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Sam…

Balor held still as his glassy-eyed wife powdered the bridge of his nose. There was no way he would tolerate any unappealing shine on camera. This was his debut, after all. Balor asked, “Are we ready?” His wife didn’t answer. She knew he wasn’t asking her.

Orp gave him a thumbs-up gesture from where he stood behind the camera and their leader reached for his golden wolf mask. The gilded leather shaped to his face perfectly.

Trying to avoid the bright lights and reflecting umbrellas, Sam sprawled on the couch and kept out of sight. They had pushed all the furniture back to make way for filming. At some point, their technology spider had taken a theater course.

Behind Balor, a pair of sharp black eyes tracked the camera from inside of her well-lit cage. The werewolf girl had pushed herself back into the corner. There were bits of leaves and sticks in her hair. Cary had brought her to consciousness less than an hour ago, and she was already alert. Orp raised his hand and Balor turned toward the eye of the camera with a smile. “Three, two, one….” Orp closed his hand into a fist and Balor went live.

Full of generations of privilege, the man radiated a confidence and certainty that swayed people. “Welcome, guests.”

Because he was out of the camera’s line of sight, Sam hadn’t bothered to put on his jackal mask. It rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. Hooked and beaked like a bird, Orp’s face was obscured completely. Cary’s mask was a bronze snake and matched well with his crisp, well-tailored suit. He stood to the side of the cage, an array of incentives next to him on a tray, waiting for use. Cary’s moment to shine would come soon enough.

The pair of garden shears had Sam’s attention. Cary had been keeping his plans a secret. Luxuriating in planning the evening’s progression, he’d refused to tell Sam anything. Were they for threatening? Or trimming the girl’s digits a half inch at a time? They had seen how much it took to force a change from a werewolf who was in his animal form. Its intestines had been looped across the ground before their first werewolf had attempted transformation. He took a sip from his water flask. He had no desire to lose any sharpness and miss a moment of what they might learn. Sam dropped his hand to his pocket and fingered the small pot of blue salve he had. What would this do? He pulled it free and set it on the table next to him. For theatrical punch, there should be screaming, before something without flair or pizzazz was tried. He didn’t even know for sure if this was the real blue. He’d found the concoction hinted at in only two texts, both of them more modern.

His attention snapped back to Balor when he extended his hand toward Cary, and the man placed a cattle prod in his hand. “For those of you who could not attend in person, you will see on the right side of your screen that you will be able to make bids on what we should try next to force a change from this dangerous animal. Don’t let her childish shape trick you. She’d rip your throat out in a second.” He pushed the cattle prod through the bars and prodded the girl’s knee. Pitifully, she refused to look up and shrunk into herself. He flicked the tool on, made solid contact and arced electricity into her small body. Her first scream echoed in the room.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

*

Jeremiah…

Jeremiah clenched his champagne flute so hard that a crack split along the stem. Around him, murmurs spread as the girl’s scream died away.

“Was that real?” A pretty blond asked.

Her date answered, “If it was CGI, it was outstanding.”

A short stout man with a military hair cut placed his glass on a nearby table and quietly said, “That wasn’t AI.”

“Aww, come on. That isn’t a real girl. She is going to turn into a wolf on the screen. I’m sure of it. Real girls can’t do that.”

The blond wet her lips. “But what if they can?” Curiosity and a deep internal cruelty lightened her voice. She was enjoying this and looking forward to what was next. Ansel couldn’t expect him to just stand by and watch this. The second scream worked down Jeremiah’s spine and the sides of his body ached to release and open.

Jeremiah paid attention as the military guy edged through the entranced crowd, making his way toward the door. When he attempted to step through and leave the venue, two of the staff stopped him. Every face was turned toward the screen and the jerking, crying girl. But Jeremiah paid attention to the door, watching in the peripheral of his vision. When the guest pushed the issue and tried to force his way forward. The man dressed as a waiter sank a needle into his neck. Before his knees had even buckled, he’d been whisked through the door. Jeremiah swallowed hard. The woman that replaced the man at the door smiled sweetly and settled her hands behind her back. A poison snake, playing harmless, warming itself on a rock.

He kept his face a mask of curiosity. Assuming the posture and nature of those who believed that what they were watching was theatre. They should have placed more bears in this room. Even in their human shape, they were stronger than men. They should bar the doors and burn the place and everyone in it to ash. He and the little Wolf could leave the world together with the taste of human blood in their mouths. He looked up toward the screen to see her shift to a crouch, dropping some of the innocent child mask she had been holding.

“See,” purred Balor, “Look how resilient she is to pain. A human child would have passed out from a charge that high. They would be laying unconscious with foam bubbling from their mouth.” He crouched down, “But this little one, look at her. Those fierce eyes.” He chuckled. “I don’t think she likes me very much.” He shrugged. “Soon she will hate me even more.” He flicked his fingers toward Cary, “Again, longer this time.”

*

Kennedy…

The two of them stood at the back of the truck, back at the cabin’s property. Kennedy couldn’t stop trembling.

“I tried,” she stammered, “To get everything.” She gestured with her hands how she had gathered the bones. She hadn’t counted them, but she thought they were there. Her skull had been in pieces.

Stunned, he swayed where he stood looking down into his mother’s remains held by the old quilt she kept in the trunk.

“Why?” he managed to say in English. He brought his hands to his face. In bear he whispered, “Why did you do this?”

Kennedy did not know if he was asking her or his mother. She reached out as if to touch the red, but she couldn’t make herself. She didn’t think his mother would answer him. Her fingertips came to rest on a place that had gone brown and faded, dried, tangled in the strands of the fabric.

“She wanted me to take the bear back.”

He looked at her, confusion furrowing his brow.

“The stuffed toy.”

His jaw flexed. She sounded like a mad woman. “I found it at the haunted house, by the lake.

He froze. He gripped her arm, face raw with concern, and spread his wide hand across her belly. The little one responded to him and moved. The big man took a gasping, wet breath of relief and sank to his knees. He wrapped his powerful arms around her and she stroked her fingers through his thick, dark hair. “We returned the toy, but things got complicated.”

“Why?” his voice filled with agony.

“She said we had to.”