Bogleech.com's 2016 Horror Write-off:
Monsters of New York: Megan
Megan. Age 26. Lycanthrope.
Let me start by saying I was in a really bad time in my life... So I had just dumped my ex and went a bit crazy stalker on him. I didn't know he was a lycanthrope at the time, mind you, but that wouldn't have changed anything. So we had been to my parents house for Thanksgiving, and we got into a fight, not one of those tiny little fights that people have, whole crying, stomping from the dinner table, parents had to drive me home kind of fight. I was angry because I felt that he wasn't respecting my parents. He was acting really cagey, rude, looked dirty, smelled like a wet dog, like just felt he was really disrespecting my parents, disrespecting me. A straw breaking the camel's back kind of situation. That's the reason we broke up, at least that's what I tell people. In reality I just couldn't handle not knowing where he was for like days at a time. I mean I should have realized that he only went missing around the full moon."
So I kind of...maybe...stalked him a 'little'. It took me all of three days to notice his weirdness. Like he bought a lot of dog food. He didn't to own a dog, shot it down every time I mentioned it, claimed he was allergic. Don't ask me why I didn't think of that when he was smelling like a wet dog at my parents place. I swear I saw him like bark at a squirrel. One day I followed him into a antique store we used to frequent, saw him help an old lady to her car, there were reasons I liked him. So a piece of silverware fell on his hand, reacted as if it burnt his hand.
"So I've been following him for about a week at this point. I have no idea how he didn't realize I was following him at this point. But one night he's out for a jog, I assumed he didn't see me because it was raining really bad. And so I'm following him, getting my work out too. And he makes a sudden detour, bam right into a bramble patch. Not a thick one, but enough for me to hesitate for a bit...hesitate for half an hour. This is where I should have realized I needed help, but I was doing the crazy ex thing. He didn't come out, I got fed up, I'm soaked to the bone, stalking this guy for no real reason, bite my lip, and march into the bush, ready to give him what for. I don't even know what I was going to say, after all I was the one stalking him.
I was pissed. I walk into the bramble bush, cuts my arms up a bit, but I'm so angry I don't notice. What I do notice is a huge set paw print on the ground. I'm bleeding, angry, confused, I just start yelling, and yelling, and yelling. Eventually I just collapse, and no sooner than I collapse suddenly something large and hairy knocks me down into the paw print. I get scared, I try to scream, only to get a lung and stomach full of rain water. Wake up, five in the fucking morning, in my own bed, naked, surrounded by my shredded clothes and white hair. My mouth tastes like what I can only assume is rotten meat, everything smells like wet dog, and I freak. I start hyperventilating, check for signs of sexual assault, looks for bruises. So I'm quite rightfully freaking out...but then I notice it. Under a half eaten pigeon, which mind you was the least of my concerns at the time, there's a note, in his handwriting. ' You get used to it We're even. Stop following me."
"So it turns out he was a lycanthrope, but of course he wasn't a Werewolf. Oh no, that would be too easy, he was, I guess is, a Weresheepdog, like one of those big fluffy white ones. So now once a month I turn into this big fluffy doofy dog. Whats even better is that it's not like a sudden change. Around the full moon my sense of smell and hearing picks up, I get angry and moody, I stop seeing colors very well, I grow white hair just all over, I start smelling like a wet dog. Its fucking terrible Now my ex, big, greasy, Italian guy who didn't have the best hygiene. Like he was a little hairy already, but not Sheepdog hairy. Smelly, in a good way not wet dog bad, usually. Obviously I'm not a big italian guy, so this whole Sheepdog things is way more startling. I mean you ever try to get laid with a sheet of white hair on your tits. I mean I dated a, oh shit what did he call himself, uhhh, a furry, that's it, and he was into it, a little too into it, like we'd only have sex around the full moon. But no, the blow to my love life is not my biggest complaint actually. My biggest complaint? I'm a person, I can't go to Petco. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a stylist that is not only a good beautician but also knows how to give a flea dip?"