Florida Wolfman In Ontario

If only people would stop judging others before getting to know them, the world would be a better place. Who am I kidding? That's never going to happen. Just got to keep on trucking, I guess. Those were the words running through my head as I ripped the throat off a trucker whose only mistake was seeing me in my true form. The poor shmuck died within moments. Half an hour later I buried him, and destroyed his truck by burning it with kerosene. Set off a nice explosion. Warmed me right up. It was a cold winter night, you know? My name is Miguel Etienne and I am a Lycanthrope. How have you been, ladies and gentlemen?

The backwoods of provincial Ontario, Canada, seem like an odd place to look for an African-American lycanthrope, I guess that's why I feel at home there. Sure, the locals, most of them rural white folk and a sprinkling of Aboriginals, aren't used to seeing and dealing with men of my color but I don't pay much attention to them. They're only human and as such, regardless of their politics, they're beneath me. The few that bother me, like a certain trucker, I make short work of them.

I moved to Canada a couple of years ago, and not just because I wanted to explore the great white north. I came to Canada for the main reason any true self-respecting American ever sets foot in this place. I was born and raised in sunny metropolitan Miami, Florida, and the main reason I came to Canada is because I was running from trouble back home. Trouble kind of has a way of finding me, I guess. I've been keeping a low profile in Ontario and adjusting nicely and it appears to be paying off. Occasionally unexpected things happen and I've got to improvise and work out the kinks. I made all traces of the trucker disappear, and hopefully he won't be missed.

As much as I've come to love Ontario, it still doesn't feel like home sometimes. I was born pretty far away from my new stomping grounds. Florida, the perfect destination for so many newcomers to the States, how I miss thee! My pops Michel Etienne is originally from the north side of the island of Haiti and my mother Mariella Santiago hails from the town of Bogota, Colombia. I'm half black and half Latino. Both of my parents are lycanthropes. In order to be one of us, you need two members of the opposite sex to procreate and bring you into the world. No invites into our club by biting, that's just a bogus story. Them's the rules! I was having a blast in the Sunshine state until I got involved with this bitch named Nikki O'Neill.

You know that chick who looks like trouble the moment you lay eyes on her but you still talk to her because can't help yourself? A lot of men have had their hearts broken and their worlds turned upside down because of that femme fatale. For me, Nikki O'Neill was that woman. You should have seen her, man. Five-foot-ten, curvy and sexy, with curly reddish hair, porcelain skin and lime-green eyes. The first time I saw her strutting through the Miami Dade College campus like she owned the place, I knew two things, that she and I were the same kind and that I wanted a piece of that fine Irish ass.

There are a lot of lycanthropes in the Caribbean and the southern United States, and I've met a few of our kind that hail from continental Africa. Sometimes I forget that there are still a few of us in Europe and the Asian continent. In those places, according to the Old Ones, our kind was hunted almost to extinction. The funny thing is that in the movies, when lycanthropes are shown, they're almost always white folk. In real life, white lycanthropes are a distinct minority within the global lycanthrope community because Europe wasn't kind to them in ancient times.

Long before the Europeans got the bright idea to start the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, long before Christian and Muslim nations clashed around the world, and long before Hitler and his German buddies persecuted the Jews, the human race persecuted my species. Why? Simply because we're different. A unique twist in our genetic code enables us to shape-shift at will from human form to that of a bipedal wolf-like creature. What many call a werewolf. Sad but true. Given what I've just told you about my people's history, you could understand how, for someone like me, glimpsing Nikki O'Neill walking through campus was like seeing a unicorn.

Our eyes met, and I instantly felt a thrill down my spine. The reaction any male of my species gets when he sees an attractive, healthy female of breeding age. I went over to introduce myself. Nikki O'Neill smiled at me and shook my hand. I learned that she was a newcomer to the States by way of Galway, Ireland. She was new in town and looking at colleges and universities. I offered to be her guide, and we became pals. Nikki and I began hanging out together. I was eager to show her the bright lights of Miami, and the cool spots where our kind congregate. My buddy Marquis Suarez father Antonio owns a house in the Everglades and he likes to throw house parties there.

I've known Marquis since we were puppies and his parties are off the hook. When you are what we are, you must lead a life of discretion. There aren't a lot of places in this world where we can go and be ourselves, you know? It's fun beyond your wildest dreams, man. Wolf-girls and wolf-dudes dancing and getting our freak on, with loud music blasting and delicious food all around. First time I got laid was at one of Marquis parties. I hooked up with a tall, curvaceous Jamaican hottie named Suzannah Thompson. She was new to the City of Miami, and I showed this Kingston sweetheart how we American lads got down. Full-moon loving, man. Nothing like it!

I took Nikki to the party, and unsurprisingly she was a hit with all my friends except for Suzannah, my ex. I don't mean to sound like a prick but I'm not the settling down type. Suzannah got a bit too clingy after we hooked up and I gave her the heave-ho. That didn't go over too well. She tried to get back into my good graces through the tried and true method of seducing me back into her bed. Once there, she cut me with a silver knife, and she wasn't aiming for my fingernails if you know what I mean. Luckily I have lightning-fast reflexes and she cut my thigh instead of my nuts. I grabbed her and tossed her out the window. Yeah, she's one crazy bitch that I hoped I'd never see again. Imagine my surprise when I found out she was banging my buddy Marquis. What the fuck?

The moment I saw Suzannah with Marquis and she saw me with Nikki on my arm, a confrontation was on. Suzannah wolfed out and sprang at me. Now, among our kind, the females usually find it easier to shift into our animalistic form than the males. Don't ask me why. There I was, a six-foot-one, 210-pound caramel-skinned brother squaring off against the eight-foot-tall, red-eyed and hairy, wolf-like bipedal beast that Suzannah had become. With so much liquor in my system I was finding it hard to focus, and Suzannah was about to chomp me. Everyone stood there, watching. Once a fight starts between two of us, no one may interfere. It doesn't matter if it's two guys, a guy and a gal, or two gals, all fights are strictly one on one but rarely to the death. The goal is to humiliate your opponent, not kill him or her. Honor counts for a lot among our kind.

I willed myself to transform, but I was too slow. Suzannah came at me, and I would have died for sure if Nikki hadn't broken one of the most sacred rules of our people by interfering. She morphed and leapt at Suzannah. The two female lycanthropes squared off against each other. Even though Suzannah was much bigger and stronger, Nikki proved the better fighter. The silver-furred female lycanthrope tore into the midnight-coated wolf-woman, and chased her deep into the woods. All the partygoers, myself included, ran after them. Somehow I ran ahead of the others, and followed Suzannah and Nikki to a clearing.

Suzannah and Nikki fought, and Nikki had Suzannah on the ground, her fur matted with blood. Growling, Nikki glared at me. The weakened Suzannah eased into human form, and begged for mercy. A moment later, Nikki shifted into human form as well. Now the silver-furred wolf-woman was just a tall redhead standing over a another female. I'm not a sucker, and this bitch Suzannah did try to get my nuts but I'm not one to kill an unarmed foe. And since mortal weapons can't usually kill us without silver being involved, all wolf-men and wolf-women in human form are considered unarmed. Let her go, I told Nikki. Now, I wanted to beat Suzannah within an inch of her life for what she tried to do to me back a while back, but I would have let the bitch live. Not a chance, Nikki said, and a moment later she shifted into wolf form and ripped out Suzannah's throat.

I've seen and done a lot of things in my time but I've never killed my own kind. There's too few of us as it is. Worldwide there are perhaps a hundred thousand of us. We're a tiny community. And yet, Nikki killed Suzannah without hesitation or mercy. I rushed over to her and tackled her. That was murder, I said. Smiling wickedly, Nikki told me that it was what she did best. I saw the look of malevolence and madness in her eyes which I once found so pretty. That's when I knew. This beautiful young woman I was starting to fall for was what many of our kind feared. A Prowler. Moments later, everyone from the party was there, surrounding us.

Marquis glared at me, and looked at Suzannah's corpse. I'm sorry, I told him. The tall, brawny young Mexican-American immigrant who'd been my best friend since day one rushed me, and threw me to the ground. He clasped Suzannah's body in his arms and wept. Nikki looked at Marquis, then at me. I defeated Suzannah but Miguel killed her, Nikki lied, an icy smile on her pretty face. I stared at her, stunned. All around me I could hear growls of anger. Accusation hung in the air. Murderer, Marquis growled. He gently laid Suzannah's body on the soft grass and then took a step toward me. I didn't kill her I swear, I said weakly. I looked at Nikki, who smiled wickedly and shrugged.

There I stood, surrounded by young men and women I'd known my entire life and they were looking at me as if they didn't know me. I saw accusation and hatred in their eyes. You will pay for that, I told Nikki. Laughing, she morphed and then joined the others as they began coming at me, and I got the heck out of dodge. I ran until dawn, and woke up in a ditch. I knew then that my life was over. I couldn't go back to my parents. As the progenitors of a murderer, they would be considered pariahs in our community. Among our kind, justice is meted out swiftly. If you murder your own kind, your life is forfeit. Any one of us who sees you has the right to kill you. That's the law.

I ran from my friends and family, my old life in Miami, my old stomping grounds at Miami Dade College, and everything I ever knew. I moved to Ontario, Canada. About as far from Florida as you can get. I stayed away from the big cities like Toronto, Ottawa and Hamilton, where I might run into one of my kind. I stuck to the woods. I live in a small town, and earn a living by being the security guard/maintenance man/everything man at a small restaurant. I haven't stopped thinking about Nikki and what she did, nor have I stopped looking over my shoulder. After all that's happened, I'm convinced that she's a Prowler.

What is a Prowler? Among lycanthropes a Prowler is an individual with a genetic disorder that causes unusual levels of malice, bloodlust and aggression. A Prowler is essentially the equivalent of a sociopath among our species. They have no conscience whatsoever, they can't play by the rules of our society, and they tend to destroy anything in their path. Prowlers are known to be very smart and seductive and that's what makes them exceptionally dangerous. I ought to know, one of them seduced me, killed my ex, and then framed me for murder. I thought I was bad, Nikki's a frigging she-devil!

I've done a lot of research on the little bitch, and from what I gather, Suzannah isn't the first person she's killed. In Irish newspapers I read online, specifically the ones from the Galway area, I learned about a rash of suspicious deaths which were blamed on an animal that escaped from the local zoo. If that doesn't cry werewolf I don't know what does! Nikki O'Neill is a lycanthrope AND a serial killer, and she's loose in my hometown of Miami, Florida. I don't think she came to the States willingly. I think she might have been driven from Galway by the local lycanthrope community. This bitch has to be punished for her misdeeds. Just for shits and giggles I decided to check up on headlines in the Miami Herald. There's been a rash of murders in town and they're thought to be the work of an animal. Dammit, Nikki's at it again! I've got no choice in the matter, I'm going to go back to Florida, slit the bitch's throat and clear my name. Wish me luck, y'all!