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A Werewolf Family

I clutch my chest as the muscles in my back spasm against the pull of the moon. I peer into the night, howling and barking at that beaming orb of night. The hairs on my limbs thicken and my teeth elongate into alabaster fangs.

I see police car lights through my bedroom window. A cop exits his squad car and the neighbors swarm around him like gnats. His uniform is starched blue and his belly oozes over his belt like an overstuffed bag of Krispy Kremes. He puffs out his chest, raises a metallic clipboard, starts taking notes. They point at my house, jumping and gesticulating as if they’re playing charades.

My bedroom door sways open with a creak. “What’s going on?” Mom asks, the hair on her jowls gleaming in the moonlight.

“It’s Mrs. Travis and her posse again. They called the cops.”

Dad walks in and points at me with a clawed finger. “Were you howling?”

“That moon is wicked cool tonight!”

“You’ve got to control the urge,” Dad says, closing the blinds. “We’ve talked about this before!”

“Stop,” Mom says.

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