Seahorn Epublishing HALLOWEEN EDITION 2016
Anthology of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, and Supernatural Short Stories by Phil Seahorn
SEAHORN
EPUBLISHING HALLOWEEN EDITION 2016
SEAHORN EPUBLISHING HALLOWEEN EDITION 2016 Copyright @2016 by Phil Seahorn
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To all the folks back home in St. Louis, Missouri who participated in the relentless struggle to discourage me, and those today in 2016 here in Spokane, Washington also participating in these endeavors: FUCK YOU
WEREWOLF IN SPOKANE Lionel Malwithers had just got his keys to his new apartment in Browne's Edition in Spokane. He decided to live in Spokane rather than Seattle. Arriving in Spokane and getting the catering job all in one week, then an apartment was incredibly good luck for Lionel. He had not had much of that lately. After a 17-year relationship Lionel decided he had enough with the relationship and the whole Metro East area of Illinois as a whole. He had a half-brother living in Spokane since the sixties, but Lionel did not want to spend 500 dollars on half of an apartment and half a bathroom. His brother was paying a grand a month. So Lionel was feeling pretty damn good about himself when he decided to hang out at the restaurants and bars that were three blocks from his apartment, and all located on Pacific Avenue. Lionel had been reading about witchcraft and magic online. He had downloaded some spells and literature from the Internet. With all the downloads to read, Lionel looked over the restaurants to find somewhere to sit down with his laptop and go over the spells and rituals he had been researching for almost twenty years, especially on how the Nazis actually tried to create werewolves to fight in the Reich.
Lionel had been reading about Nazis using the occult for the war effort. The Allies had stumbled upon top secret books and diagrams and spells from Nazi wizards or warlocks or whatever the fuck they called themselves. Lionel really got off on the occult shit. Lionel found a nice bar on the corner of Pacific. He sat down in one of the outdoor patio seating. He ordered a large lemonade and a vodka. It was a hot summer afternoon, the sun streaming thru cloudless skies. Lionel had just finished the vodka and was about to chase it with the lemonade. His stomach churned. He suddenly realized he was extremely hungry. He had put the pages of diagrams and spells down he downloaded from the German Nazi occultist forums ha had joined. Lionel looked at the menu. As one of the waitresses walked up to his table, Lionel put aside the diagrams. The waitress walking up to Lionel’s table was tall, five 9 or 10, long brown hair in a ponytail, typical Gonzaga student working a summer job. “We have a lunch special today...” began the young girl. Lionel raised his hand to stop her. “Steak", he said. He looked up again. “Make that two steaks, and another lemonda and vodka, please,maam,". The waitress took the menu. "And, uh, could you make the steak less than 10 minutes on the burn?" Lionel asked. The young lady looked down at Lionel. "Sir, there is rare, and then there is wiping a cow’s ass sticking it on your plate," said the waitress. Shit, thought Lionel, and he was just beginning to become attracted to the young lady. "A fucking vegetarian," he thought to
himself. "Just make it rare please, ma’am," said Lionel, never the fool. After 10 years as a waiter and bar back in St. Louis, Lionel knew the golden rule: never piss off the person bringing you food." In 15 minutes, the waitress brought out the steaks. "Too over cooked," said Lionel, handing the plate of steaks back to the waitress. Blood spilled from the undercooked, almost raw steaks. The blood dripped on the table. Lionel stared at it. His mouth felt suddenly strange, as if filed with saliva. He realized that he was drooling. He looked back up at the waitress, who had taken the plates back and was talking to a very tall and very big man. The man came to Lionel's table. "Sir, are you alright," asked the man, a manger or even the owner. Lionel did suddenly feel very strange, as sweat poured from his face. He grabbed up all his belongings on top of the patio table, then stood up. He felt weak and dizzy, staggering visibly as other patrons began to notice. The large man, completely puzzled as to whether this man was sick or meth’ed out or a heroin overdose. Shit, in Spokane these days, the manager could not tell anymore. The manage and the waitress stood back as Lionel stood up, and made his way past the poles that separated the outdoor dining area from the street. Lionel walked about half way up the block. He leaned against a tree. He dropped what he was carrying, steading himself against the tree. The heat of the summer afternoon didn’t help matters. Lionel looked down and too his left, noticing the bright, almost neon red
letters on the document he had been reading. "The Haupsmidt Wereman Tome”' read the large letters. It was the beginning of a Nazi “how to make a werewolf" book that was found after the Allies victory. Lionel, understanding the irony of his present situation, looked down at the front to his shirt. It was drenched with the saliva that as coming out of his mouth. Trickles of blood mixed with the saliva as Lionel's teeth all began to elongate and sharpen at the end, cutting into the inside do his mouth. Lionel had not noticed the pain in his mouth, as he was too preoccupied with the tremendous pain coming from his arms and legs. Lionel screamed at the top of his lungs, with each scream longer, deeper, more guttural. The dogs in the Browne Edition area nearest the outdoor restaurants seemed to converge on the street of pacific barking growling and howling. Almost right along with Lionel's guttural screams. Lionel's arms and legs were on fire. He saw and felt his arms and legs begin to break at the same time. The pain was unbearable. Lionel looked down, and noticed the ground slowing getting smaller, as if he was on some type of fucking elevator. The only problem with that: he wasn't on an elevator, Lionel was growing taller. The pants ripped from his legs, exposing brown and black tufts of hair. Lionel looked down at his rapidly descending feet. He felt his feet on fire, as each foot became twice as large, bursting the shoes Lionel wore to threads. Lionel, still screaming, didn’t know if
he was screaming because of the unbelievable pain. or the horror of seeing this change occurring in him. Or if he was screaming from the horror he was seeing. His eyes burned, his face literally ached and was on fire at the same time. And the steady stream of spit, now coming out in drools of blood and yellow bile, with a smell as if he shit himself, emanating and getting stronger all around him. But Lionel's eyes. It was eyes that cause him the most pain. Lionel's head exploded as red and blue lights appeared before him. Suddenly, Lionel could see the couple in the window in the home a block and a half up the street. He could see them on the top floor to their house. He then saw the same couple leave out the door. He could smell them. They were around cooked meat. Barbecue. Lionel, from a block and half down the street, was able to feel and see all this Lionel, from a block and a half down the street, could hear the couple too. Lionel could hear everything, too. Too loud, the noises in his ears rang as he put his hands (claws?) to the side of his head. Lionel screamed again as he felt his ears tuft over in hair (fur?) and then.... Lionel felt his ears grow. Lionel pressed harder against the side of his head, then recoiled his arms in pain. Lionel was still screaming as he looked down at his hands. His hands weren't hands anymore. They were claws. At this point of Lionel’s ordeal, about thirty of the residents of
Browne’s Edition had gathered around the screaming figure of the man lurched against a tree who had apparently shit on himself. "What the fuck is wrong with this guy," one voice rang from the still growing crowd. "Anyone calling "911?" came the voice of another. The dogs that were barking and growling louder were literally pulling their owners toward the screaming man at the tree. The owners were cursing and screaming themselves, looking at the other dog owners and the reactions of the dogs. "This must be "Z Nation" shit," said another voice. “Where the fuck is the film crew?” Paramedic trucks came zooming up Pacific from the downtown Spokane area. A fire truck joined in the wailing, with a crowd of over 50 gathered around the screaming man, but too freaked out to approach the man. Something was really wrong with this guy. "What the fuck...is that special effects?" said a voice. Lionel felt himself rising up, and slowly turning around, the pain was rapidly receding. He had to look down at the crowd and trucks and barking, growling dogs. Lionel towered over the tallest person in the crowd. Lionel’s stomach heaved. He could smell every one of these people. He could smell everything in the homes around him: the cooking, the washing, the various and assorted pets. His senses were .... "Holy Mother of God! That's no motherfucking special effect!" said a young black man, turning on his heels and literally ramming
his way thru the crowd. As the young man lite allay knocked people over running away from the screaming man at the tree, he heard the screams and howls and barking of the dogs’ increase. Then he heard the screams of the people. THE END