The Town Werewolf

Basketball playing Werewolf in Iowa??

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The people of Dew, Iowa, had long known about the town werewolf. No one knew for sure who she or he was in human form. On full moon nights the wolf could be heard crying out from the corn fields. The next morning some poor bleeting or mooing animal would be found mostly eaten. The local sheriff would look for the remains by the carrion birds circling in the sky.

None of this was known to a road-trip weary traveller by the name of Ginger and her cat, Thelma. They had been traveling down the 80 from Omaha when Ginger spied what looked to be a basketball court on the far edges of a town called Dew.

"What an interesting name for a town," she said to Thelma.

Ginger decided that although it was close to dusk she would play a few rounds of hoops. She had not walked around since lunchtime in Nebraska. She left Thelma who was dozing comfortably at the rear window. She grabbed her basketball out of her green Hyundai Accent's trunk, and headed to the court. It was not a court after all. It was the cement parking lot of a torn down restaurant. She could see the piping sticking up in some spots. Kids must have put up the basketball net, Ginger thought. The sun was just beginning to set, but provided ample light for Ginger to sink a few baskets by a chalk drawn two point line. A few of the parking lot lights flickered on dimly. The timer still works. Maybe I can get a good hour of playtime. I'm a little sore from that car seat, and I could use the stretch. Ginger began to do some dribbling moves she learned from her college years at a Division III school in southwestern Pennsylvania. Dribble, dribble, dribble, shot, rebound, dribble, shot, sink, bounce on pavement.

The unknown sounds echoed across the sea of corn stalks on what was a normally quiet night. The usual sounds of crickets and wind were drowned out by the incessant thuds. It heard these noises shortly after becoming aware of itself again, somewhere in a corn field. The full moon was on the way and had already sent out subtle ripples of energy ahead to tides and creatures of the night. The summer sun still danced shadows on a distant horizon. It was not hungry yet. It knew the hunger would come after hours of play, exploration and running through miles of corn stalks and open fields. It was not curious of lights. It knew from some deep primal fear to avoid places with many lights. It had also learned to avoid highways after nearly being run over while chasing a 12 point buck. The magnificent animal was barely edible when It found the pieces mixed with asphalt and other debris after being torn apart by a fast moving unnatural thing. After that It would purposely steer prey away from roads. The wolf knew these new sounds were close to an area it avoided. It was sentient enough to be curious, and it altered its course towards the thumping.

Ginger was a woman who believed in the possibility of all things magical, and loved it. She had sold her apothecary shop in Maumee, Ohio, and threw her remaining herbal and household items into storage to come on this road-trip with Thelma. Ginger's goal was to find a Sasquatch, or two, in one of the state parks along the western coast. She saw It. It was large enough to play center for the Cavs. It hung back on the edge of the parking lot. It did not come towards her. She rolled It the ball.

"Wanna play?" Ginger asked.

It looked at the round object rolling towards it. It heard something come out if the Pale Looking Beast. It rolled the ball back to her mimicking the Pale Thing's movements.

"Oh, I get it. You don't know how to play, do you? Let me show you," Ginger said.

Ginger took a shot from the rainbow chalked free throw line. She passed the ball to the werewolf who had inched closer. The werewolf caught the ball and threw it at the basket. It landed so hard that the rebound sent Ginger tripping to go get it. The werewolf emitted something that sounded like a rough laugh.

"Son of a bitch. Are you laughing at me? Are you laughing at me?" Ginger said in her best Deniro interpretation. "Game on buster."

Through the next half hour Ginger demonstrated how to dribble, the lay-up, where to take two and three point shots, how to bounce and grab rebounds off the back board, and how to guard the other player. She also taught Bev how to handle the ball without puncturing it with her nails. Ginger had decided It was a female. Why not? Ginger couldn't see anything through all that hair, and it seemed to walk with a feminine gait. Ginger pondered it could be a he, but really did it matter. She, Ginger T. Conrad was playing hoops with a real live werewolf.

The first to arrive was a group of seventh graders on bikes. Janice had an idea to take a video and post it on tumblr, youtube, facebook, twitter, and other popular social networking sites. Todd called his parents because he wad freaked out, and wanted to be picked up. Matilda who was wise beyond her years felt a moment of enlightenment about the world that she would not repeat until a Physics class at University. Cindy called her mother, Sarah, but only got the voice mail. Josh took it upon himself to do the only sensible thing and called the eighth graders to shove it in their faces what the seventh graders had found. Within five minutes high schoolers began to arrive. They pulled pick-up trucks and two door beaters from the nineties into a nearby granary lot. Within the half-hour every class from the fifth grade to the twelfth grade was represented staring out behind stacked bundles of hay about half a football field from the action on the court.

Ginger and Bev had managed to play horse, pig, and a few games of 21 without realizing a crowd was forming. It took time and focus to explain things with hand motions and demonstrations. Bev was a fast learner.

Todd's mom went back to watching the Amazing Race after her son's call, while Todd's dad gathered his car keys hoping the kids hadn't got into someone's liquor cabinet. He stopped to check the levels of the brandy and vodka before heading out the door. When he arrived at the scene he reached for his rifle he forgot at home, and called his buddies down at the bar.

"Hey Herb, I thought Sarah had the Sunday shift?" asked Rochelle.

"Not tonight. She got called to some emergency with relatives in Des Moines," said the Sheriff.

"Oh, I hope it is nothing serious," said Rochelle.

The sheriff who had just been served his plate of nightly pancakes at the local diner saw the commotion of men outside the bar checking rifles, and immediately ran out to greet them before trouble started.

The posse arrived, kicking up dust, at the scene with rifles stacked above their heads. The Sheriff had taken control of the scene after overcoming his initial shock at the scene of basketball playing werewolves and local kids everywhere around the bales of hay. He was trying to lay a strategy before the agitated hunters gathered their rifles, and unleashed a stream of bullets that might accidentally hit a kid or two. Luckily the town mayor had arrived and made the call to stand down since no one had hurt anyone yet.

"Hey Herb," said George, a local kid and Dew's third term Mayor.

"Hey George," said Herb, "Quite a scene we got here."

"Sure is. They can't be having them rifles out with all these kids running around," said George.

"I think that’s best too," said Herb. The Sheriff went over and had the posse stand down. He had trouble with a slightly drunk Stan, but had him sober up quick with threats of impounding the rifle and his truck if he didn't put the rifle back in the rack.

Almost the whole town had arrived by nine. Many had pajamas and slippers on under their coats. They had been awoken by knocks, door buzzes, and phone rings or chimes. Everyone was fascinated by the scene except for the few kids who snuck off with each other when they realized all the town adults were in one place.

"Hey George, hows Sarah's cousin or whatchamacallit?" asked Herb.

"Oh, her sister Melissa. She is going to be fine. Yeah, some sort of bug, you know, that can lay a person low," said George, "Sarah will be back in time for her shift tomorrow evening though. No worries."

"Thats good," said Herb with a momentary nagging feeling that quickly past with a Nah, couldn't be.

The crowd gasped in terror. Bev had knocked down Ginger while dunking, and Ginger had split her knee. It sent ripples of fear through the crowd. This was it. This was the moment when the beast would be unleashed with a roar followed by cracking bones. The men stood by their car doors ready to spring into action, Sheriff's orders be damned. If anyone had taken time to look at the mid-thirties Mayor they would have found no concern and a slight upturn of the mouth. Bev reached out a paw and helped Ginger up. It was during this mass exhale of breath from the town that Ginger realized they were being watched. Her two year plan did not include being part of a horror tale that ended with a "Bonnie and Clyde" shower of bullets that killed her and Bev.

Ginger grabbed the ball, looked Bev in the yellow eyes and said, "Bev, this is the last trick of the game of basketball I'm gonna teach you tonight. When the team your rooting for is gonna lose you b-line out of the stadium before the game is over."

Ginger broke into a run towards her car with her basketball firmly set under her arm. She dove in, tossed the ball that sent Thelma under the seat, and started the car. As she sped away she glanced into her rear view mirror to see a crowd descend onto empty pavement.

By Alex Almeida

From: United States

Website: https://alexathebard.blogspot.com/?m=1

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