Chapter 1

The needle of brilliant sunshine coming between the blind slats stabbed him in the eye and he rolled away, moaning. His mouth felt thick and dry as he rubbed at his blurry eyes. A flash of memory he just could not capture, jolted him awake, and he raised himself up onto his elbows, squinting again at the bright sunshine filtering into the room.

Making the usual morning sounds that accompany an unwilling awakening, he thumped unhappily to the bathroom and leaned on the sink. His mouth almost cracked and he slopped a handful of water into it and swished it around as his eyes met his image in the mirror. Another lightening flash in his mind and he blinked several times. Coughing and nearly choking, he spit out the water and stared again at the face looking back.

Bloodshot eyes. Pasty skin. Bloodless lips and hair that resembled a burst cushion. He splashed more water on his face, rubbed it dry, relieved to see a bit of colour return and then finished what needed to be done before heading downstairs. A coffee would set things right again. He got the basket from the machine, stuffed a new filter into it and shovelled in several scoops of coffee. Filled the pot with water, dumped it into the machine and pushed the button.

He felt drained. No energy, no oomph and no ambition. He leaned on the counter listening to the coffee drip through while trying to recall the previous night. The flashes he experienced gave him some pause. Was it an indication of something serious? His eyesight? His brain? The pot quit gurgling and he poured his first mug full; this would solve his misery. He moved gingerly to the table and sat down, hands wrapped around the mug for its comforting warmth. The first sip exploded down his throat like a lava stream and he sucked in a huge mouthful of air and groaned pleasurably.

"So much better," he said to the room.

His vision cleared somewhat and he felt the effect of the hot coffee begin to wake up the rest of his body. At the same time another flash, except this time it lingered and he thought he saw a shape before it dissolved and disappeared. Another knuckling of the eyes and a draining gulp from his mug and he immediately stood to get a refill. The morning paper should be here, he thought and he left the table, padding barefoot across the floor, sensing the chill of the cold linoleum.

Another sip from the mug. Another lip-smacking moan and he flipped open the first section of the paper. The sudden vision made him drop the sheets and slam back against the chair. The face was perfectly clear but lasted only an instant, yet in that instant he felt recognition and a tiny seed of memory took root. Something was not right and he fought to think back to the previous night. What the hell had he done? Where had he been? Wine popped into his head. Why wine? He didn't even like it much. A low table and cushions swam in and out of the picture in his head.

He reached for his mug and swallowed the steaming coffee quickly. A mistake because it burned his tongue and now all he could do was dig his upper teeth into its surface as if that would fix it. The face appeared again, this time smiling, and it remained in his vision, which gradually extended to include a body. A body that was sitting across the table from him.

"Good morning, Greg. Sleep well?"

He scrubbed at his eyes and blinked quickly but his guest was still there, smiling.

"What the- who- where did you . . .?"

"I'm crushed, Greg. You don't remember."

"What? Remember what? Who the hell are you?"

"Vera. You remember Vera don't you?"

He tried to get up from the table but his legs would not answer the call and he wet his lips, a worm of fear wriggling across his shoulders.

"Please, who are you? How did- where did you come from?"

"I was your companion last night, Greg. Don't you remember the night club and the others couples we shared wine with? All those comfy cushions and that thread of white powder everyone sampled?"

"D-drugs! Are you saying I did drugs?"

She reached across any took his hand without any opposition. "Oh, Greg, that was nothing compared to what else you shared."

"Huh? What do you mean?" He felt her nails scratching across his palm and his heart gave him a wallop from inside.

Somehow she suddenly appeared on his side of the table in a chair beside him, his hand still tingling from the sensation of her nails. He stared at the face but couldn't set any of the features in his mind; it seemed so fluid. No fixed point of reference. Her lips moved but the sound of her voice came from within his own head, softly teasing . . . chiding."

"Please tell me what is going on here. I don't- can't recall anything you said- are saying." His words took the form of a stream of smoke that passed between them into her open mouth.

"Maybe this will help, Greg."

The sting of pain was mixed with a sensation of rapture as he felt her hair against his cheek. His chest convulsed and is heart began a rapid acceleration and he felt like all the air was being sucked from his body, forcing it to collapse in on itself.

"Mmmmhmm. Day old is always has a little more punch. All those drinks and drugs get a chance to meld." She wiped her lips with a finger and then sucked on it, rolling her big eyes in ecstasy.

Greg stared at the table top. His head filled with a light buzz and his limbs tingling but useless.

"I knew you would be a good choice the minute I saw you, Greg. You really have a quality product flowing through you. I can finally relax for a while." She started talking like they were old friends or partners, oblivious to the fact that he was totally dazed out. "Spending all those nights cultivating sources only to wind up with a mediocre crop. It wears a girl out."

Greg eventually felt some movement return and he pushed himself up out of the chair and stumbled to the sink counter. The sponge felt cool against his face and he touched his neck where the sting remained, tentatively.

What happened to me? He turned around but he was alone. That fact almost made him cry. He clutched his head and closed his eyes. Am I going nuts? Was it a dream? He straightened suddenly and frowned. From the freezer of his fridge he withdrew a large frozen steak and set it in the sink to thaw then made his way back upstairs to the bathroom. A shave and a shower, a splash of cologne and he began to feel a little more human. After a few minutes arranging his hair he nodded at the final result. Maybe after getting outside in the sun he would lose that pallor.

The minute he stepped out the door he felt like he would explode. The little bit of sunshine he received had singed his hair and made his skin pucker. He dashed back indoors, his breath coming in gasping waves. Back upstairs, two at a time, tearing his clothes off on the way, he stood before the mirror again.

"Should have mentioned before I left, Greg . . ."

"Yeow!" He jumped sideways, crashing into the tub and banging every sharp edge he could manage.

"You shouldn't go out until after sundown. Just a precaution. And then only for an hour. No longer. Sorry, but I had to put those parameters in place; can't afford to lose a good source."

He stared up at her in disbelief, his body one huge pain and his head aching to join in. She smiled down, tossed her hair and vanished.

Chapter 2

Somewhat recovered from the fright and composed enough to try some rational thought, Greg made a fresh pot of coffee and tried to figure out the events of the earlier part of the day. He looked at the steak in the sink and felt a tug in his stomach. It was still frozen and he screwed the stopper into the sink and turned on the hot water letting it fill until the steak was covered.

He poured a fresh mug of coffee and stood at the sink watching the meat gradually change colour. The water had grown cold and he refilled it with hot and pushed the steak around in the water. The plastic wrap was turning red from the melting juice and his attention took on a riveted focus. The coffee grew cold in the mug as he watched and when he poked the meat and felt it give softly, he unplugged the sink and tore the wrap off the meat.

He flopped it on the counter and with a knife from the rack, trimmed off all the fat, even cutting it apart to get some of the marbling out. He dropped the knife in the sink and stood staring at the meat, his mouth automatically filling with juices. Picking it up, he let the warm chunk hang over his fingers for a moment then plunged his face into the mass, ripping and tearing the slippery flesh with his teeth. Animal sounds filled the kitchen as Greg chewed the torn chunks noisily, red juice running down his chin and neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

******

He sat in his living room staring morosely at the TV. The steak episode had sickened him when he realized what he had done and he was at a loss as to what had possessed him to do such a thing. He had thrown up after, mostly because of the mental aspect. Oddly he hadn't objected that much to the texture or flavour. A commercial came on promoting burgers, with shots of beef patties sizzling on a griddle. His stomach began to roil. The idea of the cooked meat seemed to repulse him and he fumbled for the remote, stepping through the channels until he found a soccer game.

Just before quitting time he had called into work and pleaded food poisoning as the reason for his absence, accepting the mild reprimand and promising to get back as soon as possible. How the hell was he going to go to work when he couldn't even leave the house? He glanced at his skin and was surprised to see it back to normal, albeit still waxy looking. The sound brought him upright on the sofa and he looked around, seeing the woman . . . Vera, standing by the window holding a glass of wine.

"How- where did you get wine?"

She smiled and swished her way across the room toward him.

"Wonderful, Greg, really. You're first thought wasn't even about the changes in you. Now that's progress."

"Prog- listen, I want to know just what the hell is happening to me, and who are you?"

She slid onto the sofa next to him and magically handed him a glass of wine, which he accepted automatically. The juice stains on his collar attracted her attention and she ran a pink tongue slowly over her lips.

"I am your overlord."

"My what? What hell are you talking about, overlord."

"Exactly that, Greg. There is nothing you can do without my allowing it first."

He gaped at her. "Right. So if I decided to jump in my car and take off, you could stop me?"

She smiled. "Go ahead."

Her seeming insouciance was unsettling but he stood and gathered his keys from the dish n the table.

"See you . . . Vera. Make sure you rinse the glass and lock up before you leave." He sniffed and, wearing a smug grin, headed for the garage.

When the car wouldn't start he pounded the steering wheel, blaming the electronics but when the doors all locked and the engine came to life on its own, Greg looked with fear to see Vera, leaning in the doorway to the house, grinning and sipping her wine.

"This isn't happening. It can't be happening." Back inside he was pacing up and down, the fear now a solid mass in his stomach.

He turned and bumped right into Vera. One minute she had been on the sofa and now she was nose to nose with him, the whole of both eyes a pale yellow. He couldn't look away and when she opened her mouth and the canines extended, he just closed his eyes.

The weakness ebbed and he sat up feeling less wobbly. Vera was gone but a note on the counter told him to expect a delivery from the butcher the next morning. He just left it on the counter and headed up to bed. The day flashed past in his mind and the events did not seem to bother him as much as they had. He washed, undressed and climbed into bed.

When he woke he was covered in a sheen of sweat. His dreams - nightmares, had included him eating a live cat that he trapped in an alley and being followed by a man in a cloak with hat pulled down over his face. He wiped his face and started at the appearance of the red scratches on his wrists. The horror of the interpretation sent him reeling to the toilet and afterwards he lay gasping on the cold tiles.

He was losing interest in the coffee. It didn't give him the usual kick start to the day and when the butcher arrived with his delivery, Greg was surprised to find half a dozen bottles of what looked like cranberry juice. He stuck them in the fridge to get cold and unwrapped the package. A large gelatinous mass of liver slid free onto the counter top.

At first he wrinkled his nose, repelled by the look of the pile then as he stood there longer he felt a stirring, something pulling him closer to an act he wished to avoid but could not. Both hands slid into the mass and in a matter of minutes he had devoured the entire delivery. Fingers slick and sticky wiped at his mouth and he grabbed one of the bottles from the fridge, opening the cap and swigging down the contents. It wasn't cranberry. It wasn't anything he recognized but it was something he felt he needed . . . really needed.

The day passed and Greg woke again in a sweat after having bad dreams. The cloaked man was present again, watching but doing nothing else. Greg threw off the sheet and recoiled with a yelp at the carcass of a dead rat lying in a sticky stain of blood. He jumped from the bed, his body trembling with shivers, and threw the sheet back, wrapping the little corpse in it and dragging it all from the bed and straight downstairs to the garbage pail in the garage.

He grabbed an old jacket from a hook on the garage wall, opened the overhead door and carted the pail out to the curb. Back inside, he lowered the door and took off the coat then went inside. Sitting at the kitchen table was the cloaked man from his dreams. Greg fainted.

Chapter 3

The ceiling was turning slowly like a fan and Greg tried to follow it but his eyes hurt. he blinked and turned his head, looking straight up at the cloaked man who stood like a large tepee, wearing a black fedora.

"Mister Gregory Hollis." The voice was deep and soft.

Greg just stared, unable to speak. He wondered if it was another dream until he felt hands under his arms lifting him to his feet.

"Sit down and I'll get you some water."

"There's juice in the fridge." Greg said.

"I think we'll stick with water."

"Who are you? I saw you in a -"

"Drink this and I'll explain."

It took nearly an hour for the explanation and the resultant calming and question answering. Greg was a wreck. He stared at the man, shaking his head. His hands flat on the table, twitched and trembled, and his throat closed causing him to continually cough.

"Have some more water. You need to calm yourself and get past the shock of what I have told you. Your life depends on it."

Greg sipped and then gulped the water down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Learning that his dreams had not been dreams at all and that he really had devoured a live cat, as well as the innards of the revolting rat in his bed. His stomach lifted and fell and he barely reached the sink in time to throw up. The tap came on rinsing the basin and the comforting hand on his back gave him a measure of strength.

"She will be returning soon, you need to be prepared."

Greg looked out at the darkening sky and nodded, his head still hovering over the sink basin.

"What- what do I do?"

Vera went straight to the kitchen fridge and took out a bottle of Greg's 'cranberry' juice and drained it and wiping her lips, walked into the living room calling for Greg. He sat at the dining room table and waited for her to find him, His hands sweaty, and his heart pounding. Could he do this? What if the cloaked man was wrong?

"What are you doing in here?" Vera stood at the entrance to the dining room.

"Nothing. Just waiting."

"For me? Isn't that precious."

He lifted a hand. "No uh- no. I'm waiting for it to come back."

"It? What it?" She walked to the table.

"I had a visit from someone- thing. It said it wanted to meet you."

She sat slowly at the side of the table and stared at Greg. He could almost feel her mind probing his and his hands began to tremble.

"What's going on with you? What is this it you're talking about?"

He nervously leaned forward and laid his cheek on the table and closed his eyes.

"Greg, what are you doing?" Vera bent down to see his face.

The blade swept through the air, creating a swishing sound. Vera flinched as the steel slashed into her shoulder and stuck in the table top. Greg bounced up and sat back so hard his chair toppled over. Vera screamed and swung around to see the cloaked man struggling to free the axe from the table.

"You!" She rose from the table and grabbed him by the neck and with little effort, flung him hard against the wall. There was a loud crack as his head hit the plaster, staining it with a red splotch.

Greg scrambled on his hands and knees toward the door way, whimpering and wishing he had never listened to the man. He stopped short as his head banged into Vera's legs. He looked up and saw the scowl on her face and the blood dripping from the slash in her shoulder. She wiped the wound with her hand and licked her fingers.

"It seems, little man, you need a lesson in loyalty." Vera bent down and grabbed Greg by the ear and began lifting him, her fangs pushing easily from her mouth. The swishing sound caused her to look up again but this time too late as the axe blade sliced through her neck, sending her head flying across the room.

Greg dropped painfully to the floor as Vera's limp form collapsed next to him. The cloaked man stood, axe in hand, breathing heavily while blood ran down the side of his face from his head wound.

"Oh man, I thought you were a goner when you missed and she grabbed you."

"It was close but she's done now. Just have to bury the parts separately somewhere and I'm almost finished."

Greg stood up and stepped away from the headless corpse. "Almost? What's left?"

"Just this." The axe whirred through the air again and cleaved Greg's head right off, still wearing a surprised expression.

"You were beyond saving, son. No hard feelings. "The cloaked man wiped his hands and took out a phone.

"Please tell him it's Donald calling."

"Donald! So good to hear from you."

"It's done, both parties. I'll take care of the disposal."

"Wonderful news, Donald. Your great grandfather would be proud. He chased her for years and years."

"Yes, I know. It ate up most Of grampa van Helsing's life."

"And your grandfather's and father's. Vera was formidable, no question."

"So, I am looking forward to a boots up, drink in hand rest."

"Ah, about that, Donald . . . it seems we have a report of a uhm, werewolf . . ."

"Fine, I'll take care of this and then look into it. Don't expect another miracle."

Donald patted his widow's peak with a long finger and smiled at the spilled salt shaker on the table. Young Greg wasn't totally stupid, he had his suspicions. He put the two heads in a sack and then picked up both bodies and carried the lot out to his truck. The moon was on the rise and Donald sighed as he drove to a secluded area where he could bury the heads and devour the bodies.

"Yes, professor, I'll look into your werewolf report." He laughed and let out a parody howl.