How Not To Be A Werewolf (Editing)

The Time I Woke Up Covered In Blood

My name is Alec Colby, and I'm a werewolf.

You might think that sounds cool, but I can tell you it's not. It hurts like hell and the fur gets everywhere. I really do mean everywhere. I swear the rest of the time cleaning up after I transform. It's a bloody nightmare. Anyway, I'm getting way off track...

Before I was attacked, and my life suddenly began to resemble an episode of Supernatural, I never believed anything like this existed. To me, werewolves, vampires and the paranormal in general were just made-up stuff from books and movies. You could say ignorance is bliss. Well, until I ended up with so many scars that I lost count and a terrible craving for raw meat. Not to mention the dreams about accidentally killing my loved ones. Those were the worst.

My memory of that night is still pretty hazy, so I guess I'll start my story from when I do remember-the morning after.

Sam Ryan had decided to invite most of our senior college year to celebrate Halloween at his place while his parents were out of town. Things tended to get messy at our parties, so I wasn't entirely shocked to find myself lying fully clothed in the middle of my bedroom floor with a pounding headache and my face planted firmly in the itchy embrace of the carpet.

It was not the first time I had woken up like this. Far from it.

As I slowly lifted my head, I felt the loose threads as they clung stubbornly to my face. From the slight burning sensation, I gathered the imprint of the wool was now etched onto my cheek like a semi-permanent reminder that my life at this point was a complete mess.

Not that I needed reminding...

I grimaced. My room was the last place I had wanted to wake up. How the hell had I managed to get home from the party?

The last thing I remembered was throwing up in the toilet after downing one too many vodka shots. A dryness clung to the walls of my throat, but there was nothing in my memory bank after that. Not a damn thing.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't recall leaving the party, let alone getting home. I must have passed out after my last vomiting session. Maybe one of my bandmates had driven me home at the end of the night? If that was the case, I really hope my puke had been contained to the Ryans' downstairs toilet...

I must have still been conscious enough to get upstairs by myself. If Mum had made sure I got upstairs, I wouldn't be passed out on the floor. There would be a glass of water by my bed, and some aspirin ready for the headache that was currently threatening to tear my skull apart.

The usual piles of clean clothes were sitting at the base of my bed waiting to be put away. Another was placed just in front of my wardrobe. Several loose playing cards and poker chips had been left out on the floor. I locked eyes with a Joker that seemed to be laughing at my predicament and had to shake myself mentally. Something didn't seem right about all this, but I couldn't quite place what it was.

As I leaned on my arms to lift myself into a sitting position, a sharp pain shot through my right shoulder. I bit down on my lip to stop myself from howling out. I used my left hand to push myself up instead. There was a faint throbbing somewhere deep inside. It seemed to burn as I thought about it.

Crap, that's not good...

I didn't want to, but I knew I would have to make myself look to see what damage had been done. Taking a breath, I glanced down. The whole right shoulder of my once blue t-shirt was stained with thick, dark, dried-up...

Shit. Why the hell did I have to look?

I hated the sight of blood at the best of times, but my own tended to make things a whole lot worse. I threw up in my mouth a bit as I continued to stare down at my ruined t-shirt.