Creative Story Lycanthrope Essay Research Paper Creative

Creative Story: Lycanthrope Essay, Research Paper

Creative Story: Lycanthrope

You think you know a person. You think you know them, right up until

the day they come out and tell you about all their deep, dark secrets and this

whole other life they’ve been leading that you never even knew about. At least,

that was the case with my good friend, Lyle Lawrence Kingly.

My name, for the information of the curious, is Niles Jameson. I knew

Lyle Kingly for a good many years and was actually an associate of his for a

short time. We eventually went our separate ways, I pursuing my career of

choice, he pursuing his. I still think he was just a little too young to go

into the private investigation business, but we called it ‘creative differences’

and left it at that. We stayed friends, however, and tried to remain in touch.

So I was surprised, rather pleasantly, the day I received an overseas long-

distance call from Africa.

It was Lyle, calling to see how I’d been, what I was doing, that sort of

thing. Then suddenly his voice took on a more serious tone.

“Niles, you have to come here. I may need your help.”

“What is it, Lyle? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone.” He whispered. “It’s too important.

You have to be here.”

“In Africa?” I said in disbelief.

“Yes, here. It’s that important.”

“But Lyle–”

“I’m an animal over here!” He hissed into the phone. “I can’t tell you

any more. I don’t dare. Please, Niles, don’t tell anyone what happens when you

get here, or anything about this phone call. It means my life, Niles, and it

could mean my death.”

I caught the nearest plane out to Africa. I was worried about my friend.

If I had to go to Africa to hear it, I knew it had to be important. I stopped

at his unreasonably small office in the city, but he wasn’t there. This meant,

unfortunately, that I had to drive fifty miles out of the city to his house. I

was relieved when I saw his face answer the door. We sat down and talked for a

while, he fixed me a light snack, let me rest off some of the effects of jetlag.

We talked for a good long time before I finally asked him.

“Lyle, why did you make me come all the way out here?”

“You have family secrets, don’t you, Niles?” I did.

“Secrets that you wouldn’t tell anyone but those you trusted?” Yes.

“Well, I’ve got one of those secrets, a dangerous one.”

“What is it?” I said to him quietly. And then he told me.

“Niles, you’ve heard the stories, the ones they always tell at Halloween

– about people who change into animals?”

“Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with you, Lyle.”

“Niles, I– I find that the direct approach works best.”

“WHAT! Lyle, what are you talking about?”

“I — I’m a lycanthrope.”

“You’re a what?”

“A lycanthrope.”

“A — A–”

“A lycanthrope.”

I was beginning to fear for not only my friend’s life, but for his

sanity.

“A– A lycanthrope. You’re a lycanthrope.”

“Yes.”

“Like a werewolf.”

“No — not a werewolf. But a shape-shifter nonetheless.”

I decided to play along, whatever his game was.

“OK then. Well, what are you?”

“You know, I could tell you, but then you probably wouldn’t believe me.

I’m sure you already think something about me, that I’m crazy or something,

right? Am I right, Niles?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Look, Lyle, the last I knew, people do not

change into animals.”

“Niles, please don’t make me do this the hard way.”

“Uh — What’s the hard way?”

“The hard way is that I prove it to you.”

I usually try to be as open-minded as possible to all things, so I said

to him, “All right, then.”

“You want me to prove it to you?” As he made this daring challenge, his

eyes started to take on a wild look in them.

“Prove it to me.” He sighed, with an exasperated expression on his face.

“I hate it when people won’t take me seriously.”

And he did prove it to me. He changed into a beast, right in front of

my eyes.

I stood there, in shock, and before I could do anything else, I heard

it… A low growl. The animal crouched into a springing position and, with a

snarl, leapt upon me.

I was on the floor, paralyzed with shock and fright, as he stood over me.

I could feel the beast’s weight pressing on me as two huge forepaws stood on my

shoulders, paws which had the dexterity of human hands. He brought his face

right down to mine, and as I stared up into round, animal eyes, he spoke. He

said to me, in a ragged, snarling voice, “Now do you believe me?”

I could not answer him. I quivered on the floor, and said; “W– What

are you?”

“The same thing I always was.” He responded in that ragged voice.

“Your friend.” He got up off of me and, just as suddenly as he had transformed,

changed back into a human form. It was Lyle, standing there as though nothing

had happened.

I slowly got up and faced him. “How did this happen?”

“It didn’t just happen, Niles.” He responded sarcastically. “I’ve

always been this way. All my life. The only person it’s new to is you.” He

sat back down at the table where we had been talking just a short while ago.

Nervously, I joined him.

“What kind of creature are you, Lyle?” He smiled ruefully.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” He said. “I’m not even a typical

lycanthrope. I’m a crossbreed, between two species. For years, I didn’t even

know what to call myself.”

“Call yourself what?” I asked in slight astonishment.

“Oh, that’s simple, Niles. I’m a Caline.”

“A Caline.” I said, and I paused. “Um, Lyle… What’s a Caline?”

“It’s the name I finally came up with, to call myself.” He said. “It

stands for half-canine, half-feline. You put them both together, you wind up

with ‘caline’. Which, unfortunately, I am.”

“A Caline,” I said. “Half-dog, half-cat — Lyle, what are you talking

about? That’s impossible!”

He shot me a look. “Well, you’re talking to the world’s only one, as

far as I know of, Niles.”

“Well, what– When did all this happen?”

“Like I said, I’ve been this way all my life. It has to do with my –

well, questionable parentage.”

“Your parents? What does this have to do with your parents?”

“Everything. My father was a werewolf from the States, and my mother

was a were-lion from over here.”

“A were-li–”

“Yes, Niles, a were-lion. It would take a while to explain. Just

accept what I’m telling you for the moment. Anyway, dad came over here on a

vacation some years ago. I don’t know all the specifics, but sometime during

then he met my mother, and somehow they fell in love with each other. Dad

eventually moved to Africa so they could be together. They married on human

terms, and after several months together, Mom finally told him they needed to

have ‘a little talk’. To this day, neither one of them knows who was more

surprised.”

I just sat quietly, trying to absorb it all. He continued.

“I grew up knowing about my parents, expecting the change… But I

never knew how I would turn out, what I would be. Not even Mom or Dad knew what

to expect, since no one knew what would happen if such two different species

bred before. But when I finally did start to change, I was still loved and

understood. I also grew up listening to a lot of arguments. Not real fights,

you know, but one constant argument: Mom wanted to stay at home, but Dad

couldn’t stand the hot climate. A few times he did actually move back, but they

just couldn’t stand to stay apart. The last I knew, Dad was still living here

together with Mom, but I can’t be sure. I haven’t called in a while.”

“Is there anything else?” I asked, astonished.

“Oh, yes. I’m not a werewolf, not a were-lion, but a werebeast

nonetheless. I’m a Caline. So my worst troubles occurred when I tried to find

the two species I was a hybrid from. You have no idea how hard it was for a

crossbreed like me. The first group of werewolves I came across wanted nothing

to do with me. That particular pack wasn’t a perfect example of the whole

species, though, and I do have a couple of friends on that side. Were-lions,

however, are a much rarer breed, and I had to ask my mother how I could find a

pride. The were-lions were much more accepting of me, I suppose because I take

more after my mother. But anyone I met from that side always seemed unnerved by

me. I suppose they just couldn’t get around those inherent canine

characteristics.”

“Anywhere I went, whatever species I tried to associate with, I was

rejected,” Lyle continued. “I was tolerated, refused, harassed, and ignored,

but never accepted. One time I almost lost an ear in a fight with a were-tiger

who said he ‘didn’t like my attitude’. I just suppose no one could accept the

idea of me being a Caline.”

“What happened?” I asked, too absorbed in the discussion.

“Hmmm?”

“With you — and the were-tiger?”

“Oh, I got away without incident.”

“Oh,” I said. “I suppose the idea of such two different species being

successfully bred together didn’t come off too well.”

“Exactly.” Lyle added. “You’re not going to believe this, Niles, but

the most accepting group of my situation has been you humans.”

“Really?” I was astounded. Then I thought of something. “Um, Lyle,

how many people have you told all this to?”

“Only my closest friends, Niles, the people I know I can trust.”

“Ah.” Well, I was glad to know I was in that circle of people.

“My looks are no help, either.”

“Your looks–”

“You saw me.”

“Well, I didn’t see very much of you while you were in my face.”

“Oh.” And he changed again, so I could get a better look at him.

He was basically lionlike in appearance, but with a distinctly canine

accent to his features. His fur was a strange, off-white shade, a color that

gave way to a stark white underbelly. His sable-black, glossy mane framed his

face and flowed down his neck, hiding all but the tips of his two pointed ears.

His hands and feet were now four huge, padded paws. He turned and looked at me

with round eyes that were neither canine nor feline, but beyond description.

They were almost aglow, with a look of wildness in them that was as frightening

as it was fascinating. But I could see what would have astounded a human and

caused a werebeast to judge him, what was probably the greatest problem with his

appearance; The same sable shag that comprised his mane also covered his tail.

But I didn’t really concentrate on his features as much as I did on him.

For right then, I just stood there with my mouth open, staring at him in awe.

“Lyle–”

He shot me a glance out of his round, animal eyes.

“Lyle, you’re beautiful.”

He spoke.

“You just tell that to all the other species.”

I could understand the words, but his voice sounded like paper that had

gone through a shredder. And I couldn’t help noticing the four, deadly-sharp

fangs that flashed in his mouth as he talked.

“What’s it like… Being a Caline, I mean?”

He answered again, in that ragged voice. “Believe it or not, Niles,

it’s actually got a few good points. I couldn’t list too many of them offhand,

though. Um… Ah, yes!” His eyes lit up. “Well, for example, I seem to have a

greater sensory acuity than most other werebeasts. I tend to notice things that

either of my parent species would ordinarily miss.”

“It’s the strangest thing, being able both to howl and to roar.”

He sighed, glanced at me, and continued talking.

“However, I do have trouble unsheathing and retracting my claws.”

From each forepaw came five razorlike claws that could rip a man to

shreds in seconds. Was Lyle trying to make me nervous?

“Every time I get them into one position, I have such difficulty getting

them into the other,” he said, withdrawing the deathly blades. I had been

looking at the structure of his paws for quite some time, and soon I noticed

something. “What about your thumb — dewclaw — whatever?”

“I was just getting to that,” Lyle said, delighted that I had asked.

“It’s just another one of nature’s ways of dealing with the human-animal

connection.” Lyle held out a paw for me to see. One of the joints in his hand

– paw — moved, and a fifth digit equivalent to a thumb seemed to me to appear

out of nowhere. It was furry, and padded, and equipped at the end with a

retractable talon, just as all the others, but now it was in a roughly human

position.

Lyle, standing on three legs, reached up and, seizing one of the thin-

stemmed glasses from the dinner table, held it with his five clawed appendages

as accurately as if his padded paw had been a human hand. He then began to

twirl it around more deftly than most humans could have. Needless to say, I was

very impressed.

He set the delicate glass back on the table and turned the paw toward me

again. The dewclaw moved back into place, conveniently out of the way. I then

realized that it had not just appeared, but had been there all along. This

joint, I realized, made it very convenient for werebeasts to get around.

Just then, Lyle let out a chuckle that sounded more like a snarl. “I

just can’t believe what you said, Niles. Me– beautiful.” I looked at his

smile, and I saw the huge ivory daggers in his mouth again. And I remembered

the reputation werebeasts have involving humans. “Lyle?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever… Killed anyone?”

He looked me dead straight in the eyes.

“Once.”

I stood there, shocked, horrified. Lyle should have been the one

surprised by the question, astounded that I could even ask such a thing. I had

expected him to say something like, ‘Niles, of course not!’, or ‘What are you

talking about?’, or ‘You know I would never do such a thing’. I expected him to

say anything, anything but what he had said.

He’s killed someone before, I thought. He could kill me… With white

and shaking hand I reached out to steady myself on the back of a chair. Lyle

pulled the chair out, and helped me sit down. I looked up at him and said,

“Lyle — how could you? Of all the people, you’re not the type…” Of

course, by then I realized I was talking to someone who had just been telling me

about a whole other side to his life that I knew nothing about. I had no idea

what type he really was. Lyle put his hand on my shoulder.

“Niles, I’m sorry. I forgot you’d have taken it this hard. I should

have explained to you first.

You see, in my profession, I have a tendency to accumulate quite a few

enemies. The very nature of the business — sticking your nose where it doesn’t

belong, as it were — can get some people really mad at you really quick.

Private investigation has painted a bull’s eye on me, Niles, and there are

plenty of people who want to take shots.

This one man, the man I killed, had plenty of reason to hate me. I was

directly responsible for getting about 20 of his friends sent to prison for

illegal-arms trading. I nearly got him, too, and if it weren’t for a legal

technicality, a well-placed loophole, he’d still be alive today — and rotting

in prison where he belonged.

He took out a hit on me; he put a $20,000 price tag on my head. That

didn’t work out too well. After all, how would you know that this strange-

-looking animal is the same person you’re getting paid a sweet amount of money

to put a bullet through? I just had to stay a beast until they gave up looking

for me. When that happened, the guy took his $20 grand back and went out

looking for me himself.

He found me passing through an old abandoned warehouse in the city. He

had me cornered in there, I couldn’t get out. He was holding a gun on me, Niles,

and he was about to shoot. I didn’t have any other choice. He didn’t even know

what got him. One quick bite to the jugular and it was all over. He didn’t

suffer. I’m not that kind of person.”

Suddenly, I was beginning to see Lyle in a whole new light. He had

killed in self-defense; he was no murderer.

“Nobody ever found his body either. I was too upset at the time to

notice, but actually, he tasted pretty good.”

“WHAT! You ate the guy? You ate the guy?”

“Well, Niles, I don’t often follow the family history, but eating your

enemies is a time-honored werebeast tradition.”

Lyle spoke.

“Really, Niles, I’m not all that sure you understand.”

“I understand what you told me. But I still can’t believe you actually

ate that guy.” I shuddered at the thought.

“Believe whatever you want, it’s still the truth.” He responded. “At

least I’m not like some other werebeasts which I could all too easily name.

Besides, you act as if you still don’t understand me. You’re sitting there,

fidgeting, looking at me like any second I’m about to jump up and eat you.

You’re treating me like I’m some kind of wild animal.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh. Well — yes.” Without knowing it, I had caught Lyle off-guard and

thrown him and emotional curve. But I continued nevertheless.

“You’re making it very hard for me not to act that way. After all, you

have the qualities of some of the world’s most vicious — and successful –

predators, you have better senses than I could even hope to imagine, you killed

a man–”

“Would you kill, to save your own life?”

“Well, I–”

“The question is no different when applied to a human. It’s just

because I’m a werebeast that it has a little different twist.”

“You do have a point, but Lyle–”

“I’m one of the good guys, Niles. Think about it. ‘Private

Investigator’. Why would I devote myself so much to helping humans?”

“Because humans were the only ones who accepted you?”

Lyle beamed. “Now you’re catching on!” He said. “You were right.

Humans were the only ones who accepted me for what I was, as you are learning to

do, Niles. The human world was the only one where I was treated without bias or

disdain.

But still, let me tell you about one of my cases, just to make sure you

understand.”

“One of your cases…”

“Yes! You wouldn’t believe how much help it is to be what I am,

particularly when it comes to my cases. I get some pretty weird ones. In fact,

some I wouldn’t even be able to solve if I were just a human. I could tell

you…”

“Well then, by all means, go ahead.”

“Really? Well, okay, let me think of one…

One morning, I was at my desk when this woman walks into my office. She

was dressed all in red, just like she had come straight out of some old

detective movie from the 40s. Really weird, really spooky stuff, to say the

least.

She said she had come to me because she was worried about her husband.

He worked for an oil company, and she thought that might have something to do

with what was going on with him. Her husband had been doing strange things,

working with suspicious people she didn’t know, barely even coming back home.

Nobody else could find him. So she turned to me.

There must be good money in oil. She looked rich. I remember she was

wearing a white fox on her shoulders. She must have forgotten it, because she

left it there and didn’t come back for it.

If there’s one thing I share with other werebeasts, it’s an absolute

hatred for cruelty to and mistreatment of animals. So, after I’d torn the awful

thing to shreds and disposed of it, I started working on her case.”

So saying, he began his story.