Flash Fic Challenge, Big Bad
Chuck Wendig had another flash fic challenge, and this is my addition to it. A little story about a werewolf, and a surprising weakness.
Fear smelled like honeyed wine. Carlo followed its bright, intoxicating trail through the dark woods, running so fast it felt like his paws barely touched the ground. Up ahead he could hear the helpless cries of his prey, hopelessly trying to escape.
Up ahead, he saw a squat square building that reeked of rotten, moldering wood. Did they think that was enough to save them? He charged towards the flimsy door, and flung himself at it with all his strength …
… and rebounded off of it as he heard a sickening crack, and felt a lightning bolt of pain strike deep inside his skull. He landed on all fours and shook his head, trying to shove away the pain, but it just settled in his jaw and kept throbbing, like his bones were full of lava. What the hell?
He didn’t smell silver, so it didn’t make sense, but he did smell blood – his own blood. He looked down, and there, right on top of a dead leaf, was a splash of his blood, and what looked to be an almost perfect fang.
Son of a bitch, he thought, but since he couldn’t speak in wolf form, it only came out a growl. Wasn’t he a supernatural being? Shouldn’t his teeth have been magically resilient or something?
With another growl, he shifted back into his human form, only to have the pain in his jaw hit him ten times worse. It felt like the entire left side of his face was on fire. How was this fair? He was a werewolf, damn it! He was a creature of the night! They didn’t go to dentists!
Carlo picked up his tooth, and cradled it in his hand as he walked back into the forest, hoping the quiet spot where he hid his clothes wasn’t far away. He was going to have to find an emergency dentist, and make up a good story about how his eyetooth just popped right out. Maybe he could say he walked into a door.
He found his clothes, and dug out his phone. He called Jake, one of his packmates, and asked him to come pick him up while he hastily got dressed. Jake only shifted when he could go up into the Cascade Range, as he preferred avoiding people.
By the time Jake reached the old logging road nearby, Carlo’s face felt radiant with pain. He was already tired of the sour taste of his own blood, and the throbbing of his heart in the empty socket. He wanted to claw his own face off to make it stop.
As soon as he opened the door of the jeep, and Jake saw his swollen face, he started laughing. “What kinda werewolf gets a toothache?” Jake asked between giggles.
“Shut up and drive” Carlo snapped, slamming his door. He just knew this was going to come up at the next pack meeting.
Suddenly, it occurred to him – would he have to get a bridge? Was he going to be a werewolf with a fake tooth?
Goddamn it. He was never going to live this down.