It was a crisp November day, and the sky was a solid azure whenever we’d step into a clearing. The forest was thick in some places while thinning into small, grassy meadows in others. Austin and Simon carried supplies for trade on their backs while Adam and I brought along all of our necessities. We each wore an enchanted stone just in case we had any unwanted encounters, but there hadn’t been a trace of anyone for hours. No witches, no werewolves. Even the birds were quiet. The only sounds were our heavy footsteps and the wind rustling through the canopy. 

“Maybe they only come out at night, like last time,” I said, turning to Simon in time to see him lick drool away from the corners of his maw. “Don’t even think about it.”

“It’s all I can think about. Maybe a little snack cake’ll tide me over.” He gave the air a sniff and reached for Austin’s bag. The larger werewolf snarled and jerked away. “C’mon, just one.”

“No. One turns into ten with you.” I patted Austin on the back. The one good thing to come of all of this was how well he obeyed Adam regarding not letting Simon near his bag. 

“I’m so hungry I’m gonna pass out.”

“You ate an hour ago. If you’re that hungry, go hunt a deer or something. You know, do werewolf things.”

“Then I’d have to skin it, butcher it, build a fire—” Simon let out a sigh. “I forgot to bring all my spices.”

“Can’t you just eat it the way it is?” I asked. Simon wrinkled his nose, pretending to gag. “You’re supposed to be a monster.”

“In the bedroom,” Simon added. “I ain’t killing and eating a whole deer without cookin’ it. I ain’t that hungry.”

“That’s gross, Art,” Adam said from behind. 

“What the hell are you—”

“Yeah,” Simon interrupted. “You go kill a deer and eat it like an animal if that’s what gets you goin’.” 

“Oh come on!”

“Would that count as being racist?” Adam said to Simon, speaking over me. “Or species-ist?”

“I’m a half-turn,” I shouted, “and this is the dumbest conversation.”

“Definitely,” Simon said, ignoring me. “And I bet he wants us to do all that while he gets to eat all the human snacks.”

Adam and Simon cracked smiles at one another, and I ground my teeth. 

“One cake,” I muttered. 

“Get me one too,” Adam said. “Better make that two more. I’m sure Austin’s a little hungry.”

“If we run out of things to trade, that’s on you guys.”

“We brought most of the pantry with us,” Simon said, reaching for the bag on Austin’s back, prompting another snarl from the larger werewolf. “Uh, you better say the magic words.”

Adam ran in front of Austin, looking him in the eye. “Let Simon into your bag just this once.”

The other werewolf nodded, and Simon reached into the backpack, snatching several cakes. 

“Better make it one more,” I said, holding out my hand. 

“Couldn’t resist, huh?” He slapped one of them into my palm. 

“Well, they are the Christmas tree-shaped ones,” I said, tearing open the package with my teeth. “They’re my favorite.”

Adam popped one of the cakes into his mouth and chewed. “I haven’t celebrated the holidays in a few years. It was something I used to look forward to until all the half-turn stuff happened.”

“It’s been a while for me too,” I said, thinking back on the last six years I’d spent alone, watching festive movies while eating turkey TV dinners. 

“I used to get high under that big Christmas tree on Main Street until the cops would kick me out,” Simon said with his usual grin, though this one seemed more forced than usual. “I haven’t cooked a huge Thanksgiving dinner in years. Maybe when all this is over, I’ll cook us all a holiday meal.”

“If we can get Austin back,” Adam muttered. 

A sniffle broke the chatter as we turned toward the huge werewolf, who started crying again. At first I thought he was responding to Adam’s concern, but his expression showed the usual lack of emotion.

---

We all stared into the dancing flames of the campfire. On one side of me was Simon who gave off so much heat I had to slip halfway out of my jacket, and on the other side was Adam who kept dozing off and drooling on my shoulder. Austin sat up straight, his blue eyes remained locked onto the flames as his ears pulled back into an almost fearful position. I often wondered what he was thinking about—if was even able to think without Adam’s commands.

We wanted to stay up as late as we could, hoping the fire would attract the ferals, but the later it got, the more I doubted they were interested. After my last conversation with that elder, the prospects were grim. 

Go back to the Midna.

My answers to the feral’s questions that day only seemed to anger him. 

“I think it’s time we get some shut-eye,” Simon said, pulling me closer to him. “I got my hoodie, and it’s big enough that I can zip you up in it, too.”

“Did you wash it?”

“It’s got all my good stink in it. I told you that last time.”

“Tempting offer, but I’ll pass.” Simon laid next to me as Adam dozed off on my shoulder again. “Hey,” I said, giving the smaller werewolf a shake. “Don’t forget to tell Austin to go to sleep.” 

He nodded and whispered a command. After a moment of shuffling, Adam fell asleep in Austin’s embrace, both of them starting to snore. This would have been cuter had they both done this voluntarily.

“They’re not going to come,” I whispered to Simon. “They probably don’t want to get involved with the Midna any more than they have to.”

“We’ll have to eat that barbeque then.”

I lay next to him and rubbed his belly while kissing him on the nose. “I suppose.”

“Talking about the holidays got me thinkin’.”

“Thinking about all the food?” I asked, giving him a slight shove.

Simon smiled and sniffed my head. “Thinkin’ about how nice it’ll be to spend it with you.”

His words were like an unexpected punch in the gut.

“When’s the last time you spent it with anyone?”

“Sober?” he asked. “Don’t remember. What about you?”

“The last holiday I spent with anyone was when I lived with my aunt for a few months. After I graduated, I left that town and started a life by myself.” I turned all the way toward him. “Remember when we first met and you said I had a loose ass?”

Simon chuckled. “I just said that to get under yer skin. Truth is, I never fucked a tighter hole in my life.”

“That’s because before you, there weren’t that many—well, none that ever wanted to stick around. I didn’t even expect you to stick around, but two enchanted earrings and a bunch of amazing sex later, here we are.”

“You regret it?”

I shook my head. “Nah. That’s the weird thing.”

“I knew it was only a matter of time before the seeds of my charming personality would grow on ya.”

“More like the spores of a particularly smelly fungus,” I added, my thoughts shifting to something else. “I wonder if Austin celebrated the holidays after…everything that happened to him.”

“Sometimes I just wanna give the guy a hug and not let go,” Simon whispered. “I wonder why life can be so nasty to some and so good to others. It’s like there’s only so much goodness in the world to go around, and those with everything suck the rest of it away, and they don’t even know it. They just go about their lives ignorant, thinkin’ their petty problems are the end of the world when they don’t even know what real problems are.”

“This year, we’re gonna take some of that goodness for ourselves,” I said, snuggling against Simon’s chest. “We deserve at least that much.”

---

The ground was unbearably cold as I shivered in the dark, my eyes struggling to open. Simon and the others weren’t next to me, and the campfire was gone. With a groan, I pushed myself upright and looked up at an unfamiliar canopy as waning moonlight streamed in through the mist. My hand grazed a small leather sack on the ground next to me, and I picked it up, the familiar scent of psychedelic herbs wafting from the opening.

One pair of eyes glowing amber stared at me from the shadows as if waiting. 

“Where am I?” I called out, not at all surprised when there was no response. He wasn’t going to emerge until I’d taken the herbs, so I reached into the bag and pinched a small amount, tucking it between my gums and cheek like one would tobacco. 

Immediately, the moonlight brightened until the forest lit up in a multitude of colors, glowing moths and neon-like lines flitted around me. Though I knew it was still dark, I could see the feral clearly as he watched from the trees. 

He was gigantic and black with braids and feathers in his mane, wearing a leather harness with about six small sacks hanging from it as well as a frayed belt with two larger sacks on both sides. He slowly ambled over on his pawed feet before sitting on a hollow log next to me, his heft causing it to crack a bit. It wasn’t often that I saw werewolves bigger than Austin, but this one would have towered at least a foot over him.

“Hello?” I asked, my voice sounding different as it always did while under the effects of whatever drug this was. 

“Arthurrr…” He seemed to growl that in a tone so deep it vibrated the ground. He reached for my chest and gently lifted the enchanted stone Simon had made into a necklace for me. “Come home.”

“We came here for help.”

“Help?” He looked around. “Witches?”

“A friend of mine did something he shouldn’t have using elder magic. He was under the influence of witches, and now another friend can’t break the magic.”

“Hmm,” the feral mumbled, scratching his head. “Under witch’s control?”

“It’s not witchcraft.”

The elder stood and waved me forward before walking toward the scent of smoke. Keeping the herbs in my mouth, I followed him as the colorful path brightened even more until we were back at camp. I tapped the werewolf on the arm and pointed to Austin

“He needs your help.”

The didn’t respond as he approached, kneeling next to the blond werewolf before placing a hand softly on Austin’s head. He stayed like that for about five minutes before looking back at me, his eyes wide. 

“What do you think?” I asked.

His irises brightened to a brilliant silver, and the colors around me turned solid white. 

“Sleep…” a deep voice whispered inside of my head. 

---

Austin

Every day was the same. I didn’t care what Adam did to my body as long as I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Since I’d been here, locked away in my blue box, there were no more sleepless nights. There were no more waking nightmares. 

Arthur’s rejection was the last thing I ever wanted to feel. I was unlovable. If the kuu didn’t exist, I’d have likely never experienced companionship, but there were times I wondered if that would have been so bad. I let my guard down with Adam.

There was a time when I felt something for him, but he ended up being like everyone else. He didn’t care about me, so why would I care about him? If he was going to hurt me, I’d hurt him. It made me feel better to make him hurt, but he set me free by putting me here. My comfortable blue box where people can’t hurt me anymore. 

With a wave of my hand, the handle of a cleaver materialized, laying heavily against my palm. I swung the blade, hewing my left arm until it lay lifeless on the blue floor. I couldn’t feel a thing, and the arm turned human and faded away before reappearing as a monster’s in the place it was before. 

The person who hurt me most was me, and I couldn’t stop crying. Mutilating this body brought about a short-lived vindication, and whenever I’d want to feel it again, I’d remove another limb. They always grew back.

 was completely detached from reality, and I would see faces and hear voices. Most of the time, the only face that came through was Art’s, so I’d claw out my eyes. How could I have made myself so vulnerable? 

With another swing, I lopped off a leg, and it fell to the floor with a muffled thud. As expected, the limb turned fleshy before disappearing and reappearing on my body. 

If purgatory existed, it was here.

Every so often I’d come to that realization, but the moment I started to feel anything, another dismemberment would make me forget it. When I’d see the blood seeping from my flesh, relief wasn’t what I felt, it was horror. I was compelled to keep reliving the horror over and over again until there was no more fear of it. 

When Adam put me in my blue box, my mother came, and the gun I remembered from then appeared in my hand. I aimed, and she fell lifeless to the floor before disappearing and reappearing. I’d cry each time I relived it until the tears stopped, then another phantom would haunt me. My brother—still frozen as a child. Again, I’d pull the trigger, and again I’d cry. 

Over and over, people I once loved would visit only to die by my hand, but now all that was left was me. I knew it was only a matter of time before I’d finally be able to put an end to this, but something kept me from doing it. No matter how many times I tried to stop crying, I couldn’t. 

Why couldn’t I stop crying?

---

Arthur

As I woke once more in front of a fire, the four of us lay in a row next to one another, but we weren’t at our campsite. Above me was a rocky ceiling partially obscured by smoke, and toward the entrance of the small cavern, dappled sunlight danced its way along the smooth floor. 

“Simon,” I said, trying to shake the werewolf awake, but he didn’t respond. I turned to Adam, who was lying on his stomach, rolling him onto his back. He was like a breathing corpse, unwaking no matter what I did. With both of my thumbs, I gently pried one of his eyelids open, revealing a pale, blue glow. 

The scent of herbs mixed with morning breath hit me as I slowly separated Adam’s jaws, which contained a wad of saliva-soaked greens along his black gum line. A small sack fell to my side, and I turned toward the elder I encountered last night sitting in the shadow of a rocky pillar. 

Eager for an explanation, I pinched the herbs and tucked them between my cheek. As expected, reality morphed into a burst of colors, and each one of my senses heightened enough to see more feral werewolves sitting along the back wall of the cave.

“Where are we?” I asked, my back resting against the cool, cavern wall.

“Home,” the elder said, his giant maw slowly forming a grin. He was so huge, it was almost unsettling. We were warned they might not let us leave, but it was too early to jump to that conclusion. 

“We didn’t come here to live. We came here for help.”

“If you have come here for help, that means you are helpless living among the Midna. The Whasha are your family and your salvation. Why would you not want to stay?”

I gave that question a lot more scrutiny, careful with my response. 

“It’s not the right time. I’m not ready to give up my memories or my way of life.”

“That all depends on you,” he said, his speech meticulous. “When the ritual is complete, I will know.”

“What ritual?”

The giant werewolf pointed to the other three lying unconscious on the floor. “I have reached in and pulled to the surface the demons of your pasts.” He slowly climbed to his feet, taking care not to hit his head on the cave ceiling. With a few strides, he sat directly in front of me and pointed to Simon, his huge tail pounding the floor. “You will start with him.”

“How is this going to help Austin? We didn’t come here—”

“You are all susceptible to corruption, and no amount of barriers or wards will prevent the inevitable.” He ran his fingers over Austin’s leg. “This one is lucky, but you all have heard the voices. The coven knows when they see weakness, and they will come for you again. You will endure the ritual, and whether you all fail or succeed is on you.”

“What happens if it fails?”

“Then each of your memories will be sealed, and your pack will remain with us.” A feral that was sitting quietly out of sight padded over and handed the elder a smoking pipe. The giant werewolf drew in deep and exhaled a puff of pastels that sparked like a damaged electric wire. “I do not know what past has been locked away in your kuu mate’s mind, but whatever is there, you must help him face it. You are the leader of your pack, and your strength is their strength. If they fail, you will fail.”

“Wait a minute—”

With a deep draw, he exhaled the smoke, blowing it into my face. The last thing I remembered were two silver irises turning a deep shade of red. 

If they fail, you will fail…

---

The muggy, stale air wrapped around my body like a blanket, the sheets of my bed drenched in sweat as I examined my surroundings. Sluggish mosquitos made their way in and out of the screenless window of a run-down bedroom. A tan teenage boy in faded overalls stood in front of a dusty dresser mirror, brushing the knots out of his unruly brown hair. He looked to be about fifteen and was probably a few inches shorter than me. 

He stopped brushing and examined his chin, picking at the darker bits of facial hair that stood out among the peach fuzz. The most striking things I noticed about him were his eyes. One was hazel and the other was a golden amber color. His appearance must have been unusual to him as well considering how long he stared at himself.

“Yer gonna be late,” came a female voice from down the hall. 

“Why do I gotta go to school, ma?” the boy asked, dropping the brush onto the scratched-up wood as he walked out of the bedroom.

Confused, I jumped from the bed and made my way through the old, wooden house until I was in a small kitchen with a rusty, cast iron wood-burning stove. The boy sat at a small table with two chairs, and a young woman with long, red hair and fair skin held a plate with a single hoe cake in the center.

“Hello?” I asked, trying to get their attention, but neither of them seemed aware of my presence. I walked up to the woman and waved a hand in front of her face, but she walked through me as though I were made of mist and sat the plate in front of the boy. 

“You should be lucky,” she said before turning back to the stove. “Your pa left us just enough to get by, and you should finish yer education.”

“Ain’t no point. You can be an educated war hero in this country and still die not havin’ enough food.”

The woman dropped a bowl in a wooden tub filled with water. “We may be hungry, but we ain’t starvin’. Your pa’s parents came to this country from real poverty and oppression, and even the worst times here don’t compare to other places. We’re free here.”

“Free to starve.” The boy quickly devoured the fried dough and stood from his chair. “If this is the best there is, then I don’t want to be a part of it no more.”

“Simon!” the woman shouted as the boy darted from the house, letting the door slam behind him. 

That was Simon? He was so different, not just physically, in the way he spoke. There was this animosity and anger as well as hopelessness. It was as though I could feel every emotion he felt. The room faded and I followed the boy along a dirt road with a dried-up cornfield on one side and dying rows of sorghum on the other. 

The sun blazed overhead, and Simon wandered off the path toward the shade of a huge oak, the Spanish moss hanging from each branch like graying wizard beards. There was no wind and hardly any clouds to give relief from the sweltering heat. 

The boy’s stomach rumbled as he sat on a knobby root and folded his arms over his knees, laying his head against them. It was odd to see Simon so thin—too thin. I could feel his hunger as a dull but persistent pain in my guts. 

I sat next to him as he softly cried into his arms, and I gently placed a hand on his back. This time, I was able to touch him. He was so emaciated that I could feel the bumps along his spine. The overwhelming misery coupled with the hunger and heat made me want to do anything to put an end to it. This memory faded as though I were in a play, and I was once again in Simon’s bedroom. 

He stood in front of the mirror, a little older but just as lanky, his darker and thicker facial hair taking over the prepubescent lighter hair from before. Both eyes were now a deep gold, and he brushed the frizzy knots from his longer brown hair. 

There were no sounds from the kitchen or any other part of the old house, only the incessant buzzing of cicadas from outside. Simon laid the brush on the dresser and slowly walked into the kitchen with me following close behind. The wood stove looked like it hadn’t been used in a while, and the young man leaned over the wooden tub, staring out the kitchen window to a clearing in the yard at two piles of stones. As if following a path of habit, he sat at the table with an empty plate, pretending to eat. 

“I ain’t goin’ to school no more, ma.” Simon pushed the plate away and looked up at no one. “I don’t look right, do I?”

As I went to say something, he spoke again. 

“This don’t feel like home no more. I always get this feelin’ like maybe I ain’t supposed to be here. I know mama didn’t mean to leave me. She didn’t wanna leave me.” Tears fell from his face, pattering against the rough wood of the small table. “I miss mama.”

My eyes watered as I approached him. 

“Simon,” I whispered, placing my hand on his head. “Can you hear me?”

He smiled through the tears, but still didn’t acknowledge I was there. The room faded away and another memory played out in front of me. This time, I was in a strange rural area, surrounded by flat, dry land, the sky choked with brown dust. Simon was older and slightly thicker as he walked along a dirt path, his upper body and head covered in a ratty coat almost resembling a hoodie. Dirty cloth covered his nose and mouth, but he couldn’t hide his eyes. Two irises glowed a dark orange and the whites had darkened to black giving his shrouded silhouette a demon-like appearance. 

Though he seemed less starved than before, I could still feel his hunger as he pushed onward with no destination in mind. He was looking for something, but he didn’t know what. It was close, and that was all he knew. That was what kept him going even when he wanted to stop. 

The poverty and desolation coupled with the dust storms made me realize what time period this was. Simon must have been around seventeen or eighteen, given the fact that he was approaching the final stages of his transformation. 

He pushed on, but his legs trembled with each step through the howling winds. Ahead was a billowing wall of brown dust as a strong haboob sandblasted the plains. Visibility soon dropped to nothing, but Simon kept going, taking one shaking step after another before finally succumbing. With another powerful gust, he fell to the ground. 

“Simon,” I shouted, kneeling next to him. I tried grabbing his arm, but he wouldn’t budge. Hunger, dehydration, and exhaustion overwhelmed me as I tried to speak, getting a mouthful of sand. Everything he felt, I felt. The hopelessness nearly engulfed my mind until a large figure appeared feet away. 

It was hard to make out at first, but as the figure approached, it took on the form of a feral werewolf clad in leather harnesses and feathers, his paw-like feet making easy work of the sandy terrain. He knelt next to Simon, holding a bladder of water to his mouth. 

The young half-turn gulped it down and looked up at the startlingly huge creature, knowing he had finally found what he had come all this way for. The memory went dark, but another soon took its place. Simon was underneath the feral who had rescued him in the darkness of night, barely lit by the moon. 

He writhed in pain and pleasure as they both mated, and I could feel Simon’s transformation. It didn’t last very long, and when it was over, two werewolves licked at each other. The new werewolf’s face looked more familiar now, but his fur was dark brown and his feet were large paws. They spoke to each other in a series of familiar grunts, growls, and whines, as they stared up at the sky. 

These visions had one thing in common with one another: they were tragic memories that I was forced to endure. As Simon grabbed hold of the feral’s hand, I knew this wasn’t going to be a happy ending. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” I shouted. “It hurts.”

My cries went unheeded as the scene faded to a familiar black.

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