By Max Turner
Noah perked up as the call came through. Another nighttime commotion at the old, abandoned fairground.
“Dispatch, I’m at that end of town, I’ll check it out.”
Noah turned at the junction, toward the site.
On the outskirts of the small town, it was a relic of its heyday, bankrupted by the advent of video games. As a child it had been an intrigue, a vestige of yesteryear or a haunted curio depending on who was telling the story. As an adult and a cop, it had become the bane of Noah’s existence every Halloween and most full moons.
When he pulled his car up at the gates, he wasn’t surprised to see they had been pushed apart as far as the heavy chains would allow, and propped open by some wood. Not the first time, nor would it be the last.
Noah shone his flashlight on the crumbling asphalt illuminating scuffed footprints leading through the gates. He squeezed himself through, bending and arching to fit.
At first glance there was nothing. No noise, no movement, not even the cautious chuckling of teenagers trying to be brave. But someone was there.
“This is Officer Jackson, if you—”
A scream tore through the night air.
“Run, go. Go!” The teenager’s voice came out of nowhere, and then three of them burst from the shadows and ran toward Noah.
They halted in front of him, wide-eyed and breathless.
He was sure it was nothing more than kids spooked by the creaking of old metal and scaring themselves with stories and shadows, so he raised his hands to calm them. “What’s going on?”
The teens all started talking at once. One of them raised his voice above the others. “There was a guy back there, really freaky. He was like… furry.”
An idea emerged in the back of Noah’s mind, but he focused on the teens for another moment. “Why don’t you all just get on home before I call your parents about trespassing. In the meantime, I’ll take a look at what we’ve got here.”
The teens all nodded and took off again toward the gates.
Noah cocked his head, listening again. There! He honed in on it. A sound he knew well. He slithered into the dilapidated structures.
Anders watched from a distance as the officer talked with his dinner.
Or what he had planned for his dinner until the officer had compelled them to leave. He unfortunately didn’t have as much meat on him as the three tender teens, but Anders was willing to settle for Officer Jackson if he had to.
He stalked through the skeletal remains of the rides and stalls, one eye on his prey. He enjoyed giving himself over to his wolf instincts when he hunted, but not completely. Suspending somewhere between wolf and man, enjoying the sensations both physically and cerebrally… it was a life beyond compare.
As he drew closer, he caught the man’s scent and halted.
Not a wolf, but certainly something. Something more than met the eye. Anders watched intently, intrigued. Moving closer so he could catch more of that scent.
He looked human, but he had a unique scent only another non-human would catch.
The officer continued to scan the area, checking here and there with his flashlight, but then he stopped at a collapsed piece of a long defunct ride. Jackson sniffed the air and, for a moment, Anders worried he had been scented.
But no. Seemingly satisfied that no one was there to see him, the officer rolled up one sleeve to the elbow, his brow creasing for just a moment as his arm began to swell and crack. He sprouted dark green scales and claws, and then used that huge, magnificently monstrous hand to lift the debris that no human could manage alone.
A shifter. An alligator by the looks of it.
Anders’ breath caught. He hadn’t seen another shifter since his parents had died. The green flesh mesmerized him, but the gator’s soft chuckle broke his reverie.
Jackson leaned down and stood again with a small, dirty puppy in his arms.
“Is it you that’s been haunting this place?” Officer Jackson chuckled again and set the debris back down.
Anders felt a pang of loss as Jackson’s gator arm rapidly returned to human form—that chilling power melted back into human… mediocrity. It had taken him decades to master controlling his form like that, and the gator had to be ten years his junior.
Jackson cradled the puppy in his arms and started back toward the exit at a slow pace, nonchalant. Anders found himself drawn to follow him. He was barely feet away from the officer when he realized that the pull wasn’t curiosity, and it almost winded him to acknowledge it.
He need not be alone anymore.
Anders stopped as the thought settled in his mind.
A few steps later, Jackson stopped too. “I know you’re there. Are you coming with me or do you plan to hang around here and continue scaring idiotic teenagers?”
The gator turned and cocked a brow.
Anders felt the pull grow stronger within him. Something more terrifying than anything he’d ever known. A sudden and profound fear that he might be left alone again.
The gator reached out a hand, scaled again up to his wrist. It was deep green and unexpectedly the most beautiful color Anders had ever seen.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A fascinating story with a satisfying twist. Kept me intrigued all the way through.
I kept wondering if the puppy didn’t somehow belong to the werewolf. Oddly sweet story.
I loved this. You built an entire world and gave me two protagonists to care about in the space of a couple of pages. I wanted to read on but I was also satisfied by the ending. To elicit that response takes skill. Bravo!
That ending surprised me at how poignant it was. Well done! Really enjoyed it.
I liked when he talked to the puppy–
“Is it you that’s been haunting this place?”
AWWW PUPPY!!
I wonder if the cop will keep the puppy and it will become his sidekick fighting crime. The shifter sniffer. Haha!
Curious to see how the shifters adjust to each other. Sad but hopeful story.