“Jeff!” The single, lonely name echoed through the dark and silent night. The unkempt, lean otter uttering the words gave the vague impression of a wannabe jock - a foot ball player who barely skirted into his high school team off his father’s position on the school board.

Brett, the name of our aforementioned jock, was a creature of unchanging habit. Whether he was flexing for the blonde vixens on the cheer squad or beating on the rotund rodents on the chess club, he always carried himself with an air of superiority. That was easy to maintain on his home turf of the brick school building, constantly wreathed by his goons, less so in the eerie pine woods surrounding Fang Lake Summer Camp when utterly alone.

It wouldn’t be long before campers started pouring in - only two weeks till summer, after all - but Brett was here for a very different reason. He was far too old to come as a camper, and far too cocky to bother being a counselor - he came here instead, for payback. Namely on that stuck-up ex of his, Amanda. To think that tramp would leave him - Brett f-in’ Jones - for some hairy, horse hippy with a guitar.

He got his most trusted lackey, Jeff to agree to arrange a little parting gift for Amanda, head counselor of that rotten camp - one she wouldn’t soon forget. Jeff’s dad did the electric for that place, so it wasn’t hard to snag his keys - everything went according to plan, till sundown. Till the full moon shone bright.

The two friends chuckled as the last trap was laid, relaxing by the fire of cabin F6-6 and cracking a few beers. Jeff muttered something about a noise outside, his awkward deer nose twitching, interrupting their riveting conversation about crude jokes and about hotties in action flicks. Brett blew him off - like there was really anything out there! Jeff was just being a pansy, as usual. Brett, eager to prove just how safe it was, went out for a piss in the bushes, like a "real" man. Not a thing went wrong!

Until he came back to the cabin to find the door gone. Not open - not broken - just gone. The only clue it had been there were deep scratches in the rough wooden floor. Even the hinges were nowhere in sight! And neither was Jeff... Idiot even left the fire going! He wanted to get back at Amanda, not burn her damn work down. Extinguishing the fire with a cough, Brett smacked the dingy yellow flashlight he brought along. Clearly, Jeff was playing at some stupid game, and if he wanted to play, Brett would play - hard.

He picked up a baseball bat leaned against the far windowsill, eager to hand Jeff's ass to him if he tried anything funny. Jeff had a funny way of playing pranks on guys, often involving the sharp ends of his antlers, so violence was a given. What was supposed to be a quick search and maybe a cathartic scuffle under the stars quickly turned into a tedious trudge through that awful forest.

"Jeff! Come out, enough's enough dude, where are you?" How long had Brett been looking? 30 minutes? An hour? Longer? And still no sign... and what was that shadow he kept seeing on the trees...? Always there for a second and gone - and that snapping of the twigs! "

It had to be that pansy Jeff... had to be..." Brett muttered under his breath. Or... was it? No, no, that's crazy... this place makes the boonies look bustling, there couldn't be...

Brett froze. For once in his life, his pride vanished, replaced with the all the bravery of a mewling, blind kitten. His pride vanished... because of that smell. Something earthy... strong... and bloody. And that sound, like some great bear dragging itself up behind him... And that touch! L-like something huge and hairy was wrapping it's claws around his shoulder... |

The otter gulped, his eyes as wide as saucers as he listened to the heavy breathing behind him... and felt a new touch, like something big, soft, and heavy pushed into his lean back. He looked up, quivering as he saw the silhouette of a bristling mound of fur four feet above him. Shaking like a mouse, the otter turned his flashlight up to the thing, and the last thing he saw was the light reflecting off those teeth... those glistening, wet fangs...

Another single, lonely sound echoed off the walls of the valley. The panicked, short scream of a pretty boy realizing just where his friend went... and how soon he'll be joining him...

---

Here's a piece from last august, inspired by all sorts of thoughts about monster flicks, and the bratty teenagers who are simply asking to get done in! And hey, seems like all worked out well in the end here - at least for the Fang Lake Wolfman's dinner plans!