A Werewolf In Mississippi

I am a story teller more than a writer and this story is one that I have told more often than any other. I told this story to my family at my mother's hospital bed the last night I saw her alive. I remember her laughter. I hope that you enjoy it as much as she did.

 

This is a true story about seeing a werewolf when I was a kid. Keep in mind first of all that I am this little fat kid, with a British Cockney accent and a stuttering problem, living in Mississippi.  Yeah I know, it's funny but not to me at the time. So anyway I'm this bad, portly kid who's afraid of everything, as bad kids are prone to be. I am growing up in Mississippi, which as any “True Blood” fan can tell you, Mississippi is are FULL of werewolves!

 

Our house was surrounded by trees, and I was convinced that the woods were “standing room only” for werewolves.  I could just tell they were snapping at each other and just waiting for “fat juicy” to walk outside.

 Now I knew, they knew; that I was in the house. But I figured that they wouldn't break in unless they saw me, then my juiciness would be irresistible.

 As a result, I made sure there were no open curtains after dark at our house. 

My siblings and I had assigned chores, and one of those was that we each had a week to wash dishes. Whenever it was my week, I would wait until the very last minute to wash the dishes and turn on every light in order to ward off the myriad of things that were out to get me.

 Hey! I was like nine years old, remember.
One evening, all of a sudden, my Dad, who sounds like a cross between Morgan Freeman and Clint Eastwood, says to me;

 “Boy! {Every time I tell this story around my dad, he says; I don't talk like that!” but he does!} They changed my shift at the plant. You can't be burning all these God durned lights!”
{Okay for the record, my Dad has a bunch of substitute cuss words.}

 So I stuttered

“Yeah... a yeah... a yes sir!”

And I went on about my business. I mean; whatever business an eight or nine year old boy has... I am standing in the kitchen, trying to decide how I'm going to have enough light to do a good job on these dishes.

I know that if I “half-wash” the dishes my Dad is going to whoop my ass. I also know that if turn on all the lights my Dad is gonna whoop my ass.

So first I turn on the little florescent light over the sink. It's not enough light to do a good job by, so then I turn on the light in the hood of the stove. There is still not enough light.

So now I'm thinking this thing through. I know, for a fact that if I open the curtains, the light from the pole in our back yard will give me the light I need. I also know for a fact, that if I open the curtains the werewolves are gonna see me. If they see me and see how plump, juicy, and delicious I am, oh they are definitely going to break in and eat me. I know I’m looking like, straight up werewolf snacks! However if I turn on the lights or I “half-do”

{Which coincidentally was how my father described most of my actions at that time},

the dishes…oh my Dad was gonna” see about me.”

 It boiled down to; was I more afraid of the werewolves, or my Dad? So I reasoned, “Well if the werewolves break in, then shit, (Yes I cussed in my mind I was a bad little  fucker)
I'll fight them! If I get scratched or bitten then I'll become a werewolf and that might be cool!” So with my plan in place I started prepping the dishes, you know scraping the food off the dishes into a little bowl that we fed our dog. Yeah no dog food for her, that bitch ate what we ate.
{What cha mean I cuss too much? She was a female.} 

Anyway, so I am trying to get as much as I can done before I open the curtains. I wanted to give the werewolves as little time to see me as possible. So I put all my scraped dishes into my dishwater, got my sponge ready and reach to pull open the curtains.
There inches from my chubby little face is a werewolf! Saliva dripped from its fangs, its hungry eyes stared at me expectantly, then its blood thirsty eyes locked with mine and it licked its chops! I screamed like a panther!
{My little voice hadn't changed yet, and I sounded like a girl.}

“Ahhhhhhhhh!” it was blood curdling, and the sound of PURE terror vibrated the whole house.  My mother, my father, my brother, and my sister, all ran into the kitchen even the baby was crying. I'm pointing and trying to explain that we are ALL in eminent danger!
“There's a werewolf in the window!” I intended to scream, but that’s a whole lot of “W's” for somebody that stutters. 

 So what came out was more like “Wawa Waa wawwww “and I am pointing furiously at the werewolf apocalypse about to tear through our flesh with claws and teeth. Tears were pouring down my fat cheeks and pooling around where my neck should have been.
Now while my bowels are threatening to spontaneously implode, and I am afraid that my young life is over my family starts laughing at me for stuttering!

 “WHAT IN THE....!? How dare they laugh at me! And in the face of fang filled certain death?!? Well, I soon discovered that they weren't laughing because I was stuttering. They were laughing because, our German shepherd had learned to stand up on her hind legs and put her forepaws on the window sill. Making her at least 7 feet tall! She had heard the plates being cleaned off and figured it was time to eat. 
My Father was so tickled that he couldn't whoop me. Instead he just said in that ultra cool voice
“Boy, I don’t want you watching no more werewolf pictures.”
Oh my God! How could you! Don't you understand werewolves are my natural enemies?
{Hey don't ask me why! I was like 8 or 9, and it made sense at the time. I had to watch werewolf movies for research purposes. I needed to know my enemy.} 
But I couldn't say that to my Dad. So I stuttered out another “Yeah a yeah a yes sir!” standing as close to attention as my slew feet would allow.
{Now this is the 1980s and there were some awesome werewolf movies, for research you know.

But I was not going to disobey my Dad.}

So anyway, I had this other scary show that I liked, called the “Dark Room” or something like that.  On our local station, there was this announcer who would intro the show.

 At the end of the show, he would read some poor kids name out of this big archaic book. That was my favorite part!

 This sadist would look directly into the camera and say “Sorry Sally but tonight the monsters are coming for you.” {I lived for it}. Each week some poor John, Jack, James, or Robert had been sent to their doom by this guy.

 {Did I tell you that was my favorite part?}
So I have my grilled cheese sandwiches and other snacks and I am watching my show. This one particular episode was about this family that moved to Arizona, Nevada, or somewhere desert-ish. So in their new neighborhood there is an epidemic of people who are dying with their throats torn out. {Why anyone would move there is beyond me even now.}

 The two daughters of the family are driving along in the family station wagon and hit this drifter. They smash up the family car but the dude is unhurt. The little sister automatically concludes he's a vampire. Oh it was getting good! My little chunky arms were getting goosebumps.
On the show the older sister starts dating the drifter and the younger sister is investigating him to see if he's a vampire. Finally, she's gets her proof that he's undead and has convinced everyone but the Dad. Unfortunately dad's at the house chilling with the bloodsucker! So the mom, older brother and sister take the younger sister to a phone booth and they call their dad. Dad picks up and he's spilling the beans in front of the vampire! “Oh don't be silly he's not a vampire!” The dudes walking closer while Dad is opening the curtains (sound familiar?) as he dry snitches. “No I won't make him leave; he's not spouting fangs, no cape. Not a vampire!”

 {“Oh he's so dumb” I thought as I polished off a doughnut.}
By this time the curtains are completely open and the dad is off the phone with his daughter; he’s chatting with the vampire.  “My family has this stupid idea that you are a vampire. “ The guy laughs but it doesn’t sound right. {I am giddy.}
The drifter says “Yeah that's a really silly idea. His voice is getting gruff and the moon comes full and bright from behind a cloud. As he finishes “I am definitely not a vampire….but I am a WEREWOLF!”
I jumped to my feet! No! I didn't mean to disobey! I didn't realize that the show was about a werewolf!

 As I get off the sofa I see my Dad from the corner of my eyes; he's just caught me. Oh my God! I'm too young to die! Before I can chase after my father and explain, the sadist on screen opens his book and says. “Michael!  I hate to tell you this but tonight the monsters are coming for you!” 
{You S.O.B. Is this happening tonight of all nights?! I went to face the only monster I could think of right then.}
“Da, da, dad” I puttered out. But he cut me off, standing in front of the cabinet, shaking an empty coffee can. “Look I don't have enough coffee to make a pot in the morning.” He said; sounding sad.  {I remember thinking. “What's that got to do with anything?”} Until he said, “Go over to my mom's house and get me some coffee!” I forgot to stutter as I asked, “Who, me?” Clint Freeman responded, “Don't play with me boy. “ 
I marched off to my demise.

Goodbye world.

I shuffled out of the house singing some song that was supposed to drive away monsters “Freddie survive” is all of the lyrics that I can remember. So I'm walking slowly singing, this anti-monster song and I hear something in the bushes headed my way.  I sped up, walking faster and singing louder. The creature makes more noise as it gets closer. Now I am running full speed, the backs of my pro-ked tennis shoes hitting my elbows, and I am screaming this song at the top of my lungs. “FREDDIE SURVIVE!” Finally I see the thing loping towards me, and I freeze unable to scream, run, or fight. I watch it crest the hill and charge me. Mute, I shake my head in the negative as it attacks.

“Rarrargh” screamed my older brother as he jumps down nearly landing on my back. He laughs, punching me playfully “Come on man let's go get this coffee.” I looked down before responding “I can't I got to go change my pants!”
My Father still claims that he wasn't in on it. He says and I quote. “I told him to go make sure that "dag blasted" Boy, don’t hurt himself.”