The Lycanthrope Club: What If...? Part II

This series, requested by Alex Garcia and others, explores alternate realities in the Lycanthrope Club universe. This is the second part of a story where Yvette is the first Pinebrook teenager to transform into a werewolf rather than Melinda. As always, I will continue this story if someone pledges 50.00 USD for a month and requests it.

Also, apologies for the long delay on this!

* * *

The next four hours did not pass quickly. First, they had to wait for the rangers to come, during which time Melinda and her parents cared for Yvette as best they could. Melinda's father carefully washed the dirt from her skin. Melinda's mother dressed the worst of her wounds with gauze - far too tightly. Melinda provided water and a few feeble jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. Mostly they just sat there, watching her, their expressions of fear and guilt gradually turning to mere anxiety. Every so often they'd ask how she was doing or if she needed anything and every time Yvette lied and said was doing fine. Then the rangers arrived in their enormous dark-green truck, hastily loaded Yvette into their vehicle and sped off into the night. The ride proved bumpy, uncomfortable and cold. Yvette said nothing the entire time. The rangers spoke only once, asking if she were alright. Again, Yvette lied. Upon arriving at the hospital - really more a large rural clinic - a pair of workers in scrubs strapped her to a gurney and wheeled her through a blindingly bright series of rooms. At some point she'd been administered an analgesic, which finally enabled her to drift off into some semblance of sleep.

            Yvette stirred. She felt a soft, almost silky sensation along her forearms and a foreign tension along sections of her legs, upper arms, feet and torso. The air around her was warm. Her eyes flickered open.

            She saw a speckled white tile ceiling.

            She found herself lying in a hospital bed. She sat up. She'd been left in a small room with a metal sink, a chair, a half-table, a window overlooking the parking lot and a television mounted in a corner of the ceiling. Outside, he sun shone a cloudless sky. It was quiet, but she could make out the sound of activity and distant conversations beyond her room.

            She lifted the blankets to examine her body and gasped. Beneath her blue gown nearly a quarter of her skin was plastered in bandages and gauze, all expertly applied and wrapped. It all seemed a bit excessive. She wasn't actually in pain any longer.

            She was pretty hungry, though.

            "Hello?" she called, leaning forward. Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. She could also use a glass of water.

            There was no reply.

            "Hello? Is anyone out there? ...Nurse? Doctor? I'm awake."

            Nothing happened. Yvette glanced down at her bedside table. There was a small remote control - presumably for the television. She checked her bed and discovered another, even smaller remote attached to it. One of its buttons had the words 'call' on it. She pressed it.

            Ten seconds later a short, middle aged brunette dressed in dark-pink scrubs appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were sunken and tired but her smile seemed genuine.

            "Hello hun. Is everything alright?" inquired the woman.

            Yvette hesitated.

            "Uh, I just...I just woke up and..." Yvette trailed off.

            The woman stared at Yvette for a few seconds and then nodded.

            "I'll see if I can find your doctor."

            "Has anyone called my parents? Did Melinda and-...did a family called the Coopers come to see me?"

            "I can check with the front desk."

            "Yes, please do that," said Yvette, nodding. She hesitated. "And, uh, could I get something to eat? And drink?"

            "Sure, hun," said the woman. "You missed breakfast but I can probably get you something from the kitchen. The name's Cathy, by the way."

            "Thank you, Cathy."

            The nurse left.

            Yvette sat there for a time. She shifted her body on the mattress.

            "Hello!" intoned a cheerful voice.

            Yvette saw a bright, albeit somewhat pudgy and bespectacled male face peering at her from behind the doorframe.

            "Is this a good time?" asked the newcomer.

            "Uh, yes," said Yvette.

            With that the figure stepped into the room. He was brown-haired, fair in complexion, short and a little stocky but not actually fat. He wore a white doctor's coat over a pair of dark-blue scrubs and carried a clipboard.

            "My name is Dr. Gibson," he said. "This is the Bitter Creek Medical Center. Glad to see you're awake. How are you feeling?"

            "...Pretty good," said Yvette uncertainly. "I mean, pretty good considering," she said, gesturing down at the mummy-like wrappings covering her body.

            "Good, good," said Dr. Gibson. "First of all, yes, we have contacted your parents and they're on their way. They actually wanted to speak with you over the phone but when we told them you were still asleep they said not to wake you." Dr. Gibson glanced down at his clipboard. "Now, I understand there was some kind of accident when you were out camping with a friend's family?"

            "Yes. An accident. I fell in a pit."

            "When you came in you were covered in lacerations and bruises." He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "And some very clumsily applied gauze and bandages. While they may have prevented some blood loss, please be sure to tell whoever applied them to take a first aid class."

            An unexpected chuckle escaped Yvette's mouth. She cleared her throat, looking a little embarrassed.

            "We cleaned you wounds, applied some broad spectrum topical antibiotics and re-dressed them," said the doctor. "The good news is that there don't appear to be any major internal injuries - no tears, no bone fractures, nothing really beyond some bad bruising. No stitches, either. The bad news is there may be some light scarring in some places."

            "Oh," said Yvette.

            "We'd like to monitor you for a day or two and run some tests to make sure you didn't pick up any infections or suffered some trauma we might have missed in the initial examination," continued Dr. Gibson. "After that, a week or two of rest at home and you should fully recover."

            "Thank you, doctor," said Yvette, managing a weak smile.

            "Great! So uh, nurse Feynman should be here soon with some water and a meal - is a peanut butter sandwich okay? I didn't see any allergies on your medical records but I always double-check these days."

            "Peanut butter is fine," said Yvette.

            "Alright. If you need anything or have any questions, please let us know," he said, gesturing at the call button in Yvette's hand. "We'll let you know when your parents arrive."

            "What about the Coopers?" inquired Yvette. "The, uh, family I was camping with."

            "Oh, uh, the rangers didn't mention them," said the doctor distractedly, flipping a page on his clipboard as he spoke. "If they come in we'll let you know." He turned to leave.

            "I do have one question, doctor," said Yvette suddenly.

            The doctor looked back. He did not appear annoyed but seemed eager to move on.

            "Did...did it look like I was bitten by some animal?" asked Yvette nervously.

            "Oh, no. Not at all," said the doctor, shaking his head. He hesitated. "Well, I suppose maybe an insect or small mammal could have taken a nip while you were out."

            "But no big bites, like from a bear - or wolf?"

            "Definitely not," said the doctor. He hesitated. "I mean, it's unlikely, but we'll check for rabies just to be on the safe side if that's what you're worried about."

            "Thank you, doctor."

            Dr. Gibson wrote something on his clipboard, nodded and stepped out into the hall.

            Yvette just sat there in silence for a few seconds, staring at nothing in particular. Then, as though stirring from a trance, she sighed and slumped back onto her bed. She glanced up at the television, down at the remote control and then dismissively shook her head. She reached over to the bedside table for a book only to remember she wasn't in her room. She withdrew her arm, feeling a tad foolish.

            Time passed.

            Yvette looked around the room for something to do besides watch television. She spent a few minutes gazing out her window at the mostly empty parking lot, the road and the forest beyond. Every so often a car would zoom by. Little else occurred. As the seconds ticked by Yvette found herself focusing on the distant treeline more and more. Her lips tightened. She thought back to the campsite and shuddered.

            She wasn't sure whether her ordeal in the pit had been real or simply some terror-induced nightmare. The latter seemed far more likely. Maybe she had fallen into some hidden ditch but the monster had only been a delusion, instigated in part by Mr. Cooper's story. Yet her memory of the creature was so vivid. More alarmingly she could not account for the discrepancy between her recollection of events and what Melinda had said happened just before she'd vanished into the woods.

            An icy chill gripped Yvette as she wondered if she had suffered from some neurological malady that had manifested after she had exited the port-o-potty. She thought back to Dr. Gibson's comment regarding allergies and wondered if something in the park had affected her.

            As she ruminated, a persistent itch grew along her right forearm. She absently reached over to scratch it but stopped as her fingernails scraped the coarse surface of the bandages covering it. She winced and tried to ignore the itch but it was getting really bad. She slipped her index and middle fingers beneath the taut fabric and ineffectually massaged the afflicted skin with her nails. She dug deeper, eventually getting enough leverage to actually scratch. Relief soon followed. She withdrew her fingers.

            Then, something occurred to her. That should have hurt. The lacerations along her forearms had been the worst - the deepest - and she had just scratched them quite vigorously.

            Yvette gingerly prodded her right forearm. To her surprise, she felt nothing. After a second's hesitation she carefully tugged at the edge of the bandages. Again, it didn't hurt at all. She pulled harder and harder until, gradually, the bandages' tacky inner surface peeled off, revealing bare, unblemished skin. There were dark red splotches along the white gauze but that was it.

            Yvette stared.

            "C'est bizarre..." she murmured softly to herself.

            She peeled back the other side of the bandages and saw only smooth, albeit slightly reddened skin. Swallowing, she gripped the edge of the bandages and pulled them down her arm. Eventually, she managed to peel them off entirely.

            There was nothing there - no cuts, scratches, bruises or scars. Her skin was pristine.

            Heart pounding in her chest, Yvette reached down and squeezed other parts of her body that were covered in bandages. Each time she felt no pain.

            Confused, Yvette leaned back and tried to make sense of it all. She glanced nervously around the room. Was this really a hospital? If the doctors here couldn't tell whether she was actually injured were they real doctors? Could it all be some kind of elaborate hoax - some horrible reality television show? No. The pain had been all too real and no producer would go that far. Maybe she had sustained some brain injury that made her unable to feel pain. However, a quick pinch on her arm quickly refuted that hypothesis.

            Just as she was about to press the 'call' button to summon a nurse, a pair of familiar figures entered the room. Yvette's anxious expression instantly turned to one of joy.

            "Maman! Papa!"

            Yvette's mother and father rushed forward and embraced her.

            "Oh merci mon Dieu! Tu vas bien!" cried her mother.

            "Nous étions tellement inquiets!" exclaimed her father.

            "Ce n'est pas si mal, papa, vraiment"

            As they went back and forth, talking and laughing with relief, Yvette's concerns gradually faded to the back of her mind. After everything she had gone through, she was fine with leaving it a mystery. For now.

* * *

            Two weeks later Yvette was in her room lying on her side, chin on one hand, a thick paperback book with a faded cover in her other. She glanced over at her bedside clock and was mildly surprised by the early hour. She yawned and shook her head. It was becoming harder and harder to follow the words. She dog-eared the page she was on, placed the book next to the clock and turned off the small lamp also sitting on the nightstand.

            Yvette rose, somewhat unsteadily, and looked around her room. It was dark. Apart from the thin yellow light coming from beneath her bedroom door the only source of illumination was the faint pale glow of the street lights and moon emanating through the window. For some reason, Yvette did not feel inclined to switch the light back on. The dark was strangely comforting.

            She frowned. It was far too early to go to bed - especially given it wasn't a school night - yet she was tired. In fact, she'd been tired all day. And the day before. And it wasn't garden-variety fatigue, either. Her entire body felt as though it had been stuffed with dense wool. Every action she took twice as much effort and energy to perform. More disconcertingly, she'd been experiencing a strange sense of physical dissociation - as though there was something fundamentally yet indescribably off about her. To be fair, she had been discharged from a hospital not long ago but her injuries, such as they were, had long since vanished. Not healed - vanished. Furthermore, all the tests the doctors had run had come back negative so it wasn't as though she was suffering from some disease she'd picked up in the woods.

            A little tremor of dread passed through her as she again contemplated the possibility she'd sustained brain damage, or at least some kind of concussion. It would explain why her memories contradicted Melinda's account of what had happened. Then again, it couldn't explain why she'd recovered so quickly - physically speaking. Her parents had simply concluded that her injuries had been far more superficial than the doctors originally thought. Yvette had accepted this explanation at first but the more she thought about it the less likely it seemed. She remembered how much blood there had been - how much it had hurt.

            Yvette briefly considered calling Melinda. She'd definitely be awake at this hour and the two hadn't actually spoken since the incident at the park. She'd received a text message from her five days ago asking if she, Yvette, was alright and Yvette had replied that she was. That was it. She hadn't really seen her much at school either. It was almost as though Melinda was avoiding her.

            An unexpected anger flared in Yvette's soul. Melinda had done nothing but complain the entire trip and been unbelievably rude to her father and mother. What's more, if she really had started wandering away in a daze after exiting the port-o-potties, why hadn't Melinda stopped her? Would it have been so hard to restrain her or at least follow her to make sure she didn't hurt herself? What a useless bitch.

            Then, just as quickly as it had formed, the rage and resentment dissipated.

            Yvette cupped her mouth, ashamed. She knew Melinda had her faults but had never felt that mad at her before. And she certainly didn't blame her for what had happened. Was she really carrying that much vitriol in her heart?

            Shaking her head in bewilderment, Yvette stepped towards the window. Maybe she just needed some fresh air.

            Yvette flipped the window latch and slid the pane to her left. She gazed out through the mesh screen at her front yard and the surrounding neighborhood. The sun had set less than an hour ago, rendering the sky a starless, dark-blue firmament. Great black chiaroscuro masses of tree branches loomed over the suburban homes like otherworldly giants. Below, the streetlights and scattered houselights glowed with yellow and white light. Yvette could make out individual blades of grass - still wet from being watered earlier - in her front lawn reflected in the light cast by her front porch lamp. Apart from the steady chirp of crickets and the dull, muted rumble of distant traffic, all was silent.   

            A cool breeze caressed Yvette's face. As it touched her skin, her worries, cares and concerns seemed to float away. She sighed contentedly and leaned closer to the window until her nose was less than an inch away from the screen. She shut her eyes, breathed in and out, seemingly drawing energy from the world itself. The smell of dust, grass, and petrichor tickled her nostrils. When she opened her eyes, the odd malaise that had plagued her the last few days was gone.

            Then, her eyes caught the full moon.

            She stared at the white celestial orb for a time, taking in every detail of its pale, wrinkled surface. It seemed to grow larger the longer she looked at it; as though her gaze were drawing it closer. She blinked, tried to look away but found herself unable to. Her neck, indeed, her very eyes refused to budge. The strange paralysis lasted for only the briefest of moments but still elicited a panicked gasp as she finally tore her gaze away from the window.

            A tingle ran down Yvette's spine. She stepped back, clutching her chest. Her heart had started pounding like she'd just run a marathon. Perspiration beaded along her forehead. She stared down at her arm. Although the light was weak, she could still see that her skin was reddening as though inflamed.

            Nausea gripped her. Yvette turned and staggered towards the door. She opened her mouth to cry out for her parents but only a strangled croak emerged as she crumpled to the floor. Though she could not see it her hands had puffed up to nearly twice their previous size. Her once petite fingers now resembled overstuffed sausages.

            She reached up for the doorknob, trembling, and then cried out in shock and pain as stubby black claws burst from her fingertips.

            Before she could even scream in response her hands twitched and contorted, twisting and stretching as though they had acquired some hideous agency all their own. Her pinkies and thumbs elongated while her other fingers shrank until all her digits were nearly the same length. Simultaneously, the skin along her palm hardened and blackened into thick, leathery pads while thick hair began spouting at her wrist.

            Then, Yvette laughed, or at least chuckled hoarsely and humorlessly. There was something wrong with her - she was hallucinating. That had to be it. There was nothing she could do but ride it out and pray it didn't kill her.

            She had to stay calm. Centered. This wasn't real. It was all in her mind.

            She felt her arms swelling up, the bones within cracking, popping, breaking and re-fusing. Her formerly tiny muscles were packing on pound after pound of tissue, rapidly evolving into tight, sinewy masses. A maddening itch was spreading across every inch of her skin but she didn't dare scratch it with her transformed hands.

            Her thin cotton blouse and blue skirt grew tighter and tighter as her body inflated, cutting off circulation. Yvette reached up and attempted to pull her dress off but could not get a solid grip. Her fingers - if they could even be called fingers anymore - could no longer pinch or curl. Giving up, she snagged the blouse's collar with her claws and simply tore the offending raiment from her body. She had a little more luck with her skirt owing to its elastic band and managed to wiggle out of it without actually destroying it. She felt slightly better now but even her A-cup bra and panties were starting to chafe like mad. Grimacing, she slipped a claw around her bra's central gore and tore it off. Likewise, she ripped her panties off and tossed their shredded remains into a corner.

            Yvette breathed in and out. In and out. Her ribcage seemed to expand with every breath. She couldn't completely ignore the pain so she focused on what she would do once the delirium had passed. She'd go see her parents. They'd go to the hospital. There was a good chance they could treat he-

            Yvette cried out as her spine spasmed violently. Motes of colored light danced in her vision as she recovered from the shock. She shook her head and realized her head - no, her entire body - was covered in hair...no, it felt softer - warmer.

            ...Fur?

            Panicking, Yvette tried to scramble to her feet only to find she could not stand. It wasn't that she was too weak or in too much agony. Rather, as she attempted to rise she immediately lost her balance and fell down on all fours. Moreover, her feet had grown a good half-meter longer so it was now impossible for her to stand on her heels as they'd migrated up her legs! She now rested exclusively on her balls of her feet. Indeed, every joint, muscle and bone in her arms and legs felt out of place. 

            A disconcertingly dog-like whimper issued from Yvette's lips. She shut her eyes and again focused on what she would do after this was over. She breathed in and out. In and out. Trying to take long, slow breaths.

            Her nostrils flared. A wave of vertigo passed over her as her skull cracked and elongated. Her jaw and nose darkened and stretched into a muzzle. Blood dribbled from her mouth as sharp fangs replaced dull molars. Her ears grew into tufted triangular points near the crown of her head. Unseen by anyone, her soft, brown eyes brightened into piercing amethyst and began glowing with an inner light.

            Then, prompted by some impulse she could not resist, Yvette craned her neck up to the ceiling and howled. Her cry was loud, long, and inhuman.

* * *

            Mr. Montague - Yvette's father - looked up from his book. He reached for a tiny remote control sitting on the coffee table and lowered the volume of the jazz album playing through the speakers in their living room. He then turned and peered over the backrest of the sofa he was sitting at. Mrs. Montague - seated at a chair opposite the sofa - also looked up at stared in the direction the sound had come. The two wore puzzled, slightly concerned expressions.

            "C'était un chien?" said Mr. Montague, looking back at his spouse.

            "Cela ressemblait plus à un loup," she remarked.

            "Ce ne pouvait pas être un loup," said Mr. Montague, shaking his head.

            "Le hurlement était très proche."

            He paused.

            "Je vais voir si Yvette va bien," he said, rising from his seat.

            "Je suis sûr qu'elle va bien, chéri."

            "Tu sais combien elle déteste les chiens et les loups. Je devrais vérifier, au cas où."

            With that, he started walking towards Yvette's room.