06/24/08 It's a full moon. The conifers on the roadside are silent. There's a white ford station wagon about 30 yards ahead, I tell my partner I'm going to investigate. Inside, there is a boy, about eight years old, with strange shining grey eyes. He tells me something. I run back to the jeep, gun drawn, to find my partner lying on his back in the road, struggling with a hulking brute with oversized jaw muscles. Bullets are fired, and in the confusion we manage to get the car started - something about needing to turn the key before pressing on the gas pedal - but Jack was done for. There was already hair growing on his sweat-covered face. I made sure not to get any saliva in my eyes and bid him farewell. On the way into town I pass a green mounty jeep full of dachshunds staring out the window, all wearing police vests. The officer driving them looked so calm. I contemplate what to spraypaint on the police station - "EVAC. NOW WERE WOLF" just doesn't have the right ring to it. I decide to haul ass to Wal-Mart instead. Camping. Jewelery. I figure silver wire wrapped around a crossbow bolt length-ways like a loom shuttle should work as well as a silver bullet, but I don't forget to buy more ammo, rope, and a grappling hook. On the way out, I mace the security guard and give a polite notice over the intercom, "Attention Wal-Mart shoppers: you have about twenty minutes before werewolves arrive in town from the west. Have a nice day!"