The Halloween Collection (10 page)

“Good goin’, Ralphie!” Buster, the number
two dominant male of their pack, snarled from across the circle,
before he paused to frantically gnaw a hot spot on his tailbone. He
turned his menacing glare back to Ralphie while spitting out a
chunk of brown fur. “That’s the third sofa cushion you’ve crusted
this week.”

“I didn’t crust this one,” Ralphie spat. Of
all the wolves in his pack, he liked Buster the least. That mutt
was always tormenting him. And unfortunately, he and Buster were
both interning at the same discount shoe warehouse. More than once,
he’d mocked him in front of their co-workers. He’d never get hired
on full-time if one of his own pack members couldn’t show him
respect.

Buster flashed a sarcastic snarl before his
malevolent gaze settled on the sofa. “Maybe later I’ll have a go at
her.”

Heat infused Ralphie’s face as the instinct
to defend his prize surged red hot anger through his skull. He rose
to all fours and growled. “She’s mine!”

“Enough!” A hush fell about the room as
Alpha’s booming voice shook the air. He leveled each of the wolves
a challenging glare before settling on his throne, his mom’s
hand-me-down, rattan rocking chair with thickly padded floral
cushions.

Buster circled around the group until he was
seated at Alpha’s helm. He shot Ralphie a smug look, reminding the
lesser dog that he was only one floral cushion away from becoming
leader of the pack.

“Wolf brothers.” Alpha straightened his
spine and held his snowy white head in a regal manner while using
his front paw to steadily rock his throne. “I’ve called this
meeting tonight to discuss a few concerns.”

Ralphie shifted, uncomfortably aware that
every eye in the room had settled on him. He focused his gaze on
his furry black paws, knowing if he pretended to play invisible,
they’d lose interest and ignore him.

When Alpha cleared his throat, Ralphie, and
thankfully, the others, quickly gave the top dog their undivided
attention.

“You all remember,” Alpha continued, “that
last week my mom said we can’t meet in her basement anymore if we
keep pissing on her carpet.” Alpha’s gaze shot to the corner of the
room. “Skippy!” he barked.

The rest of the pack turned their heads in
time to see a scraggly tan wolf lowering his hind leg, a trail of
piss clearly running down the side of the white wicker coffee
table.

“Sorry, Alpha,” Skippy whined. “I
forgot.”

Alpha rolled his pale eyes. “Go get some
disinfectant and clean that up before my mom finds out.” Then,
Alpha turned his angry glare on a plump grey wolf sitting in front
of Ralphie. “Patches, Dr. Baker called and said you bit him when he
tried to give you a rabies vaccine.”

Patches hung his head. “I hate needles.”

“Don’t. Do it. Again.” Alpha’s harsh,
unwavering voice left no room for disobedience.

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Patches whimpered.

“As you all know,” Alpha said, “tomorrow
night the moon will be full.”

At the promise of a full moon, every wolf in
the room howled in anticipation.

“You also know,” Alpha lowered his voice,
his tone becoming more somber, serious. “Tomorrow is Halloween
night.”

The wolves growled.

Though other immortals and ghouls celebrated
Halloween as a night of demonic mayhem and depravity, werewolves
loathed Halloween. That was the night they usually got their asses
kicked.

“The vampires and zombies will be out in
full force and up to their old tricks,” Alpha warned. “If they try
to cause any trouble, you know the drill.”

“Snarl, bite, then run from the fight,” the
wolves collectively chanted.

“That’s right,” Alpha nodded. “Zombies can
crush us with one fatal blow. And vampires.” Alpha shuddered as all
of the fur along his spine stood up on end. “They get laid way more
often than us, so they must be pretty badass. Get away from them as
fast as you can, and whatever you do, don’t lead them to our den!
If they find out where we live, we’ll all be roadkill,” he ended on
a shrill whine.

Alpha’s palpable fear jumped off his fur in
erratic currents, startling Ralphie all the way down to the marrow
in his bones. He hated Halloween. He didn’t know which was worse,
the monsters or the mortals. Every year without fail, some little
shithead mortal kid played a Trick-or-Treat prank on him. He
couldn’t help it that he didn’t have the money for candy. He
couldn’t even afford to buy sofa cushions, so he was forced to do
all his humping at Alpha’s house. Even if he did have the money for
candy, he’d be damned if was going to give it all away to stupid
mortal brats.

“And for our last order of business,” Alpha
groaned. “It seems a member of our pack has developed a taste for
pillow fantasies.”

Once again, all eyes of the pack settled on
Ralphie.

Ralphie bristled. “Why’s everyone staring at
me?”

“Ralphie,” Alpha sighed while shaking his
head. “This has become too serious to ignore.”

Ralphie puffed out his chest. “Those wenches
needed to be taught a lesson!”

“I’m sorry, Ralphie,” Alpha shrugged. “We
met without you earlier today and made a decision.”

“W-what?” Meeting without him? Ralphie was
crushed. He’d never been left out of the pack meetings before. His
gaze shot to Buster, who was smiling triumphantly beneath Alpha’s
chair. Ralphie repressed the urge to attack the traitorous mutt.
Buster was behind all this. He knew it.

“You need to get laid,” Alpha said.

“I was about to,” Ralphie growled, “before
you interrupted us.”

“By a
real
girl.” Alpha grumbled, “not a sofa
cushion.”

Ralphie’s jaw dropped. “A real girl? Girls
don’t like werewolves, Alpha. Only vampires get laid. You know
that.”

But Ralphie could tell by the hardened set
of Alpha’s jaw and the rigid determination in his pale eyes, he and
the pack were already set on a course of action.

“We’re giving you twenty-four hours to find
a girl,” Alpha said in a stentorian tone. “If you don’t get laid by
tomorrow night, you’re paying a visit to Dr. Baker.”

“Ralphie’s getting snipped!” Buster
snickered.

Ralphie shot to all fours. Flattening his
ears against the back of his skull, he growled. “You can’t do
that!”

“Sorry, Ralphie,” Alpha winced. “My mom went
to fluff the pillows yesterday and she was freaking out! I was
freaking, too. Come on, dog, your spluge was all over my mom’s
hand.”

Ralphie swallowed a knot which had formed in
his throat. He didn’t know how he could cope without his beloved
nut sack. “I’ll get my own pillows.”

“Ralphie,” Patches interjected, “you’ve got
a problem.”

“Yeah, dog,” Buster laughed, “you’re one
sick pup.”

“Come on, guys,” Ralphie pleaded. “I’ll
change.”

Alpha jumped down from his throne and slowly
circled Ralphie while issuing a challenging growl. “I’ve already
made the appointment with Dr. Baker. The only way I’m canceling it
is if you fuck a real girl.”

“Yeah,” Buster sneered, “and bring her here
so we know you ain’t lying.”

Ralphie hung his head in shame. Turning, he
fled through the doggie door that led to Alpha’s backyard. He
whimpered, needing to be alone, not only so he could drag his ass
across the brittle lawn in hopes of wiping the crusted turd nuggets
off his matted indigo fur, but so he could absorb the sting of his
Alpha’s words.

He loved his balls. He loved licking them.
He couldn’t imagine a life without them. And worse, he couldn’t
live a shell of his previous existence, devoid of humping his
beloved sofa cushions. Ralphie was in trouble deep.

Releasing a slow exhale, he thought up a
plan. All he needed to do was prove he got laid and then they’d
leave his balls alone. Maybe, after a few weeks, they’d forget
their grudge and he could resume making sweet love to his beautiful
stuffed, velvety concubines.

In the meantime, all he had to do was the
impossible.

Find a girl desperate and pathetic enough to
have sex with him.

Great,
he thought.
This should be easy.

At least he knew where to start. Tomorrow
night he’d cruise the bars on the shitty end of town.

There was bound to be a fat or old chick
who’d sleep with him. For the love of his cushions, he had to
try.

* * *

Today is the shittiest day of my life.

Ralphie heaved a sigh while he continued to
feel sorry for himself.

Other than waking with the nagging fear that
tomorrow he was going to have his manhood forcibly ripped from his
body, the day didn’t start out too badly.

That was, until he’d spent the morning
dodging the neighbor kid’s projectile loogies on the way to the bus
stop. The little brat had made him late, and he’d missed the bus to
work and had to walk the three miles on two human feet.

He hated being a human. He hated the coarse,
unruly black scalp hair that never seemed to be tamed, even with
the best bargain-brand hair gels. He hated his wiry frame and big
clumsy feet, but most of all, he hated the many acne scars that
made his face look the remnants of a war zone. Nobody could see his
scars underneath his wolf fur, but Alpha strictly enforced the
rules—no shifting outside the wolf den. Since his entire pack lived
near Ralphie’s mom’s house, he knew if he shifted to his wolf form,
he risked the chance of getting caught. Too bad, because he could
have made the trip to work in less than half the time on four legs.
But what would the pack do to him if they caught him shifting? He
shuddered at the thought.

After all, the pack had already decided
they’d rather see him emotionally and physically scarred for life
than take the chance of losing a few pillows.

Ralphie returned to his task of stacking
boxes in the stockroom. By day’s end, he would have the biggest
fortress of shoe boxes ever built, complete with a master bedroom
and a den. And nobody was allowed inside. Not even Buster, no
matter how much he begged.

“Hey, Ralphie.”

Ralphie looked through the window of his box
fortress when he recognized Raven’s cool, serpentine voice. She
sipped on an iced mocha latte while leaning on a perfectly even
stack of discounted imitation snake skin boots.

Ralphie swore under his breath. One wrong
move and his fake snake window-sill would be toast.

“Hey,” he answered flatly.

He really wasn’t in the mood to be harassed
by the head of the women’s shoe department, AKA, Queen Bitch. Even
though she was the hottest chick he’d ever worked with, especially
when she wore tight leather pants that framed her perfectly round
and cushiony ass, he was definitely not interested in making small
talk with Raven. She was as heartless as she was hot. Besides, he
wasn’t into the wanna-be-vamp pale-faced goth look. She tried way
too hard to look like an immortal—always wearing leather and huge
old people sunglasses, refusing to walk outside without SPF 100
sunblock and a hooded, baby seal coat.

“Need any help?” Raven still hadn’t taken
the hint that he wanted to be alone. She was actually eyeing his
edifice with mock interest.

“Nope,” he answered tersely.

“Word around the store is that you’re
getting snipped.”

Ralphie’s gaze shot to her cold, pointed
stare.
Damn
Buster
. He made a mental note to piss in Buster’s juice box
when he wasn’t looking.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he
whimpered.

“How about we go someplace quiet after
work?” she rasped while running one long, pale finger across the
edge of the window-sill. “I can take your mind off your
troubles.”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “I got to go to a bar
and troll for sluts.”

She quirked a brow while playfully biting on
her bottom lip. “Mind if I tag along?”

For some strange reason, all the hairs on
Ralphie’s neck stood on end, and his animal instincts told him to
beware. But not many hot chicks, actually no hot chicks, had ever
asked to hang out with him at bars before. Having her around might
actually make him look more desirable and help him get lucky with a
real girl.

“Sure, I guess you can come,” he
answered.

“Great.” She flashed a dazzling, pearly
white smile. “I know this really cool bar called Immortals. Have
you heard of it?”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “I’m sticking to
The Pit. Too many vamps go to Immortals.”

“You don’t like vamps?” she asked in a
petulant voice.

“They’re my mortal enemies, Raven.”

“Oh.” Her jaw dropped and her eyes bugged,
as she made a big show of demonstrating her surprise. “I didn’t
know that.”

He nodded while fashioning a pretend rocking
chair for himself out of overstocked flip-flops. “That and they’re
the bloodsucking spawns of Satan.”

“Whatever,” she hissed, before snapping the
paper coffee cup in her crushing grip.

Iced mocha latte splattered everywhere,
including all over his brown corduroy dress jacket.

“Damn,” he cried. “This is my only good
jacket.”

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t know my own
strength.” She ducked behind the window and stepped around the
fortress before slipping inside the narrow doorway. “Let me clean
that.” She held out her hand.

“No.” He shrieked back, acting as if one
touch from her cold, pale fingers would scald his skin. “I’ll take
it to the dry cleaners on my lunch break. I wanted to wear this
tonight.”

“Okay.” She stepped back out of his fortress
and walked toward the exit, the sway of her hips more exaggerated
than ever as she called over her shoulder. “I’ll meet you at The
Pit around eight?”

“Fine.”

He blew out a pent-up and shaky breath after
she’d closed the door behind her. He had no idea why he was acting
so skittish around Raven. Sure, she was evil. She’d proven that on
plenty of different occasions. Like the time she fed silica gel to
an infant when his mom was trying on shoes. Or the many other times
she’d tried to bite off his fingers when he’d forgotten to stack
the shoe boxes in order from smallest size to largest.