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MY DAD'S A WEREWOLF

“I'm gonna do it."

“Dad, no."

“I'm definitely gonna do it, Foster."

“You better not."

I gave my father a look that meant I was serious. A full-on disrespectful glare, even.

“This is the one time of year I can get away with it," he argued, then shook his head disapprovingly. “Your mother looked at me the same way. Her face nearly got stuck that way."

“And look where that has brought you."

My dad went quiet then. For looking like such a manly man—a beard for days, body hair that would give waxing estheticians an aneurysm, and penetrating eyes that always seemed to watch my every move despite his easygoing parenting style—he looked hurt.

“Sorry. I didn't mean that," I said. “Just don't want something bad to happen is all."

His broad shoulders stiffened. Looked like he could carry the world. And maybe he did. I imagined it wasn't easy as a single father, especially in his condition, no less. But, hey, it wasn't easy for me either. Peas-in-a-pod sorta thing.

But I had a point.

We lived in a modest house in a quiet neighborhood nestled against the backdrop of a picturesque forest. A place where every neighbor minded their own business. The worst thing you could expect was a welcome casserole the first time moving in. I didn't need this man running around giving people a reason to start up a neighborhood watch group. Karens were best left at the stores and restaurants demanding managers, not clutching their pearls behind their window blinds while calling the police.

“They can take you away, you know. If you do something like this."

Or worse…

“I'm a grown man," my father replied flatly.

“And I'm still practically a kid. Devin wants to go hunting for candy tonight for old time's sake, and I can't have some 'grown man' wolfing out around town. You'll traumatize the kiddos."

“They won't even know it's real. Just a big, hairy costume."

“That's not the only thing I'm worried about." I gave another knowing glare—the glariest of glares.

“Jesus, kid, I'm not gonna eat nobody."

“That's not what I'm—"

“Just need to stretch my legs. Let the muscles breathe."

For emphasis, my dad extended his arms in a few makeshift yoga poses. All his big muscles bulged, none of it thanks to any gym membership, believe me. Every muscle had been gradually growing the past week, as per usual, thanks to tonight. But even during the safe days he was still big all over. Residual benefits, I supposed.

He gave a big flex, showing off how his pecs popped in his tank top, how his biceps could squash any of the pumpkins decorating our neighbors' front doorsteps, easy.

I met his chuckling with an eye roll.

My smartphone chimed, offering a reprieve from my dad's ostentatiousness.

Devin's text asked if we were on for tonight.

I don't know , I replied. Aren't we too old to be soliciting our neighbors for free candy?

God's honest truth, I didn't believe that. Free candy was free candy. No complaints there. But I couldn't tell Devin that, even if he was my best friend. Needed any excuse to keep my pop's “personal affairs" within the family as I've been doing for years.

I let a breath escape. Dad didn't notice. From the corner of my eyes, he had navigated to showing off the southern realm: the taut calves, his bulging thighs. Yes, Dad, your little idiosyncrasy means you can skip leg day and still reign as King of the Meatheads.

Oh, God, he was flexing his glutes now.

Dude dude dude , Devin said in one text, saving me from my newborn trauma. Then doing an extra dollop of Daisy: Dude.

I hammered back a quick What?

“Devin, I presume," my dad chimed in. Once he snagged back my attention, he returned to flexing a pec. Was he hurting for attention or what?

“Dad, enough with the boob bounces," I said, rolling my eyes. “Yes, it's Devin. He's hassling me about tonight."

“You should go. Have some fun. Get wild. Vomit candy chunks later." Well ain't my dad generous. I imagined that most guys my age who still wanted to trick-or-treat had the opposite problem with their parents. “Just be a kid, like you said. You don't need to babysit me."

Before I could formulate a rebuttal, the phone chimed again.

You dressing up as a cat tonight or something? Don't be such a pussy. Let's goooooo...

So that's why I had two eyes, one for each person that kept making me roll them. Surprising how my eyeballs couldn't revolve independently of each other given all the practice. My life felt like a cartoon, after all. Nothing but weirdness and chaos.

And don't be rolling those you-know-whats, Devin added. They'll spring off your face, you know.

Oh, give me a break.

Before I could text back something snarky, his next text said, Heading over with my new costume.

What, now? I smashed back.

Dad started tottering to the fridge to scrounge up some nommy-noms. Shredded cheese, this time. He hankered down a handful.

I swear, a thirty-six-year-old man required a sharp razor for his beard rather than sharp cheddar. He was making a mess.

The package of cheese crinkled in his hand. My face crinkled in much the same way.

“What?" my dad said, unashamed. He tossed back more shredded goodness. “You know I get hungry as it gets closer."

Another phone ding. Another reprieve.

Or, perhaps, switching gears from one annoyance to another.

Yes now, Devin said. Don't be a lame-face.

Why was I friends with this guy again?

I'm reminded of the phrase _No good deed goes unpunished. _I'm saying this jokingly, but I almost regretted stepping up for him as kids.

First grade.

Devin had moved to the neighborhood mid-year. Not a good time for any young'un, especially when all his schoolmates had time to establish friendships, a routine, relationships with teachers, the whole nine yards. Notwithstanding, the schoolyard bully had sniffed out that weakness—his newness.

Easy prey.

And little ol' me decided to put that punk in his place. You know: knock him down the food chain a couple links. A little philosophical learnings from my dad, even at that age. Probably one of the many things that fed into his disputes with my mother. But he would never apologize—Dad grew up this way, all rough and tumble. He didn't expect me to apologize, either.

And as a result of these fatherly footsteps, Devin took to me like a pesky flea I could never quite scratch off. Harsh, I know. But like I said, I said that jokingly.

Kinda.

I'm not sure our friendship was worth the suspension, I decided to say.

Love you too, Fosterrrrrr...

“Fuck…" I groaned, dropping the phone onto the counter with a clatter.

“What did I tell you about such language?" my dad interjected. Don't be fooled. This wasn't a fatherly discipline moment.

“Swearing is caring…." I said this with all the bitterness of the grapefruit juice he was now downing—straight from the bottle. I never understood the people who drink that stuff. Masochism, I guess. Everyone had their kinks.

“Yessiree." My dad wiped his beard free of the various grapefruit particles that'd migrated there. “If someone can make you swear, that just means you love 'em. That you care."

“Oh, yeah?" I couldn't help but grimace. Nor could I help but say the next thing that would take my father aback for a moment: “How did that little nugget of wisdom pan out for you romantically?"

After he steeled himself: “In that case, it was because I cared too much about the situation."

“Precisely my predicament with Devin," I replied, on the verge of resting my case like a lawyer. “We're having a situation here. I'm not in love with my best friend of all people. The person I do love, the adult standing right in front of me, is thinking about doing something very risky and very dumb tonight. With all those nuggets of wisdom you keep sharing, you sure as hell keep dipping them in the sauces of wonky decisions."

“The sauces of wonky decisions," my dad repeated, seemingly impressed. “How do you come up with this stuff? I should be taking notes from you!" There was warmth in his voice that proved he wasn't just mocking me. “You may be eighteen going on thirty-eight—heck, older than me!—but go ahead. Mock my crispy nuggets and dipping sauces. I still have the power to ground you."

He finished off the bag of cheese, getting more shreds in his beard.

“Dad," I stated heavily. Yes, the goofy sloppy Dad trope had its endearing qualities… but this sorta thing happened every month.

He raised an eyebrow.

I tossed him a napkin from the counter.

“Just clean yourself up," I said with a smile I had to summon with all my strength. I hated being a downer, I really did. But, inwardly, I was damning the incoming full moon. Why did it have to fall on this day of all days? Why Halloween? “Devin's coming over. Don't embarrass me."

“No promises there."

* * *

After having berated my father, teasingly, on the mess he was making—how he must be feeding some tiny nest of newborn mice with the amount of cheese-debris his beard now harbored—he decided to take a shower.

Good.

Whatever.

Out of my hair for a few minutes.

With a so-called best friend on the way and a dorky dad currently preoccupied, I made for the room. Yes, just the room. Didn't feel like giving it an official name… or using the name my dad liked to call it (starts with “sex" and ends with “-geon"—that's your only hint). The location in the unfinished basement of the house was enough—as were the things inside it.

The stairs creaked stubbornly as I made my way down. For a carpenter and overall handyman by trade, my dad didn't take care of things like that in the house, nor the leaky faucet in the bathroom upstairs.

Opening the solid steel door with a weary creak, a dank smell wafted into the hallway. Lights flickered on, revealing the things my dad's profession offered instead: windowless cement walls, a “business" bucket (you'll see), and five sturdy chains cemented deeply into the farthest wall.

Probably as important were the things the room did not have. For one, nothing else my father could grab or use, not even a chair. Instead, a solid, concrete bench, in which the foot shackles were embedded, had been fashioned into the wall. No visible pipes or wires. Nothing easily breakable—like wood or plaster. The single recessed light sat flush against the ceiling behind reinforced glass—like an unreachable eye, always watching.

The room was a solid cement prison built for no escape.

Time for its monthly check up.

Even though I've been doing this for years, it had to be done. No sense taking any risks with a false assumption. That everything would go swimmingly as it did the time before. Caution was the parent of safety and all that, although I certainly felt like the parent of the unsafe instead.

The neck-level chain earned my scrutiny first. I had to step on the bench to reach where it entered the wall. No damage there. I snaked my hand over the length of the chain. Again, no damage. Then checked the straps at the end. They were thick but had some give. But only a little. Only enough to accommodate what happened when the lull of the full moon became too great, even for these concrete walls without windows. Nothing to let in her dangerous light.

It was an inevitability, each and every month.

And this was why I couldn't leave for college or risk a real job even though I wanted both those things. And what if I wanted to find love? Wanted to start a family? My stomach soured a bit thinking that perhaps I would always be here. Always protecting him.

Options kept so limited. I had my own walls, though mine weren't made of cement.

“He's your dad," I told myself. “This is your job. This is your responsibility. He has no one but you."

And to be honest, who was I to complain? My dad made plenty of money doing his handyman thing. And I got paid well enough as his assistant. Got to see bored suburban housewives, aging widows, and even the occasional closeted conservative ogle my dad as he'd work—reason why he often got repeat business.

Lawn care was the major job request during the summers since he loved working shirtless, sweat dripping off exposed muscles… and my dad had that way of smiling whenever customers offered fresh-squeezed lemonade. Made homeowners blush and giddy. Truly eye-rolling stuff, the things that get people worked up.

Made jobs easy, though, and thus my dad's life. And a happy dad made mine, I guess, not so difficult as well.

Few demands were made of me, although Dad never needed to threaten groundings or take my phone away. The chores got done. I was home before a self-imposed curfew. Marijuana and alcohol were gross. Gangs were non-existent here. Trouble usually came by way of neighbors balking at someone's hideously uncut yard. And this was the extent that I wanted trouble to find us.

But there was one concern. One thing that could undo my comfortable life.

I knew I didn't have to worry about it, but it sometimes tickled the back of my mind—the off-chance I still had what my dad had, although that was slim at this point. I was lithe and smooth as any boy my age—got none of the “benefits" that would've reared its bestial head during puberty. Nine for my father. He started young. I'm already an adult, technically. Twice that age now.

Nothing to worry about.

Repeating the inspection with the two chains meant for two arms, and the chains in the cement bench meant for two legs, everything seemed secure.

All systems go.

A quick glance in the bucket proved it was still empty. I had cleaned it last month after my dad had filled it to the brim… there was always the need to mark his territory, and thank whatever Almighty that existed he had the mental clarity to use this thing for his business.

Not quite done, though.

In the adjacent room where all our junk and Christmas decorations were stored, I checked the refrigerator. Mounds of meat in their wrappers, mostly steaks. Dad made a point to buy them himself because he was particular about his meat. Grass-fed, grass-finished, organic. Probably gold-trimmed and fairy-dusted too at this point. He swore he could taste the difference.

And there was plenty for tonight.

Beside the fridge existed a peephole big enough for both eyes. Glancing through, I could see the chains and the cement bench—exactly where my dad would be sitting tonight.

One final check: the back door which led, as you guessed it, to the backyard. Locked. Caution dictated I'd check it again after restraining my dad later.

Four knocks at the front door summoned me. Just in time, too. All checks complete.

When another cycle of knocks began, I followed along: “One, two, three, four."

I opened up the fucking door.

“Five, six, seven, eight," said Devin. “Ain't us besties effin' great?"

He tossed back a laugh and pulled me in for a bro hug. Typical Devin.

“'Effin' great'?" I wondered, returning the back pats. Avoiding swear words was not typical Devin.

We gave each other our ceremonious reverse explosion fist bump.

“Trying to cut back on them naughty words!" he confessed. “At least for tonight. We'll be around impressionable kiddies, and I don't need any angry mommas suckin' out my soul with a Karen-level death stare—or worse: insisting I'm too old for the holiday."

He stepped inside the doorway, but I positioned myself on the first step so he wouldn't go any further.

“We may be fresh out of high school," he said, “but you and I can't let the little kids in our hearts wither away like elderly jack-o-lanterns."

“Yeah, about that…"

“Anyway!" he interrupted, dropping a bulging shopping bag next to his feet. “Got myself a classic. What are you gonna be?"

“Dude, I tried telling you," I said, “I can't go this year."

I swear, I nearly had to find a shovel to scrape his jaw off the floor.

“Normally I'd go. You know me: Woo-hoo! HFL!" From the look on his face, Devin didn't seem to support my brand of sports-fan-level enthusiasm. I shot my arms up triumphantly like they do when the home team scores. “Halloween for life!"

Devin didn't crack a smile.

“Look…" I offered. Gotta think of something fast. “My dad's sick. I'm on candy duty for tonight."

“Probably sick of living with a lame-o like you." Devin shook his head. “Just leave a bowl of candy out. Kids are smart! They can put a piece of candy into their little orange pails all on their own."

Before I could retort with another lie, my dad chimed in humorously from the top of the stairs. “Is that my good ol' boy Devin I hear?"

Good ol' boy. The title Devin earned for serving as my best friend for ten years now, though I never earned such endearments from his parents. Other folks, including my dad, always said Devin and I looked like brothers, though. Not only did we share the same slim build, we also had the same sandy mop of hair in the same messy style, the same bluish-gray eyes, the same dimple on the right cheek. Of course, people had other things to say regarding our sometimes incongruent personality, including my dad.

Why did he have to pop out now?

“Hey, Mr. H." H was short for Hartwood, but Devin never called him that. “Heard you came down with something. Sucks that you're sick tonight."

“Sick? If yinz mean sick as in awesome, then hell—I'm sick as a dog! Full moon night, I'm coming white!"

“Dad!" I chastised. When I turned to shoot him a mean look, my stomach churned.

There he stood fresh from his shower, water dripping from his muscular torso, six-pack and everything. Dark hair stuck to his body since he was still wet. At least he had a towel wrapped around his waist. The goofy grin was so obvious on his freshly shaved face.

Devin shot me with his own look that said he had caught me in a painfully lame and obvious lie. Then he said with a smile as he turned back to my dad, “What did you do to the killer beard?"

My dad touched his smooth chin for emphasis. “Well, your best friend there couldn't help but criticize my using such a majestic thing as food storage for Hickory, Dickory, and Dock." He winked. “Don't worry. It'll grow back soon enough. Probably sooner than you think."

Another wink.

“Dad!" I snapped again. Didn't need certain questions getting asked.

“Anyway…" my dad continued with a clap of his hands. “What did Ursula say in that one Disney flick? How it's rude to lurk in doorways? Invite him in, Foster."

Sighing as Devin brushed past me and up the stairs, we made our way to the living room I had cleaned and made sofa-ready earlier. Dad offered him a bottle of water from the kitchen. They discussed the nice weather, touching briefly on the monsters of politics and the upcoming election since he could vote now, before settling onto Devin's excitement for tonight. Devin mentioned the nearly perfect costume he'd found and whipped it out.

“I see you're ready for tonight," Dad said, amused at all the faux-fur. “Good taste, too."

“Expensive, but worth it," Devin agreed, pulling out each piece: a snarling wolf mask, a set of gloves ending in lifelike claws, and a fuzzy chest piece. Furry stockings, too.

You wouldn't believe how I felt seeing it all come together. Why this particular costume out of literally anything else that existed? He could've been the bride of Frankenstein instead for all anyone cared!

Of course, my dad was bemused.

Incredulous, I said, “So you decided to arrive in the middle of the day just to show off a werewolf costume?"

“And to see if you guys can help me finish it. Since Mr. H usually sports that lumberjack look when his beard isn't hacked off"—the two shared a chuckle—“I figured he'd have one of those plaid shirts."

“Two things," my dad said warmly. “First, I'm sure there's an offensive stereotype in there somewhere. Second, you know not to call me Mr. H, even shortened like that. I'm not ready to feel so old."

Admittedly, my dad had a point there. Clean-shaven like this, he could pass for a hairy older brother. If you'd done the math earlier, you'd know he had me when he was only eighteen himself.

No other kids. No brothers and sisters for me. Perhaps why I inherited a lookalike in Devin who filled in the missing role of sibling.

But Dad felt like a big kid himself… perhaps it was best he didn't have more of 'em. Watching out for other little Hartwoods in addition to the big man? Hell no.

All of this, I realized, made me sound like a stick-up-my-butt grownup. Ugh… perhaps I should just go out tonight. Enjoy the last two years of teen life in me. I'd be twenty soon enough! And especially since I may very well be looking after my father at 25… 30… 35… until he was riper than a forgotten banana. Did my father age normally? I lingered through a thought of myself as some old man still wrangling my father who may very well look as he did today. Age nothing but some slow-moving, arbitrary number. Lucky bastard. And here he was, complaining about feeling old!

“You know my first name," my dad continued.

Devin glanced at me, then back at the hairy oaf.

“Jack it is then!" Devin said. “Unless you want me to call you Dad? Maybe Daddy?"

“Please don't make this weird," I shot at Devin who had the nerve to punctuate his joke with a suggestive wink. Then I took aim at my father: “And that goes double for you."

My dad chuckled heartily. “Jack is perfectly fine."

At this point, I must warn you to keep reading at your own peril. Stop now. Please.

Just then, through my dad's chuckling, his towel slipped from his waist, landing neatly around his ankles.

I saw it all. The towel had slipped so fast, so unexpectedly.

There stood a buck-naked man in the living room. Saw the dark, bushy pubes. Two fat nuts still warm and loose from the shower. An extra-large schlong (he definitely put the long in that word, and I hated myself for thinking that). How his meat ended in a fat mushroom head that bulged out of its foreskin.

The whole image was probably singed into my mind now. Even made out the outline of veins feeding that humongous thing.

Heavy. That's what came to mind. The one word I'd pick to describe it all.

“Whoopsie," my dad said with a hearty chuckle as he turned around. “Don't need you two seeing any of that."

And guess what? He decided to turn first, then bend down to retrieve the towel, exposing his thick, firm rump and hairy crack.

“Jesus, Dad," I cried, blocking the view with my hand.

“Nah," he said as if scarring his son for life was nothing, “I don't think our lord and savior would approve. Although I did warn you of an upcoming full moon, now didn't I?"

I shouted, “Would you get some clothes on already?"

My dad's fake sheepish laughter followed him down the hallway into his bedroom. Didn't even bother to close the door, although thankfully Devin and I could no longer see him from here. Rummaging sounds proved he was searching his dresser for something decent.

“No wonder his name is Jack," Devin whispered, although I'm not sure if that was to me or to himself.

“Huh?"

“No homo," Devin warned, “but not only is he totally jacked and hot as eff, but did you see how big his sch—"

“Don't talk about that! He's my dad, jeez…."

“I know, but damn. Seriously. Stallions want to be hung like him, I bet. I'm jealous AF." Then, with an elbow prod, he said jokingly, “Bet you got lucky in the genes department too, didn't you?"

“Lucky?" I snapped back, feeling my face blush. Then, under my breath so that Devin couldn't hear: “Lucky like a brick to the face, all things considered."

Devin apparently had a few things to say under his own breath. Didn't catch a word, though.

“What are you two muttering about over there?"

Dad appeared at the bedroom doorway clad in nothing but a pair of loose boxer shorts. Though I could still make out a bulge, I'd take that over buck nakedness any day. He held a folded shirt. Seeing his pert nipples, I was about ready to force that shirt on him like pajamas on an unruly child.

“Haven't you embarrassed me enough?" I exclaimed.

“Oh, stop it, Foster." My dad waved away my concern as he rejoined us in the living room. “It's only a big deal if you make it one."

I turned to Devin for support, but all he did was nod in agreement, saying, “The man speaks truth."

“Don't encourage him."

“By the way, Devin," my dad said, flapping open the requested plaid shirt he'd been holding. “Found just the thing you were looking for."

My phone rang. A tune I only ever heard during holidays or my birthdays. The name that showed up verified who it was. Normally this was a Band-aid situation. Something to rip off quickly. But, right now, it was another much welcome reprieve.

* * *

I had made my way to the kitchen for privacy, leaving the weirdos in the living room to their own devices. Dangerous, I know. But I needed the breather. Even if the breather was this.

“Hey," I said once I answered the phone. “Happy Halloween to you, too."

“Oh, hi, son! You beat me to it. Happy Halloween! How are you?"

I'll spare the boring details of this little conversation. Most calls I'd receive from her went through the usual. This one was no different. She wanted all the updates: my health, my part-time job (which didn't exist—I only said it because she didn't approve of my assistant position for Dad's handyman business), my girlfriend status, etc. When she was feeling generous, she would sometimes ask about her ex-husband.

“When are you moving out?" she prodded, a toddler whining in the background. She asked her off-screen boyfriend to feed his child. No, it wasn't some half-sibling of mine, in case you were wondering. Tubal ligations shortly after my birth ensured that. “You can't live with that man forever."

“I'm sure you know the feeling."

She laughed. “It certainly wasn't easy. No. Your father is a handful. You shouldn't have to deal with his incalculable issues. Always sneaking out. Always lying. Always manipulating. You understand."

No sounds wafted from the living room. No voices. No idle chitchat. This put me on alert. No sign of Devin nor my dad when I took a peek.

“Look, I gotta go."

“You trick-or-treating with Devin tonight?"

She had never met Devin in person, but I've talked about him plenty over the years. So far, she's only remembered his name.

“No, not this time."

“Oh, good. You're too old for that, you know. I'm surprised your father let you go last year. Go get a girlfriend instead. Be loyal to her. You'll have much more fun."

“I'll try harder in that department."

I glanced down the hallway. Light in Dad's bedroom.

The woman on the other line prattled about taking little Mary, the toddler there, outside. Apparently it's colder further north. She'd have to bundle Mary up. Keep her warm. Keep her safe. How she never felt during her marriage to, you guessed it, the selfish, evil man I lived with. The man I better not become.

Same report I had received last year. And the year before that.

Despite the light, no noise shimmied from my dad's room. Perhaps this phone conversation was drowning out their conversation.

“Okay, well, I hope the regular cold weather works out for you. Talk again on Thanksgiving?"

“Sure thing, Foster," she said. “We're very busy today as well. So many good sales. Especially on Halloween. I'm buying new decorations for the house. Everything's fifty percent off right now!"

At this point I covered the phone and crept towards the light, spotting the occasional shadow movement. Thankfully the hall didn't have any forbidden creaks like the stairs.

When I peeked into the bedroom, my eyes went wide. There stood Dad and Devin, their backs towards me. I could see the freckles that peppered Devin's shoulders; his shirt was off for some reason. Both he and my dad were looking down together at something, although I couldn't see it.

“What are you two doing?"

They glanced over. I saw what was in Devin's hand.

The plaid shirt.

“Oh, hey, Foster," Devin said. “Just trying this on. A little big, but it should work well with my costume tonight. Did you ever figure out what you're gonna wear?"

Dad gestured to my phone and whispered, “Is that your mom?"

I nodded a curt yes before telling Devin I still wasn't going out tonight. “Invite your other friends."

“All of them are hitting up parties. I'm not dressing up as a wallflower tonight. Plus, I want to spend the evening with my best bud."

“Foster," my dad said calmly. In fact, seriously. “Just go. Have fun. I'll stay home after all. I will, uh…"—he glanced at Devin—“hand out the candy tonight."

All the tension in my shoulders relaxed.

“You promise?"

“You bet your behind, I do. Don't want to be some brick in the face, after all." He turned to Devin. “You go on home and get your costume all nice and ready like we talked about. Foster here needs to get a few chores done before he's allowed out for the night."

“Sure thing, Mr. Jack!" Devin said, then he pointed at the phone in my hands. “That's your mom, right?"

Listening again, the conversation had not paused on her end one bit. She was detailing the absolute trauma of dealing with an incompetent cashier and a rude manager over a coupon—coupons that were clearly not expired. Though she was able to get the manager to bypass the no-coupons-on-clearance-items rule for her, she planned on calling the corporate office first thing tomorrow.

Someone needed to accept responsibility and compensate her for the time and frustration those employees forced her to endure. Two people almost ruined her holiday!

“Hey, Mom," I finally managed to sneak in when she chanced a breath. Though briefly sympathizing with her last point, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Looks like I'm going trick-or-treating after all."

* * *

The dying sun clung to the horizon, casting its death-glow over the neighborhood. Streets shrank from the sharp shadows of stripped-bare elms. Even then, the streets were alive. Children and chaperoning adults, boisterous teens, the occasional black cat darting beneath a parked car—it was a packed evening.

Houses upon houses appeared before us. Many glowing with their collection of spooky lights. Images of smiling skulls and carved pumpkins haunted the windows. Real-life jack-o-lanterns took residence on front steps. Various animatronics groaned macabrely or startled passing kids all in their costumes. One girl dressed as a witch screamed when a zombie rose from its grave.

This was a good neighborhood for trick-or-treating. Most took the time to decorate, to celebrate. Hand out some good candy. Many houses I recognized, including their owners. Many employed my dad, after all. Ms. Periwinkle (dressed up as her man-eating plant-woman persona called Ms. Scarywinkle) handed out popcorn balls like she always did. Had an appointment coming up, actually. Needed the yard raked and tidied—post-Halloween cleanup.

Many other houses we visited offered old memories or served new ones, held old residents or welcomed newcomers to the neighborhood. So many years here… I was glad to make it out tonight. Glad to experience both the familiar and a sense of wonder from the neoteric.

Cavity-inducing goodies had stuffed our pillowcases half-full by the time Mr. Gardener's house crept slowly into view, almost like one of those zombies. I couldn't help but smile.

He went all out for the holiday, the yard haunted by all manner of ghouls and ghosts, gravestones and giant, evil pumpkins glowing eerily throughout. Cobwebs imbibed every available bush. Creepy music ululated down the street from some hidden plot, lulling little children closer.

Devin recalled a faint memory that embarrassed him—the first time we went trick-or-treating together. Second grade. We were dressed as the Dynamic Duo. We had stopped at Mr. Gardener's house. My dad was there, watching from the sidewalk. He had offered to take Devin along since his parents both had to work that night.

Devin and I rang the doorbell.

Out popped Mr. Gardener dressed as Dracula, cape and everything. Blood trailed down his chin. His face was milky white.

I wasn't sure if it was the fake teeth or his penchant for remaining in character as he professed his taste for the unspoiled blood of the young. Perhaps the reason was simple: Devin was a total wimp.

After giving the performance of a lifetime with Dracula's signature laugh, Mr. Gardener bared his fangs with a vampiric hiss.

Devin screamed bloody murder.

He booked it down the path towards my dad, his black cape flapping behind him. Dad couldn't help himself. He was in stitches… and it wasn't his Frankenstein's monster getup either. In other words, he was useless.

I took it upon myself, little Foster-Robin, to retrieve the friend I had made less than a year ago—the sidekick comforting the hero. The irony.

“That's just my neighbor, Mr. Gardener," I remembered telling Devin. “He's not a real vampire. Look, he has candy."

Between hesitant tears, Devin followed me back. Held my hand so tight, I thought I wouldn't be able to lug my pillowcase back home afterward. Mr. Gardener gave a friendly, non-vampiric chuckle, promising there was nothing to fear. Let Devin have first dibs at the candy bowl.

I remember my dad commending me afterward. “You're like his big brother."

Except we were about the same age. In fact, Devin was older than me by about two weeks! Perhaps why my dad started calling him “good ol' boy," now that I thought about it.

And here the two of us were now. Eighteen and returning to the same house. Devin in a werewolf costume this time, and me dressed like, as he called it, a mascot for the bedding section of JCPenney.

“I can see why you dragged me with you tonight," I teased as we approached Mr. Gardener's door. “You cried so much the first time, you were more banshee than Batman."

“I get it," he conceded. “I should've been Robin. You were the hero that night."

Chuckling, I rang the doorbell. Mr. Gardener appeared in his usual Dracula costume. The same each Halloween. Wrinkles showed through the white makeup, betraying his years.

“Oh wonderful!" he said in his best Transylvanian accent. “A child of the night. The moon shines ever so bright. Come!" He gestured for Devin. “What music do you make?"

Not missing a beat, Devin reared his head back and howled at the moon. The bright disc had been trekking behind us for a while now.

My father. I had done my best to keep him out of mind. Despite the full moon suspended in the sky right now, since he was safely locked in the cement room downstairs, he would be good for at least another couple hours.

No windows meant no moonlight.

However, he had declined eating any of the meat stowed in the fridge for him. That worried me. Feeding him to near-bursting helped placate his, let's say, urges. Urges that could take over if we weren't careful. But since we were strapping him into the room so early to accommodate the holiday tradition, he didn't want to spoil his meal. Always best to feed right before it happened.

While I was double and triple checking his chains, my dad also suggested something a little odd. He recommended that I let Devin spend the night. Said he felt really bad for almost ruining our night. We could watch his favorite movie (The Howling) as we munched on our Halloween haul.

Of course I refused. No way! Too risky. What if Devin decided to stroll into the room? How do I explain a chained-up wolf-man?

Again, I had to chastise my father for suggesting something so stupid. Father of the year, am I right?

“And you… the eerily silent one." Mr. Gardener was addressing me. “I'm afraid I must ask for a refund on that flat sheet. I don't recall ordering one with two big moth holes."

“I'm a ghost, Mr. Gardener."

“Oh, is that Foster I hear? That means the hairy one must be Devin. You too were always attached at the hip. But aren't you two getting along in years? Trick-or-treating's for children, you must very well know!"

“You don't believe that!" Devin accused.

Mr. Gardener chuckled. “How observant of you. I say, it's usually the boring ones who say such stuffy things."

“Tell that to this guy." Devin nudged me. “We almost didn't go tonight thanks to him."

“Why, Foster, you were always the mature one," Mr. Gardner said humbly. “Why, it was only ten years ago you were comforting your tearful friend here on my very step! Monsters don't seem to bother you."

“Well, there's one that certainly does…" I said under my breath, then aloud: “There are worse things to worry about, I suppose."

“Indeed." Mr. Gardner had long lost the fake accent. But he handed us each our favorite candy bar. Full-sized ones, too! “If I may make a recommendation—learn to have fun with the monsters. I mean, we have an entire day for doing so, and in the best—or worst—of circumstances, our entire lives!"

He gave his best Dracula laugh and wished us a happy Halloween.

“See!" Devin said as we squeezed past a group of trick-or-treaters. “Even an old-timer like him appreciates the holiday!"

“Yep," I said, not wanting to argue. If only he knew.

We bounded towards the next house. Devin stopped short, however, once we reached the steps. He had something to say. Even the glowing jack-o-lanterns seemed curious.

“Why didn't you want to go today? You pretty much lied about your dad being sick."

Not necessarily, I thought.

“You and I both know that we're old enough to buy any candy we could desire from the store… just didn't want to spell that out for you is all."

“Bullshit," he teased. “You and I also both know free candy is king."

“I don't know what else you want me to say." My brow furrowed as I raised the half-stuffed pillowcase like hard evidence. “We're out here now aren't we?"

The silence told me he was smiling behind his mask, but all I could see was the hungry grin of a werewolf.

“Let's chill at your place. Once we're done, that is. Trade candy like we used to. You can take all my Mars candy bars. Just give me all your Kit Kats."

“Tonight's not a good night," I said, stepping up onto the front porch.

“Why not? You're being so weird right now."

“Because it's not."

Devin decided to change the subject. “Your dad was totally digging my costume. Too bad he didn't get the chance to see it once I had the whole thing on. He was in the bathroom for a while."

That's because he wasn't in the bathroom while we were getting ready to leave. He was in the room. Chained to the wall. Thankfully Devin didn't want to waste any precious trick-or-treating time. He wanted to get going right at five.

The last group of kids caught back up to us, so I rang the doorbell.

“Maybe I can show him my costume before the night's over?"

“Why?" I asked. “It's just a costume. I'll take a picture for you."

Some fourteen-year-old girl with the grumpiest face ever answered the door. Cheap suckers clattered in the bowl she snatched from the floor. After bombarding us with a blank expression, she announced we were too old.

“We're young at heart," I replied, although I couldn't quite hide my sarcasm.

“Says the musty blanket," she said with all the humor of a Reverend Mother quoting scripture.

“Yep! Young, dumb, and full of fun," Devin added, instigating my elbow to his side.

She rolled her eyes but managed to drop a single sucker in each of our pillowcases. She seemed as equally enthused when the next group edged us off the porch.

“You're totally gonna be like that chick back there," Devin said as we returned to the sidewalk. Laughter in the distance reminded me of how little of it I had created tonight. Maybe Devin had a point.

“If I do, it'll be for good reasons."

“Good reasons?" Devin stopped, glaring at me through his mask. “Why is showing your dad my costume such a big deal? You embarrassed that I saw his junk earlier? Not that big of a deal. We saw naked guys in the showers back at school."

“That was embarrassing, but…"

“But?"

“Forget it."

“Seriously?"

Devin slumped to the curb.

I felt myself getting flustered by this interrogation. Almost wanted to call the night off early and go home. But then I'd look more like an ass than a ghost. An ass under a fucking bed sheet.

Instead of leaving, I plopped down next to him. He took off his mask, revealing matted hair and a clammy face. Moonlight shimmered in his eyes.

He dug through his haul to munch on a Kit Kat.

“You know you're my bro for life, right?" Devin said, taking another bite.

“Just last year, you forced me to promise to marry you if we were both still single by thirty. I kinda figured."

“You love my jokes."

“Is that what you call it?" I said. “Love?"

Devin snickered. “I haven't forgotten how you stopped that bully for me. You really let his face have it. At least you put him in his place. Was a shame they suspended you and not him."

“And somehow my dad was proud of me regardless, can you believe that?"

“I can see why you're so protective of him. I see the way you two talk. You're more his father than he is to you."

There was silence between us. I debated just telling him everything. But how could I? Take my position for a moment. Who would believe the story I had to tell? That I had to lock my father in the basement right smack in the middle of each synodic month?

Awkwardness replaced the silence.

“Look," I managed, “about earlier—“

“Not gonna lie, Foster. I'm worried something's happening. You've been acting weird today. And your dad—well, let's say he's been extra friendly, too. You guys planning on moving away or something? You leaving town for college and just don't want to tell me? Part of me wonders if you're getting ready to start a new chapter in your life—one without me, now that we're both stinking grownups."

“What?" I said, stunned. A knot began to twist in my stomach. I didn't realize I'd been making him feel this way. “That's not it at all!"

“Then what is 'it,' dude? Every once in a while, I've seen you get weird like this, and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable by asking. But, at the same time, we're supposed to be best buds. You can tell me anything. Trust me as much as I trust you. That's all I ask."

Guilt. Damn, he was laying that on thick. Part of me wanted to divulge everything. Just lay it all bare. I get where he was coming from. But I had to protect my father, probably more than I needed to protect this friendship. Admitting that, I suddenly sensed the beginning miasma of sadness.

“I would tell you," I finally offered him. “But it's really complicated stuff. Personal stuff. I can't just talk about it."

“I think…" Devin started, looking nervous. “I think I know what you mean."

Alarm bells started up in my head.

“When you were talking to your mom earlier… when it was just me and your dad in the room, well, he—“

A kid started to cry. A bigger kid guffawed—a cruel laugh. A sound I knew.

Devin and I noticed the bigger kid holding a jack-o-lantern pail above the smaller kid's head, just out of his reach. He snorted as the smaller kid jumped for it and missed.

Without thinking, I threw off my costume and bounded over. Yelled at the larger kid to return the candy.

“Make me!" he shouted before dashing away, laughing. So quick, he was out of sight by the time Devin caught up.

“You okay?" I asked the kid. He nodded between sobs. “Where are your parents?"

“My mom couldn't get work off to take me, so I went on my own. Then he took my candy!"

I noticed a plastic mask on the ground that'd been stomped to pieces. Part of the kid's costume.

“He picks on me at school too."

“Find yourself a good friend," Devin said, looking back at me. “That'll keep you safe."

The kid ended up wanting to go home, so we walked with him until he really was safe. I offered him my candy, which took him by surprise. He was probably eight. Small kindnesses always seemed bigger at that age. We transferred the candy to another Halloween pail he retrieved from his house and thanked me with a hug before heading back.

Devin punctuated the scene with an “Aww…" and just like that, we were back on the road. My house wasn't far, and I recommended we head there.

“You can't help yourself, can you?" Devin suddenly accused as we walked.

“What?"

“You feel you have to protect everybody. Me, that kid, and even your dad for some reason. I wonder where that comes from."

I shrugged.

“It's because your mom left."

I stopped. We were so far from any group, I heard no laughter on the streets.

“Just think about it, Foster. You're filling in the void she left. That's why you rock that Mama Bear persona. It all makes sense now."

“Perhaps you should become a psychologist."

“Why did she leave?"

I sighed. “Do we need to talk about this?"

“I just want to know why you're acting so… weird. Why you lied to me earlier. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Silence widened the space between us. Almost a palpable thing the longer I stood there, unsure of what to say. I did not want to end the night with a fight. Would've defeated the purpose of hanging out in the first place. A night out with friends is only as strong as it ends—or so I've heard. I briefly wondered if that applied to relationships.

Unburdening myself with a sigh, I finally offered something: “You know my family dynamic has been weird, and I don't like talking about it. But my mom has told me plenty of times why she left my dad. She was convinced he'd been snooping around behind her back."

Devin's eyes blew wide, as all unexpected scandals did. “What made her think he was?"

I tried not to fidget. I didn't want to give away too much. “He… would take a night off to himself every once in a while—you know, blow off some steam. Take a short road trip. Align his chakras in solitude, that sorta thing."

“What do you think he was doing?"

“Not cheating on my mother, I can tell you that." There was an edge to my voice, which gave Devin pause.

“Look, I didn't say he was," Devin offered like an apology. “In fact, he's been a free man ever since I've known you. I've never seen him bring home so much as a girlfriend. Is it a MGTOW thing?"

“No, it's not that. He… just doesn't want anyone hurt. And I don't want him hurt, either."

Devin's look said he could tell I was being vague on purpose. More deceptions. More lies that could drive a rift between us. I had to offer something more concrete.

“He wants to break the cycle in our family."

“Cycle?" Devin's ears perked up. This was news to him. “What kinda cycle?"

“It's a family disease. You see, my dad's father—my grandfather—well, he left when my dad was only fourteen."

“Ouch."

“Yeah, my dad was… unwieldy as a teen. When my grandfather saw that there was no controlling him, that coupled with an unhappy marriage where all he could do was everything wrong, he left… or so my dad has told me. I've never spoken to my grandfather. Don't even know if he's alive. But you know what's worse? My absentee grand-daddy had taken a page from the play book by his father."

“That's awful," Devin said.

My unlit house finally loomed closer, nestled quietly in its cul-de-sac. A FOR RENT sign dangled in the destitute yard next door. My yard didn't fare much better despite my love for the holiday. My dad took on a less-is-more philosophy when it came to decorating. Less cleanup that way.

On the front steps sat a pair of pumpkins my dad and I had painted. Mine had a simple toothy jack-o-lantern grin with dark, solemn eyes. Depicted on my father's pumpkin was a rough recreation of Van Gogh's The Starry Sky. In place of the cypress tree from the original painting, however, was the silhouette of a lone howling wolf.

As we stepped onto the dark porch, Devin said after some thought, “So your great grandfather left his son too. Now throw in your mom leaving on top of that. That's what you meant by family disease."

“And my father wants to break that cycle. Part of why he's so… chill with me, I guess. Part of why we do so much together. Part of why I look out for him so much."

“Like helping out with the family business—the handyman stuff." Devin was getting it. “What could possess your grandfather to leave? How hard is it to be there for your son?"

At this point, I may have said too much. I could tell he had more follow-up questions, but I cut him off: “Look, we can hang out tomorrow. I don't want to end the night getting into all of this."

The moon hung in the air like a silent witness.

“You sure you don't want to chill?" Devin pressed. “Put on a movie or something?"

I gave him a look.

“No, you're right," he said. “Don't mean to be clingy or pushy. Let me just say something before you disappear like a real ghost. You don't need to be everyone's hero, Foster. At least not all the time. Family disloyalty sucks. I get why you're so protective of your dad. Jack feels like a second dad to me in some ways, too. I get it."

He touched the sleeve of the plaid shirt my father had given him.

“Heck," he continued, “you've seen both my parents and all they care about are their careers. I was just an accident they penciled into their lives. I think I've spent more dinners here than back home. Which means I've been around enough to see how…"—he hesitated for the right word—"peculiar your dad gets on occasion. Whatever's going on, I want you to feel like you can tell me. Perhaps I'll understand more than you realize."

There was a lot to unpack there. Part of me wanted to see what he was getting at, especially by what he meant by that last little thing. Devin had been over a lot these past ten years. Tonight wasn't the only time I've acted like this, sure.

How much did he actually know about my dad then? Did he suspect? Did he know? Did he just need me to make the first move?

Sensing my hesitation, Devin said with a sting of disappointment in his voice, “Just a thought. I won't force you to do anything. See you tomorrow."

After offering to give him a ride home and getting a polite refusal, I closed the door on him, leaving Devin on my front steps with nothing but his werewolf costume, a sack of candy in one hand, the mask in the other. Part of me wanted to cry as I secured the locks. But there was no time for tears. They didn't solve anything. But part of me couldn't help but wish that things—and maybe I was selfish for thinking this—were a little more simple.

* * *

Checking on the peephole earlier proved my dad had stayed put as promised. In fact, he was asleep, head lolling to one side, arms chained overhead, causing his hands to hang limply like sausage links. The straps for his neck and legs were secure. The piss-bucket sat close by, although I hoped I wouldn't have to help him use it any time soon. Otherwise, things were looking good.

His bare chest rose and fell steadily as he slept. All he wore was a loose pair of sweatpants—the largest available at the discount department store's Big and Tall section. They'd be tight on him soon enough.

As expected, the change was already upon him like an aura of danger. He was bigger. Maybe half a foot. Definitely hairier. Even the five o'clock shadow had advanced to an eight o'clock badger. One thing I couldn't ignore was how big his muscles got. How defined they were. Dense. A hormonal cocktail must've surged through his body during a full moon. Testosterone levels off the charts, I bet.

Honestly, I wasn't sure if that's how werewolf physiology worked. Maybe it was more magic and mysticism than science. Perhaps a curse. My dad was sure genetics played a big role. Something that got triggered during puberty. Movies had it all mixed up thinking a bite passed it along, if one were to survive an attack.

Several years back, I had a desire to join him. A father-son werewolf duo. But he refused to bite me no matter how much I asked, no matter how much I taunted his bestial form. Had to trick him into biting me when I fed him. Got my hand good. Pierced skin and everything.

No healing factor arrived to zip up my wounds. No extra hair grew in weird places. There came no desire to howl at the moon or chomp on raw hamburger. Instead, I learned how to bandage myself and lie about the blood spots at school. That was the first and only time I've been grounded.

What I did gain from all this was years of experience. Took care of my hairy old man about once a month since I was ten, I think, when I first found out. Despite not knowing his origins and not taking Werewolf Science 101, this I knew: his animal urges were only difficult to control. Not impossible. Just difficult.

I wasn't worried he'd kill someone, and I had good reason to think that. In fact, I worried more about the opposite—people. Anything was a killing device in the hands of the scared, whether guns, knives, a vehicle… hell, even bare fists. Fear numbed reason. Kept us pesky humans alive sometimes. I couldn't risk any person's fear.

But not all people reacted rashly out of fear. Maybe… just maybe I could tell Devin. Honestly, it would be a relief to share the weight of this secret. Hell, he might be able to help watch the guy—or even better yet, keep me company without having to lie and hide what I was doing. What my dad was doing hiding in the basement.

Wishful thinking, perhaps. Hopeful thinking. Sometimes that was enough to carry humanity through its fear.

So here I was in my room now, reading a book. Winding down for the night going commando with a comfortable pair of shorts as I normally did. I had stuffed my so-called ghost costume and the empty pillowcase in the laundry hamper.

During the full moon, I'd sometimes stay up all night to ensure my father's safety. Sometimes I would sleep, finding him safe and sound in the morning anxious for freedom, only waking on occasion to help with the piss-bucket thing. Not once had he escaped. And tonight felt like a night I should put any worries away and tackle some z's.

Except I had texted Devin an apology for the way our night had ended, for all the weirdness.

No response.

Perhaps he'd gone straight to bed… or maybe he was ghosting me for the evening. Ha! Ghosting. More irony.

However, we've had our fair share of tough conversations, and things didn't seem that bad how we left things off. But, whatever. If he was mad, I'd deal with it tomorrow.

Ignoring this, I kept reading in the comfort of my room, only pausing when I'd hear the occasional grunt from the vent in the floor. Later, as I began dozing off, the rumbling groans I now heard made me recall the times my younger self used to camp by that vent with a cozy blanket and the latest Goosebumps book in hand. Dad would make all sorts of monstrous sounds while I read. Made me wonder if the make-believe monsters from the books sounded like that. Perhaps reading about them helped me handle the real one trapped in my own basement.

But it wasn't all bad. The worst part was having to feed him. All that raw meat, juices dripping onto the floor. The sounds he'd make as he tore through flesh, swallowing chunks whole.

Gross… and shit!

(No, not that kinda shit… I had made my dad promise long ago to use the bucket only for number one.)

I had totally forgotten to feed him!

My drooping eyes shot open upon this realization.

No wonder he was grumbling. Waking up ravenous was probably the equivalent of waking up with a hangover for a werewolf.

I listened at the vent to steady myself if I was about to make headway into a hangry howler.

Instead, I heard curious grunts and groans, like he was having a pleasurable dream—perhaps about dancing cows he could gobble up. But I've been listening to him for years, and they were sounds I've never heard before.

Off I went to the room, not caring if the creaky stairs would wake him. Peeked through the peephole for a quick check and did a double take.

My dad was already very much awake… in two ways.

Big, hard-as-cement erection we're talking here. He could probably bust the chains that restrained him if he could give it one good swing. The foreskin was pulled back, revealing the entire bulging glans. Dripping from its slit was a heavy, thick line of pre. I watched as it trailed down the long, girthy shaft. A few prominent veins knew they needed to feed such a monster to keep him hard like this. I didn't think it was possible to get a cock this big fully up, but here he was—pointing at the ceiling. Pointing at where the moon probably hid outside like some phallic divining rod for a hidden lunar pool.

That last thought almost made me laugh if it wasn't for my curiosity.

My dad was huge. Excited twitches forced out more and more viscous pre-seminal fluid, until it started pooling in the concave space between his hefty balls that rested between his legs where he sat. He was leaking worse than the faucet upstairs!

I finally turned away. Yep, that was enough of an eyeful to last me the rest of my life, thank you very much. But then I realized something, and looked again. His sweatpants were pooling by his feet. There was very little give to the chains. It's not like he could just grab it easily and work it off. I've never seen him do it… but perhaps with how over-sized his pants were, I supposed a little shimmying would be enough.

Almost anything's possible when you're horny.

But then I saw both gloves… hairy ones that ended in fake claws. Right by my dad's feet. The same gloves worn earlier by—

“False alarm?"

That voice.

“Everything in this old house creaks," my dad growled. “If it was Foster, he'd've walked in by now."

Devin appeared from the far end of the room where he'd been hiding, still dressed in his costume sans the gloves. He was clutching his werewolf mask in one hand, worry crowding his face. Much like a sheep before a ravenous wolf.

“Maybe we shouldn't—“

“Maybe you shouldn't worry about it," said my dad. “Foster will be fine. You were the one whispering those lewd things, remember? How you'd like to take me. All of me, if you could."

Whispering? I thought back, remembering Devin saying something under his breath in the living room after my dad had left for underpants.

He wanted to fuck my dad.

The bastard.

“I still don't know how you heard me," Devin said.

“Like I mentioned before, I'm a werewolf. Good hearing comes with the territory. Just like you and I later tonight, I hope."

Ignore the horribly salacious Dad joke. Why would he admit all that? Looking him over, he was halfway transformed already—pointier ears, bigger teeth, and nails that had grown dark, thick, and… sharp. Despite being in the big concrete room with no windows, he could never fully resist the moonlight's tempting light. The wolf was always too ravenous.

“Your costume's impressive. Mine doesn't compete!" Devin chuckled. “Even more impressive that you go all out, chaining yourself up like this. I've always wondered what was in this room. Never realized it was a sex dungeon. Quite the territory indeed."

Couldn't believe he called the room that. Now it was official, it seemed.

Devin stepped closer, growing confident. The way someone would approach a bonfire. Close enough for warmth, but not enough to get burned.

He looked my dad's face over. My dad could only return the look, held back by the chains. Helpless. Lust full in both their eyes.

“Go ahead, Devin," my dad pressed. “Touch me."

He didn't need any more encouragement. Devin grasped my dad's dick, barely getting his entire hand around it. Gave it a few strokes to get it fully hard again. He decided to join in and pulled down his pants, revealing himself… a girthy eight inches. Hard and very erect. He was cut, the fat glans dripping with pre, betraying his excitement. He totally wanted this, and he had my dad all to himself.

“What are you," he asked, comparing my dad to himself, “about eleven inches? This thing is massive."

My dad cocked his head, measuring himself mentally. “Right now it is. It'll reach more than a foot in length once we get to the real fun later. You'll see."

Patience wasn't Devin's virtue. My dad groaned as Devin jerked him off faster, spreading slick pre around, probably hungry to see my dad fully hard. Didn't even realize my dad meant he boasted more than a foot of cock after fully transforming.

Devin dropped his other hand to beat himself off, groaning with my father. Two sensitive cocks getting pleasured by an old-fashioned handy… by my best friend, freshly eighteen and horny as any guy his age. My dad did his best to hold back his noises, his various grunts. Settled for not giving a shit and going all out with the sex noises.

While Devin had his youth, Dad had the animal that fed his lust—and he growled with such pleasure.

“Put the mask on," my dad ordered moments later. “Gloves too."

Devin grinned. “Didn't know you were into costumes."

Dad grinned. “It's less about the costume."

Devin obliged, first slipping on the werewolf mask then his gloves.

“Suck me off with that on," my dad said, pleased.

Devin, again, obliged. My dad's dick disappeared down the open maw of the werewolf mask. Devin braced himself against Dad's inner thighs, spreading him out. Wet sucking sounds told me he was taking my dad as deep as he could… and Devin worked diligently, sometimes attempting a few deep-throats, although my dad seemed much too thick for that.

And my dad sat there, grumbling with pleasure. Encouraging Devin to keep sucking, to flick his tongue over the slit, or to focus sucking on the head… or to go deeper until Devin gagged, until my dad let out a drawn-out sigh.

“It's been so long," he said, wincing. Probably some teeth there. “I'd love it if you'd come over for some regular practice."

Devin gave an unintelligible response—dick in his mouth and all.

You must be wondering what I was thinking the entire time.

Let me tell you, it was strange seeing my dad like this. Oh, there was some anger, for sure. A heavy dash of disappointment. Normally he was all jokes and goofiness. Laid-back to the point that I had to discipline myself. Seeing his sexual side… weirds a guy out a bit.

As for Devin… man, I didn't even know where to start there. Besties were supposed to celebrate when the other got laid, right? But with my Dad?

Unfortunately for the both of them, I needed to pull the breaks on this operation.

Sorry, horny Dad. Sorry, horny best friend. Time for horny jail.

Then I realized something. Somehow I was touching the wall in front of me… but not with my hands. When I looked down, when I saw what was touching the wall, I knew, for better or worse, that the night would pan out very, very differently.

* * *

Yes, I had a physician-heal-thyself moment.

Shame had washed over me. Totally popped a huge boner watching Devin and my dad go at it. What the hell was wrong with me? I wanted to run upstairs and hide in my room. Let these two horn-dogs finish their raunchy rendezvous in the basement, then never speak of this night again. Find some way to look them in the eyes the next day… and the rest of my life.

Instead of ditching them, I watched. Fondled myself, even. Just over my shorts, the outline of my cock so noticeable through the silky fabric. Something else had quickly replaced the initial sense of shame.

A good feeling.

My best friend removed his gloves and returned to stroking my dad's fat cock, giving his mouth a break… their groans and moans of pleasure, my dad grunting with encouragement, muscles tensing… my friend stroking his own eight-incher, wowed by touching somebody else bigger than that… their heavy nuts ready to blow… so much pre-cum leaking everywhere.

Though it took me a few tries to get there, I had to admit, this was hot. All of it.

I've never been so rock hard. The tent in my shorts was huge, and I couldn't help but tease the bulge until it grew a wet spot. But when Devin eased closer to my dad, smashed their dicks together, then used both hands to stroke their cocks off simultaneously, everything getting slick with their combined pre-cum, I knew I had to bust myself free. Out popped my boner as my shorts drooped to my feet and were summarily tossed aside.

Glancing down as they frotted noisily, my hefty ten-inch dick ached for attention. Devin was right about good genes. I was big and thick like my dad. Except I was cut, the bulging glans freely leaking. Already such a drippy mess.

Eventually I got myself slick. Beat off as Devin, still wearing the werewolf mask, and my dad tossed their heads back, groaning with pleasure, occasionally looking down at their sensitive cocks. Devin's lust fueled his quickening strokes. My dad growled, muscles tensing again, as he had no control over his pace, how good Devin was making him feel, how he couldn't help but swear and shudder and want to melt into the walls from his touch. Basically at Devin's mercy.

I wasn't sure how long I stood there jacking off, feeling my big balls swinging with every stroke. A good while, I bet. I wanted to cum when they did, so I stopped when I needed to. Edged myself a few times to the brink. But then my dad's grunting became more frantic… his body shuddering almost nonstop now, chains clinking and clanking.

“You're gonna make me blow…" he managed through gritted teeth. His canines were noticeable now, and a snout was forming… but Devin was too distracted. Caught in the thrill of it all: the hardness of my dad's dick, how it twitched with excitement, how the bulging head felt ready to burst. “Slow down, slow down…"

Devin finally relented, giving easy strokes now. I could sense him grinning from beneath his mask. “What now, Mr. H?"

Without hesitation: “I want to breed you."

My heart jumped in unison with my cock. Pre flung from the drippy tip, basting the wall in front. Part of me knew I wanted to see this… wanted to see how Devin could take my dad.

But did I really? Though I've already watched them for this long, seeing my dad hilting his dick up my best friend's ass may be too much. Maybe.

A loud, drawn-out groan returned my eyes to the peephole. Now naked from the waist down, Devin had eased back onto my dad like he was sitting on a hairy, muscular chair, one hand reaching back to guide Dad's hefty cock home. Growls of approval encouraged him to sit deeper, but I could tell by Devin's winces that his hole was stretched to capacity, needing time to stretch.

In and out he slid, inch by inch. Slowly took more each time, deeper and deeper. Devin's cock would twitch eagerly, pre-cum seeping out thickly, generously, as my father prodded the sensitive spots inside him. Patience granted more and more of my father's cock, more and more prostate stimulation. Hungrily, Devin tossed his head back as he finally locked into place, ass flush against my dad's lap. A big sigh burst from him, a pleasurable release as his backside finally loosened up.

My dad approved. “That's a good ol' boy."

Devin gyrated his hips, earning him small, rhythmic thrusts in return. Both groaned in unison. One of Devin's hands wandered to his cock, stroking himself off nice and slow, savoring the sensations he must be feeling. God, it must've felt so good taking something so big back there. My ass clenched, envious.

Devin grew bold. Began bouncing on my dad's lap, softly at first, then with more fervor. Beat himself off faster. His free hand clenched my dad's thigh tightly. Even his toes were curling, he felt so good.

I wondered what it would feel like if it was me topping him, if it was my ten-inch cock stretching Devin open, prodding his insides. The thought of how tight he'd feel around me sent a thrill through my cock and up my spine.

I couldn't help myself. Began beating off in time with each of Devin's bounces. Imagining him on top of me. Imagining my dick making him moan. Imagining how it would feel dumping everything my balls had into him.

My leaky cock liked everything I was seeing, everything I was thinking. The pleasure was becoming too great. I bit my lower lip, getting ready to cum. I was thrusting into my own hand now. My dick felt so hard in my grip, glans bulging from all the blood rushing in, readying my climax.

With the point of no return within reach, Devin suddenly sputtered something I was not expecting.

“Oh, god, Foster…"

My name.

My hand stopped. My heart pounded. My dick twitched angrily, so close to release…

Grinning, my father said, “Calling me by my son's name now?" Deep and gruff. The timbre of his voice warned his transformation was hitting the peak of his threshold, like a roller coaster readying its descent. Surprising he could still talk at this point. More surprising how Devin didn't seem to notice.

Guess a big dick inside you tends to do that, I thought.

“What's wrong with Jack?" my dad continued to tease, some strain in his voice from the discomfort of his transformation. “My name not suit you?"

“Sorry, Mr. H…" Devin said, having settled for gyrating on Dad's lap, still wincing with pleasure. “I mean, Jack. Foster's just on my mind is all."

Seriously. Why did he say my name? Was he still thinking about our conversation earlier? Perhaps he was imagining me taking him up the ass too?

“Well, if you want Foster involved, perhaps he should join us."

That's when my father looked at me. Right at me. Right through the peephole. He grinned again—a maw full of sharp teeth he could use to rip Devin to shreds. But I knew that's not what he wanted. Lust, not hunger, was the wolf that needed to feed…and he was inviting me to join.

Devin stopped to sit against my dad, leaning into him as if wanting to snuggle. Huffing, he sat there with his hard dick twitching. He scrunched up the plaid shirt he still wore, revealing his belly. There was a slight bulge in his abdomen thanks to my dad's long, meaty cock. He placed a hand on the belly bulge, looking down at it, seemingly amazed.

“Please don't take this the wrong way," Devin said, all breaths, still eying that bulge. “I've been imagining I was taking Foster the entire time."

“None taken," my dad said, grumbling a laugh. “It's you two who love each other. I'm just a horny beast who needs to get off."

“Please don't tell him."

“Not my job."

I threw on my shorts, preparing to confront them. Preparing to get answers for what was just revealed, not caring if I'd embarrass them, not caring if they knew I'd been watching. But then my dad started growling lowly, strangely… a sound I'd been expecting.

“Scary!" laughed Devin. “By the way, Mr. H…" He shimmied into my father more, summoning a moan and a twitch to his dripping cock. “You're feeling kinda bigger and hairier. That costume is something else. Kinda want one for next year myself."

My dad growled an unintelligible response. His face looked vicious. Snarly and, indeed, scary. The threshold. Crazy how Devin still didn't notice, but with his back turned and mask on, he never did see how far along my dad had changed—this big hairy man with a strange face. However, the transformation was about to take a sudden burst of speed… like someone jogging a few laps around a track, then on the last lap, deciding to sprint to the finish.

In other words, Dad was about to go full-beast mode really, really quick.

An idea came to mind—a one-stone idea. We'll see if I could kill both birds with it.

I stepped into the room.

Naked.

At first, the smell of sex and fur hit me. Then my name as Devin noticed my entrance, eyes wide. Hands caught in the cookie jar.

Before he could pull away and cover his shame, I approached them, a finger to my lips in a reassuring hush. His eyes softened once he realized what was going on: I was there to participate, not to stop him or beat him up or tell him I was never speaking to him again.

And maybe that's why his eyes went wide again after he tossed aside his mask. When I transferred the finger from my lips to his, when he was about to explain everything. He took a good look at what I was packing and smiled.

“I was right!" he exclaimed before he hissed in pleasure from my dad's random thrust. “You are huge!"

“Let me see you put that mouth to good use then," I said, grinning.

All the while my dad was growling and groaning from the speed of his change. Strained in his spot as the chains held him tight. From Devin's perspective, my dad was probably just enjoying himself immensely like an animal. Growls of sexual pleasure.

With me in the picture, I was counting on Devin's lust taking over. Turns out I was so right. He bent on over, taking a hold of my hard dick. Lapping at it playfully. Giving it a few strokes. A couple licks at the leaking slit, tasting me. New sensations, let me tell you. Made me huff. Made my heart thump quickly.

“Keep going."

He swallowed me. Took the bulbous glans, making me throw my head back. Felt his muffled groans of pleasure vibrate through my dick. All the while he took my dad like a champ.

My father shot to his feet suddenly, pushing Devin deep onto my dick, making him gag. I held Devin in position. He'd become a spit-roast between the Hartwood men. He grabbed my arm for balance, releasing my dick with a breath. He looked up at me, eager for more. Slurped on my glistening hard-on with abandon.

Meanwhile, my father's transformation granted an extra sturdy foot of height. He towered at more than eight feet now, the pointy ears on his head almost brushing against the ceiling. Muscles bulged and tightened and rippled. Fur grew dense and thick, dark like bark from the black walnut tree in the backyard. A big, bushy tail smacked against the wall behind him, loosening a few flakes of concrete. Fingers and toes flexed until the razor-sharp claws formed, turning each large paw into intimidating murder mitts. Thank God he could not break free from his bonds.

The long-coming lupine snout had fully emerged, nostrils flaring as he took in the scents of sex and sweat. My dad tossed his head back with a triumphant howl, startling us boys in the room. I was familiar with the howl that would mark the end of each change. Experiencing it, witnessing in person the powerful werewolf signaling his return, however, was on a whole new level—something beautiful and terrifying and unbelievably hot, all fused into a flurry of fur and muscle and so much cock.

Thankfully, Devin must think my dad was still putting on an act, much like Mr. Gardener did as Count Dracula. Devin kept sucking and deep-throating my dick the best he could. I wasn't as long or thick as my dad, but I was big enough he still struggled. Gagged a little. That didn't stop him. Kept beating himself off all the while, saliva dripping to my balls. Didn't stop when the werewolf behind him resumed plowing his ass with frantic, zealous thrusts.

The beast was here. And he was horny as hell.

Time went in a blur. Reverberating throughout the room were the sounds of two young men and a werewolf, grunting and moaning and whispering for things to slow down, lest one of us cum too soon.

Devin's warm mouth, the roughness of tongue, they felt incredible. Even more than that was his eagerness to pleasure me. His desire for me. It was as potent as any aphrodisiac. Watching my father work Devin's ass was a close second, though. Talk about serious eye candy. He'd become such a muscular, powerful thing. Amber eyes glowed lustfully. A long, pink tongue lolled out. All the pleasure made him pant and pant, his wolf-hood disappearing into something warm and wet and tight.

Envy filled me as much as my father stuffed Devin. Fully transformed, Dad sported a foot-long cock now, perhaps pressing on thirteen inches. Much thicker than before, too, putting the circumference of soda cans to shame.

Devin kept taking more and more of it the best he could. First only taking about half or so, the extra girth especially giving him some trouble. But as the night wore on, as Devin got worked loose, only a few spare inches remained… and as soon as I felt my orgasm sneaking close, my dad was finally hitting home. Body-on-body collision. A steady slap, slap, slap into the globes of Devin's ass.

At this point, Devin was moaning and crying out with every thrust. He was beating off so hard, so fast. I could hear my dad's fat nuts slapping against him. My dad growled every time he rocked Devin into me—the sound of ferocious pleasure. Mere seconds later, those sounds now morphed into desperate pants interspersed with a low, grumbling whine.

My father was getting close. Those noises he made—sounded like he was transforming into a second monster.

Oh, boy, and the noises I was making? Sounded like I was changing into one as well. The idea of my dad unloading all his seed into my best friend was sending me over the edge. Couldn't help but thrust into Devin's mouth. Felt my balls swinging back and forth. Felt that tingle inside me. I held Devin's head, thrusting harder.

“God…" I managed. “Gonna cum…"

His head bobbed along faster. I clutched at his messy hair now. Could hear him breathing fast. Felt the mix of saliva and pre dripping from his mouth.

Suddenly my dad let out several successive growls before unleashing a howl. Gave a few powerful thrusts, body shuddering. The howl was quick, as he sucked in a breath… let loose some sort of wolfish moan, snout scrunched up in a snarl.

Then he came. Hard. Body shaking with each powerful contraction. His thrusts became erratic, dictated by the chaos of an orgasm.

And now I felt the beginning of my own.

“Fuck, Devin…"

I pulled him closer. So close, that my dad's huge cock slipped out of Devin's ass and landed on his back with a thud. Watched that huge thing pulse and pulse, unleashing wave after wave of seed that splattered me and the back of Devin's head. Thick white ropes of werewolf jizz and its musky, intoxicating scent.

God, I couldn't hold back. My cock pulsed inside Devin's mouth. Cum gushed down his throat. I pulled out. Took over. Beat my ten-inch dick with quick, unsteady strokes. Watched more thick cum fly onto Devin's face, his hair. A few hard spasms sent plenty onto his back where my dad kept flinging his own seed, practically drenching the shirt he had lent.

Devin presented his tongue, wanting more. And I had plenty to give, just as my father did. My dad was still cumming, still shuddering from his powerful orgasm, snarling from the intensity. And we emptied our loads together onto Devin, who swallowed as much of mine as he could.

Devin unleashed a barrage of curse words as he slumped to his knees to join the group orgasm. Ejaculated so much seed onto the concrete floor below. Big heavy streaks a couple feet out. For a moment, the three of us were a groaning mess as we came. Sometimes I wondered if it was me or Devin making the growling werewolf noises. Felt like forever before our climaxes subsided, before I could look down at Devin, how cum-soaked he was—the start of our lucid moment in the afterglow. We caught our breaths, breathed deeply, wondered if we could make each other feel this good for the rest of our lives.

But I did realize something as my dad stood there, a wolfish grin on his face, his dick now hanging limply, dripping with semen. As Devin sat there, lapping at my dick playfully, jizz covering his body, the smell of it and sweat and sex and fur clinging to him for weeks, I bet.

I realized that, based on all the weird fluttering feelings inside me, I knew our nights from here on out would never ever be the same.

* * *

Somehow I managed to get Devin into the showers upstairs without him noticing my dad entering full werewolf mode. Blocked his view of the beast chained to the far wall as I herded him through the door. Thankfully, the facial I just finished giving rendered him partially blind. My dad's tail, however, bashed happily against the wall as we left. Hope Devin didn't notice that….

Hot water blasted out of the shower head, filling the bathroom with steam. We chuckled as we entered the spray together, having tossed the spunk-covered plaid shirt on the sink. We washed away the filth of what we had just done. Shampooed our hair, the tea tree oil scent a welcome break from all the musky aroma of sex.

Neither of us could believe what we'd done to each other… with my dad, no less. As we started to soap ourselves off, I asked Devin how he was able to take my dad's entire dick.

“You fuck a guy before?"

Devin gave me a sheepish look as he washed out his backside. “First time a guy touched me back there."

“Dude, how were you able to take my dad's humongous you-know-what, then?"

He chuckled, not wanting to say. I prodded him until he coughed it up.

“I've been practicing for the last few months."

“Practicing?"

“Ever since I turned eighteen. Went straight to the adult store and got myself a dildo. Got used to it within a week. Went back and got myself the next size up. That one took a month to get used to… now I've been on number three—the store's biggest size."

“You little horn-dog!" I cried, tackling his side again. But then the conversation went somber when I mentioned having heard what he'd said. About imagining me taking him instead of my dad. “You never told me you thought of me that way."

Devin paused, mulling over his thoughts. “I was afraid. Wasn't sure how you'd respond. Honestly, I've never told you a lot of things. One thing in particular."

My heart began to thump.

There was no sense in beating around the bush at this point. I took the dare: “You're in love with me."

I was staring at Devin's back. The water pounded from behind, as if demanding to know all the dirty little secrets that were on their way out now.

Without turning around, Devin said, “When I first moved here, alone and unsure… when I had no friends, and you stopped the first bully that wanted to take advantage of that fact, I liked you. That would never change. Ever since you made me face Dracula, made me face a monster, and you were there beside me to do it. That's when I knew it was…"

“Love."

“That feeling never left ever since." Devin turned around. His eyes were red from holding back tears. Then he joked, “Trust me, I don't plan on crying like this each time after sex. At least, not often."

Despite the little joke to cut through the mood, I did not know what to say or how to respond. How could I be this blind the whole time? Not see any signs or clues? Love shouldn't be such a complicated, messy thing. Shouldn't be something best tucked away. Left unsaid. And yet here Devin stood, fully naked, having treated love like a dirty secret.

Then there remained the elephant in the room—the one thing that still bugged me, that didn't add up.

“Why did you hook up with my dad instead then? You snuck inside without my knowing. Flirted with him. Fucked him. All of this behind my back."

Devin looked down. Watched the suds draining around our feet.

“I hope I'm not tossing your father under the bus by saying this. I don't want to spoil tonight."

“Try me."

When he saw how serious I looked, he told me everything.

Earlier that day when he came over to show off his costume, he found himself alone with my dad in the bedroom. My mother was chattering up a storm on my phone, occupying my attention. In this time, my dad told Devin he had heard what was said under his breath. Said it had been more than a decade since he'd gotten laid, and to meet him later in the basement that night if he wanted to experience a real werewolf. Together, they devised a plan. Devin would come over after trick-or-treating, watch a movie with me, then once I was asleep, he'd find my dad later, down in the room. If that plan failed, if I wasn't amenable to hanging out, plan B was to sneak through the back door, which would be unlocked for him.

Devin had no idea my dad was into dudes… and after seeing his huge dick during the so-called towel blunder, he didn't want to pass the opportunity. Devin admitted he didn't like the idea of sneaking in, so he tried convincing me to let him stay over. But when I shut the door on him after our little talk, he felt guilty about the whole thing. But he didn't want to leave my dad hanging either and make things weird, so he snuck in through the back as instructed so he could tell my dad he couldn't betray my trust. But seeing my dad chained up like that… and his big eleven-inch cock (at the time, at least, partially transformed and all)… it was difficult to resist. And he almost did resist, but my dad wanted him so badly. Wanted to bury that huge dick in him. And Devin admitted that this would be the closest thing to experiencing that with me—through my dad. But when he heard the stairs creak, he almost took off. Almost left my dad hanging there, hoping I wouldn't know it was him.

But he decided to stay instead—and that led to our threesome.

“I'm sorry for the deception, I really am. And for getting with your dad. I didn't just drive a wedge between you two, did I?"

“Well, no, considering I had joined in and all…"

Devin gave a thoughtful look. “Why did you? Are you and your dad like… a thing?"

“Oh, hell no… it was just… hot seeing you getting taken like that. And, well…"

Should I tell him my dad was also an actual fucking werewolf and that I also joined in to ensure Devin didn't see him wolf out?

It was like Devin could sense my concern, so he asked, “And what is the whole werewolf thing about? I just assumed it was some weird code for all that gay shit he wanted to do. Perhaps a Halloween-appropriate metaphor for coming out of the closet or something. Is that why you were lying for him? Worried I'd find out he was gay? None of that stuff matters anymore, you know."

“It's more complicated than that," I said, turning off the shower, seeing as it was running for no good reason at this point. We were all squeaky clean. The only thing left, however, was the dirty little smudge in the back of my mind. The secret I should share. The secret I knew I shouldn't. “Let's get some clean clothes on first."

* * *

Since we were about the same size, I let Devin pick out some of my clothes to wear for the night. He chose a baby blue shirt he'd bought me when I'd turned sixteen. Two unicorns mating on the front, a rainbow conjoining them. I loved it. My teachers and principal: not so much.

Looking at the shirt again now, I wondered if this was a big hint. Ancient myths dictated that unicorns were all male after all. How many other hints did I miss throughout the years? But all Devin did was laugh giving it to me. He made no indication he was courting me or that he wished for something more. Maybe he was just good at hiding his true feelings.

We sat on my bed. I debated asking him about the shirt. Maybe he'd bring it up on his own. He had a look professing a desire to continue our conversation from the shower. He didn't want another cliffhanger ending.

Getting things back on track, he brought up how he wasn't sure about my sexuality. I had never had a girlfriend, never talked about girls, never looked at girls… but the same was true about guys, too. I admitted that I never really gave my sexuality too much thought. Perhaps I was gay. Sometimes I Googled up naked guys when I was feeling super horny. But that wasn't too often. And I didn't feel the need to put a label on it. And I countered that he didn't exactly make his own sexuality explicitly known, although I admitted I never gave his sexuality much thought either. Regardless, he never talked about guys nor dated one. Never even tried to date a guy.

“Because, silly, I'm into you."

That made me nervous. Was I into Devin too? Could I honestly say that I loved him back the same way? Perhaps what had transpired downstairs was a fluke. An opportunity that presented itself. Something of which I took full advantage.

“Look, I better check on my dad," I said, a headache starting to creep up on me. “Promise me you'll stay put right here. I want to talk to him in private… about tonight."

Devin nodded, looking nervous himself—I left him hanging after all. “Pinky promise."

After making him double and triple promise me he'd behave, I finally left. When I strolled downstairs into the room, my dad stood just where we had left him. Wolfish grin and everything.

“You okay, Dad?" I asked.

He nodded, giving a playful growl. I put a finger to my lips to shush him. His dick was still hanging out in the open, his over-sized sweatpants stretched wide at his feet. I shimmied his pants back on. I almost laughed when his dick got caught by the elastic waistband and flopped onto his belly as I pulled up. Almost. I was here to get some questions answered, after all. No jokes or shenanigans.

“You hungry?"

Oh, his tail wagged to that. His stomach grumbled. I retrieved the meat in the fridge and dangled the first juicy steak in front of him.

“Tell me first, what the hell were you thinking telling Devin to sneak in like that? He's my best friend, not a chew toy." The question made me realize I had forgotten to double-check the back door after restraining my father. He must've unlocked it before I came downstairs to get him strapped in.

A low growl was Dad's response. He snapped at the meat, but missed. The strap around his neck ensured that.

I wasn't expecting an articulated response. He couldn't speak like this, although I've seen him try. Attempts at a few basic words resulted in a mixture of silly growls and strange barks. It embarrassed him, like he was the ambassador for all werewolf-kind and was making them seem like they existed solely for performing circus tricks.

Regardless, he still knew how to nod yes or shake his head no. Up to me to ask good yes-or-no questions then.

“You wanted Devin here so you could get laid, right?"

A werewolf nod.

“Was that the only reason?"

A hesitant shake.

Aha! There was more. But what?

I rewarded him with a steak. He snarfed it down.

“There's more where that came from. What were the other reasons?"

He looked at me with a blank expression. Dammit… yes-or-no questions only. But what to ask?

I dangled another piece of steak in front of him, taunting him as I thought of a question. He was dripping with saliva, much like a dog would when dangling a treat for too long.

He nodded upward, keeping eyes on the steak.

“What is it?"

He nodded upward again, indicating to the ceiling… but nothing was there.

“Upstairs?"

A nod.

“Do you mean Devin?"

Another nod.

“What about him?"

A blank look. I fed him the steak. After he wolfed the second one down, I asked him the same question. Not a yes-or-no question… but I was starting to get impatient.

He gestured at himself with a sharp claw.

“What do you mean by that?"

My dad pantomimed a soundless howl, then gestured upstairs again. The hairs on my body stood on end.

“You didn't."

My dad grinned. Maw full of sharp, mischievous teeth.

“Foster?" came the sound of Devin's voice from up the stairs. Though I wondered if he deserved it, I tossed the rest of the meat to my father before darting towards Devin's voice. He was wandering the hallway, its light flickering on.

“What's wrong?"

Devin stood nervously with hands out, flipping them back and forth.

Coarse, dark hair had grown on the back of Devin's hands… and his fingernails were starting to look dark and thick. The beginnings of a transformation.

“Your dad really is a werewolf like he said, isn't he?" Devin had pieced it together. How stupid of me to think that he wouldn't figure it out… and now I had to serve as Devin's keeper too. Dad and Devin, werewolves for life. My life.

“Devin, I think he passed it on to you," I admitted, worry burrowing in my guts. I imagined this was how it felt announcing to a lover or a friend with benefits that you gave them chlamydia or gonorrhea or any manner of infection.

Except it was my dad who passed this… curse along. I'd have to rethink my hypotheses on werewolf genetics. This was like a sexually transmitted disease… one that no doctor could prescribe away so simply.

As we made for my room to talk, to explain everything I knew, I couldn't help but feel some degree of vindication, even to myself. I was right after all: the night would pan out very, very differently. But the night wasn't over yet. My dad had a lot of explaining to do. Perhaps a few more nights in the room would ensure he told me exactly everything he had planned.

* * *

PART TWO COMING SOON!