Darrell Schweitzer - Full MoonCity

“Damn, I’ve become a horror movie cliché and on top of that I’m contemplating seeking employment from a woman who likes to shout yoo-hoo.”

It then occurred to me that I was maybe only the victim of some sort of elaborate practical joke. I was drugged somehow and then worked on by a makeup man.

But, alas, several vigorous tugs at the newly-arrived fur on my chest convinced me that it was, unfortunately, real. Whatever I was the victim of, it wasn’t practical jokers.

Nova whapped more profoundly on the door.

I started for the doorway, noticing that walking with hairy feet inside my loafers made me wobble some.

Putting my fur-rimmed eye to the spy hole, I gazed out into the night. The overhead light above my mosaic tile porch showed a very annoyed Nova Botsford standing out there. “Timmy?”

A cranky woman like her certainly would never hire a wolf-man to work on her show. I couldn’t see her face-to-face, or anybody else for that matter, until I was over this. Whatever this was.

When I cleared my throat, it produced an unsettling snarling sound. “Nova,” I called in a raspy, growly voice, “I’ve got bad news for you.”

“We already talked about your getting the heave-ho from Nose Job, remember?”

“No, this is different bad news.”

“You mean about your scrawny brat of a daughter being canned by Destry? I knew that two days ago, dear. Now, for Pete’s sake, let me in.”

“No, no, this is brand-new bad news,” I explained. “I’m suffering from that new bug.”

“Which bug?”

“The one that’s going around. Just arrived from Asia Minor, I think. Extremely contagious, so you really can’t come in.”

“That’s awful. You poor guy,” she said. “But I can’t afford to get the trots just now, otherwise I’d come right in to make you a cup of tea or something else to indicate I care.”

“No, nope, don’t think of it. Dump Truck can’t function if you’re under the weather, Nova.”

“Exactly, I have to put my health first,” she said through my door. “Oh, by the way, I thought I heard some kind of hound yowling in there. Did you get a dog?”

“That must’ve been me,” I realized.

“What’s that, Tim?”

“Neighbors have a pet wolf.”

“A pet what?”

“Wolfhound. Russian wolfhound.”

“Well, dear, you’d better get back to bed and take care of whatever the hell it is you’ve got,” she said. “Good night, Timmy.”

As her Porsche went roaring away into the night, I realized, “Damn, I was so preoccupied with being a wolf-man, I forgot to ask her about a job.”

I walked lopsidedly back to the hall mirror for another look.

I was still covered with fur.

Returning to my living room, I figured I’d sit calmly down and try to decide what exactly to do about this latest catastrophe.

But then I suddenly realized that I wanted to go hunting.

Yanking off my shoes, I went loping into the kitchen. Howling once, I slipped out the back door, ran across the back lawn crouched low, and headed for the dark woodlands that stretched away behind the house.

Mostly I chased rabbits and, I’m pretty sure, the calico cat who belongs to the art director who lives two mansions down from me. I also went after some night birds, one of which might’ve been an owl.

Fortunately, I didn’t catch anything and my interest in hunting waned after about half an hour. I was wheezing some as I headed for home. Probably from the exertion. “Jesus, I hope I’m not allergic to my own fur. Or maybe it’s wolf dander that’s causing the wheeze.”

Back in my living room, I decided to call Bernie Hersh. I really needed somebody I trusted to take a look at me and confirm that I wasn’t simply hallucinating. I only had to push one button on my phone with my clumsy fur-covered finger and say, “Hersh,” to get the phone to dial his number.

“You’ve reached the residence of Bernard Hersh, one of America ’s most respected wordsmiths. Unfortunately, I’m home at the moment and have to answer the damn phone myself.”

“It’s Tim, Hersh. I have a serious-”

“I can e-mail you a list of rehab centers, therapists, priests, rabbis, and others who can deal with your nitwit daughter,” he said. “I also know a guy who can put her in a sack and convey her to the jungles of Guatemala.”

“This isn’t about Beth, it’s-”

“Whoever might she be? I’m alluding to your daughter, Mutiny Skylark, who was booted out by-”

“Listen,” I cut in, “I’ve got a more pressing problem.”

“Well, I might be able to help you find a new job, but-”

“You knew I was fired from Nose Job ?”

“Everybody from Santa Rosa to Tijuana knows you were fired from the show. Let’s have lunch tomorrow and-”

“Could you drop over here?”

“To pick you up tomorrow?”

“Tonight. Right now. Immediately.”

“Are you ailing? Your voice does sound like you’re in the throes of bronchitis or-”

“I need a reliable witness.”

Hersh said, “Fifteen minutes,” and ended the call.

“Did they move Halloween up a few months?” inquired Hersh as he crossed the threshold.

“I am a wolf-man, right? You can see that? I mean, I’m not simply suffering from hallucinations or delusions?”

“You look like a wolf, for sure, old buddy,” he assured me as he shut my heavy front door. “Why have you made yourself up like that?”

“It’s not makeup.” I led him into the living room. “I just… suddenly changed.” And, sitting uneasily down in a redwood and leather chair, I told him what had happened.

Hersh wandered over to a window to gaze up at the starry sky. “That’s funny.”

“What’s funny, the fact that I’ve been transformed into a loathsome-”

“No, the fact that there’s only a half- moon tonight.”

“Hey, you’re right.” I tried to snap my fingers but discovered you can’t do that with hairy fingers. “Traditionally werewolves only change during a full moon.”

“Having scripted not only The Werewolf Hunter but True Yarns from the Graveyard and the unjustly short-lived soaper Haunted Hospital, I’ve become something of an expert on occult and supernatural stuff.” He seated himself on the sofa. “In my opinion, this is unusual behavior for a werewolf.”

“Maybe,” I suggested, “this isn’t anything supernatural at all. It could be a very nasty allergic reaction to something I ate.”

Narrowing his left eye, my friend looked directly at me. “You really think so?”

My furry shoulders sank. “No,” I admitted. “Now, wolf-men change back into human form comes the dawn, don’t they?”

“ Traditional wolf-men, yeah.”

My nose started to itch, but when I tried to scratch it, it wasn’t where it usually was. At the end of my furry snout it was and of a rubbery texture. “Let’s get to why I’m in this current state.”

“Have you been bitten by a werewolf of late?”

“C’mon, Hersh. Until I turned into one, I never actually believed that werewolves existed.”

“Well, according to occult experts, there are only so many ways you can make a sudden transition like this,” said Hersh. “If you haven’t had any direct contact with a werewolf, then I’d guess that someone either put a spell on you or slipped you a potion.”

“Would that work?”

“You are sitting there covered with fur from head to toe. Something did it.”

“A magic potion, an evil spell. Who’d do anything like that to me?”

“Besides your erstwhile wife, you mean?”

Shaking my head, I raised my hairy hand to tick off my fingers. When I saw my wolf-man hand up close, I abandoned the notion. “Firstly, Mandy knows that most wolves don’t earn enough money to pay much in the way of alimony,” I explained. “Secondly, it’s too late to change the title of I Married an Asshole to I Married a Werewolf.”