The floor of the darkened forest, with its thin tendrils of mist grasping towards the treetops, slowly grows brighter as a full moon begins to rise. Five large gray wolves impassively face this WWN reporter and my companion, their eyes cold and prying. The moon rises and the five wolves suddenly fall into spasms, howling, contorting with bones crunching.

Gradually, the howls become coughs, curses, and pretty amazing farts, and the wolves slowly arise as men. They ignore us for a moment as they check themselves out.

“Does my jaw look right to you?” asks one man.

“It’s off about thirty degrees,” replies the second man. He guides his friend into perfection. “A little to the right. Your right not my right. There. Wotta smile.”

“Hey, Phil? That part is supposed to be in the lower front. Atta boy.”

They reach forward and snatch the suitcases of clothes left there by my companion, Shaman Milt Buttercups, a fellow who wound up in this town of (CENSORED) in (CENSORED) because of past legal indiscretions.

He giggles. “Nothing that turning states’ evidence, keeping your reward for capturing the bad guys and lowering my sights a bit can’t cure. I opened a new-age shop in town and became an Internet shaman in my new identity.” He pauses. “Do you think I wanted the name Milt (CENSORED) Buttercups? Why not Milt Incel? Jeez! And to think that I made my first million when I was 12.”


He calms down and introduces this WWN scribe to the pack: Bob, Phil, Doobie, Lobo and Sid. Lobo tells the story about having their 24/7 wolf lives torn apart by some stranger.

“It was just about a year ago,” begins Lobo. “The boys and I were still mourning their mother’s death from a poacher’s gun. And there was a crazy guy living in the forest forever, since long before our time or our grandparents’ time. We gave him wide berth. One day, the guy just attacked us.”

“He bit the crap out of us. I felt like a corncob!” injects Doobie.

“Then,” continues Sid, “he just started dancing around, howling. Then, he ran off.”

“Next full moon,” says Lobo, “we felt weird and started to have these spasms. We became people. Of course, we didn’t understand what was going on. That’s when Shaman Milt found us.”


“I saw the whole thing,” Milt chimes in. “I was sitting out here trying to figure out how to handle my new life and these wolves started breakdancing. Eventually, I found myself looking at five naked guys that were a little misshapen. I was so stoned, that I figured I could help them out. Showing them what hands were for, that sort of stuff.”

“The eyes were the biggie,” Doobie adds. “Our wolf eyes are wide apart. When we were transformed, we left them like that. We were walking into trees until Shaman Milt showed us how to scrunch them closer together.”

Unlike werewolves, the new weremen didn’t immediately revert to wolves after the moon disappeared. “So,” Shaman Milt continues, “now, I have five naked men who are wobbly on their legs, can’t really speak and have nowhere to go. I raided my clothes closet, taught them how to get dressed and brought them back to my store. I own the building and there are plenty of rooms in the back and upstairs. Once a month, it becomes a frat house.”


The wolves, who rely on all their senses to survive, used that approach to nail their human status and, within no time, had mastered language and various physical skills. Shaman Milt introduced them to the village as five cousins “from the Old Country” who were in a band and would visit every month.

“The townies love them,” says the Shaman. “When the town’s nozzle factory closed down, most of the single, available men went off in search of work in other states. When these boys show up every month, the women are all over them.”

What’s the greatest plus for them when they’re humans? “Cheetos,” says Sid, “without a doubt.”

“Taco Bell isn’t bad, either,” says Doobie.

“Says the man who cleared an entire restaurant after one visit to the bathroom,” chortles, Lobo.

How has their humanity impacted them when they revert to wolves? “It’s funny,” Lobo says. “We don’t hunt much anymore. Since we have one foot in each world, our perspective has changed. We don’t feel like ripping apart rabbits, anymore. We have a fuller sense of the enormity of nature. Besides, Shaman Milt brings us take-out once or twice a week.”


Bob clears his throat. “And we’re still evolving. We stay in human form longer and longer with each transformation, well into the waning moon cycle.”

The Shaman nods. “One day, I think they’ll stay in human form and the town will have five new full-time bachelors.”

How will the wolf pack react to that? “Well, human women are attractive,” admits Sid, “if you can get beyond the fact that they don’t have fur or tails.”

Lobo nods. “If we do mate, it would be nice if our litters were human with a heightened sense of nature; humans who can co-exist with the land and animals without destroying everything.”

Adds Sid: “Plus…Cheetos.”


The pack, this reporter and Shaman Milt pile into the Shaman’s woody wagon and head into town.

What about the crazy biter? The deranged old man who started all of this? Lobo shrugs. “I heard through the howl vine that he was eaten by a bear. I mean down to the bone. Whatever was in that old man is now in the bear. So, the forest is going to change a bit.”

This WWN scribe gulps. “You mean there could be werebears out there?”

Lobo chuckles. “Let’s put it this way. If you’re hiking the hills and a huge, naked man bursts out of nowhere, frothing? Run like Hell.”

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2 thoughts on “ATTACK OF THE WEREMEN!”

  1. Nice, but the “were” part of “werewolf” means “man”, so you’re calling them “manmen”. Maybe “wolfwere”, given the Anglo-Saxon etymology?


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