Arriving in front of his house, Vincent leaned over, bracing himself against his knees, his breaths heavy from the run. He wondered how he was able to run all the way home when he was seemingly exhausted. Where was he able to find this energy? This werewolf thing was going to take a lot of getting used to, and he guessed that he had only grazed the surface.
A new challenge awaited him inside his house, so he took a deep breath and steeled himself before moving up the sidewalk and making his way through the door. Confronting his parents about the werewolf joke and how it was weird was going to be rough, as he was already feeling the tightening tension in his chest that he surmised was stress mixed with anxiety. He did his best to shake it off as he strode forward with as much confidence as he could muster.
While he had psyched himself up, he totally faltered at the sight of his mom, quickly telling her he was tired and wanted to rest up before dinner, effectively putting off the confrontation and increasing the tightening. It felt like watching one of those action sequences where the main character’s rope is about to break as he tries to climb up over the cliff’s edge, and you, the viewer, are on the edge of your seat, munching away at popcorn, your heart beating faster than a rock-band drummer. This was worse. He was being such a coward. Perhaps a warm shower would help, so he took a nice long one and then y back on his bed, staring up the ceiling and doing his best not to worry as if the words don’t worry made people not worry. He chuckled at that thought.
“What am I gonna do?” Vincent turned on his side in frustration. How was he to confront them? And, why hadn’t they told him this crap sooner?
“Honey, dinner’s ready,” his mother called.
“Here goes,” he said, sitting up and taking a deep breath.
As he made his way downstairs, the delicious smells of dinner wafted to his nostrils. When he moved into the kitchen, a sight that normally was seen around Winter Festival time was presented before him. Turkey, mashed sweet potatoes and gravy, stuffing, and green beans. He licked his lips, feeling his stomach grumble with a yearning anticipation to eat.
He took a seat in silence as his mother dished up the food, his father tapping away on a ptop. Then as he sat, his mouth watering at the sight of it all, especially the turkey, he had totally forgotten he was in the room with his folks.
“So, honey,” his mother said. “How was your first day?”
Vincent looked up at them, meeting his mother’s eyes, then his father’s, and then down in shame, his hands gripping his utensils.
He wanted to confront them, he really did, as he felt his grip tighten on the utensils, slowly easing up on them out of fear of breaking them. He was too scared, and shrugged. “Eh, it was okay.” He took a big piece of turkey and shoved it in his mouth, chewing in silence as his parents gave each other a look. His father adjusted his gsses, and looked like he was going to say something, but Vincent couldn’t hold his thoughts in as the anger of it all came bursting out, following a quick swallow of the turkey.
“So I’m a werewolf, then?” He shoved another piece of turkey in his mouth, following it up with a big spoonful of yummy sweet potatoes. Hungry and angry, what a way to be.
“Yes, honey, you are,” his mother said with a delicate nature only a mother could muster. “Would you like to talk about it more?” She pced a hand against his arm with a warm smile.
“Do you have any questions for us, pal?” His father asked.
Vincent swallowed the mashed potatoes, staring down at his mother’s hand upon his arm. What was he supposed to say: ‘Thanks for telling me about my monstrous nature?’ Instead, he looked down, holding onto his frustration and anger as best he could as he felt his body tense. “Why'd you wait so long to tell me?”
He pulled from his mother’s hand, snatching a green bean with two fingers and biting down on it. At this point he felt his eyes get wet. “Knowing this would have made things, you know, easier.” He looked up at them both, a pleading look in his eyes as he fought back the tears.
He thought he’d heard it all today. Thought nothing could shock him more than knowing this truth. Knowing that he was a werewolf, and also learning that his parents knew about it all this time. What he didn’t expect was what his mother said next.
She let out a long, shuddering sigh, as if this was one of the hardest things she’d done. “It’s what your parents wanted for you before they died.”
Vincent felt his mouth drop open at this comment, a piece of unchewed green bean dangled and fell from his lips. “Wh-what did you say?” The anger he felt turned into shock, which festered into a simmer betrayal of trust.
“Wait,” he said with an incredulous chuckle as he dropped his utensils, an uneasy smile on his face as he shook his head. “Y-you’re not my parents?” His voice was shaking with a rising anger. This piece of information was more than he could handle. This sent him over the edge, and he stood in an angry motion, his voice rising with a harshness as he spoke to them, fury on his face. “T-this isn’t happening. This is all just a dream. A big joke. I just…” he didn’t know what to say, shaking his head and stepping backward, his heart thudding against his chest at the overwhelming feeling of it all.
His mother and father had such sad and pathetic looks on their faces. He hated them in that moment. This realization hit him harder than falling from the roof earlier, and even his werewolf form couldn’t withstand the shock. He teetered on the spot, his body weak, his head light, and his eyes rolled back into his sockets. The st thing he heard before he gave into the darkness was his ‘mother’ shouting his name.
. . .
Vincent blinked his eyes open to the ceiling in his bedroom. He was lying on his bed. His head throbbed as he turned it to the side, seeing his ‘mom’ sitting nearby, concern on her face.
“Vincent?” she said with tenderness, blinking tears from her eyes as she reached for him.
“Don’t touch me,” he snarled, turning from her.
While he couldn’t see her, the flinch from her reaction was palpable as if he could sense it, which was most likely his werewolf abilities, he thought bitterly.
He heard her stand and move toward his door. “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“You should be,” he said in a dark tone, not sure where it was coming from. “You did something terrible. I’ll never forgive you.” Why did he say that?
Sure, they had lied to him. And sure, they had kept this… this crap from him his entire life. But it didn’t mean they didn’t love him. It also didn’t mean that they weren’t his parents, even though thinking about that now stung deep and would be hard to get over. Still, they were the people that raised him. They were there for him when he was sad, lonely, hurt. Especially his mom. They were his emotional support, and they had done their best. So why did he say such a harsh thing to her?
Her sobs were audible as she reached for the door handle to leave.Crap. Way to go, Vincent.
“Wait,” he said, sitting up slowly and turning to her with a small smile. “I-I didn’t mean that.” He rubbed his thumbs together in his p, not meeting her eyes in this awkward moment. He didn’t know what to think. It all felt so wrong. Yet, they were still his parents, and she still was still his mom. And since he was falling apart, he gathered his courage and looked up at her, and the little child came out as he met her eyes and felt a tear stream down his face, his mind going bnk as everything began to fall apart.
“Mom, what’s wrong with me? Why am I like this?”
Like any caring mother, she rushed to his side without thinking, embracing him in a warm hug, and he leaned into her, nuzzling his crying face against, tugging at her shirt, not wanting to let go for anything. “It’s been so hard, mom. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She simply rubbed his hair, shushing him softly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. Everything will be fine. I love you so much.” She kissed the top of his head. “It’s alright now. Everything’s alright.”
And he broke, sobbing against her for a long while, not wanting to let go, not wanting to stop, and letting it all out, because it was so overwhelming.
After crying pathetically, Vincent sat next to his mother in silence with a sad smile and red eyes. He sniffed.
“Why?” he said, repeating himself, too tired to say or think anything else.
“Oh, honey,” she said, reaching out a hand to rub his hair, but hesitated as if knowing it wasn’t the right time even though they had embraced a moment ago. “Your father and I wanted to tell you so many times, we just couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Vincent said, sniffing and rubbing his moist eyes.
“We made a promise to your parents,” she said, for the first time, with an intensity and crity that surprised Vincent. “To protect you, darling,” He turned to her for a moment, but had to look away because her eyes were focused, and intent. It scared him a little.
Still, it hurt, and he had to say what he was thinking. “You don’t lie to those you love, remember?” He said, finding his voice, and anger, again. “Those were your words.” Even though she had been unwavering a moment ago, that made her flinch, looking like she didn’t know what to say.
She tensed. “I know, son, I know, but…” –
“But what?” he snarled, showing his teeth, which made her recoil back in fear, almost falling off the end of the bed, catching herself and pcing a hand against a rapidly beating chest, which… Vincent could hear distinctively. He could sense her fear as if it was something he could hold in his hand. He also had this yearning, even though this woman was the person that raised him, to move on her, knock her down, pin her to the ground, and rip her apart. Or, and this thought was even more disturbing, to frighten her into running, and give chase. That would be fun, right? It was as if another voice was screaming for him to do these things. To let loose, and give into the wild side, to punish her, and devour her like he had devoured the turkey earlier.
He looked away for a quick moment, holding back nausea that wanted to lurch free of him. He had to calm himself, so he just stared at a point on the floor, losing himself for a moment, wondering what in the world was happening, but surmising it was something dealing with his werewolf abilities and some sort of animalistic nature that was growing in him.
He gulped after a long moment, able to calm himself down, his mother’s words reaching him again.
“I know this must be hard,” she said, holding her own fear. She was back where she was before, sitting strong and confident, even though he could sense the fear on her… Yet, it had subsided dramatically from a moment ago, as if she had caught herself from reacting too strongly. As if she had experienced things like this in the past, and knew how to come back from them.
“Hard?” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “No, it isn’t hard, mom. It’s the easiest thing in the world. I mean, first I find out that this crazy new world filled with supernatural beings exists, and I’m one of them… I’m a werewolf.” He clutched his sheets. “Then I find out the people who raised me aren’t actually my parents. What’s hard about that, mom?” He gazed up at her with a penetrating and sad look.
She blinked tears away, wiping a finger across her cheek. “I-I’m sorry, dear.”
“Yeah, I bet you are,” Vincent said with a snarl, having trouble holding back his rage. She flinched again, and while part of him felt bad for having that reaction, he didn’t tell her that. It was all just too much. Then again, having made a promise and keeping to that must have been hard. Still… He wanted to be alone.
“Can you just…” he said, hesitating, because she was still his mom, no matter what. “Leave me alone for a bit. I need to think.”
She nodded, looking like she wanted to reach out and touch him, but refrained. “Okay, honey.” She stood and made her way to the door, Vincent looking away from her the whole time. She opened the door and stopped before leaving. “I love you dear, no matter what.” And then she was gone.
And part of Vincent thought good riddance, but another part of him was just taking it all in and reacting in an emotional way, which made sense as the information he had taken in today was, saying it lightly, drastic.
So, he did the pertinent thing, and threw a pillow at the door with a snarl, saying, “Here’s what I think of your love.” He didn’t hate them, though. He hated what they did. How they had lied. It was going to be difficult to trust them. But he didn’t hate them.
He let out an angry huff and crossed to the bathroom. If they weren’t his parents, and he was a werewolf, who were his parents, then? Were they werewolves themselves? Is that why he was a werewolf? How did it work? He had so many questions, yet was so confused.
And who were those people downstairs? Were they also werewolves? Family friends, another supernatural type of being, or something else? How would he be able to trust their words ever again? He didn’t know. He turned the faucet on and leaned against the sink, his eyes staring at the flowing water.
He gripped the sides of the sink with a bitter smile. “Wonderful. This is all so wonderful.” Spshing cold water on his face to wake himself up, he grabbed a towel to dry off. When he pulled the towel down and looked at the mirror, a snarling werewolf looked back at him that gave him such a fright that he reacted and punched defensively and stumbling backward all at once, shattering the mirror into pieces that scattered everywhere.
He grimaced, sliding to the floor with a quick exhation of sharp pain as his knuckles pooled with blood from the where the gss had sliced him. He stared at his throbbing hand as he clenched his teeth and screamed as he felt everything shatter around him, just like the pieces of gss strewn about.
The door to his room opened, heavy footsteps moving to the bathroom, and his mother burst into the bathroom. “Vincent, honey, what’s wrong?” There was a rising concern in her voice as she looked around, noticing the broken gss. She saw Vincent curled in the corner, blood flowing from his hand and down his shaking arms that hugged himself.
She moved to him, careful not to slip or step on any of the gss. “Vincent?” she asked, leaning down next to him.
He was rocking back and forth, and then looked up at her, tears running down his eyes, defeat on his face. When he looked upon her face, memories of his childhood flooded him, and while a feeling of betrayal filled his mind, the memories of loving kindness and sacrifice and emotional support hit him, and he felt terrible in that moment. This was his mom, and he loved her, and she had done nothing but the best for him, and so he broke. “Mom? I’m sorry.” He cried like a baby, and she embraced him again.
“There, there, honey,” she said, holding him tight, her body shaking from her own pain and sorrow of the moment. “It’s alright. Everything’s alright.”
“I’m a monster, mom,” he said, holding tight. “I’m a freaking monster.”
He gripped at her clothes and snuggled against her, feeling like a small child again, the same child that often cried against her chest and held her close when he had fallen or been hurt or injured. She was still his mom, after all.
After cleaning, disinfecting, and bandaging his hand, the two of them sat at the end of his bed. While his hand hurt, the throbbing had gone down dramatically since the wound was inflicted. Perhaps his werewolf abilities also had increased healing, he surmised. He let out a little sigh, feeling as if a little bit of the weight had been lifted after crying it out again, even though he was completely drained and defeated.
He touched the bandage, then looked to his mom and smiled. “Thanks, mom.”
She rubbed his back lightly. “Well, I’m gd that you can still call me that.”
He gave a weak shrug and sighed. “You’re still my parents, and you’re still my mom. He smiled up at her. She took his bandaged hand in hers, kissing it lightly on the top in a way that only a mother could. It made him feel warm, protected, and safe, at least for a moment. He rubbed a hand through his hair. “This is all so unreal.”
“I know dear, I know,” she said, giving his hand a tiny squeeze.
“I think I need some time to process this all,” he said.
“You’re stronger than you know,” she said. “Let me help you clean up this mess.”
After cleaning up the gss, they hugged one more time, and she left him in the silence. He y back in his bed, holding his bandaged hand in the air, then turned to the side, listening to the noises of the house. A soft of humming cars driving down the street – were they always that pronounced and clear? – gave him some ease as he peered out his cracked window, the st rays of sunlight giving into night.
Footsteps stopped at his door, followed by a knocking. It was much easier to hear, much clearer. Would have been odd if he didn’t realize he was werewolf.
He turned his head. “Yeah?”
His dad pushed through, leaning against the doorway. “How you doing, son?”
Vincent shrugged. “I’m fine.” He didn’t know what to say, just wanted to process things.
His father set next to him, staring out with the window with him. “You know, normally I’d give you some story about my first job, how I had to go out in the big scary world and do things on my own, but none of that would compare to what you are going to go through.” He chuckled, fiddling with his hands. Those same hands had built two local coffee shops and run them with tiring hours of blood, sweat, and tears. All on his own. Now they were thriving, but before that. How hard had it been? Sleepless nights, toil, struggling to find workers, to make ends meet to make sure the coffee was in, fixing broken machines, everything on him, on his own shoulders. “Or maybe it would, I don’t know.” He adjusted his gsses against his face. “What I’m trying to say, is that while you may be angry with us, we got your back, okay kiddo?”
Vincent remembered a time one evening when his dad just had one coffee shop, Vincent had tripped over one of the bags of coffee, spilling the beans everywhere. His dad had simply shook his head and smiled, then took Vincent and raised him to his shoulders, dancing around like a mad man, then set him on the countertop as he brought out a little shovel and broom and went about to cleaning up the beans and shoveling them into a pstic bin. It wasn’t a huge deal, nor a huge mess, but he always remembered his dad keeping his cool in situations like that, even the hard, rough ones.
“Thanks, dad,” Vincent said with a bittersweet smile.
“If you ever need anything,” he continued. Anything at all. We’re always here for you.”
“I appreciate that, dad,” Vincent said. “But I’d really like to be alone right now.”
His stood, nodding in a knowing way as he patted him on the shoulder, then made his way to leave, stopping inside the open doorway. “You know, I once knew a man that had a big heart. He lived a dangerous life, but he fought for what he believed in, and he died for it.”
“Dad, I don’t have time for some metaphorical speech about you and your coffee shop,” Vincent said with a bitter burst.
His father frowned, pushing a thumb against his palm. “It’s about a man that I knew well. A man that entrusted something to me.”
“Oh yeah,” Vincent said, wondering why his dad was giving him another story about some co-worker or employee of his as if that would help. He just wanted to be alone. “And who was that?”
“Your father,” his dad said, which made Vincent perk up. “Me and him were college buddies. Great guy, your dad.” Vincent’s dad chuckled. “He was the one that mentioned the coffee shop idea since I seemed so passionate about it.” Vincent’s dad smiled as he told this reminiscent story. “When I found he was… well, like you, I didn’t know what to do, to be honest. I considered many possibilities, ways to get out, to get away from him. Thought he was crazy, considered calling the psych ward, or the cops.” Vincent’s dad folded his arms as if ashamed by this. “But in the end, I stuck with him because that’s what friends do.” He chuckled again, meeting Vincent’s eyes. “Funny thing, though, about your mother. She was best friends with your dad’s wife, just like me and him, and it’s sorta how we all came to an agreement on what to do about you once you were born, considering their crazy life of keeping the bance and us humans safe. It was the least we could do as people, and I was honored to do it as a friend, even though it hurt to keep it from you. But that’s what we agreed to, and I stick to my word, son.” He had a serious tone, a confidence that Vincent had never seen before.
Vincent sat up, his eyes curious and attentive. “How did they die?”
His dad blinked, looking unsure what to say. “I’ll tell you when the time’s right.”
Vincent wanted the time to be now. He clenched his fist, determined. “I want to know now.”
His father shook his head, unwavering, his voice intent. “I will, but not now. You have my word that I’ll tell you when the time’s right.” Vincent folded his arms, pouting like a, well, child.
His dad nodded, deciding to give him something, just not what Vincent wanted. “They died doing the right thing, and that’s all that matters. Now, get some rest, you got a big day tomorrow.”
Why wouldn’t his dad tell him, Vincent thought. He deserved it. He had a right to know. Then again, he did say he would tell him, so it wasn’t like he was telling him no, just not right now. And while it would take a while to regain trust in them, his father had kept his word to his real father, so that was something, right? He’d wait, for now, and insist on it ter.
“Night, dad,” Vincent said. “Shut the light off on your way out.”
He did, and then shut the door.
Vincent y back, looking up at the ceiling, and after a few blinks of his eyes, he quickly fell asleep.
. . .
Sharp eyes opened to the brisk night. A long snout with sharp canine teeth exhaled a warm breath into the cool air. The feral green eyes of the beast searched, narrowing on a target – a street in the distance. The werewolf let out a grunt and leapt forward, bounding across the ground, and breaking into a sprint on all fours, moving with a gliding grace that covered much distance.
The beast’s heart thudded against its chest in anticipatory rhythms as it stayed to the shadows, moving between a building and down an alleyway that opened into an empty street. It leapt into the air and nded atop a roof of a neighborhood restaurant, turning in a slow circle, searching for something from its vantage point. It sniffed and narrowed its eyes, then jumped again, soaring high and far, nding atop the monkey bars of a familiar pyground, still searching. It looked down a familiar street with a familiar house.
It bounded forward, paws thumping the asphalt, cws scrapping against the street. As it got closer to the house at the end of the street, its heart beating in anticipation as it snarled with delight. It moved quicker than any human could fathom, and finally slid to a stop, crouching before the sight of the home tilting its head in a ponderous posture. It stood and let out a little growl at the familiar sight of the house.
Vincent’s house.
Wait, what was happening? It was so unreal, yet felt vivid.
The beast pumped its powerful hind legs, letting out a mighty howl as it leapt over the fence, scrambling up the sidewalk, and smashing through the downstairs window.
