I was kind of a late bloomer. Mostly so...

I was kind of a late bloomer. Mostly socially--though I did have a crush on Bobby Muhlenberg, like all the girls did. Except in my case I hadn't even hit puberty and didn't until fourteen. I was totally unprepared. Mom had talked about the menstrual part, but it was all the other stuff she didn't mention. The feelings that came over me. The urges. And I don't just mean sex.

But it wouldn’t have made any difference since, when it finally happened, I didn't know it had happened. What I'd become. I was just me. Only more so.

I woke up in the middle of the night all uncomfortable. Sticky. And feeling something wet. And also this odor. Like I'd never smelled before. It was blood. My own. On my thighs and coming from inside. In there. I remember sniffing the stain on the sheet. My nose, I remember, being real close. I remember thinking Mom told me about this. Except about the odor. Oh God, that smell! It was everything about me! I'd never felt so naked! Even though I was wearing a nightgown, in my bedroom, all alone, I felt more revealed than even at the doctor. Sniffing at that stain, I found all my inner self was on display.

My insides had woken up. That's what was making me uncomfortable. They wanted out. "This must be womanhood," I remember telling myself. "Let them out. Let them out!" I pulled off my nightgown and opened the window and let the breeze and the moonlight dance with each other across my body. But it wasn't enough. My insides were pounding now! They wanted out! So out I let them take me.

Most what I remember were all the sounds and aromas I'd never been aware of! I felt so free! Running wild, sniffing everything! And everything was interesting and invited investigation. I stayed out until shortly before dawn. I remember heading for home across a farm. The roosters were starting to stir. And this one in particular--y'know, the big cock of the walk... captured my interest. I just stood there watching him. The way he behaved. Sorta like Bobby Muhlenberg. Who, I realized...I hated. Hated his guts. Acting like I didn't exist anytime he was with girls with tits, when on more than one occasion I'd saved his ass in Algebra. So I killed him.

And then ate him.

Feathers and all, I was so voracious that first time.

My mother was waiting for me when I came in through the window. She was sitting on my bed. I could see she'd been crying. I felt so many things! Caught, for starters. And so, like any teenager, guilty. But also sorry for her. Here she'd devoted her whole life to me and look what I'd turned into! I wanted to tell her these things. But wasn't able. I just curled up on the rug. Mom patted the mattress. So I hopped up there.

"Your father" she said, "came from a long line of werewolves."

She talked about my dad, and his heritage, his habits, in ways that I can only tell you I knew were true. Knew because I recognized everything she said from the feelings inside me. His passion. His devotion. His simplicity. His ferocity. Old photos I'd grown up with took on a new dimension. Something in his eyes. Something about the mouth. I knew him now.

When she finished, she kissed my cheek. I was back to my old self. And she covered me. And said, "I'll always leave a window open for you." That's my mom.

That...creature...you saw today...was me. Maybe not the nicest side of me, from your point of view. But that was me.

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