We Become the Night

Fur isn't all it's cracked up to be Part 2

In the bathroom, I strip down and throw the clothes in the same wastebasket that I used the first day I came here. Then I get in the shower and turn it on as hot as I can handle it. I scrub all the blood off. When there's no longer any trace of blood, I scrub some more, just to be sure.

I don't leave the shower till the water starts to get cooler. Which is a miracle in and of itself since Joshua told me that the water heater is the best on the market and will hold almost 100 gallons of hot water at a time. Wasteful? Maybe. Worth it? Definitely.

There's a set of clean clothes on the counter. I don't remember hearing Joshua come in, but here they are. I try not to think about Joshua going through my underwear drawer, but, thankfully, I recognize the pair as the ones that were right on top.

I dress quickly and go back to my room. The bed is stripped bare. There is no sign that something bad happened at all. The blood-soaked sheets are gone and in their place are a completely new set. The bed is all made up as though a guest is expected to stay tonight.

I turn around and bolt from the room to find Joshua. I take a cursory glance into his room since the door is open, but I didn't expect him to be there. Sure enough, he's definitely not in there.

I fly down the stairs, taking them two at time. I don't even marvel at the fact that I'm falling flat on my face. I whip around the bottom of the staircase and book it to the kitchen.

Joshua is sitting at the table, much as he did the first day I was here. I'm noticing a lot of parallels between today and the first day I arrived. I'm not entirely sure I like it.

This time, though, Joshua is shirtless and clad only in his pajama bottoms. Since he's not wearing a shirt, I get a good look at the tattoo (birthmark? Scar?). It definitely looks like a bear claw drawing marks down from his shoulder. The detail is so fine, I think that it must be a tattoo. Yet, the paw itself is pinkish in color and raised like a scar. The claw marks are a darker, brownish color like that of a birthmark.

Before I can open my mouth to ask about it, he waves me over and gestures for me to take a seat. I follow his wordless direction and sit opposite him.

He sighs. "Cal. Caleb. There's something I need to talk to you about." He doesn't look happy about what he has to say. "But first, I need to ask you a question and I need you to be entirely truthful. Think you can be one hundred percent honest with me?"

"Of course, Joshua."

"The night your parents were killed." He pauses to give me a minute. I'm sure he can see the grief in my eyes. "That night," he continues, "was it just your parents and your brother that were attacked? Or were you injured as well?"

"How..." I stutter, "How could you know that?" I'm too shocked to evade his question.

"I'll take that as confirmation. Now listen because this part is incredibly important." I lean in closer to him as his voice drops volume. "That thing that attacked you and your family wasn't any ordinary animal." He takes a deep breath. "That was a changeling. Your culture would call it a werewolf."

I sit up. I laugh full outright. "Werewolf? You're having me on. That was a good one. You almost got me." I look at his face for any sign of a joke. He sighs again and slowly shakes his head.

"It's not a joke," he says in that low voice of his.

"You mean to tell me that werewolves are real?"

He sighs for a third time. "Yes, werewolves are real. Though we call them changelings."

"Vampires?"

He nods.

"Witches?"

He nods.

"Ghosts?"

He nods.

"Creature of the black Lagoon?"

"Oh, so you've met Charlie then?" he says. My face must look horrified because this time he does laugh. "No, that one doesn't exist."

"Are there other creatures that Hollywood loves to shove in their movies that are actually real?"

"Yeah. There are fairies, trolls, demons, angels, centaurs, satyrs, gods, goddesses, shapeshifters, and so much more. They are hidden all over the world."

"Shapeshifters? I thought that's what werewolves, uh changelings, are."

"No. Changelings have no control over the change. Shifters can control when they shift. Also, shifters can control their actions and remember what happens while they are in animal form. Changelings can't do that."

"And," I start slowly, taking it all in, "I'm a changeling?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." I nod. "How do I not be a changeling?"

"You can't not be a changeling. There's no known cure for the transformation. You'll change three times a month, before, during, and after the night of the full moon. You also will have no recollection of the events that happen, nor any control of what you do. This is what makes changelings so dangerous."

"But I do remember. Sort of." His head snaps to my face. His eyes are wide and concerned.

"What do you mean, you remember?" Now it was his turn to stare unbelieving.

"Well, I don't really remember. It's more like the remnants of a fuzzy dream. No pun intended. But, yeah, I remember what I did. That blood belonged to a cat and, oh God, the Smithe's poor little white dog." The blood drains from my face as I remember that poor dog.

"Was that all? No one was hurt?" He reaches across the table and grabs my arm, rather tightly.

"No. At least, not that I remember." He relaxes his grip and sits back.

"I wonder..." he mutters to himself. I sit in the chair looking around the room. My gaze falls on Joshua, and, again, I get a good look at his mark.

"Joshua?" I ask him. This brings him out of his muttering, and he looks at me again.

"What's up, Cal?"

"Can I ask... I mean, if I'm overstepping, just say so, but can I ask about the mark on your shoulder?"

"I suppose since you know everything else, I might as well tell you about this too." He runs a hand lightly over the mark, as if to remind himself that it's there. "It's a long story, but I don't guess there's any point in keeping it from you any longer."