Werewolf Series 1 - Episode 03 - Scare Tactics

"Zzzzzz... But I don't want to go to school today, mommy..."

Wednesdays. Their mornings allowed lie-ins that ate away into their afternoons, and their evenings were idle and work-free. I love Wednesdays.

This particular Wednesday seemed like the perfect day, with no lectures and nothing planned for the rest of the day (except an abundance of sleep!). But the reality of what was going to pan out today was about to stifle me from my slumber.

"HEED MY WARNING!" an unknown voice boomed throughout my bedroom, stirring me into a groggy state of wakefuless. "To evade the wrath of the concealed mistress, one should distance oneself from any new engagements!"

I didn't have a clue what was going on. There was a disembodied voice echoing within my room, and all there was to answer for it was a set of levitating clothes. Was I still in my own little dream world?

I grumbled and sat up, "Who's there?"
"Opportunities will be unveiled in front of you in the coming future. Be warned! You would be damned to seize them!" this voice cryptically announced.
"What are you banging on about?" I moaned.

"Sometimes it is wise not to climb the social ladder. Sometimes it is wise to conform to being second-rate," it continued, making no more sense now than when it rudely woke me. Second-rate to what? I just wanted to get back to sleep!

"How did you get into my room?" I enquired, probing the intruder.
"Stay on your own territory and you shall remain unharmed. Trespass onto someone else's territory and suffer the consequences," it cried, giving me a riddle I was too tired to think about.
"I don't understand what the heck you're saying!" I spluttered in frustration. Just what was this animated heap of laundry trying to tell me?

"Listen, twerp. My master says don't go to the tryouts for the quarterback or she'll turn your mouth into a chicken's arse," the disembodied being threatened rather unsubtly. "Kapeesh?"
"Who sent you?"
"Mistress Gretel, the grand high witch of this precinct."
"A witch?"
"Yes, a very powerful Bad Witch, or B'itch for short. Now do you understand me?"
"What are you on about, quarterback tryouts? The team already has a quarterback."
"Er - wait, you didn't know about the tryouts for a new quarterback?"
"No, but I do now! The current quarterback must be slipping with his standards." That current quarterback was Eric, the popularity-craving buffoon.

"Uh oh... I didn't really think this one through."
"Look, why are you here?" I quizzed.
"I'm here to warn you not to try out to become the new quarterback, and instead stay on the substitution bench, or otherwise be cursed for all eternity with a chicken's anus to speak your worthless words through."
"Right, so is this some sort of threat?"
"Yes, so it would be wise to heed my -"
"Heed your warning, fine," I interrupted. "I get it. Now we've established that, can I go back to sleep?"

And with that, the creepy minion had vanished into thin air, leaving me quite disorientated and unsettled. This intrusion alerted me to how unsafe and vulnerable I now was to the supernatural world, being a werewolf-shaped part of it. This had freaked me out about as much as that time Jamie, Hannah and I entered the fourth dimension.

Jamie: I don't want to scare either of you, but something mighty strange has just happened.

Zach: (Screaming) Ahhhhhh! What's going on?!
Jamie: Stay calm, I think we've just encountered a worm hole in the space-time continuum.
Zach: What have I been smoking? Man, this isn't normal!
Jamie: This must just be a fluke in the dimensional shift and it'll probably pass quickly.

Hannah: What has happened to my room?
Jamie: Perplexing. Everything here is so unusually detailed, yet there doesn't seem to be much effort gone into our faces and hairstyles.
Zach: Guys, this is really creeping me out!
Jamie: But it won't catch on. Before you know it, everyone will be back to their well-defined selves in no time.

Zach: What am I on? Smack? Calpol? Blue Smarties?
Jamie: Nobody is on anything, Zach.
Zach: Speak for yourself...
Hannah: How long will this last?
Jamie: I'm not too sure, but I can take a guess.
Zach: So dude, how long?!
Jamie: Well, if this is a hallucination, then it should pass within a few hours and you'll just wake up with a bad headache. Or...
Zach: Or what? C'mon Jamie.

Jamie: Or, if worst comes to worst, this is how things are from now on and our faces will look like blobs of Plasticine forever.
Zach: Maaan, I want to go back! I don't want change!

Sure, things got back to normal and we were freely placing new lots in our neighbourhoods in no time. The incident that morning confused me somewhat. Why was there a need for a new quarterback for the college football team, and why did some B'itch want to stop me trying out? I didn't think I had the potential to make a decent starting quarterback, but a new discovery that day was about to change my outlook on my college sports career.

"Someone broke into your room? Did they take anything? Did they put up a fight?" Jamie asked as soon as I told him that I saw an unidentified presence in my bedroom.
"No, nothing was taken," I replied, having to refrain from telling the whole truth; the fact that there was a magical minion waking me up this morning to threaten me on behalf of a spell-casting witch wasn't the first thing I was prepared to tell Jamie. Nor was it something he'd believe.
"So it was just some moron hassling you for the thrill?"
"Aye, you could say that."

I wasn't as much into baseball as I was into football, but I enjoyed throwing my balls around with Jamie on the odd lazy afternoon. It sure does get the arms aching after prolong sessions though.

"When did you get so hard, Zach?" Jamie enquired, with his ambiguous query.
"Huh?" I mumbled.
"Your throws are suddenly really strong. Have you been holding back on me all this time?"
"Well, I have been working out lately. Is this just your method of giving me a shy compliment?" I laughed.
"You can't suddenly become this strong overnight, not without taking steroids," accused Jamie.
"What are you on about? I'm throwing normally," I said in my own defence.

"Okay then. Throw it at me as hard as you can," he challenged, forgetting how bad his catching skills are normally, without me propelling the ball at him at lightning speed.


I accepted his challenge and threw the ball as hard as I could at him. The ball collided with his hand, but instead of the ball stopping in its path, it dragged Jamie backwards and caused him to tumble backwards onto his arse.

"OUCH!" Jamie complained, rubbing his sore backside with a hand crooked as if he had used it to catch a rocket. "Where did you learn to throw that hard?!"
"I - I don't know!" I stuttered in disbelief.

I was absolutely dumbfounded at the immense strength I displayed. I felt awesomely powerful, as if the force was pumping through my blood. Then it occurred to me - my throws weren't this powerful before I was bitten by that werewolf!

So that was it! My supernatural transformation had given me some sort of super-strength. My throwing and catching abilities had improved dramatically, opening up a window of opportunity to really shine... in the football tryouts! Perfect timing for a werewolf bite!

"A little help here please!" Jamie begged, still sat on his flattened behind. "I think I've bruised a cheek."

Seeing Jamie collapsed on the floor was embarrassing. It was about as embarrassing as the way social networking sites are infiltrating everyday life.

Lass: Hey there stranger, have I seen you before? I recognise you, but I'm not sure where from.
Guy: Mutual friends: 34. Yeah, maybe I do know you. Are you Keri's friend?
Lass: Yes, I am! Sending friend request.
Guy: Do I want to accept friend request? Accept.
Lass: Thanks. Do you fancy a drink? Perhaps lager or some cider?
Guy: Sure thing. How did you know that I like lager and cider?
Lass: It says you're a fan on your profile, along with "Topgear", "Nudism" and "Firm knockers".

Guy: Is your dad a thief?
Lass: Pardon?
Guy: Because he stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes.
Lass: (Giggling) Are you hitting on me?
Guy: Is it such a crime? (Winks)
Lass: There's something you might want to know before we go any further.
Guy: Oh yeah?
Guy: Mood update: embarrassed.

Woman: Hello Jeremy! I haven't seen you in ages, so I thought I'd come over and give you a poke!
Man: Oh hey! It's nice to see you again. Have you been keeping in touch with other people from uni?
Woman: Yes, and we were thinking about arranging a meal out to give us a chance to catch up. Do you fancy it?
Man: You have been invited to join the group "Awkward dinner plans", do you want to accept? I'll get back to you on it. Ignore.
Woman: OK. It's been a while since we shared a flat together! How are things with your new job?
Man: Status update: 'Being heckled by an old college friend. Help!" My new job is good thanks.

Woman: Have you found yourself a partner yet?
Man: ...
Woman: Jeremy?
Man: ...
Woman: Hello...?
Man: ...
Woman: (Angrily) Humph. Have you blocked me?

Hipster: Mark appears to be new to the town. Suggest friends? No.
Nerd: So what do you do around here for fun?
Hipster: Well, there's a cinema and an ice rink down town, and a leisure complex nearby.
Nerd: What about internet cafés?
Hipster: There are a few in the mall.
Nerd: Like.

Hipster: Usually I just waste hours away searching through friends of friends of friends to find fit, attractive people.
Nerd: Arrr, me hearty! I be a Facebook stalker too. Yaaar!
Hipster: Huh?
Nerd: There be a pirate language option to speak in, matey. Yaaar harr harr, me crusty barnacle!
Hipster: We really need to get a life.
Nerd: Yaaar...

With my new-found strength came a boost to my athleticism. The university gym was seducing me to break a sweat. My impulse to pump some iron was stronger than ever. Perhaps it was an excess of energy I need to burn off that came with my bolstered physique. Yet it wasn't my muscles that were at the centre of the attention.

"See these bazookas?" Eric exclaimed, whilst shoving his bulky biceps in my face to make sure I was aware of them.

"Whoa, Eric! You startled me!" I exclaimed, trying to regain my stability before I fell off the treadmill!
"These guns are what's required for an ace starting quarterback like me. This buff body is what's required for scoring touchdowns and barging through the opposition. Those puny bingo wings of yours are no match for these fellas," Eric roared, garishly.
"What's your point, Eric?"
"These babies will also break your legs if you try out for my football position, Hall, so you'd better wise up!" he said, in a lame attempt to intimidate me.

Why did he see me as such a threat? In fact, why would he think that I would try out for the quarterback position at all, unless somebody had already told him? There was something curious about the way he was behaving. Something curiously desperate.

"Just look at that podgy belly of yours. Do you think you can run and score with that much junk in your trunk?" he sneered whilst prodding his derogatory finger into my abdomen. Now he was just being rude.
"I'm pretty toned, thank you!" I retorted. He was trying to intimidate me, yet he was failing miserably. "If you think you're so good, then why is the coach letting other people try out for your position?"
"He's scared I'll be approached by a rival team and be persuaded to play for them," he stated, but his reason didn't make any sense at all.

If the coach was scared of losing Eric, then why would he hold tryouts to replace him now? I was sceptical that Eric's aggressive attitude had put him in the coach's bad books, and his arrogance and showboating was bringing the morale of the rest of the team down.

"You'll never be good enough to replace me, Hall. Get used to that fact," Eric taunted before his departure.

Later, the dorm notice board said it all: FOOTBALL TRYOUTS, THIS THURSDAY. CALL FOR MORE INFORMATION. So what do you do after receiving threats from a spectral ghoul and a cocky beefcake about trying out for the football team?

"Hello, coach Whitmore? It's Zach Hall here. I'd like to put my name down for the quarterback tryouts on Thursday."

You try out for the football team, that's what! Who wants to settle for the substitution bench anyway?

Later that day, I was itching to tell Jamie about my entire werewolf ordeal, and explain my sudden burst of strength during our throwabout that afternoon. Although I was eager to share my secret, I was reluctant to let someone in on such a hairy aspect of my life. Once I tell him, our friendship might take a turn for the worse.

"Your sudden gain in phenomenal strength is highly intriguing. Without steroids, such a feat would be considered a miraculous wonder," commented Jamie, still hiding some resentment for the way I embarrassed his catching skills at the front of the Dormitory building.
"Yeah, it's quite something. Listen, I have a secret that I really need to share with someone. It's very personal, and you'll probably find it a little... controversial at first," I said, still wondering if telling him was the right thing to do.
"You can be confident that your secret won't leave my tight lips, if you divulge with me," he reassured me.
I sighed, still struggling to muster up the words. "It's hard for me to say it aloud..."

"Don't worry, Zachary. I believe I'm fully aware of your situation," he interjected, almost humouring my nerves out of their worry and panic.
"You know?"
"As a friend, I must inform you of my observations and conclusions. I've noticed things over the past few days that can only point to one thing," he said, about to set a wave of relief to wash over me.
"I've correlated the amount of time you have spent with Eric lately, and I just want you to know that I'm here for you if you want to discuss how you feel," he answered, rather dubiously.
"You're gay. And as your friend, Zachary, I am here for you."

With his wrong conclusion announced, he gave me a patronising pat on the back. I wanted to take that hand and shove it in his mouth! He thought my secret involved a deep, dark closet and a lorry-load of denial. But I wasn't gay! Honest!

"I'm not gay!" I exclaimed, loud enough to hear my voice reverberate down the corridor. Embarrassing.
"Ah. It seems that my calculations were incorrect. Let me just readjust my mental formulae," Jamie said, enjoying every moment he took to subtly mock me.
"About this secret -" I began.
"On re-evaluation... you're a transvestite hooker on weekends?"
All I could do was sigh, "No."
"You're a transvestite hooker on Fridays?"
"No, Jamie..."
"Well, I can't see the benefits of being a transvestite hooker any other day of the week, because business wouldn't be that great for you."

Jamie laughed at how irate he got me. Then he finally came out with a more mature comment, "I understand how you feel about Hannah, and I can empathise with you. You two are good friends, but you want to take your relationship further yet she doesn't understand how you feel."

He had hit the spot, but of an entirely different secret. He knew about my feelings for Hannah and I knew I could confide in him about it.

"So you've noticed."
"Zach, you're easier to read than Japanese prose," he said. Was he trying to say I was easy for him to read or incredibly difficult for others to read? "What are your plans for her?"
"Ah, I don't know. I want to woo her, and then possibly woohoo her, but I can't muster up the courage to ask her out," I confessed.
"Then boohoo for you. This new brawn of yours would be most impressive to her. How about exploiting that somehow?" Jamie suggested.
"What, flex my muscles in front of her? Do you think that will win her?"
"Ah, Zachary. You're about as uninspired as the last NBC board meeting before the new TV season gets planned out," Jamie remarked.

Executive Producer: New TV guys, think original!
Assistant Writer: So how about this hospital drama with a doctor who's addicted to painkillers for treating the pain of his mangled leg, and has an obnoxiously sarcastic attitude that makes you wonder why the hell you enjoy watching such a miserable sod on TV, until you realise you find his crooked limp and walking cane strangely attractive?

Head Writer: I was thinking more about a mystery drama about a bunch of plane passengers who get stranded on a desert island that uncannily moves through space and time to avoid being discovered by a pissy old rich man who wants revenge for something or other.
Executive Producer: Ah, I like it! I bet we could get through five series before anyone has a clue about what the hell is going on.
Assistant Writer: Maybe we could throw in some random polar bears and a black misty thing into the equation.
Head Writer: Won't that complicate the storyline somewhat?
Assistant Writer: Nah, it will just introduce the first of many unanswered questions that will eventually build up over five seasons until you ask yourself "what the heck compelled me to keep watching this crap?".

Head Writer: How about a tenuous, repetitive TV show about a bunch of unrelated characters who have secret heroic powers?
Executive Producer: Sounds good. Carry on...
Head Writer: Well, we can have an annoying Indian guy narrate over the start and end of each episode.
Executive Producer: OK. Tell me more about him.
Head Writer: To the writers, he facilitates the storylines by bringing characters together; but to the viewers, he just irritates the crap out of you with every moronic thing he says.
Executive Producer: What other characters have you got?
Head Writer: I was thinking of a young Japanese male, in his late twenties, who has the special power of relieving severe constipation. When he uses his power, you see his face scrunch up as if he's trying to land a big one.
Young Writer: I like it, and we can get a Korean actor to portray him. Brilliant!

Executive Producer: What about catchphrases, people?
Assistant Writer: We could get the cute Japanese one to shout "Yaaahtaaah!" every time he succeeds with something.
Executive Producer: Won't that get old?
Assistant Writer: No, it will never get old.
Executive Producer: Are you sure?
Assistant Writer: I'm positive. It will never get old. Never.
Executive Producer: Excellent. Even after three seasons we'll still think it's cute. We're making great progress. Any more ideas?

Young Writer: Hmm... I have another idea. Why don't we make an innocent soap-type drama about some suburbia housewives living their eventful day-to-day lives, but give the show a dubious title that makes anyone who hasn't watched the show think it's a dirty programme about promiscuous married women when they hear the title?

Executive Producer: I like it. Do you have a name in mind?
Young Writer: Yeah, I was thinking of -
Head Writer: (Interrupting) OR... we could just put on more re-runs of Friends.
(Short pause)
Assistant Writer: Great idea!
Executive Producer: Yeah, let's just go with that.
Young Writer: Ah. So much for "Skimpily-Clad Bimbos with Social Dilemmas" then...

Again, I wimped out of telling someone about my wolfy nature. Jamie had gone to a lecture, so that opportunity had passed. Instead, I decided to chill out and watch some TV to get away from my niggling truths.

Voiceover: Now back to "Undue Secrets that are Best Out in the Open".

Woman: Honey... I... I'm having an affair with the janitor at work.
Man: Oh darling, you were worrying me for a minute there. I thought it was going to be something serious.
Woman: You - you're not mad?
Man: You shouldn't have kept me in the dark. The only reason why I indulged in those transvestite hookers last Friday was because I was so anxious about your behaviour lately. I don't like being kept in the dark.

Woman: It's fine dear, our relationship is clearly over now. I'm happy for us.
Man: Me too. But I wish you had told me earlier.

"Urgh!" I groaned in disgust. I quickly flicked the remote control.


Voiceover: Next on SimTV, we rejoin our resident psychiatrist, as he investigates the lives of more suspiciously camp men in "An Outing with Dr. Morgan".

Camp Man: Mhm hmm, that little number will never mask your love handles, girlfriend. What you need is a maternity dress!
Woman: But I'm not pregnant -
Camp Man: You don't need to be pregnant to look fabulous, sweetie!

Interviewer: You're joining me today as I delve into another intriguing life story. In today's episode, we follow the interests of former soccer star Sebastian Homerton.

Camp Man: It all began in my teenage years. I was so going to tell somebody about my secret, but I was too much of a coward, a 'fraidy cat, a... chicken's arse to tell anybody.
Interviewer: So you were in the closet for most of your life?
Camp Man: Darling, I was so deep in the closet that I was finding Christmas presents!
Interviewer: Cliches aside, when was it that you came out?
Camp Man: Sweetie, I haven't come out publically yet! Nobody ever suspects me. I suppose I just act too straight for anyone to notice!
Interviewer: Does anyone know your secret now?
Camp Man: A few.
Interviewer: And how often do you talk about it with them?
Camp Man: Honey, it's only my transvestite hooker friends. But they're just so busy at the weekends when I'm free that we just don't get to talk...

The world was trying to send me a message. A subtle message. The longer I left telling someone about my hairy problem, the harder it would get to finally come out with it. The answer was about as subtle as the way dog owners always talk through their pets.

Woman: "I'm hungry for a treat," he says! (Laughs) Come and get it boy.
Rex: Yo old lady, stop taunting me yeah? I oughta take a leap at yo scrawny lil' ass.
Woman: "I'm hungry," he says. Don't you want your treat boy? You have to jump for it!
Rex: Yo, I ain't jumping for you, old bag.

Woman: He says, "I like that! Give me some more yummy treats!" That's all you're getting, Rexy, otherwise you'll get even more fat!
Rex: I'll bite yo hand off in a minute, girl! Just gimme the damn treat!

Charles: This is so humiliating...

Old Man: Give me the stick, boy. Stop being stubborn. "But I want to chew it," he says, "it's good for my teeth!"
Charles: Sigh...
Old Man: Come on boy, fetch! Fetch the stick!
Charles: Could you please try being less derogatory, or does your small human brain prevent you?

Man: Who's a smelly dog, eh? Who's a smelly dog?
Spot: You are?
Man: "I'm a smelly dog!" says Spot. Well you're going to get a bath when it's sunny outside, boy. Then you might smell a bit more bearable.
Spot: Fantastic...

Man: "I'm about to lick my own testicles," he's saying. (Chuckles)

Old Man: CHARLES! What are you doing?! "I'm being a naughty dog that won't be getting any treats tonight!" he says.
Charles: This is for every time you put words into my mouth, you old fart!

The sun was starting to set and darkness was looming to beckon the night once again. I had about a couple of hours before I transformed, which had become a regular nightly occurrence, and from then onwards I'd have to remain in hiding. This had to be somewhere where I wouldn't rip anything valuable to shreds, so I couldn't just camp out in my dormitory room!

"Ahhhh." I sighed in relief, after answering nature's call.

I had more troubling things to worry about in the dorm restroom than emptying my wee-sack, however.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the brave little scamp himself. Think you can take me on by yourself, Hall?" Eric bellowed, characteristically full of hot air again.
"Is there a problem, guys?" I asked.

"I've heard about your commitment to the football tryouts, Hall. And let me tell you that I'm not very happy," Eric said with an underlying bitterness to his voice.
"So why are you here?" I asked, although it was a stupid question to ask. He had an over-sized ego taking over him, and beating me up would stroke it the right way.
"Perhaps my right fist could persuade you to change your mind about the tryouts," Eric said. "My knuckles just want a quiet word with your face, that's all."

Eric probably stayed up late last night, thinking up that single witty line. He wasn't such an intelligent foe; he was more so a brash one. Normally I wouldn't try to snake my way out of a potential fight, as I'm not a coward, but there was something unnerving about Eric lately that made me think again before working him up further.

"Once you've finished talking about your love affair with your right hand, how about you let me be?" I replied, although I knew any banter would only brush Eric up the wrong way.
"There's no escape, Zach," said Vince, barricading the doorway. Vince's false confidence was only fuelled by Eric's vain bravado. Without it, he would merely cower in the corner of any fight.


Eric feinted a punch, making me flinch.

"Threatening me is just going to hack the coach off even more about your swagger and showboating, Eric. That's the real reason why he's trying to replace you, isn't it?" I said provocatively, almost wanting to elicit a response from him.
"I'll pulverise you if I can't talk you down first!" he announced.
"Well can this wait? I haven't washed my hands yet," I jeered, trying to buy some time. "You wouldn't want nasty germs rubbing all over your massive ego."

"Why are you even bothering if he's not even competition for you, Eric?" I heard Vince mutter inconspicuously to Eric, who was immune to being reasoned with in his current moronic state.
"I have to teach this jerk a lesson. Nobody shows up me up and gets away with it," Eric said grimly.
"You know, the whole point in whispering is so that other people don't hear what you're saying," I teased.

I should have made a run for it, but I was enjoying the mockery too much.

"You wouldn't be here if you weren't threatened by me. You know I'm reasonable competition for you, and you know you'd struggle to beat me on the playing field. So here you are, behind closed doors, trying to sabotage the opposition before the day of the tryouts," I said.

I had finally ground him down to breaking point.

"Look here, asshole!" he cried, accompanying his shouting with a harsh shove into the basin. "You oughta watch who you're badmouthing, or I won't stop to think before launching my first into your mouth!"

Pain shot up throughout my lower back, as the collision with the sink really took its toll. But it wasn't the pain that was most mortifying at that moment. The evil and sinister glare that Eric's eyes gave was grossly unnerving. There was a menacing glint in his pupils that singed the hairs on the back of my neck.

"You don't want to see what I can do what I get angry, Hall."

His inhuman stare persuaded me to believe his tormenting words instantly. He wasn't bluffing. He was probably capable of the most unsavoury deeds in order to get his own way.

"Do you hear me?" he screamed, his voice demanding that I gave it all my respect.
"Yes..." I whimpered.

"Come on Eric, that's enough," Vince interjected, breaking Eric's frightening glare.
"Don't be a fool, Hall," Eric sang, as he left me alone.

I felt intimidated and rather vulnerable, but this was merely another one of the many threats I had received today, including that mystery phone call from this afternoon.

Zach: Hello?
Voice: Hello, how may we be of service?
Zach: (Bemused) Hi, who is this?
Voice: This is the Academy Sexual Health Clinic. How may I help you?
Zach: Eh?
Voice: What can I do for you, sir?
Zach: What do you mean 'what can I do for you'? What is this call about?
Voice: Well, we offer free HIV testing, as well as dipstick tests and more painful tests that involve prodding sticks down your pee-pee hole...
Zach: I'm not interested in any STI testing. Why did you call me?
Voice: Sorry sir, I believe you called us first.

Zach: What the jeebus are you on about? YOU called ME.
Voice: Sir, are you after some STI testing or are you just here to waste my time?
Zach: Look here, lady! I did NOT dial your number and -
Voice: Sir, we're very sympathetic to your problems, whether itchy, sore or starting to fall off, and we understand that a gammy-looking sausage isn't something you'd want to give your partner for supper -

Zach: There's nothing gammy about my sausage!
Voice: Even if your hotdog is a little pink around the edges, we can take a look -
Zach: And neither is it pink! Who do you think you are, humiliating me like this?
(Some prankster giggles in the background)
Voice: Sir, don't be shy. It's better for you to be safe and not sorry - (Zach hangs up)

Prank calls where somebody dials two different people and then puts the phones together to hear their reaction aside, Eric was having yet another rendezvous to threaten somebody else.

"Do you really think this lousy piece of work will impress the football coach, huh?" Eric hollered loudly, with a sour tone of voice, pointing to what he considered to be inadequate biceps. "Why don't I look like a freaking bodybuilder?!"
"Lousy? My spells increased your muscle mass two-fold, at least!" a ghastly voice murmured in response. "It's not my magic that's making your sporting performance slip!"

I was conveniently loitering around the fire exit, waiting for my nightly transformation in solitude, which allowed me to eavesdrop on the curious duo. Heck, I wasn't paying much attention. I was too enthralled by playing "Final Fantasy 29: The Neverending Series" on my handheld console.

"If you don't sort this out and beef me up even more, you won't be reigning over this university much longer, B'itch," Eric said, bullying his victim. "We had a deal! I'd help you fend off your enemies if you made me the most popular guy on campus."
"And you remain to be so. You're as popular as ever. But being the starting quarterback wasn't a condition of our deal," she said in retaliation.
"Then I'm making it a new condition!" he echoed, boasting an air of authority.
"Your body might tear in two if I cast yet another spell," she muttered.

"Do it, or the deal is off!" Eric cried, and with that he turned around and headed back inside the building.

This seemed to be a desperate time for the B'itch, but it was an all or nothing situation. With her decision made, she drew her wand from her pocket and began murmuring some wicked words.

"YES! Just look at these guns!" Eric exclaimed in sheer excitement. "I'll give that Zach a real pounding on the football pitch, even if it means I get thrown off the team!"

This wasn't good news for me. Whether or not he wanted the quarterback position, Eric had some beef to sort out with me and his new ammunition meant he had no reason not to.

"I'm making a big mistake," the B'itch whimpered as she descended down the stairs, failing to see me at the bottom of them and almost colliding with me!
"Whoa, lady! Watch where you're walking!" I said angrily.

It took several seconds to register who she was, as I was so engrossed in my handheld gaming.

"Who are you?" I quizzed, eager to find out what deal she was making with Eric.
"I'm Mistress Gretel, the high grand witch of this area," she began, "and that name should sound familiar to you, Zachary Hall."

"How do you know my-?" I started.
"Remember my spectral minion who paid you a visit this morning?" she reminded.
"You sent that thing?" I said, rather startled to be meeting the Mistress herself. "So you're the B'itch that threatened me. All because you're defending that moron?"
"Eric and I currently have a crucial deal going on. It will decide the fate of the entire university, should it fail."
"Aren't Bad Witches usually green?" I asked her, with a meagre knowledge based purely on the Wizard of Oz. "Something makes me think that you're lying."

"That's because I'm not genuinely a Bad Witch. I'm only pretending to be one. Only honesty and kindness exist in my heart," she clarified.
"Yet you're lying about being a Bad-?"
"Honesty and kindness, my friend," she said, cutting my sentence off. "There is a real Evil Witch coming to our campus, and her eyes are set on one thing only: to rule over everyone. There is only room for one Grand Witch here, and her succession over me would spell doom for everyone."
"And you think Eric can stop her?" I asked, suspicious that her story was just fabricated nonsense. How could an arrogant jock stop a mighty Evil Witch? Beat her to death with his inflated ego?

"Eric volunteered himself to be my personal soldier, all in exchange for the popularity he craved," she stated. "Ever since, I've been transforming his body into something that could take the bitch down."
"B'itch? Is she Evil or just Bad?"
"Oh, I was just calling her a bitch for the sake of it. She's properly an Evil Witch."
"And why should I believe anything you say?" I said, still sceptical.
"Because I know your secret, Zachary, and I need your help too," she revealed.
"You're a werewolf. It's painfully obvious, my friend."
I laughed nervously, trying to deny her statement, "Werewolf-?"

And at that moment, the clock struck 8pm.

"Yeah, all right. You got me," I conceded.
"I am an ally, Zach, and you need me as much as I need you. And with that said, I must leave now."
I couldn't let her leave so suddenly. "Wait! Is there a cure for my lycanthropy?" I asked desperately.
She hesitated and replied, "I'm sorry, my friend. There is no cure."

My heart sunk and all hope of returning to a normal student life exploded in front of my eyes.

"So I'm stuck with coughing up fur balls and an urge to sniff butts for the rest of my life?" I questioned.
"I'm afraid so," she said, beginning to turn away for her departure.

"Wait! Miss Gretel, wait," I shouted, before she could hop on her broom and fly away.
"What is it?"
"Eric is a dangerous person to be messing around with. His attitude is building up to self-destruct, and his explosion will take a lot of people out in the process! Please, be careful. You're creating a monster out of him."

She turned her head and shot me a very sly glance, and muttered auspiciously, "I know."