The WereWitness

The WereWitness.

 Giando Sigurani

The full moon is supposed to bring out the freaks. Crime rates go up, hospitals busy themselves with an increasing number of injuries and illnesses, and the world becomes generally more weird and dangerous.

 I was not expecting to see an entire procession of Jehovah's Witnesses out and about on the night of a full moon, but then again, the Jehovah's Witnesses are exactly the sort of people who wouldn't give one Good God Damn about such things. I didn't know much about them, other than the fact that they seem really nice, that they somehow have that ability to make eye contact without actually looking into your eyes, and that they don't celebrate any birthdays, holidays, or, indeed, anything at all. So of course, full moons would be as absent from their calendars as everything else.

 The Witnesses were in a small group of about eight to ten, tightly knit with an almost synchronized walking pace. When they saw me they smiled in their polite and harmless way, and started reaching into their pockets, presumably to arm themselves with Watchtower pamphlets. One of them, near the edge of the crowd, looked right at me. He was a bit more ragged than the rest, and was swaying oddly, with a weird grin on his face. He was sweating. It almost looked like he was ill. And then he lunged at me and bit me on the hand, drawing blood.

 I knew they were Jehovah's Witnesses because they emerged from a local Watchtower church, entitledKingdom Hall of Jehovah's Witnesses. I waved meekly as I passed them by. I attempted to slide harmlessly into the crowd, expecting to probably come out with a few Watchtower pamphlets and some empty-eyed but well-meaning stares in my direction, but instead I got something else entirely.

 They smiled sweetly as I passed, and their empty eyes looked happily into mine. Or past mine. Whichever. None of it mattered at that time, because one of them decided to bite me.

 The Witnesses weren't expecting that either, because they immediately fanned out in shock when they had witnessed one of their own attack me. They cast wide-eyed, accusatory stares at the attacker, and gave a veritable tidal wave of apology to me.

 “... I'm so sorry...”

 “... We are normally against violence in any way... unless forced into military service of course...”

 “... John is new, you'll have to excuse him...”

 “... Please, read our pamphlet for more information...”

 I waved my hand to show that there was no harm, no foul. One of them seized the moment and placed a pamphlet in it. “It's all right,” I said, despite the trickling blood. “Really, I'm fine.”

 “Are you sure?” one of them asked, sincerely.

 “I'm sure,” I said, looking holding up my hand, which now had a Watchtower pamphlet skillfully entwined in its fingers. They were good, I had to give them that.

 “Well,” one of them replied kindly, “We are really very sorry that John bit you. You can read our pamphlet for more information about how we're normally against that sort of thing.”

 I took a look at John. There was something odd about him, even for a Jehovah's Witness. He had a look of apology on his face, yes, but I also saw- what? Reluctance? Fear?

 Some kind of sense that he wasn't entirely in control of his actions?

 “It's really okay,” I said. “It's okay, John. Don't worry about it.”

 John squeaked, and then smiled. He turned around and the other Wittinesses followed suit.

 * * *