The Werewolf Next Door

By Abigail Falanga

Since the last werewolf outbreak twenty years ago, sightings of the unpleasant beasts have become blessedly rare. So, it was a surprise to find one lounging in our new neighbor’s yard.

Two other canids lounged around, too: a mutt the size and color of a dirty mop, and a sleepy bloodhound.

My brother Steve followed me in with a box of his stuff, muttering, “I didn’t know Mr. Maestas had three pets. I mean, two dogs, sure. But a werewolf?”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

“They just give me the creeps.”

“I think it could be interesting.” I tried to be optimistic.

But, rolling my favorite overstuffed chair into the chaos of our new house, it was hard to see the bright side.

Steve and I were sharing the rent as we both worked our first jobs out of college. It had seemed like a good idea a week ago. But now it seemed lonely. And weird. And there was a werewolf next door.

The werewolf was out the next morning as I headed to work. I called a cheerful greeting.

“How are you doing this morning?” the werewolf asked.

“Fine. In a rush. How are you?”

“Lou!” called Mr. Maestas from his door.

“Gotta go.” Lou the werewolf acknowledged his keeper’s call with a chagrined wave. “You have a nice day.”

A few days later, we ran into Mr. Maestas as he came in with Chinese take-out. He was a divorced retiree whose grandkids visited twice a year at most. We had thought that would mean a quiet neighborhood. A werewolf, though?

“He’s quiet,” Mr. Maestas assured us. “Keeps to himself.”

“How did you get to be his keeper?” Steve asked.

“I took Lou in a while ago, after he lost his family,” he replied. “He’s good around the house, for the most part—helps out with yard work and chores, really pays for himself. The only trouble is when I go out of town during a full moon, like next week.”

“Makes sense,” I sympathized, with a secret fear that we may be asked to help take care of the werewolf. Whatever that would mean. “So, what do you? I mean, how do you handle that—um…”

“There’s a service. A couple folks who come and keep an eye on him, you know. They take him to the wolf-run.”

I nodded, relieved.

“Gotta get this food inside.” Mr. Maestas nodded goodnight. “It’s Lou’s favorite—beef chow mein—and it’s best hot.”

I was working in the yard Saturday morning when Lou came out with coffee and a paperback. It was one of those relationship-heavy romances, I noticed, with a happily-ever-after ending. I waved.

He perked up and ambled over to lean on the fence. “Hey, beautiful. What are you working on today?”

“Just tidying these hedges.”

“It’s looking good.” He ran his hand through perfectly groomed shaggy hair. “Under your touch, this place might bloom, sweetheart. Can’t tell you how rad it is to have you and your brother move in. It brightens up the whole neighborhood.”

Uh-oh. Was he flirting? “Um, thanks.” I came closer to gather up the clippings and—yup, he smelled of Old Spice aftershave. Must have ladled it on after shaping that Tom Selleck moustache.

“We should have a cookout sometime.” Lou grinned.

I muttered something and fled. Lou seemed a nice enough guy, but I wasn’t looking for a middle-aged werewolf. Especially not one who thought pointed snakeskin shoes were still cool.

Next day, Mr. Maestas introduced us to the representative from the werewolf walking service. “Ashley’ll have keys to my house and may come in at any time of the day or night.”

“How do you get a job like this?” Steve asked her, taking more interest than I expected. Though, since he was giving her the same exact look Lou had given me, there were probably reasons.

“Oh, I had a van.” Ashley laughed. “And my aunt had a werecat, so I’m used to the all the idiosyncrasies of lycanthropy.”

“A werecat?”

“Much less common than werewolves, and they don’t go wild under the full moon. Since my aunt died, I’ve been taking care of Cindy. It might make this week awkward since Cindy’s been wanting company.”

I remembered Lou’s reading choice, his lost family, the way he watched the newlyweds down the street walking hand-in-hand, and how he still thought himself attractive. An idea wriggled into my mind. “What if you bring her here?”

“Really? Would you mind?”

“Not at all. She just might find the company she wants.”

Mr. Maestas left. The moon grew full. Ashley and a plump, middle-aged werecat arrived in the werewolf walking van.

Lou was already waiting. But the jitters he’d exhibited the last couple of days melted when he set eyes on Cindy.

He jumped forward and grabbed her overnight bag. “Let me take that for you! I’m Lou.”

“I’m Cindy,” she almost purred, opening wide green eyes at him.

I’d been right.

After all, werewolves can be lonely, too.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Abigail Falanga may be found in New Mexico creating magic in many ways – with fabric, food, paper, music, and especially with words! She’s loved fantasy ever since playing out epic adventures of swords, fairies, and monsters with her siblings, and loved sci-fi since her dad’s stories around the dinner table. Besides sharing mad little stories on Havok, she is busily trying to launch approximately five hundred novels into the world. Some of them are even finished!

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