My Favourite Werewolf Story
And no it's not one of mine
Reading through the Indestructible stories and putting together Heavy Metal Blood has made me realize that I really like writing historical fantasy. Not enough to write it full time, but enough that I’ve done it a lot for someone who calls themselves an urban fantasy author. The fact that Let There Be Night is probably my favourite thing I’ve written should have been enough of a sign.
When I was in elementary school, I checked out a werewolf short story collection from the library. I’m pretty sure I finished reading it before my parents even showed up to pick me up.
Now, I don’t remember most of the stories. Actually, I don’t remember any of them.
Except for one that stuck in my head for a good twenty years. Specifically this line:
Come on. Tell me there isn’t something about that.
It took me a very long time, but I finally managed to track down the story. It has apparently cemented itself into my brain, where it continues to occasionally take over my entire brain and make me write something inspired by a story published in 1896. It’s called The Were-Wolf by Clemence Housman, and you can read it for free from Project Gutenberg.
If you’re into historic fiction, I’d highly recommend you check out the Heavy Metal Blood collection. These four vampire novellas span from the 1602 high seas to 1950s Japan to post-WWI America. It also includes brand new short stories set in modern times.
Johanna entered first, brandishing a crossbow. Ronald was close behind her.
Brys caught the glint of metal quick enough to duck his head. The bolt shattered a vase and stuck in the wall behind him. Full of fresh blood and fuelled by bitter anger, he moved faster than any human could. Johanna had enough time to draw a knife from Lord knew where, but not enough to stop him from grabbing Ronald by the throat. The blade cut through his arm. He grit his teeth against the sharp sting. Thankfully, there was none of the acidic burning from silver.
Ronald gasped for breath and raked his blunt nails over Brys’ skin. He was a pudgy man who’d already lost most of his hair despite how young he looked. Unlike Edison, he didn’t seem to have much muscle to speak of. Even if they’d both been armed, Johanna was clearly the bigger threat.
“I’d put that away if I were you,” he told Johanna, grinning broadly at Ronald to show his fangs.
Upstairs, he could hear the sound of two hearts beating. He swallowed down something thick that tasted an awful lot like guilt.
Johanna didn’t move.
“I mean it, love. You think you can put one of those bolts in my skull before I snap his neck?”
