Changes at Ambrose's House
By Saroku
The sky was vibrantly orange, dappled with thin cotton
clouds. Ambrose and Angelina walked together on the hot sidewalk towards the
small playground at the center of
For a Saturday, the park was relatively empty. A father stood by the swing set,
pushing his toddler high into the air—a little higher than the little girl’s
mother probably would have approved of. Three grade-school kids who looked too
young to be there by themselves played on the merry-go-round. No one was
jogging, playing Frisbee, or showing off their dog on a walk around the park.
Ambrose and Angelina spotted a weathered wooden picnic table by some sparse
bushes. As Angelina perched herself cross-legged on the tabletop, Ambrose sat
facing her on one of the benches. Angelina grinned sunnily and smoothed
Ambrose’s hair with one hand. Her hair was pulled back into a sleek brown
ponytail away from her face. It accentuated her almond-shaped, crystalline
eyes. She wore a sleeveless black shirt that bore the name of some band that
Ambrose had never heard of. Her shoulders, cheeks and nose were tinged pink
from the sun.
“It’s a nice night,” Ambrose lulled quietly, looking upwards.
Angelina shrugged. “My mother isn’t working at the club tonight,” she said
darkly. Ambrose tore his eyes from the watercolor works of the sky to look at
her. He knew what a day off for Angelina’s mother meant.
Mrs. Swanson worked as an exotic dancer at a club called The Lucky Seven
Lounge. She spent weeknights and most weekends there. When she took time off,
it was because she had found a better way to earn the rent for the
night—usually involving one of her boyfriends, men she met at the club.
Angelina had quickly found that it was better to sleep outside at the
playground on those nights than it was to be at home. She would take a blanket
from her bed and spread it out on the little bridge between the big slide and
the small one. Some nights, when Angelina let him know about it, Ambrose would
sneak out of his house during the night and meet her there. They would lie
under a starlit sky until early in the morning, when Ambrose would have to
leave to get back to his house. It would have been a wonderfully romantic thing
to do if not for the circumstances with Angelina’s mother. Instead, it was a
time of waiting. They would lie there silently, Angelina contemplating what was
happening to her mother back at her apartment and Ambrose wondering what was
going on in Angelina’s head.
“Will you sleep here tonight?” Ambrose said. Angelina shrugged.
“Do I have a choice?” She rubbed her brow absently, as though trying to rid
herself of a cumbersome headache. “It’s getting late, though. I should get back
to my place if I want to get some new clothes for tomorrow and a blanket. It’s
really better that I don’t go back to the house until tomorrow night.”
Ambrose nodded. It really was getting to be pretty late; he hadn’t noticed much
change in the light because of the beautiful, pale full moon that illuminated
the sky. It was accompanied by millions of the brightest little stars that he
had ever seen.
“I’ll be here tonight,” Ambrose said. “I’ll leave the house around one; my
parents are usually asleep by then. I’ll take Dreu’s bike. I can’t take the car
tonight; my parents make me put it in our garage and I can’t get in there
without a special code. I’ll just—“
“Shh!” Angelina held up a hand to silence Ambrose. He turned around and
followed her gaze.
About fifteen feet away there stood a black dog. He had a huge frame, but
looked sickly and malnourished. His coat was thick and black, but did not gleam
as it should. It was dull and scraggly.
The dog was snarling, its lips curled drastically at each side. It emitted a
low growl. Ambrose stood slowly. The dog did not move, so he stepped carefully
over the picnic bench, eyeing the gigantic thing. It backed away.
“Go on, shoo!” Angelina shouted, breaking the silence and making Ambrose jump.
The dog stayed put, undeterred. Ambrose furrowed his brow.
“Get out of here!” he yelled. The dog backed away a bit, still snarling
ferociously. Ambrose tentatively bent down and picked up a long tree branch
that was mostly shed of its leaves and jabbed towards the dog.
“Ambrose, no! You’ll make it angry!” Angelina hissed. The dog did indeed take
two irritated steps forward. “Let’s try to get out of here. It might have
rabies,” she said. She reached forward and tugged at Ambrose’s sleeve. Ambrose
nodded and stepped back.
Suddenly the dog sprang forward and reared up onto its hind legs in a way that
looked unnatural and frightening for a dog of its size. Ambrose fell back
against the picnic bench in front of Angelina, blocking her from harm. They
both stared, shocked, as the dog raised its snout and opened its mouth wide,
bared teeth reflected in the moonlight. It balanced itself on both hind legs
and let out a piercing, heart-stopping howl that filled their ears and swept
across the playground.
Angelina leapt from the table and grasped Ambrose’s wrist. She pulled him from
the bench and they took off towards the other end of the park. As he ran,
Ambrose was dreadfully aware that the dog had stopped howling. It dropped to
all fours and launched itself towards them, its paws pumping beneath it on the
meager splotches of grass.
“Go, go, go!” Ambrose wrenched himself from Angelina’s grasp and pushed her
forwards to keep her going. He changed courses and the dog followed him.
“Ambrose, no!” He heard Angelina shout. Suddenly, his feet were out from under
him and he was lying on his belly in the dirt. A searing pain in the back of
his leg told him that the dog had caught up with him. He struggled to pull
himself away as he saw Angelina running towards him.
“Run! Get help!” He yelled. Then he screamed as the dog tore at his leg again.
“No!” He heard Angelina cry. He heard a dull clang and a whimper from the dog.
He rolled onto his back in time to see it keel over and land on its side on the
ground near him.
“Ambrose, oh no!” Angelina cried, kneeling beside him and pulling his jeans leg
up. Shaking, he pulled himself to a sitting position and grabbed at her hands.
“I’m fine,” he said. “What did you do to that thing?”
Angelina smiled grimly and pointed behind her. A heavy-looking shovel lay
there. “There’s a pile of yard tools under that tree. The convicts from the
prison come here and clean up the park. Let me see—“
She pulled his pants leg up again to get a better look at the wounds. Ambrose
inhaled sharply as he saw the twelve or so deep punctures and the torn flesh on
his knee, shin and ankle.
“Oh, God.” Angelina gasped, her eyes wide. She dabbed uselessly with her hands
at the dark ribbons of blood on his leg. “I’m going to infect it,” she said,
her voice high and fearful. Ambrose winced and looked over at the dog. It lay
on its side, about three feet behind Angelina.
“Listen, we need to get out of here. My leg is okay; I don’t think he broke it
or anything. It’s just a few flesh wounds. Can you help me stand?” Angelina
nodded and bent over beside him. She gently pulled his arm around her shoulders
and stood. Ambrose drew himself up with her.
His leg really didn’t hurt too badly. As they crossed the park, Ambrose found
that the pain became less intense with every step.
“Hey Angelina,” he said as they approached the street, “I think I can walk
now.” He slipped his arm from around her shoulder. As she watched
apprehensively, he took a few steps without any problems. “It doesn’t even hurt
anymore.” Angelina looked dubious.
“We should still get you to a hospital.” She reached for his hand and took it.
Ambrose shook his head and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“I’m really alright. I have some bandages and things at home. I can dress my
wounds myself.” He started walking towards the curb and his parked car, pulling
her along with him.
Ambrose got in the car and reached over the passenger seat to open the door for
Angelina.
“Get in,” he said. “You can’t stay in the park tonight with that dog around.”
“Where will I go?” She asked.
“Well.” Ambrose said, thinking. He looked up at Angelina. “You can’t go home.
So come to my house and stay.”
Angelina looked behind her to find the dog. The monstrous thing still lay on its
side, taking shallow, even breaths.
She looked back at Ambrose and grimaced. “Your house? But—Dreu—“
“Doesn’t have to know about it,” Ambrose said. “Angelina, my house is huge. My
parents don’t have to know, Dreu doesn’t have to know, and you’ll have a place
to stay for the night.” He pushed the car door open all the way and sat back up
in his seat. “Come home with me. I’ll take care of you.”
Angelina looked puzzled, but she turned her head once more to see the
unconscious monster lying in the park. Then she slid into the passenger seat
and pulled the door shut.
“I’m only going with you because it’s you who needs taking care of,” Angelina
said with a weak smile. “But your family really can’t know that I’m there. And
tomorrow night, I have to go back home.”
“Of course, whatever you want to do,” Ambrose said, starting the engine. “But
for tonight…you’ll be safe with me.”
Interlude
Having slipped out of the car before Ambrose parked it in the garage, Angelina
waited anxiously by the front door of the house. The night had become cool. She
rubbed her arms to quell the rash of Goosebumps that had sprung up. Ambrose had
tried to get her to stay with him as he put the car away, but she had insisted
on waiting for him let her in through the front door. She was terrified of the
idea of waltzing into his home, especially dressed the way that she was.
Suddenly, one of the embellished oak French doors opened, and Ambrose’s head
poked out. “You’re clear for entry,” he said with a grin. “My mother and father
are out back in the garden, and Dreu is in the garage. Good thing you got out
of the car before I pulled in.”
Angelina shuddered at how close she had come to being discovered. “I don’t know
if this is such a great idea, Ambrose,” she said, shaking her head. She stepped
inside the doors and gasped.
A black-and-white checkered floor of glittering marble was spread throughout
the entry hall. There were pure white ionic columns lined on each side of the
room. Behind the columns were doorways, also made of oak but much smaller than
the entry door. In between each doorway was a beautiful portrait, each in the
style of a different time period. But what caught her eye the most was the
cascading white stairwell that descended from the floor above, covered by a
plush blue carpet that was fastened in place with silver rods.
“This is beautiful,” she said, taking a few steps. Her sandals clicked on the
shiny floor.
“That’s what I’m told,” Ambrose said. He smiled and took her hand. “Come on,
I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
He led her towards one of the oak doors between the massive columns. Before
Angelina passed over the threshold, she felt a bit of remorse that they would
not be climbing the beautiful white staircase.
“We’re going to go the back way, so that Dreu won’t see us if he comes in.”
Ambrose led her through a series or rooms. The first was a huge library with a
blue carpet so thick that Angelina found it difficult to walk; then there was a
music room with a piano, harp, and several other instruments; they went up a
winding wooden staircase enclosed with walls that held a faint smell of
mothballs (Angelina wrinkled her nose); then through a hunting lodge with the
heads of dozens of large game suspended from the walls. Finally, after another
flight of rickety stairs, Ambrose led Angelina straight across a narrow hallway
and into a darkened room. He reached along the wall and clicked on a switch.
Light flooded a small apartment that looked old and dusty but was beautiful
nonetheless.
“This is one of the guest rooms. It’s a bit small, so no one ever stays here.
There’s an adjoining bathroom right there.” He pointed to a white door with a
silver handle at the other side of the room. “My bedroom is just down the hall.
I’ll take you there in a moment. If you have to get here from the entry hall
for any reason, all you have to do is go up the main staircase, take a left, go
up one more flight of stairs, and this is the last room in the hallway.”
Angelina nodded vaguely. “Ambrose…don’t you need to take care of your leg?”
Ambrose looked down at the bloody mess of his jeans. He had forgotten about it.
“Oh…yes. It will only take me a minute. Will you be alright here by yourself?”
Angelina smiled and nodded again. “Like I said,” she murmured. “It’s you who
needs taking care of.” Ambrose smiled back at her and kissed her cheek briefly,
then clasped her hand.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.” He swept out the
door, closing it behind him.
Angelina looked around the room. Most of the lighting came from a small,
bejeweled chandelier that hung in the middle of the ceiling. The bed frame was
dark cherry wood, with a soft green spread wrapped over the mattress. Large
silver pillows were set neatly on the bed. There were two windows on the far
side of the room. They were covered with green drapes that matched the material
of the bedspread.
Angelina crossed the shiny hardwood floor and sat on a small armchair in the
corner. Ambrose’s family may be snobs, she thought, but they definitely have
good taste.
Several hallways away, Ambrose was going through the medicine cabinet of his
parents’ master bathroom. He had collected some gauze, medical tape, hydrogen
peroxide to clean out the wounds, and a clean linen cloth when he was suddenly
aware that someone had entered the room.
“Ambrose?” he heard his mother behind say. He whipped around to see her
standing in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”
“Oh—mother,” He said. He instinctively put his hands behind his back, hiding
the supplies from the medicine cabinet. “I just…cut my leg. It’s fine, really.”
“Oh,” she said, eyeing his torn pants leg. Ambrose stepped forward with his
other leg to hide it. “How did that happen?” She asked with an air of
suspicion, as if he had broken something that belonged to her.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ambrose said. He walked past her, carrying his supplies
in one arm and leaning towards his mother to kiss her cheek. She became rigid
when he touched her and did not embrace him as a mother should. Ambrose
straightened, feeling relief that she did not ask more questions in the place
of his usual hurt that his mother did not seem to love him.
“Well, I’m going to go bandage it up now,” he said, and he slipped out of the
room past her.
Angelina felt restless. She had been delighted when she saw the little
bathroom. It had eggshell-colored amenities, including a smooth pedestal sink
with a silver faucet and a claw-footed bathtub. The hardwood floor ended at the
doorway and was replaced by pretty green tile.
Angelina washed Ambrose’s dried blood from her hands in the sink, then smoothed
her hair while looking upon herself in the large round mirror over the sink.
“Hmm…” Angelina paused for a moment. She reached up and felt for the elastic
that was holding her hair in a ponytail and pulled it free, spilling her sheet
of russet hair to her shoulders. It was wavy from being pulled up, but it
looked fine.
Angelina stepped back into the guest room. There was no closet, but a large
white wardrobe was set along the wall. She went to it and opened it. It was
completely empty except for a fairly expensive-looking coat. There were a few
jewelry drawers in the wardrobe, and Angelina opened them all, finding a pair
of pearl earrings and a fine silver chain necklace.
Angelina thought briefly of putting on the coat and jewelry, but immediately
thought of how silly it would look if Ambrose came in while she was wearing
them. She closed the doors of the wardrobe.
A creaking noise behind Angelina made her jump. She turned as the door opened
and admitted Ambrose.
“Hey,” Ambrose said, beckoning to her.
Angelina took care to turn off the light, check that nothing in the room looked
recently used, and followed him out the door. He led her a few doors down and
they entered another, much larger room containing a canopy bed with dark red
hangings. Angelina recognized a familiar pile of schoolbooks on the desk by the
window. That was the only thing that told her that she was in
Ambrose’s room.
“Can you help me for a second?” Ambrose said, dropping the cloth, bandages, and
the other recently acquired provisions in a red armchair. Angelina hurried to
assist him. She noted that he looked tired and more than a bit ill.
“Just sit down and rest your leg,” she said. “I’ll fix this up.” Ambrose
offered her a weak yet warm and grateful smile and sat in the armchair,
propping his leg up on the little round ottoman. Angelina knelt beside his leg
and began to gingerly roll up his pants leg.
She pulled it up towards his knee and frowned. “I thought the wounds came down
to your ankle,” she said. She pulled the pants up farther, until she reached
his knee. There wasn’t a scratch on him.
“Have I got the wrong leg?” Angelina said in disbelief. Ambrose shook his head,
mouth agape, and motioned to his shredded jeans leg. He looked at Angelina. her
face was frozen in a flabbergasted stare.
“What happened?” She said in a high, trembling voice. “I saw it—just a couple
of hours ago, your leg was torn to shreds!” She ran her fingers over Ambrose’s
leg, and found only slightly raised scars where there had been torn flesh only
a few hours before.
“I don’t…” Ambrose’s mouth was dry. He thought about it—his leg had stopped
hurting even before they had left the park. He had figured that it was just
completely numbed from shock, but now—it had healed! He leaned forward and
joined Angelina in probing his leg.
Interlude
Ambrose’s mother couldn’t find her pearl earrings.
“Darling, are you sure you didn’t leave them at your mother’s house?” her
husband called from the bedroom.
“No, dear, I’m positive that I didn’t,” she answered as she checked one of the
bathroom drawers for the fourth time. She and her husband were headed to a
party being thrown by her husband’s boss.
“Listen, why don’t you just wear those diamond earrings that I gave you for
your birthday?” her husband entered the bathroom and straightened his bowtie in
the mirror.
“Because they wouldn’t match. The bases on those earrings are silver, and the
necklace I’m wearing is gold,” she snapped. She gave a frustrated groan, threw
the drawer shut, and whirled from the room.
“You have dozens of earrings!” her husband said as she slammed the door.
The pearl earrings had been her mother’s, and whenever her mother came over she
insisted on having them around to wear. Her mother also liked the small guestroom,
and always stayed there when she visited.
Ambrose’s mother walked down the hallway towards the smallest guestroom.
Angelina sat in her little room, idly flipping through a magazine that Ambrose
had given her to read. Although there was a comfortable chair a few feet away,
she had chosen to sit on the floor with her back against the bed, hidden from
the view of anyone who might open the door.
She was thinking about the dog in the park. He had looked sick. What if he had
given some sort of disease to Ambrose that looked as though it restored wounds
to health quickly, but really sped along the bloodstream, infecting the entire
body of the victim? Or what if the dog was some sort of demon whose bite
tattooed a mark of death upon its prey?
She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, reaching above her to place the
magazine on the bed.
“That’s stupid,” she said. “I’m so tired.”
“Hello?” A frantic voice called out. “Who’s in here? Is it you, Ambrose?”
Almost instinctively, Angelina dropped to the floor and slid under the bed. She
saw Ambrose’s mother standing in the doorway, wearing a black lace dress.
“Hello? Dreu?” the woman said, wide-eyed. Then she turned around and walked
swiftly back down the hallway.
Angelina pulled herself off of the dusty floor under the bed and ran to the
half-open door. She stuck her head out and looked to make sure that no one was
around, then backtracked and grabbed the magazine.
She turned off the light and closed the door, then ran down the hallway as
silently as she could until she reached Ambrose’s room.
She dashed inside and shut the door, then ran and hid on the other side of his
bed, trembling.
Ambrose stood at the refrigerator door. He was hungry.
He had pulled out all sorts of containers of leftover food--he stuffed cold chicken,
hamburgers and bacon slices into his mouth with his hands.
Two chicken breasts, four pieces of bacon and two hamburgers later, he was
still tearing through the refrigerator. All he wanted was meat, something to
sink his teeth into. But he had eaten all of the cooked meat already.
There were three uncooked steaks placed above the vegetable crisper. Ambrose
stared at them for a moment before picking one of them up and holding the
package in his hands. Then he ripped the shrink wrap off and threw the
styrofoam plate on the floor.
He held the steak between his hands and buried his face in it, his teeth
pulling through it much more easily than he would have guessed that they would.
The meat was cold and moist. He tasted the blood in it. He ate the entire
thing—and then he was full.
Angelina was lying under the bed, curled up in a ball so that none of her lmbs
would stick out the sides. She started as she heard the door to Ambrose’s room
open, and she slowly lifted up the dust curtain that hung around the bottom of
the bed to get a look at who was there.
It was Ambrose! Angelina quickly slid out onto the open floor and sat up.
Ambrose didn’t seem to notice her; he shut his door and staggered to sit in the
red chair. He drew in shuddering breaths, panting as though he couldn’t get
enough air. Angelina frowned and sat down on the ottoman in front of Ambrose.
“What’s the matter? Are you feeling alright?” she said, and she put her hand on
his forehead to feel for his temperature.
Angelina’s hand fell good and cool on Ambrose’s skin, which felt like it was
scorching in the sun. Ambrose grabbed her hand and pressed it to his face.
“I’m…fine,” he gasped. “Just very…very hot.”
Angelina shook her head in concern. She got up and walked over to the center of
the room, then reached up and pulled a silver chain that turned on the ceiling
fan. As soon as the blades of the fan began to churn, Ambrose sprang to his
feet to receive the cool air.
Angelina looked around nervously. “Ambrose…I hate to tell you this when you’re
not feeling well, but your mother knows someone else is in the house. She heard
me in the guest room—“
A loud growling noise interrupted Angelina. She looked around to see what was
making it, and her eyes locked on Ambrose in shock. He was staring out the
window at something. His top lip was curled in a vicious snarl. His eyes looked
like the eyes of an animal about to kill—almost soulless, with one
aspiration--and that is to attack a victim.
“Ambrose?” Angelina said softly, taking a step away from him. He didn’t tear
his eyes from the window. Angelina took a deep breath and turned her head to
look through the window.
It felt as though her blood stopped flowing as she saw what Ambrose was
growling at—the big black dog who had attacked him at the park was standing
against a cluster of bushes away from the house, staring up at them through the
window. His glittering eyes were illuminated by the light of the full moon that
hung in the sky directly above him.
Angelina cried out and fell over backwards, tripping over the ottoman. She hit
her head on the floor with a hollow clunking noise and rolled over on her side.
A loud barking noise came from where Ambrose stood. Angelina turned herself
over on her back, her head throbbing, and watched, terrified, as Ambrose emitted
a deep, ominous-sounding bay. Then he dropped to all fours and sprang towards
the window. In one solid leap, he crashed clean through the glass and out of
the room.
“Ambrose!” Angelina called as she pulled herself to her feet. She ran to the
window and screamed. He had jumped from the third story of the house, and now
he lay motionless on the ground below. The black dog was trotting towards him.
“No!” Angelina said. She ran across Ambrose’s room and threw open the door,
then sprinted down the hallway (Ambrose’s parents were at the doorway of the
guest room, his father trying to convince his wife that there was no one in
there). She ran down the stairs at the end of the corridor, then down the white
marble steps that she had seen when she had first entered the house that
evening.
As she ran across the checkered floor, she heard someone step in from a side
doorway.
“Angelina Swanson?” she heard Dreu say. But she didn’t care who knew she was
there at the moment—Ambrose was going to be killed by that dog!
Ambrose lay on his back on the ground, broken glass all around him. He groaned
as the black dog (or was it a wolf? He hadn’t ever been sure) walked towards
him, stepping tentatively over the pieces of glass. Ambrose didn’t have the
strength to fight the dog now. Everything hurt. His body felt broken, and his
skin felt as though it were melting. The place where the dog had bitten his
before hurt the most; it felt as though it were swelling in size. He turned his
head and braced himself for the big animal that stood over him to attack.
“Ambrose!” Angelina cried. Ambrose snapped his head up to see her running
towards him. The black dog saw her and backed away a few feet, then sat down as
if it were getting ready to enjoy a show.
“Angelina,” Ambrose whispered as she knelt beside him. He reached for her hand
and took it. “It hurts,” he said quietly.
“Let me go get help!” she said, trying to stand.
“No!” Ambrose pulled her back down. “Don’t leave me. It’s not over yet.”
Angelina whimpered, looking around. She didn’t know what to do. “What do you
mean? What isn’t over?”
Ambrose turned his head towards the dog and was silent. His eyes were like
slits. Angelina began to cry silently, patting Ambrose’s cheeks. “Hey, don’t go
to sleep,” she said. “wake up!”
Ambrose’s head snapped back so that he was looking forward. “I am awake,” he
said.
Ambrose began to shake violently. Angelina let go of his hand and gasped.
Tremors were being sent through his body, starting with his leg.
Ambrose’s eyes opened wide and he was suddenly himself again. He let out one
long, mournful scream. Then he began to writhe back and forth, grabbing at the
air, screaming as he did. “Help me! Somebody! no, no, no!” Ambrose shrieked,
his face contorted with the constant pain that grew and grew, never
wavering throughout his entire body.
“Ambrose!” Angelina screamed, sobbing. She leaned over him as he reach out for
her, and he grabbed her shoulder.
Angelina gasped and fell over on the ground beside him, then scrambled to sit
up again as Ambrose stopped screaming.
He was lying extremely still on his back, his arms and legs stiffly sprung out
to the sides. His eyes were still wide, but they looked as though they were
glazing. Angelina sat still beside him, staring at his leg.
It was a lot like a comic book that she had read once. His leg was
growing-swelling in size until his jeans leg could not contain it anymore. The
leg of the pants began to rip where they had already been torn by the dog. As
the material fell away, Angelina saw that his foot was lengthening, his leg
widening around the thigh. Silvery clumps of hair slowly began to issue from
his skin.
Angelina touched the hair, feeling as though everything were moving in slow
motion. She watched as a long claw emerged on the back of Ambrose’s foot. His
five toes turned to three. Long black claws grew from his toenails. His leg
curved unnaturally for any human.
And then the transformation stopped. The rest of Ambrose’s body lay unchanged
and still, the leg looking strange and out of place on the human body.
Angelina put her shaking hands on either side of Ambrose’s face and just held
him that way.
Suddenly, the slow motion feeling that Angelina had was put to an end as the
transformation blasted itself to the finish. Ambrose let out an
earth-shattering scream of pain. His arm struck out and hit Angelina with such
force that it lifted her from the ground—she flew through the air and landed
against a tree three yards away from where Ambrose still lay.
Angelina moaned and stared at Ambrose. At this time, the black dog, who had
been completely forgotten by both humans, sprang from his sitting position and
took off down the street.
Ambrose, or whatever it was that Ambrose had turned into, clambered to his hind
legs. Angelina saw that his entire body was covered in a thick, silvery coat of
hair. What was left of his clothing hung in tatters about his shoulders and
legs. He opened his mouth, long teeth shining in the moonlight, and let out a
blood-curdling howl. Angelina was reminded of the black dog’s howl in the park.
Angelina gaped at the figure before her. It stopped howling and turned to see
her sitting with her back against the tree.
Before Ambrose moved, it registered in Angelina’s head that this new form of
Ambrose would surely attack her.
She stumbled to her feet, trying to run before she even stood, and took off in
the direction of the front door. Ambrose did not follow her. Still, she ran
until she reached the front of the house—where she ran into something very tall
and solid.
Dreu grabbed Angelina’s arm and pushed her away from him. He held her at arm’s
length and shook her.
“Why are you here? What happened over there?”
Angelina struggled, scratching at his face frantically. Dreu effortlessly
lifted Angelina from the ground and lugged her towards the side of the house
where Ambrose was.
“No!” Angelina screamed, kicking out. Her foot connected with Dreu’s knee and
he dropped her on the ground.
Dreu grunted and cast Angelina a look of pure loathing.
“Where is my brother?” he said, sounding urgent. Angelina glared at him from
her place on the ground.”
“My mother heard you in the guest room,” Dreu said. “But I told her that it was
a mistake, and that I had been the one in the room. So you’re off the hook.
They left about thirty minutes ago to go to some party.”
Angelina stood. She stared at Dreu, her eyes blazing. “Why would you tell them
that it was you?”
Dreu crossed his arms. “It’s not like I wanted to. But if they had found you,
they might have found out about…whatever it was that happened with you and me.”
He looked at her, his gaze still laced with anger.
Suddenly, he was on the ground. The giant silver wolf that was Ambrose was upon
him, attacking him. Angelina turned and ran towards the house.
But Ambrose didn’t follow her. Angelina turned around and looked back at the
dark form of the beast atop Dreu. It wasn’t attacking him. It was just standing
on his chest, its big paws pinning him to the ground, staring at Angelina with
remorseful eyes.
“Ambrose!” Angelina cried, running to him.
The next few minutes happened like this: Angelina watched as Ambrose jumped
from Dreu’s chest—they ran off together down the moonlit street. One way or
another, they ended up back at Gainey park, and that was when Angelina was
finally able to take a closer look at the transformed Ambrose.
Since it was his first time as what Angelina highly suspected to be a werewolf,
the transformation had been especially painful. Fortunately, it also meant that
his mind was still lucid and alert as that of Ambrose.
Angelina led the way to the little bridge where they often slept when she could
not go home.
She sat down with her back against the plastic side of the slide. Ambrose lay
at her side. Angelina could see his markings and colorings clearly in the
moonlight. She reached over and stroked the fur on his head, her hand
trembling. Ambrose lay his head in her lap and sunk into a weary slumber.
Angelina kept stroking his fur for a long time before she realized that she was
crying. Big, wet tears fell from her cheeks and landed in Ambrose’s thick,
silvery fur. She pushed down the hiccupy sobs that threatened to erupt from her
belly. Now was not the time, she knew. Ambrose was the one hurt, Ambrose was
the one transformed—and he’d need all the support he could get.
Several more tears rolled down her cheeks before she convinced herself to stop.