We Become the Night
Chapter 8:

Fur isn’t all it’s cracked up to be

Why does it always seem like the only dreams I remember I run in them? Is it because I don’t run enough in real life?

The pain is the first thing I notice. It radiates throughout my body. I know what’s causing it. The shifting of my bones and muscles. My spine and hips shift shape so that I can no longer stand up right. I fall out of the bed onto the floor. What is supporting me is not my hands and knees, but four paws. I see though different eyes. A world not in technicolor, but in strange hues of oranges and blues. What’s that? My large ears twitch as I hear a sound and my head whips towards the doorway. I pull back my lips over my massive teeth and let out a slight snarl. I pad lightly out my bedroom door and down the stairs. The front door is open too and I head that way. My nose sticks up in the air, scenting it. It leads me away from the house and down the road to a neighbor’s house. What is that tantalizing odor? My mouth is hanging slightly open, and drool drops out as my mouth waters with what can only be described as a tasty scent. Ah, that’s what it is. I narrow my sights on the little dog chained up in the back yard of the Smithe’s house, only five or so doors down from Joshua’s.

That little dog didn’t stand a chance. I trot down the street. I’m not totally sure what I’m looking for, but I’ll know it when I find it. I was right. There it is. That’s what I was looking for, right in that open field. A stray cat. My impressive bulk bounds towards the cat with ease. I’m on the kitty with little more than a thought, and he too went the way of the Smithe’s yapping snack.

I awake the next morning in my bed at Joshua’s house. What a strange dream, I think as I shift and stretch to work out the kinks in my back. I put my hand down on the bed and I feel something sticky. I pull my hand back and look at my palm. It’s coated in a red, sticky substance. Oh, God, please don’t be what I think this is, I sent up a silent prayer. I slowly bring my hand to my nose and take a small sniff. Rust. Yep, it’s what I thought. Blood.

“JOSHUA!” I shout, hysterically. I hear pounding footsteps coming down the hall. The footsteps pause only slightly right before Joshua bursts into the room.

“Cal? What hap...” the question freezes in his throat at the same time he does. He slowly walks forward as he takes in the scene before him. He stops only about a foot from the end of my bed and surveys the situation. I can’t seem to form coherent words enough to explain what’s going on. I just sit in the middle of the blood-soaked bed, muttering and moving my hands up and down in a helpless gesture.

“Cal? Do you know what happened? Are you hurt?” He comes around to the side of the bed and takes my head between his hands. “Cal, show me where you’re hurt.” He looks me straight in the eyes, unblinking.

“It’s,” I swallow the lump in my throat down and try again. “It’s not mine.” I say quietly.

“What?”

“The blood. It’s not mine. I don’t know where it came from.” I say a little louder. His hands are still framing my face and he has not let up the pressure at all. His gaze wanders to the blood, but he doesn’t look freaked like I think he should.

“Uh, Joshua?” I say distorted thanks to his hands.

“Yeah, Cal?” He brings his gaze back to me. I point to his hands with my blood-covered one. He immediately lets go. “Sorry about that. Okay. Here’s what needs to happen. First, we need to get all this cleaned up. Then, you and I need to talk.”

I nod, and as carefully as I can, I get out of the bed.

“Go get in the shower. Throw the clothes away. I’ll bring some clean ones in there for you once I get this bed spread taken care of.” I nod again and, making sure there isn’t any blood on my feet, head gingerly to the bathroom.

In the bathroom, I strip down and throw the clothes in the same wastebasket that I used the first day I came here. Then I get in the shower and turn it on as hot as I can handle it. I scrub all the blood off. When there’s no longer any trace of blood, I scrub some more, just to be sure.

I don’t leave the shower till the water starts to get cooler. Which is a miracle in and of itself since Joshua told me that the water heater is the best on the market and will hold almost 100 gallons of hot water at a time. Wasteful? Maybe. Worth it? Definitely.

There’s a set of clean clothes on the counter. I don’t remember hearing Joshua come in, but here they are. I try not to think about Joshua going through my underwear drawer, but, thankfully, I recognize the pair as the ones that were right on top.

I dress quickly and go back to my room. The bed is stripped bare. There is no sign that something bad happened at all. The blood-soaked sheets are gone and in their place are a completely new set. The bed is all made up as though a guest is expected to stay tonight.

I turn around and bolt from the room to find Joshua. I take a cursory glance into his room since the door is open, but I didn’t expect him to be there. Sure enough, he’s definitely not in there.

I fly down the stairs, taking them two at time. I don’t even marvel at the fact that I’m falling flat on my face. I whip around the bottom of the staircase and book it to the kitchen.

Joshua is sitting at the table, much as he did the first day I was here. I’m noticing a lot of parallels between today and the first day I arrived. I’m not entirely sure I like it.

This time, though, Joshua is shirtless and clad only in his pajama bottoms. Since he’s not wearing a shirt, I get a good look at the tattoo (birthmark? Scar?). It definitely looks like a bear claw drawing marks down from his shoulder. The detail is so fine, I think that it must be a tattoo. Yet, the paw itself is pinkish in color and raised like a scar. The claw marks are a darker, brownish color like that of a birthmark.

Before I can open my mouth to ask about it, he waves me over and gestures for me to take a seat. I follow his wordless direction and sit opposite him.

He sighs. “Cal. Caleb. There’s something I need to talk to you about.” He doesn’t look happy about what he has to say. “But first, I need to ask you a question and I need you to be entirely truthful. Think you can be one hundred percent honest with me?”

“Of course, Joshua.”

“The night your parents were killed.” He pauses to give me a minute. I’m sure he can see the grief in my eyes. “That night,” he continues, “was it just your parents and your brother that were attacked? Or were you injured as well?”

“How...” I stutter, “How could you know that?” I’m too shocked to evade his question.

“I’ll take that as confirmation. Now listen because this part is incredibly important.” I lean in closer to him as his voice drops volume. “That thing that attacked you and your family wasn’t any ordinary animal.” He takes a deep breath. “That was a changeling. Your culture would call it a werewolf.”

I sit up. I laugh full outright. “Werewolf? You’re having me on. That was a good one. You almost got me.” I look at his face for any sign of a joke. He sighs again and slowly shakes his head.

“It’s not a joke,” he says in that low voice of his.

“You mean to tell me that werewolves are real?”

He sighs for a third time. “Yes, werewolves are real. Though we call them changelings.”

“Vampires?”

He nods.

“Witches?”

He nods.

“Ghosts?”

He nods.

“Creature of the black Lagoon?”

“Oh, so you’ve met Charlie then?” he says. My face must look horrified because this time he does laugh. “No, that one doesn’t exist.”

“Are there other creatures that Hollywood loves to shove in their movies that are actually real?”

“Yeah. There are fairies, trolls, demons, angels, centaurs, satyrs, gods, goddesses, shapeshifters, and so much more. They are hidden all over the world.”

“Shapeshifters? I thought that’s what werewolves, uh changelings, are.”

“No. Changelings have no control over the change. Shifters can control when they shift. Also, shifters can control their actions and remember what happens while they are in animal form. Changelings can’t do that.”

“And,” I start slowly, taking it all in, “I’m a changeling?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” I nod. “How do I not be a changeling?”

“You can’t not be a changeling. There’s no known cure for the transformation. You’ll change three times a month, before, during, and after the night of the full moon. You also will have no recollection of the events that happen, nor any control of what you do. This is what makes changelings so dangerous.”

“But I do remember. Sort of.” His head snaps to my face. His eyes are wide and concerned.

“What do you mean, you remember?” Now it was his turn to stare unbelieving.

“Well, I don’t really remember. It’s more like the remnants of a fuzzy dream. No pun intended. But, yeah, I remember what I did. That blood belonged to a cat and, oh God, the Smithe’s poor little white dog.” The blood drains from my face as I remember that poor dog.

“Was that all? No one was hurt?” He reaches across the table and grabs my arm, rather tightly.

“No. At least, not that I remember.” He relaxes his grip and sits back.

“I wonder...” he mutters to himself. I sit in the chair looking around the room. My gaze falls on Joshua, and, again, I get a good look at his mark.

“Joshua?” I ask him. This brings him out of his muttering, and he looks at me again.

“What’s up, Cal?”

“Can I ask... I mean, if I’m overstepping, just say so, but can I ask about the mark on your shoulder?”

“I suppose since you know everything else, I might as well tell you about this too.” He runs a hand lightly over the mark, as if to remind himself that it’s there. “It’s a long story, but I don’t guess there’s any point in keeping it from you any longer.”

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