The next day I realized I had to give them a way to fight these werewolves. I thought about giving them a silver bullet and gun, but settled for that time honored standard of werewolf repellants- "Howl Out" werewolf spray. I dumped the window cleaner and used the spray bottle to concoct the most effective spray a kid had ever seen. Starting with a base of grape kool-aid, I basically cleaned out the cabinet. I added garlic juice, onion flakes, nutmeg, a sardine, coffee, some "Hi Karate", and a bay leaf to give it that homemade flavor.
I'll admit that I tend to get a little carried away when I'm being creative, and this time was no exception. I made a label with instructions, warnings, and listed the contents. I lied about the contents on the label, but what the FWA (Food and Werewolf Administration) doesn't know won't hurt them.
I presented the Grandsons with my werewolf spray with great fanfare. They listened raptly as I explained all the nuances of werewolf repelling. I must have done a good job because their mother (my daughter) smiled a little, which in itself is a cause for celebration. They learned the werewolf must be sprayed as heavily as possible, but too much could kill it, which would be hard to explain to the werewolf police. Care must also be taken not to get spray in its' face, it could put an eye out. Then you'd end up with a blind werewolf bumping into stuff.
My daughter called me the next day. It had to do with her furniture which used to be white. It seems Adam had awakened from a dream about werewolves. Sure there was one in the house, and being a brave little man, he handled it. He denied the vile thing the use of the living room by spraying everything: The walls, the couch, the floor, the TV. Their mom awoke to a purple stain everywhere, including the formerly white couch with matching white easy chair and ottoman. The carnage was amplified by the powerful aroma of rotting fish mixed with other nasty things. She wasn't impressed when I reminded her that it's stupid to have white furniture when you have kids. My adult children have no sense of humor.
Shortly thereafter it occurred to me that we had an opportunity for a real adventure. I found a real good drawing of a wolf footprint, enlarged it, and made a stencil. The next day I used it and some black spray-paint to make wolf tracks on my daughters walk and porch. For good measure, I added a footprint to the kids' bedroom window.
When they got off of the school bus they noticed the tracks right away, and realized the beast had looked in their window. I helped with the charade by long explanations of werewolf behavior gleaned from late night TV and cheap novels. They drank in my every word. To quote my guru, Montgomery Burns, "Excellent".
The next was the third and final phase of the adventure. I went into the city to a costume shop and spent big bucks on a really good werewolf mask. Driving over to the werewolf proofed house of my daughter, I killed the engine and headlights and coasted up the driveway. Before easing out of the car I donned the mask and admired myself in the mirror. I looked like a character from "The Howling". The snout was in a snarl, and the rubber lips pulled back to reveal hideous teeth. Cool.
Easing up onto the porch, I kicked over the lawn chairs with a bang. I imagined the kids went still but instead Tommy almost caught me when he opened the door and looked out. Thank goodness he didn't see my car. I ran around to the side of the house, tripped over a bicycle, and let out a horrendous howl of pain. Limping to the back door, I slapped it repeatedly with my paws and growled as loudly as I could.
I put my ear to the door and the house was quiet. Too quiet. Were they up to something inside? Had to much fake fur and latex on my head muffled my hearing? I felt my senses heighten as I pondered the question.
I nursed my bruised knee as I limped back to the porch and fell over the stupid bike again. Hobbling up the steps I took several deep breaths to steady myself. I let out loud howls in rapid succession as I leaped through the door. Landing in a crouch in the living room, I hoped my knee would hold as I growled and reached out my paw.
As long as I live I'll never forget seeing the Adam clinging to his mother. But something was amiss. I'd forgotten Tommy had a hockey stick until I saw him swinging it at my head. As it crossed into my line of sight, I started to scream "Wait!" before everything faded to black.
* * * * *
The exam lights in the E.R. were blinding when I awoke. I raised my throbbing head and looked over to see my daughter and wife with amused looks on their faces. They and the nurse must have shared a joke because she was smirking too. Not expecting any compassion I stayed silent during the skull and knee x-rays and suturing of my head.
I sat quietly and stared straight ahead when we arrived at home. The Grandsons laughed at my stitches and limped around the living room on my new cane, saying, "Look, I'm an old grandpa wolf". Brats.
It's been a few years since then. Tommy is looking forward to joining the NHL, and Adam is becoming a wild wolf expert. The realtor says to sell the house we've got to get the wolf prints out of the concrete somehow. As for me, the scar on my head is barely noticeable when I wear a hat, and I have a new brace to support my mangled knee. My wife and daughter still tell the story of the Southern Illinois werewolf every time the moon is full or when they want to embarass me. They take great relish in my humiliation. If I could make a spray to repel them...
Fini.
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