me on whether or not I had enough material to fill a collection of werewolf stories. Both of us were surprised by the answer. At that time I had one story complete: “Lady of the Forest,” and one I was currently writing, “War Dog.” I questioned if it was possible to put together such a collection without rehashing too many ideas or plots and Mr. Fuchs’s response was quite simple: “That’s the challenge.”

My first novel,
The Eternal Battle
, though flawed, has a unique spin on the werewolf genre and I was more than a little concerned on whether I could pull off such a feat again. I completed “War Dog” and the muse slapped me in the back of the head with inspiration for another tale, “The Beast of Garden Row.” When that one was completed, I was blown away and before I could relish the fact that I had just written, in my opinion, my greatest short story, two more ideas popped in my head and I immediately went to work. This book is my answer to that challenge and whether I succeeded or not is up to you, the reader. I have taken some of the lesser known myths and made them my own, even created a few myself; “The Guardian”
for instance. I hope inside these pages you’ll find my passion for these creatures and that some of it will rub off on you.

With Universal Studios’ release of
The Wolfman
, Lorne Dixon’s
Snarl,
also published by Coscom Entertainment, two upcoming anthologies from Library of the Living Dead, W.D. Gagliani’s Nick Lupo series (
Wolf’s Trap
and
Wolf’s Gambit
) published by Leisure and a few other projects, perhaps lycanthropes will see their resurgence much like the vampire and the zombie.

It’s time to rip off your skin and answer the call . . .

* * * *

Moonlight brightens the sky

I stare out into the night

My life has gone awry

Because of one fearful bite

Freewill bends to instinct

It scratches under my skin

It’s too much, I can’t think

Who will forgive me for this sin

Bones crack, lengthen and twist

Flesh reforms with a bestial cry

This is not a curse, but a gift

Tonight someone will surely die

Father Malloy stared into the wild eyes of a once loving husband and father and called upon the strength of the Archangel Michael. “O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me. Glory be to the Father.”

The man laughed as his wife and daughter wept.

The priest continued his sworn duties and recited the vade retro satana. “Let the Holy Cross be my light. Let not the snake lead me. Step back, Satan. Never tempt me with vain things. What you offer is evil …”

The man smiled, looking as though he was enjoying the exorcism.

Impossible . . . his teeth . . . it’s unnatural,
Father Malloy thought
. No . . . He is with me. I must be strong.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit I cast you out. Devil be gone!” With the flick of his fingers, Holy Water splashed the man’s face.

The smile faded, but the man did not flinch. Father Malloy expected the water to burn his sinful flesh. He threw more.

“Why are you men of the cloth so eager to blame the devil? Why can’t you accept the evil that resides in all our hearts?” Spittle flew from the blasphemous man’s lips while strands of saliva dangled from the corners of his mouth.

“Your thoughts are clouded. You are being manipulated.”

“You are wrong, priest. Just as you are wrong in thinking you can save them, but for your efforts, I shall reward you.”

The sound of fabric ripping echoed in the log cabin. The man dropped to all fours. Looking at his wife and daughter he said, “You better start running.”

“Go!” Father Malloy said as the man’s left leg snapped and twisted around at the knee.

Mother and daughter bolted out of the log cabin and Father Malloy was alone to face the beast. He performed the sign of the cross in front of his chest and spoke over the sound of cracking bones. “Even though I walk through . . .”

The right leg snapped and twisted.

“. . . the valley of the shadow of death . . .”

Skin stretched and tore as the man’s nose and mouth elongated.

“. . . I shall fear no evil . . .”

Ribs cracked and expanded as his chest cavity increased in size and his shoulder blades lengthened.

“. . . for Thou art with me . . .”

A low guttural growl emanated from within the man as hair sprouted from every pore.

“. . . Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.”

The beast stood on its haunches, towering over him. Hot breath, smelling of rotten meat, blew down on him.

Father Malloy trembled. “Forgive me, Heavenly Father. I have failed You.”

Claws dug into his biceps and the beast lifted him off his feet and pulled him close to its massive maw. The monster’s tongue reached out and licked the side of Father Malloy’s face. It bit into his shoulder and he screamed.

“Huh!” Jim sat up abruptly, waking from his dream. He looked around and realized he was safe. He leaned back against the willow tree, perched atop a hill looking over Garden Row Cemetery, and thought about the two lives he failed to save. He prayed they reached Heaven’s pearly gates.

The little girl had been so vibrant, so hopeful and happy to see him when he arrived to exorcise the demon plaguing her father, but he failed. Failed her, his church, himself, but most importantly, he failed his faith. He was tossed aside—body broken—but alive as the beast stalked his beloved family and slaughtered them. Pieces of their bodies had been found scattered across the acre of property.

The beast had toyed with them, tortured them as he does me now a hundred years later.

A single tear streaked down his face.

The church had no idea what it was up against and when they realized their mistake, it was too late. Jim Malloy was a condemned man. Excommunicated by his peers and sent away from the Roman Catholic Church, he struggled with the beast within. Struggled to retain himself and not become the monster forced upon him.

I am alone
, he thought, leaning his head against the tree and looking to the heavens.
Have You forgiven me yet, or have You forgotten me?

“Jim, what are you doing up here?” his boss said, ascending to the top of the hill.

“Sorry, boss. I thought I’d beat the heat and take my break in the shade.”

“Who’re you trying to fool? I know you were sleeping up here again.”

Jim stood up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to nod off.”

“I know, you never do, you can’t help it. Late night parties and such.”

Wish I could say that. It’s better than the gruesome truth.

“Have you finished digging the grave?”

“The grave site is ready.”

 “Then why you covering up? You know I don’t care what you do as long as the work’s done. Come on, I need you.”

“What’s the problem?” he asked as they walked back to the mortuary.

“Mrs. Jarvis is having a party tonight and she would like me to come over and do her make-up for her. I need you to embalm Mr. Moore and prepare him for tomorrow.”

Perfect timing
. “No problem. Is this business or pleasure?”

“Maybe a little of both, if I’m lucky.” Mr. Jackson winked and nudged his elbow into Jim’s side.

He managed a smile. “Good for you. Just make sure to take it easy on her. We don’t want her becoming the newest resident here.”

“No worries. She’s a tough old bird.”

Bile burned the back of Jim’s throat. The thought of two elderly people fornicating disgusted him.
Perhaps all these years alone have jilted me? It’s good that they have each other.

Both Anna Jarvis and Don Jackson had lost their significant others. Hers to cancer, and his to a younger beau who now lived off money he had saved all his life. Jim could understand any woman wanting Don to do their make-up, he was an artist; you had to be in his profession. But to have sexual relations with the bulbous man, that was too much to comprehend.

“When are you leaving?” Jim asked.

“Now. You’ve got your keys, right?”

Jim pulled them out of his pocket and jiggled them. “Right here.”

“Don’t be smart with me.”

“Sorry, boss.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Don said, obviously sensing something was amiss. Jim couldn’t help the attitude: tomorrow was the full moon. “You’ve been practicing and you’re getting good. Real good.”

“Perhaps, but I can only do so much.” He felt bad pretending that was the issue, but it couldn’t be helped.

“No need to worry. Mr. Moore died of a heart attack. Just give him a little bit of color.”

“Okay.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jim waved Don off as he got into his car and drove down the gravel road. With a sigh he turned and entered through the arch-top mahogany front door, the weight of his deception bearing down on his soul. He walked through the viewing room, passed the casket showroom, and into the funeral director’s office.

Forgive me, Father
, he thought as he got to work on the paperwork. Though he had been doing it for years, falsifying documents was like swallowing a bitter pill. He knew it was wrong, but it was a necessary evil.
Better to defile the dead than destroy the living.

With the paperwork done, Jim took the staircase from the office to the morgue. There, Mr. Moore lay naked in the supine position on the cold, metal slab with his head propped up on a cedar block waiting for embalmment.

Fortunately, Don used the modesty cloth. Have to remember to thank him,
he thought, recalling all the times Don hadn’t and how embarrassed he had been. Despite his years, and all he had seen, he still found himself uncomfortable around the naked form.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Moore. There’s been a change of plans. I know you won’t look your absolute best, but it’s still early and you will be presentable. I promise you that much.”

The man’s clothes were neatly set aside along with his personal artifacts his family wished him buried with. Jim walked over to the nearby sink and washed his hands.

He put on a pair of surgical gloves. “Your turn.”

As he washed Mr. Moore with a germicidal solution, he worked the muscles to relieve the rigor mortis and then he set the features using a photograph provided by the family.

“Now I’m just going to insert these needles into your carotid artery and jugular veins to give the impression you were arterially embalmed. Again, I am sorry for this, but I can’t have the meat spoiled. It won’t kill me, of course, but it’s rather difficult to digest, believe you me.”

Jim tossed the large needle into the sink and turned on the centrifugal pump so as not to throw off Don’s inventory and raise suspicion. As the fluorescent yellow fluid went down the drain, he applied a moisturizing cream to the body, then dressed the man in his Sunday best.

“There, all ready for tomorrow. I guess I won’t see you again ’til tomorrow night. I hope you understand it’s nothing personal. You just came here at the wrong time.”

He took one last look around, making sure everything was in its place. “Well, goodnight, then.” With the flick of a switch the morgue was engulfed in darkness and Jim made the rest of his rounds.

* * * *

The next night, he walked out into the moonlight naked, his clothing stashed away. Jim had lost too many outfits over the years. Often times, the beast’s razor sharp claws tore through the confining garments before the transformation was even complete. His expanding chest popped buttons off shirts, his twisting knees and enlarging thighs ripped pant legs and his toe nails tore through his shoes and socks. Under the pale light of the moon, he transformed into the monster that had taken everything away from him. As the beast, he had full knowledge of its actions, but control was lost. It was as if they were two personalities sharing a body, each had their time in the spotlight. After a hundred years he had learned to influence the beast, but in the end, it was a wild animal whose actions were unpredictable. As a former man of the cloth, he would never gamble with an innocent life, so he chose this existence: to live among the dead and allow the beast to release its destructive impulses on those it could not harm.

That’s it. See where it leads.

The beast followed the trail of pig’s blood that Jim laid out during the day to Mr. Moore’s gravesite. With the concentration of the blood over the grave, the wolf began to tear into the earth.

Find it. Devour it.

Freshly packed dirt flew into the air between the wolf’s legs and in a matter of seconds, the wolf’s claws scratched against the fiberglass casket. Once its fingers punched through the material, the door was pulled off its hinges and sent hurling into the air.

Yes!

Clamping down on the corpse’s head with its powerful jaws, the beast lifted its meal out of the hole and tossed it to the ground.

A scream echoed in the night.

The wolf turned around and saw two teenagers, a boy and a girl, staring at him over the tombstones.

“Run, Amy!”

Leave them. Your meal is here.

The wolf gave chase, snarling and snapping its jaws. The boy dropped the blanket and radio he was carrying and the beast stopped briefly to take in the scent.

It’s locking in on them. It’ll be able to track them to the ends of the earth now. Just let them go!
The beast ignored his plea and sprinted after its prey.

“Hurry, Mike. It’s gaining on us.”

“Don’t look back, get to the car!”

No. Please stop.

“We’re almost there. Please, God, let us make it.”

Yes, God
, he thought, agreeing with the boy,
let them make it
.

With a few feet between them, the wolf leapt. Mike opened the driver’s side door, jumped in, and slammed it shut. The wolf’s face slammed into steel, stunning it for a moment.

Let them go. That’s enough. We must run away.

With the girl safely in the car the engine came to life. Gears ground as it was put into reverse. Gravel shot into the wolf’s eyes as it backed down the road. The wolf tried to slash the tire, but instead dragged its razor sharp claws along the tail end of the car.

Vision blurred, the beast relied on its other senses to track them. Following the scent of carbon monoxide, the wolf chased after them. The cool breeze helped remove the debris from its eyes and the car’s tailpipe came into focus.

Don’t do this!

The beast ignored Jim’s orders and ran along the driver’s side of the car. The girl screamed, only taunting the beast’s frenzy. It drove its massive body into the car, rocking the vehicle.

“Hold on!”

“Watch out!”

The car swerved slightly, but the boy was quick and recovered. The wolf slammed it again. And again.

“Ah! Do something, Mike!”

“I’m trying.”

The darkness gave way to a blinding light. A horn blasted. The girl screamed again and the beast was racked with pain as a semi-truck slammed into its face and continued over its body, crushing its bones.

Thank you, Lord
, Jim thought as the wolf lay helpless on the road, watching the car fade over the horizon. Though the pain was excruciating, he knew it was worth it.

Twisted and mangled, the wolf dragged its broken body to the edge of the road and tumbled down the embankment. Darkness swelled, blanketing his vision. Both man and beast succumbed.