Happy Halloween!

A documentary crew's recount of a young woman... well... werewolf, trying to get through Halloween without gutting her neighbours... or eating the crew.

I’ve obviously been watching too much ‘What We Do In The Shadows’, and their wonderfully dry and absurdly realistic sense of humour has seeped in. This is not one of my typical horror stories; it is more of a blend of my love of horror and humour.

Happy Halloween, and I hope you enjoy it!

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“Do you have any idea how hard it is? Eh?

How really bone-crunching HARD is it NOT to hunt down the neighbours?

Especially on Halloween!

Please don’t be shocked. I know… even as documentary makers who are probably used to seeing a lot of disgusting things… you’re probably disgusted.

I know!

I’m disgusted by my own self.

But I’m trying…

I’m really, really trying not to fall into the wide arms of hell’s temptations.

I just want you to understand, like any natural-born hunter, we are forced to live amongst them… I mean, the humans—and to do that safely, it takes a lot of effort, planning and restraint!

It would be so easy on Halloween to blend in and get all hairy and run through the neighbourhood, hounding them down. A little bite here, a little nip there, and then the neighbours are just a passive walking pantry waiting to be devoured.

And no, they wouldn’t turn into werewolves; that’s just racial discrimination and profiling! If you’re born a werewolf, you stay a werewolf. If you’re born a human, you stay a walking lunch meat!

You might think I’m weak, but just think how you’d feel surrounded by chocolate and red wine people and the occasional pizza person! How would you get through a rough day and not look at your chocolate neighbours without a little drool, snap and devour action playing constantly on your mind, eh?

You couldn’t, could you? And you know it!

The cops would find you sitting in a pool of sticky milk chocolate covering the floor. Your face, smeared from ear to ear with dark pure cocoa as you sit back, patting your stomach, thinking… ‘It was worth it!’

I know that’s how I’d feel if I gave into temptation. But there are rules! Big nasty, sharp, and firey rules by which I must abide by otherwise… Well, let me put it this way. It would only take one meat packet to find out about me, and I’d end up as an expensive, slightly singed furry floor mat thoughtfully paced in front of my Lord Wearwolf’s toilet. And let me also say he has flow issues!

So, with this in mind, I remain a tempered werewolf… on most occasions. It’s just that life becomes slightly more challenging to remain restrained on Halloween.

There is no denying my life is problematic because, on top of the never-ending impact of my moon cycle and all of the usual temptations I face every day, add the fact that my damn neighbours smell so incredibly good! It’s like living next door to a KFC with an incurable case of the munchies.

And right now, I’m at the peak of my moon cycle, and my neighbours smell finger lick’n good!

I tell you what, let’s get down on the floor, and camando crawl over to the window that overlooks their house. Then you can see what I mean: total torture next door all the time!

Oh my god, there's Franky boy, the daddy of the pack, squishing his lard arse into his soccer mum's van. Oh, Frank, he’d have so much meat on him. I call him Frankfurter right to his face, and he doesn’t even know I’d cover him in sauce and wrap him in a big huge bun in seconds.

The leg hair would be a problem, but I’m sure nothing more than a toothpick and some dental floss could handle it.

He’s such an idiot; whenever I talk to him, he thinks I’m flirting with him.

Admittedly, I am ‘cause if I could get him down into the basement, it would be basting tray time.

Poor ol’ silly sausage Franky thinks if he plays his cards right, he could have a little bit of ‘alone time’ with me.

If I had alone time with you, Frankfurter… you’d be stripped to the bone!

Look, look, the kids! Sweet mother, every time I see them, they're eating some form of sugary crap, slowly packing on those delicious fatty pounds every damn day.

Honestly, I have to admit to giving them lollies sometimes because their diet hasn’t just made them overweight! It’s made them really obese. Like August Gloop portly. Like delicious chin dribbling bacon fat all over the top of soft hamburger patties chubby.

I could run them down without even breaking into a trot.

Come with me and have a little peepsy through the curtains! You’ll see exactly what I mean!

Oooow look at them lil’ piggies! Yummy, yummy.

What’s he doing?

No, little boy, don’t throw the ball around the backyard. You’ll only toughen yourself up. Just sit on the steps with your rollie-pollie sister and crack open another soda.

That’s a right, little boy, sit down and conserve those calories. Look at your pudgy little sister's fingers; they’re so plump she can barely open the soda can! My word, imagine slurping and sucking on those delicious digits… I could cure her like bacon!

Speaking of which, the mother smokes, and I’m not really into smoked meat, but the wobble on those arms. Her flippy, flappy skin calls to my tongue like the Colonels secrete sauce. In fact… If I sprinkled a little bit of chippy salt on the lot of them. Oh, my goodness, it doesn’t pay to even think about it.

Salted long pig crackling. Mmmmmmmmmm!

Sigh, but here I am again, on the floor below the window, with my guts rumbling and gurgling like a mini volcano.

I’m just so pathetic.

I’ve spent years in training so I could live a ‘normal life’ in ‘human society’. But now… with a full moon coming… and all the bullshit at work… I’m SO HUNGRY! The chocolate people are calling to me loud and clear!

Arrrrrooooooooowwwwww!

Sorry, sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. It’s okay you don’t have to back away from me. Just excuse me for a minute. I have to escape from the temptation of this window and crawl under the kitchen table.

I’m so disgusted by myself. I’m so ashamed. I’m an addict, you know! I’m just a poor girl who needs a 12-step program!

Sorry, I gotta go break out a rescue pack of lab toes. They are as disgusting as any meat grown in a beaker could possibly be, but they’re my nicotine patch. If I just lay here under the table for a minute or two sucking on the toes, I’ll be okay.

Please don’t judge me! Curling up under the table and licking my toes centres me- calms me even. But honestly, if we’re being truthful to each other… I’m really considering not chaining myself up in the basement come the full moon.

Don’t panic! You don’t have to keep an eye on the front door; you’re not at risk.

It’s just a naughty thought.

I mean, I will lock myself up… by three today.

Well, maybe by four.

Definitely, by half-five, I’ll be locked up tight.

Down there in that cold… cool, spider-infested basement.

All by myself.

All alone.

And hungry with an empty tum-tum.

Don’t look at me like that! I’m not a monster, you know!

…Well, technically, I am.

But I haven’t fed this week… on anything except the toes… well, anything who had a… postal address… mostly. Okay, the guy in the mail room at work last night, but he was totally digested, and his bones burped up by 2 am this morning!

In my defence, he was really annoying, and no one at work liked him! And apart from being skinny, he smelt bad ‘cause he lives… lived in the boiler room. I was practically doing him and everyone else a favour!

And frankly, here’s a word to the wise: he shouldn’t have harped on at me that I should fire my beautician because my upper lip hair looked like a waxed handlebar moustache. Everyone at work thought he was funny… Let's see him laugh now.

Well… he can’t cause I ate his face first, but you know what I mean.

I'm just gonna take a toe with me back to the window so we can watch the piglets. I mean kids. Remember to commando crawl; keep it low.

Sigh… look at them; they’re so soft, pink and squishy.

It’s really hard to get rid of feet.

I know, random thought, right… you’d think the skull would be the tricky part, but for some reason, nope, it’s the feet.

Especially the toenails, those lil suckers stick in your hair, and then a week later, when you're trying to get some money out of the bank, and the bank teller is looking at you like you’re the biggest looser in town when a toenail drop down on the counter. The bank teller raises what’s left of her overly plucked eyebrows and is like, “What’s that?” And you're like, “Oh.. um…” And she’s like, “Is that a toenail that just fell out of your hair?” And your like… “Yes, yes, it is.” And by that time, everyone in the whole entire bank is looking at you; the only lame-arsed reason you can come up with is that you’re a podiatrist who likes to take their work home.

It's okay, I’ve changed banks.

It’s just so hard being a werewolf.

I just get sick and tired of being “Good all the time.” And truthfully, the people next door, they kinda deserve to be hunted down, ripped apart and consumed sashimi style! You know, they really kinda do! Like honestly, I’d be doing society a favour, totally doing the world a kindness!

If I just ate them a little bit.

Just a little bit.

Like a nibble.

Or maybe just a suck or lick or maybe a big long wet slurpy! Oh fuck no, the boy just saw me wigging out.”

“Mommy?”

“Oh, hell.”

“Mommy, what is that weird lady next door licking the glass in her window and giving me the thumbs up every time I drink my soda?”

“Ignore her honey, she’s a weirdo.”

“Damn it.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

What the hell am I gonna do? I can’t lock myself up now; it’s not even lunchtime!

I know, to your eyes, laying down here below the window makes me seem so pathetic. But it’s the withdrawals man. This pain is real! Ooo, I wanna lil’ nibble. Just a little crunchy, crunchy.

I know!

I’ll order a pizza, and when the driver knocks on my door, I’ll pull him in, rip his guts out and eat it down in one big, long, sucky slurp.

…Maybe I should ask for garlic bread with my order. And a side salad. Like potato.

No, wait, I can’t call him straight to my house. When he didn’t return to work, they’d know exactly where to look, and besides, I hate potato salad.

Rrrrrooowrrrr.

Oh, my goodness, I just growled.

It’s okay, you're okay, you’re not in danger, but this is getting serious; excuse me for one second whilst I crawl back to my toe jar.

Okay.

 It’s okay.

The toes aren’t working, but don’t worry. I have an emergency can of dog food in the kitchen.

Don’t you look at me like that!

Don’t you judge me!

GrrrrrRrrrooowrrr.

Oh, goodness golly gosh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to growl at you. It’s just the need is building. Hang on. The can is open; you can look away if you need to.

Look at all that glorious jelly. Oh, feel it slipping down my throat!

What? Who’s that knocking at my door?

Hang on, please, I need to wash the dog food… I mean meatloaf down with a lap of… I mean, drink of water.

Oh, look… its a Mormon! And he’s by himself. All alone. Let’s open the door and wrench him in!”

“Hello, Mam.”

“Well, hello, sailor. Did you drive your car here?”

“No, Mam, I rode my bike.”

“Did you now… all by yourself?”

“Yes, Mam, exercise is not only good for your soul… it’s good for the body as well.”

“Mmm, yes, you look very tasty… I mean trim, like fit.”

“Mam? I was wondering if I could come into your find home and talk to you about the Lord?”

“Does your Lord know you’re here, though? Like, do they know my address here?”

“Ahh, no, Mam, but if you let me in, I can talk to you about the salvation of your soul.”

“Could you now? Like, come in and…  Shit! Frankfurter has pulled up in his soccer van and is eyeballing me. Alright, everyone, smile and wave.

Hi Frankfurter, how are you? I’m just being interviewed by this documentary crew and saved by this delivery man.”

“Missionary, Mam, I’m a missionary!”

“That’s right, delicious!

Frank, this missionary man wants to come in and save my soul, and then he’s gonna be on his way, never to return to this suburb again. Almost as if he’s disappeared!

Don’t you worry, Frank, stay in your crappy minivan, drive into your garage, don’t even smile or wave at me, just keep looking at me like I’m some kinda lunatic!

…Which, I guess, is technically correct because I’m seriously under lunar control.

“Please come in, Mr More…man.”

“Thank you, Mam, you’re so gracious.”

“Please follow me into the kitchen, where there’s lots of tiles and easy-to-clean surfaces.

I’m just gonna set out the toothpicks and dental floss on the counter whilst you fiddled with something under your black trench coat, you naughty naughty boy.

Get the wide lens on cameraman; you're gonna need it to record this little frenzy!

So… umm, tell me More…man… man, you ever gotten naked and been covered with BBQ sauce? It could be kinda fun, you know.

Do you find that funny More…man… man?

“No, I was just wondering if you’d ever been covered in holy water and set on fire?”

“Pardon? Why are you waving your canteen at me?

What the hell! This is a silk shirt, you jerk! I’m entirely saturated. Why the hell are you waving that silver cross at me… hey is it just that your hand is shaking so much?”

“Die demon. Go back to the hell from which you came. Repent and walk upon this earth in your deathly form no more.”

“You’re an idiot. Look at this staining! This tracksuit cost me an arm and a leg! Well… actually, it was someone else’s arm, leg and wallet that paid for it, but it’s still mine!”

Ow, you jerk, that hurt! Why the hell did you throw that cross at me? I haven’t done anything to you. …Yet!”

“Burn devils spawn, burn! I repulse you with this string of garlic grown in the holly garden of the Vatican.”

“Oh please, hang on, I just need to wipe my face dry of holy water. Cameraman, do you need one too? You know, More…man… man, you’re very reckless! Cameras are very expensive. Look at my cameraman friend; he’s backing away from you in case you do something really stupid.

Let me explain how it is.

I’m a werewolf; you’re a twit.

Garlic, holy water and crosses are for vampires.

Did you bring a gun with silver bullets?”

“No.”

“No. I didn’t think so. And now you’re panicking and looking around for help, but these guys have all signed water-tight contracts not to interfere with my daily life or needs, and they also can’t tell anyone about what I am or what I do!

So tell me, who told you I was a vampire?”

“I can’t say that would betray my sacred trust and a vampire hunter code.”

“Excuse me. Excuse me, Sir… have you steaked her yet? Eh? Have you?”

“Oh, I see… it was my neighbours.

Excuse me; I have to lean out of my kitchen window here and leer as evilly as I possibly can without laughing and shout - Run, little piggies, run ‘cause I’m coming for ya!

Hey, look at them… they can actually run. Oh my gosh, look at the wobble on Frank!

Now, where were we? Ah yes! You see, fella, I kinda like living a normal life. I don’t want people throwing water or garlic or, for that matter, bullets at me, so… I’m afraid I’m gonna have to lock you in my basement and keep you for dessert!

But before I do, can I ask you a question?”

“Ahhh?”

“Did that hurt?”

“What?”

WHACK

“Did you see that? One slap, and he’s down! Ahahah! Down to the basement, that is. Safely behind lock and key so I can find out a little bit more about him.

What? Me, eat him?

No… not at all!

You’re not coming back here tomorrow, are you?

No, no, I didn’t think so.

Ha!

No, me and Mister Vampire Hunter are just gonna have a little conversation; he will be perfectly safe because I’m gonna be as full as I can be. And do you know why that is?

‘Cause…

I’m going on a picnic, a picnic, a picnic. I’m going on a picnic, an’ I’m gonna eat eyeballs!”

Arroooooooooow!

Did you hear that terrified squeal escaped the neighbour’s house? I’m so happy! So very happy cause now all bets are off. I only have to follow one rule!

‘If found out – destroy all evidence!’

Come and film this; let’s walk over to the neighbours, and once I’m on their front veranda, I’m gonna drag one of my big nails along the siding. Oh my goodness, look at that mark, that scratch’s gonna take sanding and putty to fix!

Are any of you film crew guys looking for a cheap house to buy?

Hmm?

Cause this one’s gonna go on the market once a concerned neighbour phones up the authorities and lets them know the owners, who were suspected drug lords, have taken off and abandoned it!

Little pigs, little pigs, let me in, or I’ll huff and puff and bend down and pick up your spare key from under this fake rock and let myself in.”

Oh, look at that, the door just glides open!

Nice work, Frank! …Oh, you’re too busy pushing your family through the garage door and into your minivan to notice. Don’t worry, Frankfurter, the film crew noticed and got it on film in glorious colour!

You know there’s nothing more I love to do than chase and chase! Watch me in fast-action mode. I’m gonna chase the neighbours and plonk myself right into the minivan’s driver’s seat whilst mummy and daddy are busy clicking and clunking their little ones into their booster seats.

Here we go…

Hi folks!

Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you could open your eyes that wide Frankfurter.

I know it’s a shock seeing me, isn’t it?

Well, Frankfurter and Mrs Frankfurter, you can either get in the van and come with your kids or watch me drive away with them! The choice is yours.

Awww, look at you being such a caring mummy and daddy! Now put on your safety belts and wave to the nice camera crew whilst I push the electric garage door opener.

How about we go out trick or treating? Eh?

Well, that’s a lie!

How about I take you into the national forest, let you out and allow you a five-minute head start before I hunt you down? Now, doesn’t that sound like fun?”

…Sorry, crew, we’ll have to part ways now ‘cause there’s not enough to go around, but I’ll let you know when the house comes on the market!

Happy Halloween!

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Thanks so much for reading - If you really want some Horror in Your Life - here’s a selection of my other work.