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Neighborhood Bark-B-Q

Daniel M. Hoyt

Daniel M. Hoyt's short fiction has appeared in several leading magazines and anthologies since his first publication in Analog, most recently in Witch Way to the Mall (Baen), Something Magic This Way Comes (DAW), Transhuman (Baen) and Space Pirates (Flying Pen Press). After tangling with the suburban witches of Costwold Acres (aka Cauldron Acres) in "The FairWitch Project" (Witch Way to the Mall), Dan was shocked to find werewolves living in a nearby neighborhood, where this story takes place. (He has no doubt vampires are lurking about in yet another neighborhood!) In his own neighborhood, Dan coerces computer demons to do his bidding and writes short stories, edits anthologies (Better Off Undead and Fate Fantastic), and works on his second novel while marketing his first. Catch up with him at www.danielmhoyt.com.

 

"So, you're the new pup?" A tiny, middle-aged woman with dirty blonde hair tied up in a librarian bun looked me up and down quickly and pushed her glasses up her aquiline nose. Flowers and a hint of musk clouded her red blouse and skirt. "Welcome to Loopy's. Did anyone tell you about the free haircuts?"

"Um . . . sure," I lied, more confident in my hair stylist's abilities than interested in what, if true, would have to rank as the oddest fringe benefit I'd ever been offered in my six-year career in computer programming. "I'm supposed to report to a Mr. Wiley?"

The blonde grinned and wagged a finger vaguely to her left. "I'll take you to him." She turned and scampered off immediately. "I'm Rose Hood, by the way," she said over her shoulder.

Quick-stepping to catch up with her fast-moving tiny legs, I fell in behind as she barreled down a narrow hallway lined with office doors. "Bryan Wolff."

Rose stopped abruptly and jerked her head around. "Bold." She pushed up her fallen glasses, twisted the doorknob nearest her and flung open the door, stepping through so quickly she gave the impression of leaping. I choked on a residual cloud of her woodsy perfume. "Wolff, the new database analyst, Mr. Wiley."

A transparently pale man at his desk looked up. He was younger than I expected, roughly my own age, with medium-length thick, tangled red hair atop his head and an equally tangled red beard, cut to about the same length.

I smiled, thrust out a hand and advanced as my new boss stood.

"Great to have you on board," he said, shaking my hand vigorously. Tangles of red hair escaped his long-sleeve button-down cuffs. "Wolff, was it? Bold." He glanced at Rose nervously, and she whisked past me, slamming the door behind her.

"I see you've met Little Red."

"Little Red Hood?"

Wiley stared blankly. "Her wardrobe is strictly red." He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. "Jovan White Musk for Women. I love that scent." He opened his eyes again, looking at me dreamily. "Did anyone tell you about the free haircuts?"

 

"I've got just the neighborhood for you, Mr . . . Wolff," said Harry Coates, Realtor, as I settled into his vintage Cadillac convertible. He'd come highly recommended at Lou Pines Data Mart, better known as Loopy's. "Bold. A lot of Loopy folks find a home in Black Forest—out by the lake, very secluded."

Pulling out a freebie Local Homes I'd picked up at a diner near my motel, I flipped to a page I'd marked. "What about this one?"

Harry glanced at the ad dismissively and turned the ignition. The big-block V8 roared to life. "Costwold Acres, by the golf course," he shouted over the revving engine.

"Exactly," I yelled back. "I like to golf. And I hear the lawns are fabulous."

Harry let off the gas. "True," he admitted with a slight shrug and put the Caddy in gear. "I can't legally tell you not to buy there, but I can legally tell you that there's no proof that there's witches there." He paused, while his implication sank in. "Tell you what," he said as he pulled onto a country highway. "We'll go out to Black Forest first; if you still want to go to Costwold Acres afterward, we'll go there."

"Fair enough," I muttered, sheepishly, since we were already headed toward Black Forest.

Ten minutes later, past more wall-to-wall developments than I'd ever imagined could be packed into such a small area, Harry pulled off the highway and sped directly toward a massive lake looming on the right. A wall of trees in the distance stretched either way as far as I could see.

"The lake, I presume?"

Harry nodded. "Black Forest proper is out there, but this set of developments is known as Black Forest as well. We'll start with a favorite of Loopy folks, Moonlit Thicket." He slued the Caddy around a curving lane and slammed to a halt in front of a cozy little ranch on a slight grade, half-hidden by trees. Jumping out, he bounded up the driveway.

Like the neighboring houses, the lawn was long and choked with weeds, mostly obscuring the inevitable garden gnomes peeking out from the hedges here and there. Dandelion seeds floated everywhere in a fuzzy mist. On a warm Saturday morning in the middle of summer, I expected to hear a dozen mowers, trimmers and hedge clippers, but . . . nothing. There were plenty of people outside: young couples in shorts chatting in their driveways, college girls in sweat pants walking their dogs, sleepy middle-aged men lurching out mid nap to check their mailboxes, families sipping lemonades on their front porches, staring at me and gesturing. It was just like the suburb I grew up in, except they didn't seem to care about their lawns.

Running to catch up with the Realtor, I recognized half a dozen of the neighbors I'd met over the previous week at Loopy's. Still, it didn't feel like my kind of neighborhood. "I don't know about this place."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? I was sure you'd love it. Well, since we're here, why not take a look inside?"

I grimaced, but went on. The house itself was immaculate, inside and out, quite a contrast with the unkempt lawn surrounding it. A well-appointed kitchen with stainless steel appliances and black marble countertops included an eat-in area adjacent to a glass patio door opening to the backyard. The kitchen bled over an eating counter with barstools into a great room with a massive built-in plasma TV.

"There's a second bedroom with all the wiring for a home office," Harry said. "Loopy folks telecommute for a few days every month, if you know what I mean."

I didn't, but I let it pass. The truth was, I'd been fantasizing about that plasma TV in the great room. But that yard would take a lot of work.

"I don't know, Mr. Coates. The lawn—"

Harry scowled, but his Realtor's smile quickly reappeared. "But you like the house?"

Subconsciously, I glanced toward the great room. "It's okay, I guess."

"Tell you what," Harry said, smiling conspiratorially, "I know the owner. Let me talk to her about a rent-to-own. Get you out of that motel, at least."

"That would be nice. There's no microwave there. I have to go to work for breakfast, but someone always smells up the kitchen first with something dreadfully foul, like kidneys or liver. Still, I don't know—"

"I'm pretty sure she'll leave the TV," Harry said casually.

"How much?"

 

"Heard you found a place in the Thicket?" Mr. Wiley asked on my two-week anniversary at Loopy's, poking his redness around my cube wall without warning. "Nice place."

"Yes, Mr. Wiley." My boss had told me to call him by his first name, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Coyote Wiley? Get real. I hoped we didn't have to order office supplies from Acme.

"Good, good. Just wanted to say I'll need those schemas Friday instead of next Monday, okay?"

"Sure."

"Good, good," Wiley said. He glanced at my wall calendar. "Looks like a full moon this weekend—we'll be working from home next week, of course, so be sure it's done Friday. Did anyone tell you about the telecom muting?"

"Rose—uh, Little Red—explained."

"Good, good," he said and vanished.

That conversation with Rose had been even stranger than our first one. For a week every month, on a schedule that I couldn't quite pin down, we all worked from home. As near as I could tell, it was one of the major perks that drew people to Loopy's, and the company made a big deal of the environmental and economic impact in their literature. But Rose hinted the telecommuting policy was in place for quite a different reason—wink, wink. It was all very confusing, but I was excited to work at home, so I kept mum.

Wiley's head popped around my cube wall again. "Don't forget to come in sometime next week for that free haircut."

 

"Wolff, right? Bold." Rex Canaan, a database programmer from work, greeted me in my driveway the next morning.

"Bryan Wolff," I said. "Aren't you Rex?"

Grinning, he said, "Sure am. I see you're settling in okay."

"Thanks. You live around here, I take it?"

"Just up the street a bit," he said, motioning with his head. "Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to join our carpool? Bingo Leapps retired last month, and we've got a spot open. Save you some gas money, if you're interested."

"Sure, that sounds good." And neighborly. Maybe the Thicket would be okay after all.

At a wave from Rex, a red sedan pulled into my driveway. "Hop in."

Rex made introductions as I climbed in the seat behind the driver.

Seconds later, we were on the highway in bumper-to-bumper traffic that I knew from recent experience would stretch a peaceful ten-minute drive into a half hour of frazzled nerves and white knuckles. I was glad to have a break.

The driver, Scotty Terrier, turned to Rex. "How about that video conference with Coffee Corner? 'Can we have it next week?"'

Rex, in the front passenger seat, slapped his thigh and stomped his foot on the floorboard. Boomer Sheepskin, the other passenger in the rear—inexplicably munching the last bite of a milk bone—howled and stomped both feet. Scotty howled, too. For a moment, I thought it was dinnertime at the dog pound. I jerked away instinctively and smashed my head on the door frame.

"You okay, Wolff?" Boomer said, loudly. The din ceased immediately.

"Fine," I said, rubbing my head.

"Hey, you weren't at the video, were you?" asked Rex. "Wiley should have sent you. I mean, they are your customer. Want me to talk to him?"

Shaking my head, I said, "Thanks, but I'll do it."

Over six years in the tech field, I'd found that when you let other people do things for you, they tended to grab the credit as well. Blame, on the other hand, always seemed to find its way to you, no matter how many people were between you and the accuser. The only way to get ahead was to take the initiative yourself, as well as accepting the consequences. In the end, you'd be credited with both wins and losses. The poor saps that let others talk for them always ended up with only losses.

Shrugging, Rex said casually, "Did I tell you guys that Rebecca Furr in Accounting asked about the carpool again last week?"

Boomer made a guttural sound like a choked-off bark and said, "Really? What'd you tell her this time?"

Scotty twisted his head around and glanced at me. "How are you going to explain Wolff? We don't need HR breathing down our necks."

"Relax," said Rex. "I told her last week Wolff was already riding with us."

Choking off another bark, Boomer said, "Good move." He turned to me. "Thanks; you really saved our bacon here."

Puzzled, I asked as innocently as I could, "What's wrong with Rebecca Furr?"

Rex howled briefly. "She's a girl! Can't have another girl!"

"Not after Sally, no," muttered Scotty solemnly.

"No way," Boomer added.

"Who's Sally?" I asked.

We rode in embarrassed silence for a couple minutes. Boomer and Rex stared out the window pointedly; Scotty focused on his driving, narrowly avoiding a fender bender once as he changed lanes.

I wondered if they meant Sally Mange. She was a local legend at Loopy's, a nineteen-year-old administrative assistant who'd gotten in the family way by someone at work the year before. The rumor was that she was actually carrying on with three guys at once and didn't know which one was the father. She refused DNA tests, and was raising the kid by herself—with financial help from Lou P. himself, in a kind of tacit admission of responsibility for the people in his employ. Loopy folks thought of this as a grand gesture, almost paternal, and spoke of the incident in hushed, reverent tones. The story was always a tiny bit different each time I heard it, so he assumed it was one of those rumors that crop up periodically, spin freely for a while, picking up more and more outlandish details, until it's left with only a kernel of truth.

"Hey, Boomer," Rex said brightly, finally. "Do you have visitation with Cubby this weekend?"

"No," Boomer said, glancing nervously at me. "He's with Scotty."

I'd have to look into this Sally business.

Boomer sighed. "You know, I could really go for another milk bone right now."

"How's that schema coming along?" Wiley asked Thursday morning, his head perched on my cube wall. I glanced up. Wiley's red mess of hair and beard looked noticeably longer than it had on Monday.

"Almost finished. I'll have it for you in the morning."

"Good, good," he said.

Normally, he'd just pop away as quickly as he'd come, but this time Wiley stayed, scrutinizing me, flashing a scowl now and then.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Wiley?"

"I told you about the free haircuts, right?"

 

"Are you going to mow your lawn, mister?" a teen kid with long shoulder-length blond hair asked me on Saturday morning, as I pushed the primer button on my brand new lawn mower. A red 20" Huffy lay on its side at the bottom of my driveway. "It's a full moon tomorrow."

"Yeah, so?" I yanked the starter cord, and the engine coughed.

The kid cocked his head to one side. "It's not . . . you know . . . scratchy when it's cut short. It's soft. I hate that. Don't you?"

I stared at him and yanked the starter cord again. The lawn mower coughed again.

"That's how I like my lawn." I returned my attention to the mower. The engine caught, a high-pitched whirr shattering the Saturday morning silence.

A couple of my neighbors bolted out their front doors a few seconds later, staring at me in horror.

The mower barely kept up with the long grass and tough weeds, choking to a halt almost immediately. A half dozen people congregated in the middle of the street half a block away, having an animated conversation. The blond kid on the Huffy was there, staring at me.

Let them talk. If I wanted a decent lawn, I could have a decent lawn. There was always some guy in every neighborhood obsessing over his lawn; in this neighborhood, the bar was set so low that even a lazybones like me could be the obsessive schmo.

By the time I finished a half hour later—I'd only get a few feet before the mower would choke out again and I'd have to restart it—most of the neighborhood was in the street, watching me curiously.

Rex was at the front of the crowd, cradling a baby. He handed the infant to a short, dark-haired woman next to him and moved away rapidly, as if he didn't know her.

Oh, well. Now was as good a time as any to get to know the neighbors. I didn't want to be that mean guy down the street whose house the kids egged and TP'd.

After stowing the mower in the garage, I screwed up my courage and headed for the crowd. Several people cut out and ran back to their houses when they saw me approach, but the majority waited. The dark-haired woman turned at someone's call and bustled off to a house—not Rex's as I'd expected—in that curious waddle-and-hop-skip that only a first-time mother can do, when she holds her infant close to her chest and tries to run without jostling the babe. I thought I saw a butterfly trailing her, before I realized it was a full-color tattoo on her exposed left shoulder.

"Good morning," I said. "Bryan Wolff. I thought I'd mow the lawn this morning; is that okay?"

Heads nodded amidst murmuring.

The blond kid said, "He likes it short."

"I do. I was going to weed and feed next. There's no neighborhood association regulation against that, is there?"

Heads shook nervously.

Someone at the back stifled a guttural bark. I knew that sound. Boomer came around to the front. "Man wants to mow his lawn. Fine by me. Anyone else feel like being neighborly?"

Boomer made introductions. It turned out that the neighborhood wasn't just a favorite of Loopy folks, it was entirely Loopy folks. After some friendly chats, I felt a lot better about the neighborhood. Pretty soon it was just me and Boomer.

"Whose house is that?" I pointed where I'd seen the dark-haired woman with the baby go.

Glancing over, Boomer stifle-barked. "That's Scotty's," he said without a trace of bitterness. "He's got the cub this weekend, so he couldn't come out."

"Was that your ex-wife? The dark-haired woman with the tattoo?"

Boomer barked. "Sally? Cubby's mom? She's not my ex-wife; I've never been married. Where'd you get that idea?"

"The carpool," I said, sure I'd touched a nerve. "You said Scotty had visitation with Cubby this weekend?"

"Oh, right," he said, forcing a smile. "No, I just help them out; watch the cub sometimes. We were friends back in college."

"Her name is Sally? Didn't you guys mention a Sally in the carpool?"

Boomer's eyes flashed a look of danger I'd never seen in him. "Different Sally," he said through gritted teeth.

I didn't mention that I'd seen Rex holding the cub. It didn't seem very neighborly right then.

 

"How's the new place, Bryan?" my mother asked over the phone Sunday night. "I worry about you that close to the woods. Who knows how many wild animals roam around there at night."

"Look, Mom," I slurred, "I got up this morning, attacked the backyard, then soaked the entire lawn, front and back, with weed and feed. I spent the whole day doing yardwork, and I just came to bed without dinner, tired beyond belief."

"No dinner?" my mother shrieked through the tinny receiver. "Go eat something right now!"

"I will, Mom," I lied. "Right after I get off the phone."

"You do that, young man. You need to keep up your strength."

I cut the conversation short, quite unintentionally, by falling asleep to my mother's droning outrage. I woke to the loud Eep! Eep! Eep! of a disconnected line, hung up the phone and set it on the nightstand. Later, I'd lie to my mother about eating. Now, I'd sleep.

The full moon shone sunlike through my bedroom window, bright enough to pierce my eyelids. I tossed and turned, but couldn't sleep, between my eyelids telling me it was morning and the argument I was having with my mother in my head.

Have a steak with that! I'm a vegetarian, Mom.

Don't you want to be a big strong man like your father? He's 400 pounds, Mom, and he gets winded punching buttons on the TV remote.

Your cousin Alfie wouldn't drink his milk and now he has to pee into a bag! Alfie's your uncle, Mom, and he's 92!

Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of the bed to fix myself a snack—a small snack, just enough to get Mom out of my head. It was nearly midnight, after all.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I didn't bother flicking the light on—it seemed redundant with the eye-burning moonlight. I passed by the patio door to admire my handiwork—moonlight really suited the in-progress yard: light enough to look well-trimmed; dark enough to hide the flaws.

A movement in the neighbor's backyard caught my eye next door. My redheaded neighbor, Jenny Timberland, stood stock-still in a white bikini, staring up at the moon. I'd met her the day before, one of the lawn mowing spectators. She and her husband, Brad, moved in only last year, and were trying to start a family. The door behind Jenny opened, and Brad emerged—

—stark naked, his manhood dangling in full view in the moonlight! I blinked, and looked again, but it was still dangling free. Only then did I notice that Jenny was naked as well. She'd turned sideways; now that I could see her full-on, it was clear that her white bikini was really her untanned skin. Jenny grabbed Brad's hand and stretched up to kiss him, then the two of them stood, starkers, staring up at the moon.

Great. Naked moon freaks next door. I shook my head and headed back to the fridge.

A howl in front drowned out the low hum of the refrigerator. I'd never heard a sound like that before, not even in a neighborhood of dogs. Was Mom right about the wildlife here? I raced to the front, but couldn't see anything past the shrubs out the front windows. Cautiously, I cracked open the front door.

There was nothing furry on the front porch, so I slipped out for a better look.

I got a better look, all right. It looked like all of my neighbors were milling around in the nude. Young couples like Jenny and Brad, old geezers with walkers, families with naked toddlers running around, even a muscular guy in a wheelchair. All naked, adults staring up at the moon.

Had they all come out to see where the howl had come from? And they all just happened to sleep in the nude? Or were they all moon worshipping nudists? The entire neighborhood?

I backed into the house and shut the door quietly. Back in my bedroom, I stacked my pillows against the window to keep out the moon's searchlight and crumpled onto my bed, facing away from the window.

Another howl, farther off, startled me. A chorus of howls nearby answered it.

Dogs. It had to be dogs. The Thicket was full of dogs. Right now, howling dogs, casual nudists and a lighthouse-bright moon were more than I could bear.

A loud dog fight broke out next door, in the backyard.

Snatching my MP3 player from the nightstand, I jammed the earbuds in my ears and cranked the volume.

It was going to be a long night.

We didn't see you out last night, Rex IM'd Monday morning.

I froze. How to answer that? Carefully, I typed, What?

A few minutes passed before Rex responded. Never mind. We'll catch up Monday.

The rest of the week, I stayed inside, afraid to go out. Not for groceries to replenish my rapidly-depleting food stock, not even to the mailbox. By day, I pulled the blinds and holed up in my office, pretending nothing was wrong. After work, I watched the big plasma TV and carefully avoided looking out the windows, especially in the kitchen. The pillows remained in my bedroom window, separating me from the neighborhood.

As for telecommuting, everyone at work seemed no-nonsense, one-hundred-percent devoted to their jobs. Not a single joke came across my IM or email. I wondered if this was normal behavior.

The rest of the week passed without anything else unusual—except for one cryptic IM from Boomer on Thursday:

Don't forget your free haircut this week.

 

"I see you got your free haircut," Wiley said, poking his red tangles around my cube wall. "Good, good."

I looked over and stared. His hair and beard were shorter than I'd ever seen—clearly he'd gotten his free haircut—but they still managed to tangle. "Yes," I lied and returned to my work.

For the next few weeks, I was the consummate professional, completely focused on my work, on time with my assignments, absolutely on my game. It wasn't just me that had changed, either; I noticed that my co-workers seemed to be walking on eggshells around me, and even the carpool talk was restricted to pleasant chitchat. I did nothing to dissuade this behavior.

I noticed that Wiley's hair and beard grew awfully fast. He'd pop in every few days to check on me or get a progress report, and I could see a difference each time. In fact, everyone's hair grew significantly faster than mine. I hadn't had my hair cut since I'd started working at Loopy's.

I half expected Wiley to pop in and warn me about getting too many free haircuts.

 

"Hi, Mr. Wolff, I brought you a cake," said a plain, dark-haired woman when I answered my doorbell on Tuesday of the next Loopy Telecommuting Week. She pushed a cake tin at me. A nauseating waft of greasy bacon and cheese escaped from the tin.

I stood frozen, my hand on the doorknob, my heart pounding in my chest. It had been nearly a month, and I hadn't talked to any of my neighbors since. I was considering moving soon. These people were weird.

"I'll just put it over here, okay?" she said and ducked under me to leave the cake on a nearby end table. On her way past, I noticed a full-color butterfly tattoo on her shoulder.

Turning, I said tentatively, "You're Sally?"

She set down the cake tin carefully and turned around, treating me to a smile that lit up her face. "Yes! Did Rex tell you?"

"No, Boomer."

Sally blushed a little. "Well, don't believe everything they say about me at work. The boys couldn't help themselves; we all worked late one Friday before a telecommuting weekend, went out for drinks, had a bit too much and got caught in the car under a full moon, that's all. It was all perfectly consenting, considering. I'm not complaining; the boys take care of everything—not Loopy, as I'm sure you've heard." She rolled her eyes. "What would Cubby do with a fourth daddy, anyway?"

She winked at me and brushed past me, then turned, inches away, looking up expectantly. "You should come and see us tonight. It's the full moon, you know. I'm sure Rex won't mind, and little Cubby loves company."

Rex? And Boomer? And Scotty? All in some kind of bizarre fourway with the legendary Loopy Sally?

"Mr. Wolff?"

"Bryan."

"Bryan. Please consider joining us for the baying. We're all worried about you, staying inside. It's dangerous."

"I'll . . . think about it," I said slowly, desperately trying to keep my face blank. I hadn't realized it was the full moon tonight; based on the last month, I was pretty sure being outside with the nude moonies was more dangerous than staying inside, but Sally seemed very committed to her version.

I closed the door quickly after Sally left and watched her through the peephole. She went straight to Rex's house.

Shaking my head, I tried to convince myself it was all a hallucination. It would have worked if I hadn't seen the cake tin on my end table.

I took it to the kitchen eating counter and opened the tin. It still smelled like cheesy bacon. I tasted it. Yup. Bacon and cheese cake.

These people were weird.

 

"Wolff? What are you doing here this late?" Rex looked so shocked when he opened the door that I could easily imagine him clutching his chest and collapsing right there.

Frankly, I didn't know what I was doing there. I could have stayed home, watching TV. But I grew up in the suburbs, and some things were "just not done," according to my mother—things like avoiding your neighbors. It wasn't, well, neighborly. I'd been a hermit for a good month, and they'd let me sulk without complaining. I owed them an apology, at least. Maybe they weren't that bad. I'd had worse neighbors—like the guy who cleaned his Uzi on the front porch at 3:00 A.M. These neighbors probably just howled at the moon for a while, then went to bed.

Besides, I seriously doubted they were going to ask me to strip naked for my first baying. Wasn't the idea to get me to want to join the cult? I was sure it would be okay to howl at the moon fully clothed.

Screwing up my courage, I announced, "I've come for the . . . baying. Sally invited me."

Rex blanched.

Sally called from the kitchen. "He came?"

"He did," said Rex, a bit woodenly. He stepped aside to let me in.

"It's almost time," Sally called. "We should go outside now; you know how much Cubby likes to watch the other children play, even if they have to go inside before the change." She emerged through the kitchen door holding Cubby in her arms and handed the baby to Rex. She leaned toward me and whispered, "I'm glad you came," in my ear as she unbuttoned her blouse and stripped right in front of me, without a hint of modesty. Unbundling the baby and pulling off his diaper, she took the naked baby and sauntered out the front door.

"You coming?" Rex left, naked, leaving the door wide open.

I followed, dumbly.

"You sure you want clothes on?" Rex asked. "They look new. Shame to ruin them."

"Oh, stop it," Sally said, giggling. "Let him be. Maybe that's the way they did it where he grew up." She shifted Cubby to one arm and patted my shoulder with her free arm. "You be as comfortable as you want. Did you remember to leave your front door unlocked?"

"Yes," I lied, jamming my hand in my pocket to feel for my key.

Across the street, several naked children circled a sprinkler, laughing. A few doors away, the blond teenager with the Huffy writhed happily in the knee-length grass. A sudden high-pitched howl from the Timberlands' backyard made me jump. It was followed by a yelp and a loud growl that rose in intensity to a howl.

"They're so cute," Sally whispered to Rex and giggled. "Jenny told me she's late, but she doesn't want to tell Brad because she's afraid he won't want to mate in the backyard any more. Isn't that silly?"

Rex made a low guttural sound. Sally belted out a yowl so loud I jumped back. One or two of the neighbors a few blocks away answered her, hopefully, as if she'd made a lewd proposition. Rex howled out a warning, and they stopped abruptly. He shot her a sharp look and she giggled.

"What? Just because I have a baby, I can't flirt a little? Scotty and Boomer don't mind." She yowled again, defiantly.

Fifteen minutes and hundreds of howls later, Sally bent down to Cubby and cooed, "Bedtime, Cubby. Your time will come soon enough." She turned and breezed past without noticing me.

Rex arched his back violently, then hunched over, as if in severe pain. I ran to help him, kneeling beside his crumpled body. His face twisted toward me, his eyes glowing yellow in the full moonlight, framed by a face that looked like he'd been beaten to an inch of his life. I watched in horror as his nose lengthened to a sharp snout, with razor-sharp canines lining his mouth, and hair thickened all over his face and body. His skin appeared alive, as if something were crawling under it, making its way down his back, along his arms and thighs. The sound of crunching bones accompanied his grunts of pain.

I looked away for a moment, hoping it was all a trick of my mind, but the scene was the same in every yard. People in pain, changing, transforming into—

Werewolves!

I ran, fast. My lungs burning, I fumbled my key out before I hit the porch, unlocked the door and flashed inside. Glancing back, I saw something hairy streak out Rex's front door on four legs, yowling like Sally. Slamming and locking the door, I collapsed against it, my chest heaving.

The next howl I heard sounded from my living room; I nearly hurled myself down the basement stairs before I realized I'd left the TV on when I'd gone out.

An American Werewolf in London was on.

 

"Mr. Wolff?" Sally called in a little-girl voice through the closed door after ringing my bell the next morning.

"Won't you try my cookies?" She giggled and pounded on the door. "Oh, come on, Bryan, I won't bite."

I wasn't so sure. "What do you want?" I yelled from the safety of the hallway.

"Just to talk. I think we need to talk. Don't you?"

Sally kept ringing and pounding and cajoling. I inched to the door and peeked out the peephole. Her hair was a mess and her face looked battered, but at least she was wearing clothes—a sundress with several slashes across the belly clinging to patches of wetness all over her, no doubt thrown on after a long night of romping around naked and lupine.

I cracked open the door.

Sally forced a smile. "You're not really one of us, are you?" She looked disappointed. She smelled of wet fur, though I couldn't see any wolf coat remaining.

"It's just my name." At least now I understood why everyone thought I was bold; they envied my supposed brashness in announcing my condition openly. Living together in secret packs—werewolf neighborhoods—they isolated themselves so they wouldn't accidentally harm their human friends. In a way, it was kind of noble. Creepy, but noble.

"I'm so sorry, Bryan. Rex said you looked terrified, but you don't have to worry—we'd never hurt you. You're probably thinking of leaving, aren't you? Please stay."

"Why would I stay?" I was considering leaving right now.

"I thought we were neighbors. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Yeah, hi-how're-you-doin' neighbors, not owooo-let's-eat-some-sheep neighbors!"

Sally looked crestfallen. "I suppose I deserved that. But we're really not bad. I talked it over with the others; they were all pretty shocked after last night, but most of them don't mind you staying, if you promise not to tell anyone about us."

"Or what? You'd have to kill me?" My hands started shaking.

"That's not very nice. I told you we wouldn't hurt you. And I don't think you'd tell people, anyway."

Sally was right. Nobody had harmed me, and they certainly were trying to help me fit in, even though they probably thought I was a little weird. From their perspective, I was the one being a difficult neighbor.

I inched open the door. "Is Cubby okay? Does he turn—"

"Not yet; he's just a baby." She picked a twig out of her hair. "We don't . . . change until our teens. He's just like any other human baby right now. I do worry, you know, leaving him all alone like that, even if it's only one night a month."

"Why not get a babysitter?" I asked without thinking, and opened the door a bit more.

Sally pushed a stray clump of hair and dirt from in front of her eyes. "Usually, the older kids in the litter watch the young ones. But I only have Cubby, and he's so tiny right now."

My heart went out to Cubby, all alone at that age for a long night, month after month. I couldn't let it pass; it wasn't neighborly, and my mother raised me to be a good neighbor. The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Are you sure? I could watch Cubby, so you don't have to worry."

"Would you? That's so nice! I told Rex you'd be a good neighbor!" She leaped forward, arms outstretched; I jumped back, staring down at her still-damp body, wrinkling my nose.

"Oh, don't worry, silly," she said. "I know how I smell, but there's no fur left; it falls off in the morning. Do I need to shower before giving you a hug?"

You want a good neighbor? Today, I hugged a wet werewolf, and set myself up as the neighborhood's pet human. Well, so long as they didn't want me neutered  . . .

Tomorrow, I might even get a free haircut.

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Framed