My Life As A Werewolf

Jolene

I slowly come awake to the sound of pandemonium and the overwhelming stench of body odour. It’s like a locker room after a marathon, but somehow worse. Seriously, is personal hygiene not a thing anymore?

My throat burns with thirst - like I'd spent the entire night gargling sandpaper - and every part of my body aches. Every. Single. Part. My heart is hammering out a salsa-samba hybrid in my skull, and my brain throbs along to the beat, threatening to crack my skull open like a rotten coconut.

What the hell did I do last night? The memory is a total blank. A giant, fuzzy, embarrassing blackout.

Did I get drunk? Did someone lure me away to a party? It wouldn’t be the first time.

Though it seems unlikely in this case.

The last thing I remember was setting up my camera. You know, to make a video for my insignificant, but hopefully growing, little channel on VidHub. It was the full moon last night, and my audience, all fifty of them, expected me to go out and hunt for ghosts and ghouls and other full moon monsters.

That’s my brand. Or, at least, I’m hoping to make it my brand. I believe none of that shit, of course. I’m a skeptic wrapped in a shiny black hoodie, but a lot of people do. And honestly, it's pretty easy to fake. A little tweak of the camera there, a twitch of the microphone here, and presto! you have a 'ghost'. It’s amazing what people’s wild imaginations can conjure up.

There are days when I feel a little dubious about the shit I do, but my day job doesn’t pay a whole lot, and a girl has bills to pay and dreams to live.

I struggle to my knees, feeling utterly exposed, and look around the room. Oh. My. God. There are another two dozen or so naked people in this empty, concrete box with me. All of them are naked. All of them are covered in something that looks like blood and slime. An uncomfortable, unsettling thought forms in my mind. It looks like placenta, and we’re the fresh newborns.

And all of them stink to high heaven. Definitely a full-moon-induced communal psychosis that drove all of us into the swamp. It’s the only thing that makes sense. And I didn’t capture it on camera. 

Great.

I push my hand into my tangled, matted hair, surprised to find it sticky with a thick, viscous liquid. I tentatively smell my fingers and promptly grimace. Okay, new information: it’s not blood slime or mud. It looks like blood, but it smells overwhelmingly like swamp water and a hint of wet dog. Lovely.

Some of the people are crying - full-on, snot-bubbling hysterics. Others are freaking the absolute fuck out while trying, and failing, to cover themselves with their hands. It’s a low-key nude horror show.

“Good morning,” a deep, dark voice booms through the room, cutting through the general cacophony. “Welcome to Werewolf Orientation. My name is Alpha Lexington.”

Werewolf orientation? I almost choke on my own breath. Alpha? This just got significantly weirder, and honestly, a lot more entertaining.

I wish I had my cameras with me. This is viral gold.

I look up at perhaps one of the most impressive specimens of a man I’ve ever seen. He’s the picture of tall, dark, and ridiculously handsome. In fact, I’m certain when they coined the term, they had a man like him in mind. 

He has broad shoulders that look like they could support a small house, and eyes that could melt glaciers. He’s also inexplicably dressed in a neat, tailored, dark blue suit, and perched on the edge of a desk that’s piled high with folders. He looks like a GQ model who wandered onto the wrong set.

“In front of you, you’ll find your orientation packet. I believe it contains clothes, a bottle of hydration liquid, and some meat.” He sighs, a world-weary sound that is completely at odds with his polished appearance. He turns his head and looks to his right at someone I can’t see. “Do I really need to do this?”

“Yes,” a firm, male voice replies from the shadows. “The king ordered it.”

It’s nothing but a whisper - seriously, the softest, most ominous croak - yet I can hear him as clearly as if he’s standing next to me. Creepy.

I look down at the floor and, sure enough, see a clear plastic bag that looks suspiciously like a takeout container.

Most of the people are still freaking out, trampling all over the bags in their blind panic. Some of them pop open, spilling out bits of raw, red meat and little squirts of orange liquid I assume must be the hydration liquid.

“I’m gonna need more bags,” Lexington mutters to the stranger in the shadows, then raises his voice, which is still incredibly powerful. “Shut up and sit still!”

The command is so absolute that some of the people come to a complete standstill, mid-flail, while others still mill around. A few persistent souls have found the doors and are banging on them, begging to be set free. It’s all very dramatic.

I glance at a young man directly to my left. He’s already managed to get dressed - impressive speed, that - and is tearing into the raw meat with a gusto that is frankly alarming.

I gag and push my hand against my mouth. “Dude,” I whisper, genuinely horrified. “Are you nuts? That’s raw!”

He just moans, “Hm-mm,” and wipes a trickle of blood from his filthy chin with the back of his hand. “But it's good. Try it.”

I should probably be terrified right now. Any person in their right mind would be, but honestly, I'm just intensely curious to find out what the hell is going on. 

If nothing else, this will make a great story for my vlog. At worst, we’ll be carted off to some organ harvesting plant, which, let’s be real, is also a solid video topic…. If I can escape and break the horrifying news to the world.

Honestly, I’m good either way. This is new and interesting, and I can’t wait to find out what it’s all about. It beats ghost hunting, that's for sure.

I open my packet and pull the black t-shirt I find inside over my head, then I step into the pair of matching shorts before I crack open the bottle and down the sweet, orangy liquid in three glorious gulps. I sigh with pleasure as the cold drink slides down my throat. That’s the stuff.

“For the love of…Will you stop?” the Alpha man at the front roars, his composure finally cracking.

A warm, heavy kind of wind or pressure washes over us, and everyone freezes. Literally. Including me. I can’t move a muscle, but I can still breathe, which is a plus.

Interesting. This guy has some serious influence over us.

“As I was saying. My name is Alpha Lexington. Now please, get dressed, sit down, shut up and listen. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can all get on with our lives.”

Two women dressed in simple grey slips - like they’re either background dancers or the help - go around the room and hand out fresh ‘orientation packets’ to those who couldn’t rescue one from the naked stampede.

One of them stops next to me and says, in a voice that sounds surprisingly motherly, “You should really eat the meat, dear. It will help.”

Help for what? I feel okay. A little weak perhaps, and my stomach is churning, but that’s to be expected after a night of…

I draw another blank.

I stare at the bloody steak wrapped up in its own baggy of juices. My mouth waters involuntarily at the sight, which is highly concerning, but I still can’t bring myself to eat it. I’ve never liked rare steak, and this looks aggressively extra rare.

“Let’s try again,” Lexington announces, taking a deep, visible breath. “Welcome to Werewolf Orientation-”