#every goddamn morning i wake up to find some new uninvited guests on my face

[howdyricciardo]

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[dabbledrabbleprose]

First Bite

Alright, I’m posting something that isn’t Overwatch again (twice in a row!) so my apologies. I promise I’m still working on the Whumptober prompts and “Of Freelancers and Outlaws,” it’s just been slow going between work and putting together my first tabletop campaign in years. I haven’t DMed in years, and I’m super nervous!

Naturally, when I finally got a day off to write, instead of working on anything I was supposed to work on, I became possessed by an idea for a new OC and cranked out 2700 words in one day. It felt like a shame not to share it, so I’m posting it here. Unbeta’d, obviously, it’s mostly word vomit about my new boy.

Meet Angelo Salvador, a college professor who teaches mostly calculus and physics. He’s of Brazilian descent, very logical, addicted to social media, and lives a very healthy lifestyle. He’s a mathematician at heart, and absolutely, positively does not believe in magic or the supernatural. He’s also definitely a werewolf. 

2700 word drabble under the cut! Warnings for violence, blood/gore, and...uh...eating people.

After two weeks of warfare, Angelo’s nemesis had finally gotten the better of him. His opponent was clever, wise enough to avoid the multiple traps Angelo laid for him, despite using the most recommended baits. Regardless of what the internet said, apparently his uninvited guest had no interest in peanut butter, cheese, or fruit. Hell, he’d even lined a trap with chocolate, but still he failed to catch the mouse that was terrorizing his pantry.

Instead, Angelo stood staring at the ruined cord of his phone charger, chewed cleanly in half. He took a picture with his dying phone, and used the last of his battery to upload it to at least three social media websites.

“Mouse is smarter than me, winning our war. Looking for live trap advice, peanut butter isn’t working! #FML #MouseHunt #CalcProf #SeattleWildlife  #LiveTraps #DeadPhone”

Angelo tossed his phone onto the bedside table and got dressed. Getting a new cord couldn’t wait until morning. He had classes to teach and needed his phone functional for the next day. Breaking his routine was unusual for him, but it was midterms and he’d been up late grading tests and answering emails from a long list of students pleading for extra credit or for him to “make an exception, just for me,” and he hadn’t noticed his broken phone charger until just before midnight. Anything on campus would be closed by now, but there was a 24 hour store within biking distance of his little house, so he threw on his reflective jacket, pulled his bike out of the garage, and took to the streets.

Angelo didn’t typically like to ride his bike at night; most car drivers didn’t pay attention enough to see him, even with his headlight and reflective gear. Even so, the trip to the store was unremarkable, new phone charger easily obtained, and Angelo was soon on his way back.

Flashing lights blocked his path ahead on the return trip, and an ambulance blew past him. Angelo slowed and pulled to a stop. There were at least three police cars, the ambulance, and a fire engine, from what he could tell in the dark. Maybe more. He would likely be fine to ride past them, but it would probably be easier to cut through the park and bypass the accident altogether. It would add a few more minutes to his travel time, but it was a nice night, the temperature comfortable, and the moon was bright enough to see by.

Angelo turned right and cut through the park. The park had a few wide fields, a playground, and some old paved jogging trails that wove through a patch of tall trees. He turned onto the paved path to follow the jogging trail to the other side of the park, where he could get back on a street and head home. He slowed down to pick his way through the worn path, the trees blotting out a good amount of the moonlight above.

A howl sliced through the night, cold and clear, and sharp enough that Angelo actually pulled to a stop and froze, listening. In the distance, he could still hear the sirens and the occasional drone of a passing car. The leaves rustled as a breeze passed overhead. His heart pounded in his ears and his fingers tightened on the rubber handle grips before logic caught up with him.

What was he doing? Freezing like a deer in the woods, trying to determine which direction a predator was coming from? He was in the middle of Seattle, for hell’s sake, surrounded by city, houses, and college campus close by. He relaxed and shook himself. Idiot. Getting worked up just because someone’s dog is–

Another howl split the night, closer, and logic went out the window as some instinct in Angelo’s hind-brain reared back and screamed run.

Angelo kicked his bike back into gear and went tearing down the path. Was that the sound of twigs breaking behind him? Were those leaves rustling from a breeze or crunching underfoot? What did–

His bike hit a pothole in the poorly maintained road and sent him flying over the handlebars. Angelo hit the pavement hard and rolled to a stop. Stars flashed before his eyes, brighter than either the moon or the ambulance lights, and his thoughts rotated sluggishly around in his head. He rolled onto his back, but couldn’t seem to accomplish more than that. He stared at the dark tree branches sprawled above him, blinking the stars from his eyes.

As soon as he felt he was able, he slowly sat up and groaned.

“Dammit…”

His head throbbed and he could feel his nose bleeding. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and grimaced at the gritty feeling of dirt and blood sliding across his skin. Disgusting. He got to his feet and inspected the bike. The pothole had completely bent the front rim out of shape and deflated the tire. Great. Looks like he was walking home, all because he’d let his imagination get the better of him.

Angelo sighed and righted the bicycle. He ran numbers through his head as he started the long walk home, trying to plan out how much a new wheel was going to cost him, assuming it was only the front wheel that was damaged, when he’d find the time to make repairs, when he needed to wake up to catch the bus tomorrow, how long it would take him to walk home…not to mention he still needed to trap this damn mouse.

A rustling in the undergrowth was his only warning before a massive black shape barreled toward him. It knocked him on his back and Angelo caught a flash of sharp, white teeth lunging for his throat. He threw an arm up to protect himself and huge jaws snapped closed around his arm. Angelo screamed.

Yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight over a canine snout, boring into him as deeply as the teeth in his arm, and Angelo froze, pinned by fear as much as by the beast. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and for a split second he wondered if even his heart had stopped. A growl rose in the beast’s throat, then it shook its head.

Pain washed over him as teeth tore through the flesh of his arm and his shoulder dislocated with a pop. Another scream ripped from his throat and panic overtook paralysis. He thrashed beneath the beast, kicking and punching wildly, though every jerk of his trapped arm brought another scream. A lucky kick managed to hit the beast right in the gut, but the jaws only closed tighter around him. Teeth ground against bone and agony coursed through him so hard that his vision went dark.

As abruptly as the attack started, it was over. The creature let him go and Angelo’s arm dropped onto his own face with a wet smack. The creature crashed through the undergrowth and vanished.

Angelo didn’t know how long he lay sprawled on the ground, staring at the moonlight flickering through the trees. He finally worked up the energy to roll to one side and let out a wail as agony rolled through him. He curled up with a whimper and entertained the temptation of lying there until someone found him. Dimly, he realized that might not be the best idea, and hoped he wasn’t bleeding out. With a monumental effort, Angelo rose to his feet, letting his arm hang limply beside him. He wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to move it if he tried, and it hurt too much for him to want to find out.

Okay. He was okay. He was alive, he could walk, and that…that dog or whatever that thing was, it was gone. He just need to call for help and–

His phone was dead on his bedside table. Angelo couldn’t help himself and broke into tears.

He didn’t linger long, however. His arm was in agony and he genuinely couldn’t tell how badly he was bleeding. He had the presence of mind to scoop up the goddamn phone cord from where it had fallen, but left his bike behind. Hopefully it would still be there when he got back from the E.R.

A howl carried over the wind.

Angelo shivered and turned back the way he came, heading for where the traffic accident had been, and hoped the police would still be there.

 ******

 The damage to Angelo’s arm had been extensive, a dislocated shoulder, severe lacerations, and significant muscle and bone damage. The doctor talked a lot about physical therapy, surgery, and warned about the possibility of permanent damage and loss of mobility. He’d gotten post-exposure rabies vaccinations, and animal control never found the dog that attacked him.

And yet…

Life had gone on. He needed to purchase a new bike in the end, as his damaged one was stolen overnight. His arm had completely healed within a month, to the astonishment of his doctors. With no other explanation, they chalked it up to his incredibly healthy lifestyle          .

He went back to his normal routine: go to the gym, teach class, office hours, his usual rotation of recreational activities, sleep. He gained some followers on social media due to his recounting of the dog attack and his recovery. Even the mouse that had been plaguing his home seemed to have up and left of its own accord.

A few things changed. He seemed to have an occasional excess of energy, and began putting in more time at the gym. Though he tended to eat meat sparingly, he began craving red meat more often. His nutritionist suggested his body may have been after the extra protein after his injury, so he started taking iron supplements and added protein shakes into his diet.

The craving for steak continued, but at least he felt better about it.

He began shaving more. His five o’clock shadow became persistent, and he seriously considered growing a beard just so he wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Nearly a month from the attack, he went to bed like usual. He awoke on the other side of his house, naked, with no memory of how he’d gotten there and feeling absolutely exhausted, as if he hadn’t gone to sleep at all. The clothes he’d gone to bed in were shredded, but nothing else appeared out of the ordinary. He made a doctor’s appointment to discuss sleepwalking, asked his social media followers about their experiences with sleepwalking, and thought nothing more of it. Exhausted all day, he fell asleep early that night.

He awoke outside. He was once again naked, and two blocks from his home. He hastily made his way back home without incident, and was grateful that there were so few people out and about at six in the morning.

Once in the safety of his home, he was alarmed to find that his front window had been completely shattered and the entirety of his house had been turned upside down, as if it had been ransacked, possibly by some lunatic with a knife, if the slashes in his furniture were anything to go by. He dressed after finding his previous night’s clothes shredded once again, and was grateful it was Saturday, so he didn’t need to call in sick to his own classes. Despite his persisting exhaustion, he set about calling the police to report a burglary, and called his doctor again to try and find an earlier appointment slot. The office was, of course, closed on weekends.

The police investigated his house and left with their report and Angelo spent the rest of the day cleaning house, though he wanted to do nothing more than take a nap. It was perhaps fortunate that he spent the rest of the day alone, as he was irritable and sour as he cleaned, and only grew angrier when he found that literally nothing was missing. Someone had ransacked his house and didn’t even have the decency to steal something.

Around eleven, he finally considered calling it a night and going to bed. He put out the bags of trash that used to be his possessions before they’d been shredded beyond repair and headed for bed. Halfway down the hall, his skin began to itch. He had to physically stop in the hall to scratch as the itching became unbearable. It was everywhere, down his arms, his back, his legs, his face. He tore his shirt off and scratched and scratched and scratched. He dropped to his knees.

What in the hell? Had the burglar left something behind? Some kind of irritant or chemical or something equally insane?

The maddening itching got worse, to the point where it began to burn. His fingernails dug at his skin, until it became apparent that he wasn’t scratching skin anymore, but hair. The hair on his arms and hair was becoming thick and coarse, literally growing right before his eyes. More hair sprouted from his skin, covering him like a layer of fur.

Angelo stared at his hands in disbelief, then let out a roar of pain and buckled over as something inside him stretched. It was like his bones were moving on their own, shifting and grinding inside him, and he could feel every inch. His breath came in short, harsh gasps and his teeth and jaw ached. His face twisted impossibly as the bones of his face realigned themselves, pushing forward until he could see his own mouth stretching in front of him. Another wave of fur rolled over him, covering his face. His tongue lolled forward, rolling and hanging out of his mouth as he panted.

The bones of his fingers adjusted with sharp, painful pops, growing shorter and thicker, and his nails turned black and grew into a set of sharp claws. A shiver ran down his spine and he let out an animalistic howl of pain as new vertebrae cracked into existence, sprouting a tail through his jogging pants. He felt himself growing heavier, thicker, his muscles enlarging around his rapidly growing and shifting skeleton.

Between one heaving breath and the next, something changed inside him. He could smell everything. The scents of the police officers, the cherry tree outside, the stray tomcat that had passed by the broken window last night. The scent of himself everywhere.

The noticeable lack of a burglar’s scent.

Oh god. It was all him. Angelo had done this himself.

His hearing sharpened. He could hear the couple across the street having an argument, bickering over whose fault it was that the car needed repairs.

Excellent. Distracted prey is easier to hunt.

The thought rose to his mind unbidden, followed by the mental image of stalking toward their home, breaking through their front door, tearing their throats out and gorging upon their meat.

Angelo let out a scream that sounded very much like a howl.

No! No, he didn’t want to hurt anyone! He hadn’t even wanted to kill a mouse! He didn’t want to…to…

Stalk. Hunt. Kill. Eat.

The desire was overwhelming, endorphins flooding his brain with even the promise of a good hunt. Angelo rose to all fours. He’d already broken the front window last night, he didn’t need to suffer through the confusion of finding his way out a second time. He kicked off the shredded remains of his pants and shook himself off. He had the scent. It was time to hunt.

Angelo threw his head back and howled.

 ******

 Angelo didn’t awaken until the sun was up, shining on his face and piercing his eyes. He ached all over and was still exhausted, but felt warm and pleasantly full. He was on something hard and smooth, tile or linoleum, though it was slick with sticky liquid. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to move, afraid of what he would find if he opened his eyes.

This time, he remembered.

The copper scent of blood was everywhere and he curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his head. His hands and arms were wet and sticky, and he could taste blood on his teeth.

He wept. He didn’t want to see the proof, didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to see what he’d done.

But he remembered.