Shay Sheridan - Dark Side of the Moon

Ouch.
A troll was poking a stick into Virginia’s back.
And a giant was sitting on her head.
That just wasn’t fair!

“Not fair!” she muttered, wrestling a dwarf who was sitting on her chest. She opened her eyes. Cursed dwarf — he was invisible! “Get off!” she yelled.

The sound of her own voice startled her awake. “Where the --?” Virginia looked around. The ceiling seemed to be unusually far away. Then her eyes focused more clearly, and she realized she was on the floor. Of the kitchen.

The kitchen? Why would she be on her back in the — A blush spread over her face and neck. And chest. She looked down. Her clothes had bite marks and tears in them! Oh yes — she and Wolf had been...and they’d...and then he’d...and then the table --

Oh, cripes! The table! Virginia sat up, and the troll ceased sticking the — spoon — into her back. The dwarf disappeared as crockery was pushed aside. The giant sitting on her head remained, however. She had a whopper of a headache.

Slowly she picked her way out of the rubble. The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Her table! The dishes! Confusing sticky smears of tomato innards all over her! What a mess. She cradled the remains of the Krazy Kat clock to her chest. It was going to cost an arm and a leg to replace all of this. Why couldn’t Wolf have picked the bedroom for their little escapade?

Come to think of it, where was he?

She found it hard to think. Her head was still pounding. Loudly. Insistently. And she was hearing voices. The voices were yelling. She stopped picking up dishes and listened intently.

“Miss Lewis! Miss Lewis!”

Not in her head. At the door. She’d better go answer it. She looked down at herself — uhh, not like this. Her tee-shirt was hanging by a thread, so she scooped up a pinafore-style apron from a hook and slipped it on. Scanty, but it covered the important bits.

In the living room she had to shut off the radio, which was, strangely, broadcasting the last inning of a ball game. That was weird. And weirder still, the telephone lay in the middle of the floor, its antenna broken. What had gone on here? The front door was closed but not locked, and she flung it open to find Mr. Murray and his wife...and his mother..and some other relatives peering at her. Thank goodness she’d forbidden them to enter the apartment without permission, or they would have found her disheveled on the kitchen floor. Well, that would add to her iffy reputation in the building, no doubt.

“Miss Lewis — are you all right? We heard a terrible crash! We’ve been knocking for half an hour!” Murray was wringing his hands, a caricature of dismay.

“Uh, yes, sure, I’m fine. Just a little accident. The kitchen table -- ermm — broke, uh, somehow.”

“Oh, no, defective furniture! Forgive us! Forgive us!”

“You didn’t buy it, my dad --”

“Oh, please, please let us fix it! Or replace it! Yes, mother, we shall replace it, won’t we?”

“Yes, Aubrey, right away, dear!” Mother Murray scuttled away.

“No, really, not right now --”

Murray flashed Virginia an obsequious smile. “Now, I’m sure the master would want me to --”

“Not now!” Virginia shut the door firmly, narrowly missing Murray’s fingers.

She went into the living room, checking the couch, then the bedroom, the bathroom, the small room that had been her bedroom once, the tiny balcony, then circled back to the kitchen. Wolf wasn’t anywhere. This was not good. Why would he have left her? Surely even in his moon-mad frame of mind, he would have stuck around to make sure she was all right! Wouldn’t he?

She went to the window. The moon was shining brightly, its yellow-white orb just emerging from the tree line of Central Park. There was so much she still didn’t understand about Wolf, about the way the moon affected him. Oh, she knew it made him horny, made him ravenous for meat --

Meat! That’s what was bothering her! The smell of roasting lamb permeated the house. Virginia raced back into the kitchen, cautiously climbing over the detritus of the table. She grabbed potholders and opened the oven. The lamb was there, all right, smelling divine, cooked to perfection.

Cooked!

The way a normal person would eat it, not Wolf.

And the fact it was there at all perplexed and worried her. This was DEFINITELY not like him. That last time, he’d gobbled down platter after platter of ribs, a live rabbit (or so she suspected) and an entire hen-house of chickens. She really didn’t like to go there in her thoughts, but couldn’t help herself. If he hadn’t eaten the lamb --

Somewhere in the distance she thought she heard a howl. Coming from the park. Virginia shivered. She had to find him, before he got so hungry he ate something he shouldn’t.
Or someONE.
She grabbed her coat and ran.

Hungry.
He was so very painfully, emptily, hollowly, howlingly
HUNGRY!

Wolf sniffed the air, searching for the slightest hint that food was near. Since he’d entered the park, his senses had sharpened somewhat, and the feeling of dullness had passed, though he still wasn’t thinking in a way that could be called human. Instinct was driving him now, as he passed silently through the darkened paths of Central Park. He needed to slake his gnawing hunger, and he whined a little, rubbing his aching belly. Desperation was growing, and unease about something he couldn’t quite form into a thought.

Wait!
He stood completely still, listening, sniffing. There was a rustle in the undergrowth to his left. And on the wind, above the mulchy smell of dying leaves, a delicious note of --
RABBIT!
Wolf turned his head sharply towards the scent and suppressed a snarl. With infinite care he picked his way through the grass.
His foot crunched on a fallen leaf that had lain hidden by weeds. A small brown rabbit looked up, startled.
Wolf pounced.
Maddeningly, his timing was off. The rabbit darted away, not destined to be Wolf’s appetizer on this particular night.

Wolf lay on the ground, tearing the earth with his fingers, whimpering and growling with frustration. He needed to EAT.
NOW.
What’s...?
He pushed himself to a standing position, unaware of the leaves clinging to his shirt and his knees. If he listened carefully, blocking out the muffled traffic noises, he could just barely hear voices, the sound of laughter and the clink of dishes. Where there were dishes, there would be food. Human food, dangerously overcooked, but food all the same.
Dishes...
An image of broken crockery and blood passed on front of his eyes, and he shook his head. What was --
Sadness/Fear/Go find --
???
The image faded, and he turned towards the distant voices.

He tracked the sound to an area within the park encircled by small, low buildings. The entire area was ringed by a stone wall topped by metal fencing.
A prison!
DON’T GO INSIDE
But -- hunger --
Run, they’ll catch you!
Chain you!
Throw you in solitary!
But -- HUNGER!
The noises of food preparation came from beyond the fence. And something else, something much more compelling.
Rich, musky smells.
Prey!
Many kinds of prey!
Wolf drew the mingled scents deeply into his nostrils. Goats! Birds! Rabbits! SHEEP! Other things he couldn’t name.
He swallowed the saliva that suddenly filled his mouth.
What was this place?
He sniffed again, thought he detected bears, too, and shuddered.
BUT - HUNGER!
He jumped up onto the chest-high wall and shook the chain-link fence.
He HAD to go inside!
Wolf climbed up the fence, shoving the toes of his boots into the small links. His hand reached the top and suddenly he yelped in pain as something sharp sliced open his palm. The shock made him release his hold and he tumbled backwards onto the ground. He landed with a thump but the grass was soft, and he licked his hand, soothing it where the razor wire had cut through the skin.
MUST GET INSIDE!

Wolf prowled the perimeter of the wall, sniffing, whining, seeking an entrance. The stone wall angled down until it disappeared into the ground, but the chain-link with its dangerous crown continued. Fifty feet from where he’d fallen, he found a gap where an interloper before him had bent back the fence. It looked wide enough for a person to crawl through.
Or a wolf.
And then he was inside.

He followed his nose and found the dish clinking and food smells came from a large tent. He maneuvered around until he found an open flap, and peered inside. Men and women in white shirts and black pants bustled about carrying trays from a kitchen at the rear. In front, richly-dressed people sat at tables decorated with candles and mirror balls. Heat lamps created an artificially balmy atmosphere inside, though a brisk autumn wind had begun to kick up.

Wolf lurked behind a rock, watching the comings and goings. The scent of live animals was calling to him, but the plates of rare roast beef that passed by were enticing as well, making him salivate with anticipation.

No, I told you — no eating until the guests are served!” An imperious voice close by drew his attention, and he turned to watch a fat man in a formal suit chastise a cringing underling. “You! What’s your name?”

“Uh, James, but I’m sor--”

“Do you want to work for Grand Entrances or not, James?”

“Of course I --”

“Or do you want to be just another unemployed actor? One without a catering job?”

“It was one strawberry --”

“I could fire you right now for that strawberry!”

“Yessir, you’re right, I, um, apologize.”

Wolf bit back a growl. He recognized the sense of the scene, if not the content: the alpha male, the fat one, was showing dominance over the other, who was wisely deferring. His instincts warned him to avoid them, his status in relation to them unknown. He ducked and moved away, keeping an eye on the lighted tent.

Inside, a blonde woman in ball gown was stepping up to a platform with a slender metal pole on it, and he started as her voice suddenly echoed from a box behind him. “Friends of the Central Park Zoo, I’m Ivana Trump --” polite applause from all the tables — “and I welcome you to ‘Midnight Madness Under the Stars!’” Music began to play. A waltz.

Midnight Madness...? The scene seemed jarringly familiar.
Puzzlement.
The ball room — something he had to do. Was ordered to do.
Poison them.
Kill them all.
No!
Have to save them — have to save...her --
Her...
Wolf drew in a sharp breath. His heart thudded in his chest.
The thought evaporated as a waiter placed a tray of beef on a prep table in front of where he crouched.

The tray slid off the table easily, as easily as Wolf himself slid off into the shadows to consume his prize.
In a matter of minutes he’d gobbled down all of the meat, and lapped up the last of the bloody juices from the tray.
Heaven!
Rapture!
Succulence!
MORE?
But the missing tray was causing consternation, and too many people were hovering, fussing, looking, blaming each other. The fat leader appeared, his dominance apparent over the black-and-white clad underlings. Voices were raised.
Wolf became alarmed.
Soon they’d begin beating the underbrush, searching with dogs.
If they caught him, he’d be beaten.
He fled deeper into the shadows.

The scent of animals — four-legged ones — was near, so near that it was intoxicating. He caught a whiff of bears again, and ducked away in the opposite direction. He passed under a sign but did not bother to look at it, though even if he had, the words “Petting Zoo” would have been meaningless in his current state. The moon was high overhead, and though he’d just consumed enough meat to feed a table of ten, his stomach twisted and churned, unsatisfied. And the tray of meat had come too easily; eating it didn’t fulfill the need to HUNT.

His ears picked up the sound even before his nose detected the animals’ presence. A trio of goats roamed a small paddock enclosed only by a wooden fence. Wolf lurked behind an enormous tree, upwind, and even though his attention was focused on the goats, part of him was aware that the tree bark did not smell normal, not real. He had no idea or interest in the fact that the tree was man-made, hollow, created for children to play hide and seek in, though at another time he might have found it a fascinating wonder. A white goat nibbled at the fence, and all three were oblivious to his presence. A cunning look played over Wolf’s dark features.
Stupid goats!

His eyes narrowed, selecting, and one animal came into sharper focus. Its pungent scent played in his nose and up into his brain. Other sounds, other sights disappeared. His world contained only himself, the moon, and the white goat. Slowly he stalked it, moving ever closer, tree to bush to rock, and then in a move of heart-stopping fluidity, he vaulted the fence. The goat barely had time to look up before the wolf was upon it.