Werewolf
Part One

Rating: R
Category: AU
Pairing(s): Nathan/Charles, Toki/Skwisgaar.
Warnings: Some gore, animal mutilation.
Summary: Pickles helps out a friend, but things quickly get strange at the old farmstead.
Notes: Happy Halloween!

Click here to go to Part Two

Mama said, “There’s
something weird ‘bout Billy.
I looked in his room, his bed
wasn’t slept in at all last night.”

But Papa said, “Ah, now Mama
don’t you go talking silly.
He’s just a young boy.
He’s just sowing his wild oats
and that’s all right.”

But Mama said, “No
there’s something real
strange ‘bout my Billy.
The farmer down the road said he
lost a few of his sheep last night.

I know he’s my own flesh and blood
but he makes my blood run chilly.
’Cause I saw him from my window
and he was on the hill
just screaming at the moonlight.”

Is it any wonder we hate
to see the sun go down?
And is it any wonder we hate to
see the full moon coming around?

So Papa said, “I guess there’s
only one thing to do ‘bout Billy.
Hand me down my gun, son.
Bring along that silver dinner bell.”

But Mama said, “Papa
I beg you, don’t kill him!
‘Cause I just couldn’t bear to
think about my baby in Hell.”

But he went down to the blacksmith,
Got him out of bed and said;
“Get your fire hot.
Oh, shut up your shutters,
and close down the doors.
We’re gonna need all the heat you got.

‘Cause I want you to melt my
silver bell down to a single shot.
I got a job to do and I got to get it
done before the sun comes up.”

Oh, so is it any wonder that we
hate to see the sun go down?

Then we heard a shot,
And I said, “Papa got him.”
Then we heard a scream, and Mama
smiled and said, “Betcha Billy got him.”

But when I lifted up my eyes, there was
Papa in the doorway staring at the floor.
And my big brother Billy never did
come home no more

Is it any wonder we hate
to see the sun go down?
And is it any wonder we hate to
see the full moon coming around?

Pickles dropped down onto the seat in the green room, exhausted, his corpse paint running down his face, his body smelling like the underside of a chicken coop. His phone rang, and he answered it, still panting from having just finished the third encore.

“H’lo?”

The line crackled. “Pickles?”

Pickles raised an eyebrow, thinking the voice was very familiar, but it had been so long since…

“Rob?”

The voice laughed. “Yeah! Mr. major rock star remembers!”

“ROB! OH MY GAWD IT’S YOU!!” Pickles laughed, his exhausted bandmates watching the interaction. “Damn man it’s been like…. a long fucking time. How are you?”

“I’m good, I was just thinking about you and wondering if you were too big and important to talk to me.”

“I was always too big and important to talk to you, even when I was living in an alley. How are things? Still on the farm?”

“Where else would I be?”

“I dunno, was kinda hoping you got a life by now.”

“Fuck you Pickles.” Rob laughed.

“So how is the old homestead? Last time I saw it, the place was falling apart.”

“Yeah it still is,” said Rob.

“Shit, man!”

“Well what do you want me to do? I pay my bills, raise my crops, at the end of the day there just isn’t enough time and money to fix the dump.”

“Still hauling water in a bucket?” asked Pickles, lighting a cigarette.

“You know it.”

Pickles rolled his eyes. “That’s it, I’m coming over and building you a house.”

Rob sighed. “Pickles I didn’t call you up to beg a house.”

“I know. But… y’know… you’ve helped me out in the past. I wanna return the favour.”

Rob sighed again. “Pickles I really don’t want your money. I just wanted to see you.”

“So I’ll come by, bring some supplies, we’ll hang out and fix your house.”

“Well okay, but it’s gonna be a big job.”

“That’s cool. I’ll bring a few friends. We’ll have a blast! The tour is over, we can be at your place day after tomorrow. It’ll be awesome.”

“Well… all right. Sounds great man, it’ll be fantastic to see you. Oh and hey, Pickles? Try not to act like a rock star when you get here.”

“Would I do that?”

Rob chuckled. “See you soon, man.”

“See you soon.” Pickles closed his phone, grinning. He looked towards his bandmates, who were staring back at him.

“Juscht what friendsh did you have in mind?” asked Murderface.

Pickles grinned evilly.

***---***

Rob Baxter was sitting at his kitchen table in his humble little house… when the floor began to shake. He had been just about to put the bag from his tea onto a saucer when he noticed the spoon in the white ceramic sugar bowl was dancing, and the tea in his cup began to ripple. He raised an eyebrow.

“What the hell’s this, a damn Tyrannosaur?”

The spoon clinked against the side of the bowl, and the table began to vibrate. Dust wafted down from the ceiling, and pots on a shelf began to clang and dance. Then he heard a sound; a great growling noise, like a freight train, drawing closer and closer….

The house was almost bouncing when Rob raised his head and saw a gigantic wall of metal pull up, blocking the rest of the world out from his window, steam rising from it, the colour sort of a strange luminous red and a flat cold black. It seemed to block out the very sun, and it wasn’t until he stepped outside and got a good look at the thing that he understood what he was looking at. He stared at the gigantic bus, decorated with Viking shields, dragon head, and iron spears as it sat steaming in his yard like the Devil’s locomotive. The door opened, and there, wreathed in smoke, was a familiar little figure with long red dreads.

“Cute,” said Rob. “Very cute. This is your idea of not acting like a rock star?”

Pickles ran over and pounced on him. “I missed you!”

Rob returned the hug, staring at the monster in his yard briefly before turning his attention to Pickles.

“It’s been too long, man. Way too long.”

He let Pickles go, and was about to say something when he noticed he was being scrutinized from above. The man had to be almost seven feet tall, with cold blue eyes and rivers of hair the colour of cornsilk. Farmer and rock star considered each other.

“Fucking hell, what is that?” said Rob.

“It’s a Skwisgaar,” said Pickles. “Rob Baxter, Skwisgaar Skwigelf, fastest guitar player in the world. Skwisgaar, this is Rob, corn farmer.”

Skwisgaar huffed in disdain, putting his head up, too beautiful and important to worry about short-ass corn farmers. Rob smacked his butt with a leather work glove, too used to life’s bullshit to take crap from some pansy artist. Pickles knew they would get along just fine. Rob edged close to Pickles.

“Is that a guy? I can’t tell.”

“It’s a guy.”

“Damn.”

“He swings both ways though.”

Rob looked uncertain. “Yeah… I kinda like my girlfriends to be testicle free. Pretty, though.”

“PIGGIES!”

Rob and Pickles both looked over at a large form with long brown hair, scooping up small piglets and cuddling them.

“Aw baby piggies, so cute! Looks Skwisgaar!”

“Ja dat’s just great, Toki, now you smells likes da pigs.”

“Aw dey not stinkies, dey cutes!” Toki hugged the piglets, then looked at Rob. “What’s dey names?”

“Ham, Pork Chop and Bacon,” said Rob.

Toki gave him a look of utter horror, then fled into the tour bus with the piglets. Rob looked at Pickles.

“I’m not getting those back, am I?”

Pickles laughed. “No, sahry, but I’ll replace them. Word of advice? Don’t tell Toki what animals are for eating, it’s just easier.”

“Uh huh. Tell me, does he have any idea where fried chicken and pork chops come from?”

“Oh he knows, he grew up in a remote part of Norway, he’s seen animals butchered for meat. He knows exactly where his dinner comes from; he just… doesn’t really like to think about it.”

“Well that’s different I suppose. I get right pissed off with these morons who say ‘oh I could never hurt an animal’ while they’re shovelling a hamburger into their yappers. Well where the hell did that beef came from, the burger fairy?”

“No need to explain it to me, man. By the way, that was Toki.”

From the tour bus could be heard outraged spluttering and screaming. “WHY ARE YOU PUTTING THOSHE IN HERE?!”

“Because is smells so bads already is nots makes no difference if dere is piggies in here!”

“…and that’s our bass player, William Murderface,” said Pickles.

“Uh huh,” said Rob.

Nathan roamed out of the bus, long black hair blowing softly in the afternoon wind. He walked to the edge of the yard, followed by Rob’s slinky black and white border collie. Nathan stopped, and slowly surveyed the miles and miles of green and gold surrounding the little house.

“So you uh… grow corn.”

“Not always, sometimes I grow corn,” said Rob, sighing as Toki ran by with an armload of newborn lambs. “Bring those back! Those aren’t for eating, they’re for making sweaters! Those are Spanish Merinos, you steal those and my sister’ll kick my ass!”

Toki paused, looking at Rob, one foot on the stairs leading into the bus. “You swears?”

“Yes I swears. You wanna steal something, go take that ragged old rooster out back, he’s not good for anything but crapping anyway, I was gonna boil him for dog food.”

Toki let the lambs go, and the baby sheep scampered back to their anxious mothers. The collie followed to make sure the lambs went where they were supposed to, while Toki ran off to get the rooster. Pickles stared at Rob.

“Let me guess, every over-the-hill and dysfunctional farm animal that you don’t have the heart to put down is gonna end up on the tour bus.”

Rob grinned. “Why Pickles you do come up with the strangest ideas at times. Hey Toki! Better get the hen with one eye as well, she’s his buddy.”

“Okies. What’s abouts da big horsie? He real olds too.”

“Oh no, you leave Wyatt Earp right where you found him, he’s my buddy. You can take that donkey though.”

“What’s wrong with the donkey?” asked Pickles.

“Nuthin’, he just keeps trying to have sex with everything… and everyone.”

“Toki leave the donkey!” called Pickles.

Nathan came over to Rob, staring down at the little man, intense predatory eyes fixed dead on him. For a moment Rob knew what it must feel like to be a rabbit in a trap.

“Rob this is Nathan, our lead vocalist,” said Pickles.

“Nice to meet you,” said Rob.

“Yeah uh… likewise. So uh… where’s this house we’re supposed to help rebuild?”

Rob indicated the tiny, century-old shack that had been put up by his great-grandfather as a temporary measure until he got the real house built, and then never did. Nathan stared at it, taking in the decaying roof, the leaning porch, the rotting logs, and crumbling chimney.

“Brutal,” he mumbled.

***---***

It had been a long time since Pickles had been on a farm in the middle of nowhere, listening to the sad lonely wind hiss through the acres and acres of corn. He’d forgotten just how very eerie a Wisconsin corn field was, and how as a teenaged runaway he swore he would never again hear that noise, that cold, reptilian hiss. He was sure that noise made people insane, and drew evil out of the dry earth that slithered under the beds of the young, and the unwary.

The first time Seth attacked him had been on this very farm. His mother had been friends with Rob’s mother, and had come out to visit. That was how Pickles met Rob; two little four year old boys playing cowboys out in the yard, Rob’s German Shepherd dog Fritz reluctantly playing the part of the wild mustang. The wind had been blowing, but at the time it hadn’t been anything more than just wind, at least not to Pickles. To Seth’s deranged mind it had been something quite different, and the attack he launched at his little brother had been violent enough to prompt Rob’s dog to attack. Molly wanted the dog put down, but Rob’s mother wouldn’t budge on the matter. It seemed in this house Seth’s lies held no sway, and when Rob told his mother Seth attacked Pickles, and Fritz had stopped it, she believed him. Pickles had been a big fan of the Baxter family ever since… but not of the cold wind that skulked through their crops.

Pickles shivered as the evening wind hissed, then started as an arm slipped about his shoulders. He looked towards the person who had approached him.

“C’mon,” said Rob quietly. “It’s gonna get cold.”

Pickles shook his head. “You’re bunking with us tonight. Real running water, flush toilets, refrigeration…”

“I dunno, sounds like witchcraft to me.”

“The sports channel…”

“Of course witches have their uses.”

“Have you met Murderface yet?”

“Nope. Heard him though.”

“You’ll like him. He’s into NASCAR and funny-cars and stock cars and all that useless crap, just like you.”

“Y’know, Pickles, for a man who makes his living dressing up like either a girl or a zombie, you sure are unimaginative and narrow-minded.”

“My groupies think I’m cool.” He was about to head to the bus, when he heard a strange sound, and paused, listening. It sounded like…. “It that a wolf?”

“Not sure,” said Rob. “I been hearing it for a few nights now. I’d swear there wasn’t a wolf within a thousand miles of here.”

Pickles heard the cry again. “Dood that’s a wolf. We raise them, I know a wolf when I hear a wolf.”

Rob stared at him. “You raise wolves?”

“Well not really, they’re indigenous to the area, we just encourage them to hang around. We have the biggest pack of endangered Norway wolves anywhere in the world.”

Rob rolled his eyes. “Well why is there a wolf in my cornfield?”

“I dunno man, I’m not a wolf. But there are wolves in Wisconsin, timber wolves, the big grey ones. It could be old, or sick, or lost… wolves aren’t dumb, they don’t get themselves into cornfields unless there’s a problem.”

“Well if he eats my sheep there’s gonna be a problem. You go on inside, I’m gonna put my critters in the barn. If there’s nothing to hunt he won’t stick around.”

“All right.”

Pickles went into the tour bus, glad of the familiar surroundings and smells and sounds. There was Murderface playing that stupid arcade game with the wheelchair, Skwisgaar playing his ever-present Gibson, Nathan dozing on the couch, and Toki bottle-feeding a piglet.

“Toki those pigs have been bred for meat, that little squeaker is gonna be six hundred pounds when he’s done growing!”

“Oh is okies, I makes up beds for dem on da others sides of my room.”

Pickles looked at Skwisgaar, grinning at the Swede’s facial expression.

“So much for your white bedroom,” said Pickles.

“Ja I t’inks Toki’s pigs be sleepings outsides.”

“Aw but Skwisgaar!”

“Toki they’ll be happier outside,” said Pickles. “They can dig around in the mud and stuff and do pig things. There’s nothing in the house for them but stone, that’s no place for a pig.”

“Well… maybes. I t’inks abouts it.”

“You wants be havings sex wit’ me agains?” asked Skwisgaar.

“I suppose dey bes happy in a nice warm barn. But dat’s for when dey is biggers! Dey too littles rights now.”

Skwisgaar grumbled something, but let the matter lie. Pickles sat down on the floor to pick up one of the piglets and cuddle it. So small, so soft…. so very good breaded and served with apple sauce. He would never admit in a million years that his heart turned to mush when the little pink thing began suckling on his finger. He managed to extract his finger and gave the small animal a bottle.

“That is so not metal,” said Nathan sleepily.

Murderface stopped playing his game long enough to scoop up the third pig and give it to Nathan, along with a bottle. Still lying on his back, hardly moving a muscle, Nathan held the bottle for the little black and pink thing to suck greedily as it stood on his stomach.

“Totally not metal,” he said, grinning.

Rob arrived after a little over half an hour, walking into the large sitting room and finding himself a chair. He looked around the interior of the huge tour bus.

“Damn, this place is bigger than my house.”

“You should see our house,” said Pickles, grinning.

“I’d like to, I been meaning to pop in on you. I was thinking after I get the harvest in. My sister could watch the critters.” He reached out to pat the collie as it came to sit beside him. “I just didn’t know if you would remember me.”

“Rob I would never forget you,” said Pickles. “Except for those last two years in Snakes and Barrels that I lost.”

Rob grinned. “Yeah well you were pretty young back then.”

“And he hasn’t grown up yet,” said Nathan, the piglet now full and asleep on his stomach.

Toki looked up as a low moaning howl sounded in the distance. “Dat’s a wolf.”

“Probably a timber wolf,” said Pickles. “They’re big buggers. Did you get all your animals in, Rob?”

He nodded. “Yeah they’re all locked up and safe. Funny thing is they wanted to go. They were scared. Even Wyatt was worried, and if you ask me a twenty-six hundred pound Percheron stud doesn’t have to worry about no damn lone wolf.”

“Horses are funny, though,” said Nathan. “You never know what’ll bug them.”

“You have a horse?” asked Rob.

“Used to. Friesian. He was in the Thunder Horse video.”

“Oh yeah, saw him. Nice looking horse.” He watched the huge man pet a sleeping piglet. “I could so blackmail you people if I had a camera.”

“Not a chance,” said Pickles. “‘Cute’ sells merchandise to chicks. Speaking of which…” Pickles took a picture of Nathan lying on his back with the piglet, and then another of Toki. He posted the photos on his MySpace page, to instantaneous squeeing, cooing, and wibbling. “See?”

Rob laughed. “Pass me a beer.”

Eventually the piglets were bedded down in a small enclosure near the fire on hay covered with flannel sheets. The mangy old rooster and his one-eyed girlfriend were nestled in an ornate black and red fighting cock cage. Rob just shook his head.

“You people have way too much money.”

“No such thing,” said Pickles, as Nathan’s phone rang. He looked over at the large man as he answered the call, then grinned as he heard Nathan’s tone soften.

“Hi beautiful. What ya doing? Getting ready for bed? Yeah, I miss you too. Did I what? Oh. Yeah I did. Yeah you’re gonna see a lot of stupid purchases, we’re building a…. whaddya mean you’re used to seeing stupid purchases? Come over here and say that ya little brat, I’ll paddle your ass. Oh feeling playful are we? C’mon, we’ll talk in my room.”

Nathan walked upstairs, heading for his private quarters. Rob watched him go, then looked at Pickles.

“Girlfriend?” he asked.

“Husband,” said Pickles. “Charles.”

Rob made a face. “Can’t imagine why a man would want to cuddle up to another man. Guys are all… hard and hairy. And smelly. And they’re built funny.”

Toki looked over at Skwisgaar, who was dozing on the sofa. “Mine nots none of dose t’ings. He’s beautifuls.”

Rob raised an eyebrow. “Does he have a penis?”

“Ja ‘course he does.”

“Then he’s built funny.”

“Well is good t’ing for you I nots share, isn’t it?” Toki stood up and stretched. “I goings to takes a walk.”

“Stay close to the house,” said Pickles. “And do naht go into the corn field, we’ll never find you!”

“Okies fines, I nots goes into da cornfield. Don’t worries abouts me, I nots a littles kid.”

Pickles watched Toki leave the bus, stepping out into the evening, probably to visit the animals. Rob lit a cigarette, watching him leave.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Rob quietly.

“Severe physical abuse,” said Pickles. “He’s been beaten, chained up in a shed, whipped…”

Rob was horrified. “Jesus Christ, who would do that to a kid?”

Pickles shrugged. “Well I wouldn’t, but that is why he’s like that. In some ways he’s permanently stopped at about eight. He never had any toys, never got to play with other kids, lived in the middle of nowhere and was regularly beaten for nothing, really. So now he’s an adult who basically acts like an out of control kid because he never got to be a kid. Skwisgaar takes good care of him, though.” Pickles reached out to stroke the long golden hair of the man sleeping on the sofa.

“I dunno about that, they seem to ride each other pretty good,” said Rob.

“Yeah they do,” said Pickles. “They love each other but there are some serious egos in play. Word of advice? Do naht fuck with Toki. Because Skwisgaar will hang you with your own guts.”

Rob laughed. “That skinny thing?”

“This skinny thing once threw himself in front of me and beat down three attackers with his guitar to protect me. There are definitely a few Vikings in his ancestry, and if you fuck with him, he will absolutely fuck back.”

“Holy shit,” said Rob quietly. He sighed. “Maybe I should get a Viking to look after me.”

“Where’s your wife?” asked Pickles. “I thought you married Laurie Parker.”

“I did, and that’s a real good question,” said Rob. “She just woke up one day, said she was sick of the sight of me and that ugly damned house and she was leaving. She threw her things in her car and that was the last I ever saw of her.”

“I’m sorry,” said Pickles.

Rob shrugged, then grinned. “Say Pickles, take a picture of me with that big blonde there.”

“Well okay, but why?”

“I’m gonna e-mail it to my cousin to make her crazy.”

“You’re evil, man.”

***---***

Skwisgaar raised his head, disturbed by the feeling of someone lying down beside him. He was still on the sofa, and it was almost daybreak. As an arm slipped around his waist, he caught the damp scent of freshly-washed skin.

“Toki?”

“Ja, is me Skwisgaar.”

“You was gone all nights!”

“I know.” Toki snuggled close to him. “I gots lost in da cornfield.”

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes dramatically. “Tokis! Weren’ts you tolds to stays outs of da cornfield?”

“Ja, buts I nevers been in one before, I wanted to sees whats it was like.”

“Is likes a field of corn, don’ts do dat agains.” Skwisgaar squirmed, the sofa not quite large enough for them both. “Come on, let’s go to beds.”

“Ja,” said Toki, running his hand over Skwisgaar’s side. “Bed sounds good. Bed sounds very good.”

He kissed him hard, sliding his hands over Skwisgaar’s lean body. Skwisgaar made a soft sound of surprise.

“Toki, nots in da…”

“Why nots?” Toki kissed him passionately, his hand pushing up Skwisgaar’s shirt and removing it. “Dere no one here buts us.”

Skwisgaar pushed him back. “Toki…”

Toki kissed him again, his hand moving over Skwisgaar’s ribs. “I want you.”

“Buts Rob could come in and sees…”

“Fucks him.” Toki sat up and pulled off his shirt, tossing it aside, then leaning down to kiss Skwisgaar again. “I wants you.”

“Toki if Rob comes in…”

“He won’ts…”

Skwisgaar sat up and roughly pushed Toki back. “I nots a whore! You can’t just comes in here afters being out all night, pulls my clothes off and has sex wit’ me when we gots companies! I don’t care if da guys see buts not a stranger! You wants sex so bad, sits here an’ jacks off!”

Skwisgaar rose to his feet and snatched up his shirt, stalking across the floor and heading upstairs. Toki got up and chased after him.

“Skwisgaar…”

“Leaves me alone!”

Toki followed him into their room, closing the door behind himself, catching hold of Skwisgaar and turning him to face him. Skwisgaar pulled back, blue eyes angry… and the smallest bit frightened.

“Toki you scarings me.”

“I know,” said Toki softly. “I sorry. I don’ts know why I dids dat. Was wrong an’ I sorry. I just… had real bads nightmare last night. Shooks me up so bad, I just… needs you.”

Skwisgaar allowed himself to be drawn closer to Toki. “I thought you spends da night in da cornfield.”

“I did, but at one point I laid down to watch da stars. Was so pretty, an’ dere so many of dem. Buts I must has falls asleep because I has crazy dream abouts gigantic wolf. It bites an’ claws me, hurts so bads… den I runnings t’rough da field, an’ I so hungry… an’ I founds some sheep…”

“Was just a dream,” said Skwisgaar softly.

Toki nodded. “Ja. Ja you rights, just dildos dream. And I sorries I scare you. I just… needed you. To makes da fear go.”

Skwisgaar kissed him. “You can has me. Buts don’ts do dat no mores.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Toki kissed him, and Skwisgaar responded, melting against him. Soon they were on the bed, naked, their bodies melded together and turning to gold in the morning sun, droplets of sweat turning to sparkling gems in the beams of light that crept through the window.

***---***

While Toki and Skwisgaar were making love, Rob was starting his day. At an hour when Dethklok were not even breathing, he had made coffee, had breakfast with the road crew, and was about to go feed his animals when it occurred to him that Pickles would just love to get up at sunrise and help. He walked into Pickles’ room, grinning at the form passed out on the covers, wearing only his underwear. Grinning even more widely, Rob raised one gloved hand… and brought it down on Pickles’ butt with a resounding slap. Pickles sat bolt upright.

“DOOD! I’m alive! What, is it Fan Day?”

“Wakie wakie, sleeping beauty! The sun’s up! Time to get to work!”

Pickles stared at Rob, wholly confused. “Rob?”

“That’s me.”

“What time is it?”

“Sunrise! There’s cows to milk and lambs to feed and horses to shoe and crops to…”

“You’re insane! It’s sunrise!”

“And I’ve been up for an hour. C’mon. Put your jeans on.”

“But… it’s sunrise!”

“Git your drawers on and quit yer bitchin’.”

“Nooo… I don’t wanna….”

It took a little cajoling, but soon Pickles was out of bed and hauling hay, and hating every second of it.

“Dood I will never bitch about long recording sessions again,” he grumbled, shovelling out Wyatt Earp’s stall while the huge horse watched him with interest. “What time is it?’

“Eleven a.m.,” said Rob, stacking bags of feed.

“As soon as I am done with this horse I’m having a smoke and a beer.”

“Me too. Give me a hand with this…” 

Both froze as they suddenly heard a woman in the yard screaming Rob’s name. Rob dropped the feed bag and ran out of the barn, Pickles close behind him. Standing in the driveway was a tall woman with long dark hair, dressed in jeans and boots, and a flannel shirt that had seen better days. Behind her was a beat up blue truck, which was likely how she arrived. As soon as she saw Rob she pounced on him and hugged him. Rob returned the hug.

“Joyce what’s the matter?”

She cried on his shoulder. “Something’s been in my barn. My sheep are all dead! All fifteen head!”

Rob looked at Pickles. “Must be that wolf we heard last night.”

Joyce shook her head, then broke free of Rob, running back to her truck and throwing down the tailgate. She then turned to face him, pointing at something in the truck bed.

“A wolf didn’t do that, Rob! A whole pack of wolves didn’t do that!”

Rob and Pickles walked over to the truck, and stared in horror at what they saw back there. It had been a sheep at some point, but now it was a mutilated pile of meat and bone, joints yanked out of the sockets, tendons snapped, ribs spread wide, and the skull broken open. While a pack of wolves may have been able to inflict the damage, they would have eaten the sheep. Nothing on this animal had been consumed.

“When did this happen?”

“Last night, I don’t know. I didn’t hear a thing. I got up this morning and found them all like this. I had them locked up in their shed and something ripped through the locked door.”

“Well I’ve got three lambs you can have, to build up your stock but we still have to figure out what did this. I still say a determined wolf…”

“Those doors are ripped right off the hinges!” Joyce was shivering as she spoke, wiping at her eyes. “I found chunks of hide and guts in the rafters. Now what damned wolf is strong enough to go through a solid wood door and throw chunks of an animal twelve feet straight up?”

“Show me,” said Rob. “C’mon Pickles.”

“Oh, yeah, dood, just what I want to do with my day, look at sheep guts.”

They drove to Joyce’s small farm five miles down the road. The first thing they saw as they pulled into the yard was her blue and white shed in which she kept her sheep. The doors had been smashed through, one pulled almost entirely off the hinges. Inside was what could only be described as a blood-soaked collection of parts that used to be fifteen sheep.

“Bloody hell,” said Rob, his eyes large.

“That’s exactly what it is,” said Joyce, “a bloody hell. Now tell me again a wolf did that.”

“A wolf eight feet high at the shoulder, maybe,” said Rob.

The trio got out of the truck and walked over to the shed, examining the marks in the wood; deep, savage gouges with traces of dark grey fur in them, and strands of sheep’s wool. There was blood spray everywhere, and a dead lamb on the peaked roof.

“Bear?” said Rob dubiously.

“You ever hear of a bear doing this?” demanded Joyce.

Pickles noticed something down in the hay, amidst the dead sheep, and picked it up, examining it. The thing was a large gardening claw; something that had no business being in a sheep shed. He walked over to the dead ram, and compared the tines to the wounds on the animal’s head. They matched.

“Lycanthrope,” said Pickles.

Joyce and Rob looked at him, staring in shock. “A lycanthrope?!” said Rob. “You mean a werewolf? Pickles you been sniffin’ your sweat bands.”

“Not a werewolf,” said Pickles. “A lycanthrope.”

“What’s the difference?” asked Joyce.

“Well a werewolf is a mythical creature.” Pickles held up the claw. “A lycanthrope is a mental case who thinks he’s a wolf. Know anyone in town who fits that description?”

Joyce sighed. “I know a mental case ex-boyfriend who’s going to jail. I’m calling the cops.”

She left the shed, clearly angry. Pickles tossed the gardening claw down into the blood-soaked hay and followed Rob out of the shed, putting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, then offering one to Rob, who accepted it.

“The sad thing is I can honestly see Drew getting loaded and doing this to hurt Joyce,” said Rob. “He used to be a good guy once upon a time. Too much booze, and too much dope. Now he just hangs out in the bar causing trouble.”

“That’s too bad,” said Pickles quietly. “Joyce seems like a nice girl.”

“She’s my sister’s best friend.”

“Where is your sister Darla, anyway?”

“Down at some big sheep exhibition, trying to buy Old Norwegian sheep.”

“Dood if she wants an old sheep…”

“It’s a breed, you twit.”

“I got a young Norwegian she can have. Comes with a rare Long-Legged Swedish Blonde.”

“Yeah well unless she can harvest their coats for wool she doesn’t care. The girl has sheep on the brain. C’mon, I wanna get an apple. Joyce grows the best apples.”

Pickles grinned. “Maybe if you asked nice she’d let you taste more than her apples.”

Rob raised an eyebrow. “That is not the dumbest idea I have ever heard. Maybe I’ll ask her out. Not sure where I will take her in this…”

Both froze as the apple tree came into view, and there, hanging from the branches, were the ragged remains of what had once been a very large man, thrown up there as if he were little more than a towel. His entrails hung down in long strings, and beneath the tree was a wide, shiny pool of congealing blood.

“Well Drew got the sheep, but who got Drew?” asked Pickles as Rob puked.

Click here to go to Part Two