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!"