Werewolves Versus

In this brief excerpt of Juan C. Moreno's story from WEREWOLVES VERSUS: FASHION, an act of human kindness is repaid with inhuman generosity.

The teen scanned the trees. I froze, and so did she when she found me. We stared at each other, each waiting for the other to move first.

“Shawna, is everything okay?” a woman asked from the nearest cabin. “Shawna?”

I bolted and settled into nearby cover while Shawna was distracted.

“Yeah, Mom, just a rabbit,” Shawna said. “No worries.”

With my heightened hearing, it was easy to pick up conversations inside the cabin, even from a distance. Shawna never mentioned me to her mother that afternoon, or to her father when he returned with a pair of rabbits. As the family cooked dinner, I hid in the darkness and listened.

Every night, I overheard their laughter, their hardships, and their warmth. It always made me smile, just peeking into their lives and seeing love. They weren’t werewolves, but they seemed kind.

I followed them as the days turned brisk and their supplies stretched thin. The first snowflakes of the year fell, and I was thankful for my winter fur. It made nights of eavesdropping bearable, but it did nothing for the cold I felt inside.

Whenever I could, I left rabbits at the woodpile for Shawna. She always looked around and whispered her thanks.

One night, Shawna’s father said a storm was coming, so he and Shawna planned to hunt the next day. That morning, I watched them get ready from afar. Before they left, Shawna placed a bundle on the wood-chopping stump.

When they disappeared, I snatched the bundle and retreated.

Inside I found a pair of ripped jeans and an old flannel shirt. There was a note, too.

“Don’t know if you get cold. I hope everything fits, it’s all we can spare,” it read.

Aside from the gown I still carried, I wasn’t much different from an animal. But there, holding that shirt, I knew it wasn’t too late for me. I was more than a wolf or a girl, and I didn’t have to be alone anymore.

I heard a distant shot, and I soon found the hunters and their prey. Unfortunately, while Shawna had mortally wounded the elk, it ran over a steep cliff before expiring. With no easy way to retrieve it and the storm closing in, the hunters reluctantly abandoned their kill, probably praying their traps had caught enough food to last them.

It took me all day in the blowing snow to recover the elk, and a few hours more at night to reach the cabins. Thanks to my coat and clothes, I didn’t mind.

I knocked on the door. Despite the wind, I heard the family freeze. A rifle bolt clacked, and there were urgent whispers. I hid behind the elk as the door creaked open. Light blinded me, and Shawna’s mother gasped.

“So,” Shawna’s father said, “you’re the one to thank for the extra food in our pot? And, it seems like we owe you a helluva lot more.” He pointed to the elk and lowered his rifle. “Where are my manners? Come inside, it’s freezing.”

The Hawkins family welcomed me with open arms, not seeming to mind my... nature. They told me everything about the world, everything I’d missed. Just as autumn turned to winter, the world had changed. Darkness, death, and cold gripped everyone.

I could have stayed alone, living a wolf’s life. I’m not sure how long I would have lasted, but I could’ve done it.Civilization was in chaos, not my woods. However, the part of me that kept the tattered gown and accepted Shawna’s gift knew it wasn’t right. I couldn’t run away forever.

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From David McCoy's story from WEREWOLVES VERSUS: THE CIRCUS: Johnny works up the courage to share something personal with his boyfriend while on a date at the fair, but a mysterious prize booth might complicate things...

Cass found the prize-booth nestled in a far corner. The stall’s sign read “Silver Bullet,” rendered with a grim font in metallic grey despite the surrounding plush toys. It was a simple shooting gallery with elevating rows and suburban homes on each end. There were no other customers lining up to brandish a plastic light gun.

The slim man behind the counter caught Cass's gaze. Rather than barking out some corny advertising, the man just nodded. A silent invitation to pull the trigger.

“They made a game off that movie?” Johnny remarked.

“What movie?”

“The Stephen King one.” Cass couldn’t tell if his look of surprise was fake or not. “It's real goofy. We'll watch it tonight.”

“Not sure if more movies is a good idea.”

“Hey, you two!” The booth attendant called. “If y'all want a good idea, might I suggest...” he waved his arms, showing off the game. Then he held out his hand. “Five bucks for a round.”

Affordable, but Cass spied his boyfriend's skeptical reaction. Before Johnny could object, Cass took out his wallet.

“I don't need to explain a shooting range, right?” the attendant continued as he took the money. “Fifteen points for the top shelf prizes, ten for the middle, etcetera.” He turned a key below the counter. “Shoot the moon to start.”

Cass aimed at the moon beside the score display and pulled the trigger. A small laser dot blipped on its surface then a poorly recorded howl played. Quickly, cutouts of a kid in a wheelchair, a little girl, and a man with a bottle popped up. Between them, werewolves dashed from houses on each row. For five bucks it was over just as it began, and Cass's score of four sat under the threshold for the lowest-tiered prize.

“Woof. Didn't say it was easy, bud,” the attendant shrugged. “Five to try again.”

Johnny side-hugged Cass. “There's other games, babe.”

“Hang on!” The man behind the booth lit up. “You guys’re really a couple?”

Cass and Johnny exchanged a look. Johnny was right. Cass set the gun back and would've checked out the other stalls for a present, but the attendant pulled a small box onto the counter.

“Wait, no, that's perfect, ya see. Listen,” he quickly said, “I have a, uh, couple's special! Worth more than any of this stuffed trash.”

Cass looked back at this offer. The attendant held a necklace by the string, weighed down by an iridescent, thumbnail-sized jewel set into a shining grey pendant. It was beautiful enough to reel Cass back in.

“It's a genuine moonstone, and real silver.” The attendant let the couple get a better look. The stone became the eye for the silver wolf-shape. Its opulent quality enthralled Cass. It was infinitely superior to the toys hanging on the booth. Even the string had a reddish-brown hue, like a strip of faux leather rather than a cheap thread. Hanging from Johnny's neck it'd be perfect. “Or so some lady told me,“ the man continued. “Her family apparently makes them and when she took a loss here, too, she insisted I take it. But I’m not into stuff like this, and maybe y’all are, if ya wanna try for it!”

Read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: THE CIRCUS, available for $1 or more at Itch.io! Your purchase will benefit all of the contributors to this issue.

It’s time for the last time! The final issue of this project, WEREWOLVES VERSUS: EVERYTHING, is officially accepting submissions.

What is “everything”? Well, anything. The theme is intentionally broad to encourage an "anything goes" vibe, but if you'd like a reference point, the cover art will look like if the Doom 2016 OST was a painting about werewolves. If it didn’t collide with an existing project, the theme would have been “The Apocalypse”. The goal is high-energy chaos, catharsis, horror, giddy surreality, fangs and claws bared, apocalyptic conflicts, blood and paint in fur.

To submit your original work for consideration, simply check out these guidelines:

L.F. Gardner’s story from WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE puts the reader in the pelt of a werewolf prepared – eager, even – to defend its territory from particularly unwelcome invaders.

You would like to think you’re some sort of vigilante. A hero that swoops in to stop the evil-doers. You’re not; you’re just hungry. There is no line of reasoning that can justify what you do - you’re just hungry.

You smell Hemlock - Tsuga canadensis. The bark of this tree can be used to treat colds and fevers.

It’s not like you eat somebody every time. Only when somebody is stupid enough to be there. They know by now. The papers published it six months ago - GRUESOME ATTACK AT NATURE SANCTUARY. Really, if they’re here, they’re asking for trouble. Asking to see you. Asking for you to see them.

You smell White Birch - Betula papyrifera. The bark of this tree can be used as an anti-inflammatory agent. It is also a diuretic and a laxative.

It’s their own fault for being here. This is a State Park. They come here after dark to drink, and carve their names in trees, and have sex, and paint their names on rocks. They come here to destroy.

You smell White Oak - Quercus alba. This tree’s wood is popular for flooring, lumber, and interior woodworking.

The leaf litter crunches under your feet despite your best efforts. You are trying to walk slowly and purposefully, but you are excited. You’re excited because you’re hungry, and you’re excited because you hate them. They come here to destroy.

You smell Red Oak - Quercus rubra. The acorns of this tree offer a food source for a variety of animals, including humans who know how to prepare them.

A short laugh! You heard it! The laugh came from the northwest. There must be more than one if they are laughing like that. More than one here to destroy. More than one challenging you.

You smell White Pine - Pinus strobus. The needles of this pine tree are full of vitamin C.

Your paws are fast and your ears are sharp - you can hear their chatter. What are they talking about? School? Sports? Television? Will they hear your approach? You will need to be completely silent. They are not fools - they’ve seen the newspaper articles; they know it is not safe here.

From WEREWOLVES VERSUS: THE CIRCUS: enjoy this snippet of Stephanie Gallon's beautiful fairytale about lost children, a travelling circus, and a wolf monster's kind regard.

The morning light was gentle. It coaxed the sleeping children awake, warming their faces. Sabine awoke with a start regardless.

‘Good morning, darling,’ Lily said, dipping a cloth in a pail.

‘Where are we? What have you done to them?’

‘Nothing! Oh dearie, dearie no. We rescued you! From the terrible blaze! Don’t you remember?’

Sabine closed her eyes. Snippets of flame and screams.

No children.

Never a child’s cry.

‘There was a fire… and blood.’

‘I’m afraid men fear what they don’t understand. And there is little that is understandable about Lucille’s wolfish form. Come. Come, come.’ She beckoned Sabine closer, holding the cloth in her hand. ‘You were fevered through the night. You need this.’

Sabine gingerly shuffled forward. She cast eyes over the children, counting each angelic face. All there; all safe.

‘Where are we?’

‘A safe place. You are welcome to leave. After you’ve been seen to.’

‘What happened to the adults?’

‘Most survived. The ones who stayed to brawl with spectres… I’m afraid man is no match for fire.’ She dabbed the cloth over Sabine’s forehead. It came away blackened from soot.

‘That monster. Did she kill them?’

‘Now, don’t say that. That’s not very kind. It was your village folk that started the blaze. Besides.’ Her smile was knowing and gentle. ‘Lucille called you a beautiful dream.’

Read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: THE CIRCUS, available for $1 or more at Itch.io! Your purchase will benefit all of the contributors to this issue.

As you can see from this cropped teaser image, H. K. “Kyoht” Luterman’s illustration “Werewolves Versus Nature” is the perfect literal interpretation of our 8th issue, WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE.

You can see the whole image and much more in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE! It’s available for $1+ on Gumroad and Itch.io. Your purchase of this issue will benefit all of its contributors.

Circus clown and aspiring lion-tamer Elijah is facing a puzzle: what sort of creature could disappear from a sealed crate without a trace? Find the answer in Viergacht’s WEREWOLVES VERSUS: THE CIRCUS story.

When had it all begun to go wrong? Thinking back, he decided it was the day the shipment of new animals to replace the ones lost to the fire had arrived from the Hagenbeck, the well-known trapper and breeder of exotic wildlife in Germany.

Eager to see the new stock, Eli had climbed to the top of the large metal cage that was usually set up in the ring. He could see everything from this lofty perch.

“Stay up there, boytjie, or he’ll eat you up whole,” van Ryneveld shouted over the angry squalls of the black panther.

“This one’s empty,” the inspecting vet called.

Immediately van Ryneveld rushed over to where some of the junior animal handlers stood around kicking through the straw of a crate as though expecting to find the missing animal hiding underneath.

“That’s a damned puzzle,” the gaffer, Beswick finally said. “There’s no way it could have gotten loose, but it passed customs so something must have been in there at some point. It must have died, doc, don’t you think, somewhere along the way, and someone just tossed it?”

“And left the empty cage for us to find,” the vet asked skeptically.

“Cage might have been too heavy to move. Hell, maybe they chopped it up and fed it to the other meat-eaters.”

The men lit cigarettes and stood around discussing it for a while, but eventually came round to the same conclusion as Beswick - the animal had died, and someone disposed of the body. Only van Ryneveld remained after the others wandered off to deal with other issues, frowning at the shipping label.

“What do you think, boss?” Elijah peered down at the old man’s craggy face, but his expression was unreadable.

“P’haps, p’haps. But one thing troubles me, boytjie.The crate’s labelled “bear”, but there’s no bears in Africa.” He shook his head, his gaze distant; on the other side of the world. Elijah wondered what the old man was pondering.

Read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: THE CIRCUS! You can download the entire issue for one dollar (or more, if you like) on Gumroad or Itch.io! Your purchase will benefit all of the contributors to this issue.

There is a version of yourself that no one else ever sees. In C. Schalk’s story for WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE, a young man named Travis hikes in search of a place where he can become that version of himself, fully.

It’s cooler, further in. The trail is easy to follow, if not especially consistent. Back by the parking lot, there was more gravel and stone, but that ceded to clay and tree roots before long, and now mostly pine needles.

He checks the map again, mostly for practice. The campsite is a long way out yet, but not so far that he needs to hurry. He can take all the time he likes.

He is not, past excursions have taught him, a fast hiker. Always eventually at the back of the pack, focusing less on what’s around him and more on the person ahead of him, and whether he’s keeping pace.

This time, the only pace that matters is his own.

He can pick out at least ten birdcalls—cackles, chitters, beeps. He wishes he knew their names. He wants to know the names of the shaggy-barked trees leaning over the trail, of the butterflies with the black flag wings. Of whatever is making that humming sound.

Eventually the carpet of pine needles thins, revealing soft duff underneath. He pauses, considers. Unties his shoes, slips out of his socks.

No one asks, Wow, barefoot, really? Doesn’t that hurt? Won’t that ruin your arches? Straightening up, he closes his eyes and flexes his toes, luxuriating in the texture of the cool, downy soil—and in the silence. The absence of anyone to explain himself to.

He ties the ratty old running shoes to a loop in the backpack, turns back to the trail. Pauses. He glances down at his now-bare ankles, then back the way he has come. He’s doing math in his head.

No. Someone might still come by. This will have to do for now.

You can read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE! It's available for $1+ on Gumroad and Itch.io. Your purchase of this issue will benefit all of its contributors.

Warmth

This cropped teaser image of the Daze system’s art provides a glimpse of serenity amidst the muddy, clawed chaos of WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE.  

Buy Cruelty-Free

Sara Helmy's intricate, energetic illustration from WEREWOLVES VERSUS: FASHION could be considered a discussion of the intersection between lycanthropy and ethics.

You can buy the entire 149-page issue for $1+ on Gumroad or Itch. Proceeds from each sale are shared amongst contributors!

The instincts of a newly-made werewolf are intense, but perhaps not as strong as the desire to be helpful to someone in a bad situation. Parker Goodreau’s story for WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE explores the different ways and forms that kindness can manifest.

We lunged forward, breaking through the trees. Our jaw stretched open, ready, yearning for an anchor. No more alone, adrift, empty. We would give them the bite.

The human’s head jerked up, tears and rain mingling on their face. Their scream struck me through like lightning, and somewhere within it, I heard Joah’s voice. If I’d been a year or two younger when I bit you, I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop.

My teeth snapped shut inches away from their skin. I held myself still, trembling, and met the human’s eyes. We both gulped shuddering breaths of the same air.

It wasn’t exactly that I had taken control. More that the wolf realized I was better equipped for this. We didn’t want to scare the human—worse—so it was willing to rein in its instincts. Some. We couldn’t help but lean in, snuffling through the human’s short, wet hair. They shuddered. Tears fell on my muzzle, warm, somehow so unlike the rain.

Finally, I got my wolf calmed down enough to take a step back. It felt like winning an argument with myself. We didn’t try to stop the human when they scrambled to their feet, stumbling and slipping. Their phone dropped screen-first into the mud, plunging us into darkness. I paced after the vague gray shape of them as they tore at the door handle, threw themself into the car, and slammed the door behind.

Gingerly, I picked the cell phone up between my teeth, curling my tongue at the thick, slimy texture of the mud. Looking down through the window, I met their gaze as they sat frozen, panic-stricken. I breathed deep, trying to pour every measure of calm, every bit of humanity still left to me into my eyes. I tipped my head, offering the phone.

Slow as the last stubborn ice in a thaw, the human came to life again, their gasps fogging the window. Without taking their eyes off me, they fumbled for key and ignition. The headlights blinked on, the car purred, and the window hissed, opening no more than a sliver. I set the phone against the gap, and they took it between two fingers.

You can read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE! It’s available for $1+ on Gumroad and Itch.io. Your purchase of this issue will benefit all of its contributors.

Car trouble on a road trip through the Utah desert has left werewolf friends Paul and Oak stuck on the side of a back road. In this story for WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE by JD Laclede, things are going to get a lot weirder before they get better.

Paul stretched, whistled, and glanced sunward. No cars had passed them in the time they’d stopped here, which was nice and private, but not promising. If anyone did happen to report two automobile-deficient dog-people by the side of the road, he could have put on enough of a smiling, furless face for any police or animal control vans that dropped by to check. Then again, if nobody noticed the weirdos by the road, because no one was driving on this road, because nobody used this road, then that seriously impaired any chance of getting a tow. Or a mechanic. Or a cherry-flavored ice slushie.

Where was this place, anyway? Surrounding them were gigantic angular crags of red, brown, and peachy stone. The mile-long formations, with small juts at the top, sat like upturned battleships with their rock cannons pointing to the sky. The dust around them glared, in a cutting white, an almost pink or sugary thing, blowing in small, precious gusts. It snowed over the road, a road far more beaten than the interstate had been, its concrete pallid and cracking under what might have been a hundred years of murderous Utah sun.

He really didn’t want to have to call for a lift. He didn’t want to run into anyone out here. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, or act like an adult in front of anyone. He wanted to wear his fur again, feel the wind through it again, smell the everythings that hit his nose at those speeds. He didn’t want to ride to the next stop in someone’s truck cab, to hear them ask that stupid question about how two breastless and bepenised individuals could possibly ride in the same car together for a thousand miles, and he didn’t want to feel the urge to do something untoward with his teeth. He didn’t want to have to resist that urge. Again.

“Found it!” Oak barked, and chucked a rusty toolbox out the passenger-side window. Paul smirked at their playfulness, and got to work.

You can read the rest in WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE! It's available for $1+ on Gumroad and Itch.io. Your purchase of this issue will benefit all of its contributors.

The protagonist of Stephanie Gallon’s WEREWOLVES VERSUS: NATURE story has had a difficult life, and there are more hardships ahead for her, but luckily she does not have to face them alone.

The wilderness was kind to her. It gave her ripe berries to gorge herself on, bursting with saccharine juices that dribbled down her chin. In the winter months, when snow had killed the crops, it provided her dry wood for the fire and small prey to keep their bellies filled.

When her father died, it offered her a home. The tendrils of the willow trees consoled her; the moss offered her a soft place to rest her head. She raised herself under the protection of no man.

Only the wolf pack did not fear her.

They came to her one cold night, on the eve of Walpurgisnacht. She was seven years old now and had been the child of the forest for a year full and then some. She had made herself a fire. It kept most creatures away. Not the pups though. They had not yet experienced the cruelty of men.

One came from the bushes. Then his brother, and then another. Three of them, sniffing at the ground and the air, taken in by the herby smoke that canopied the clearing. The smallest of the litter walked to the fire. Lucille held her hand out cautiously. The pup growled at her until Lucille’s hand cupped his forehead and scratched at his pointed ears. The growl eased to soft pants of pleasure. He barked when she stopped. The others crowded her.

Their mother found all four sleeping as the last flame guttered their legs. When Lucille awoke, the mother had curled herself around them and buried her chin on Lucille’s lap.

You can buy the whole 162-page issue for $1+ on Gumroad or Itch. Proceeds from each sale are shared amongst contributors!