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The Chambury Poultrygeist By Lykanos Wulfheart

"...for the weather. It's going to be a balmy four degree-C here in Chambury today, so make sure to grab your coat!"

"Uhhhhh, ten more minutes," groaned Lykanos, still half asleep with his muzzle firmly planted against his pillow. Though only a werewolf for ten months, and a resident of this midsized Canadian city for less, he had adopted the bad habit of sleeping in the fur. Not bad for him, mind you, as he absolutely loved it. No, more for his poor bed. The issues with sleeping as a large lycanthrope were twofold. First, there's the shedding. Second, and far worse, is that an open canine mouth drools... a lot!

Wiping the long strand of saliva from his whiskers, Lykanos was finally ready to face his alarm clock. His "I'm up, I'm up," was more a growling bark as his current anatomy lacked the vocal elegance to form his human words. Tossing off the covers, he couldn't help but shiver. Though covered in a nice, thick, timber wolf colored fur, the bite of the chill morning air was a sudden change from the comforting, warm embrace of his blanket.

Just as his paw moved over the alarm clock, ready to swat the noisy contraption off, the voice caught his attention.

"Hope you're ready to celebrate the Chambury Poultrygeist, ooooh-hoo-hoooo! It's that time of year again, so come on down to the main square. There will be spooks and spectacles for all ages. Don't know the story? Well, come see for yourself!"

*Click*

He really didn't have any plans for the day and the thought of an almost Halloween like event on what should be Thanksgiving, well, American Thanksgiving, intrigued him to no end. Hopping in the shower, he started his shift back, then the fur sweeping, and finally his actual shower. After the whole forty minute ordeal, he was ready to head out, grab breakfast, and see what tricks were in store for him.

***

Since the local hotspot for the day was within a mile of his apartment, Lykanos thought it would be the perfect day for a walk. Though four degrees Celsius was only thirty nine Fahrenheit, it was the kind of cold he grew up in. It was just a chill fall day for him. "T-shirt weather," he joked to himself as he roamed the sidewalk in an open grey and black coat, blue wolf t-shirt proudly showing. With his brown hair and bristly beard, the blue jeans and hiking boots completed his average touristy American look.

He could smell the festival before he could see it, the scent of turkey and pie wafting through the air. It almost reminded him of Thanksgiving, up until the street came into sight. A three block stretch was lined with little temporary pavilions along both sides, colorful and yet spooky. Ghost birds and turkey skeletons hung from most of the little structures, twisting in the light breeze. Kids' drawings of hand-turkeys plastered the windows of nearby businesses, but much to Lykanos surprise, they weren't his usual colorful pilgrim turkeys. They were made to look like ghouls and zombies, skeletons and spirits. The whole thing felt like a bizarre union of turkey day and All Hollow's Eve.

Passing down the rows, he saw all sorts of festive trinkets and foods. Popcorn, pie, beer, and, of course, turkey legs! Starving, he had to buy one. Just like at a renaissance faire, they were big, thick, juicy pieces of meat. That alone made the trip worth it, though he still wanted to know what this was all about. At the far side he found his target. A black booth with white lettering indicated that the site was set up to provide information, and that was exactly what he needed.

Besides the pamphlets and festive knickknacks, a middle aged lady guarded the station. Black hair cascaded down her aging, smiling cheeks, giving her a friendly aunt vibe. With a nod and a smile, Lykanos approached.

"Good morning."

"Well hello there. How can I help you?"

Nodding his head in the direction of the festivities, the young man inquired, "I'm still fairly new to town, well to Canada really. What's going on here?"

Her face lighting up, the woman produced a brochure. "Oh, not from around here, eh? That would explain it. This here is the festival of the Chambury Poultrygeist. It's a bit of a local legend." Handing over the informative packet, her tone turned amusingly spooky. "Legend has it that the lost soul of a holiday turkey has been trapped in the old abandoned shack just down the road there. Every year for the last twenty six years, it comes back to seek its revenge on the one who ate it!" The eerie witchlike laugh that followed sealed her spiel.

Unable to hide his grin, Lykanos chuckled as he started speaking. "Well, that explains why it's like a weird fusion of Halloween and Thanksgiving. So, why is this on Thanksgiving anyways?" As soon as he said it, he realized his mistake.

"Oh, Thanksgiving was last month, hun. Oh, right, you said you were from out of the country. Well, truth be told, this whole thing was probably started by some silly American, so that's probably it." Suddenly looking apologetic, the woman waved her hands. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

With a wolfish grin, the man replied, "Oh, no worries. I know what you meant. No harm... no fowl." The wink after sealed the deal, getting a joyous laugh out of the lady. Giving her a moment to settle, he had one more question. "So, where is this supposedly haunted building, anyways?"

Still recovering from her bout of laughter, the woman eventually tapped the brochure. "In there. It has the address and a recreation of the scene. Though, I would steer clear if I were you. Aside from it being haunted and all, the kids around town usually poke around at night. Dare each other to step inside, dontcha know."

With a subtle bow, Lykanos thanked the kind booth attendant for her time and turned to walk away when he noticed that he had an admirer. On the steps of a nearby business stared a man with wispy, unkempt black hair. His off-white overcoat and grey slacks made him stand out in the crowd. Trying not to make anything of it, Lykanos went back the way he came. Buying another drumstick for the trip home, he headed out to wait for the evening.

***

While night descended upon the city, Lykanos worked his way to the address on the pamphlet. Ending up in an older residential district, the place was mostly lower income apartments and rented out houses. The one he was seeking was no different. An old, worn down, generically white house sandwiched in between two other properties. The major difference was the poultrygeist's house was far more run down than the others... as well as the only property guarded by three kids.

As he approached, the children looked more and more spooked. Easing over, he leaned on the fence, taking in the house as he spoke. "So, this is the poultrygeist's place, huh? Not much to it."

After a few moments, the braver of the boys spoke up. "What're you doing here, mister?"

With an eerily cheery glance, Lykanos motioned to the house. "I'm going in, of course. Isn't that why you're here?"

One of the others chimed in, brattier sounding than the first. "Nuh uh. You'd never make it in. You're just..." Trailing off as he locked eyes with the beastly man before him, the young boy looked pale and cold.

"I'm just... chicken?" He had a sharp deviousness in his voice that amused him, but he wasn't about to go in with onlookers. "Tell you what. If I step inside, you have to promise to go home and not tell anyone. Deal?"

"Deal," came the response from two of them, but the brat wasn't believing it. "No way you'd even make it to the stairs."

"So, sounds like we have a deal, then."

"Yea, we have a deal," whispered the brat as he lowered his gaze.

"Excellent." Cracking his knuckles, the burly guy in the wolf shirt strode past the boys, up to the door, and cracked it open before looking back. With a confident grin, he slipped inside, slamming the door behind him.

He couldn't contain his laughter as the three boys ran screaming down the street. He knew the door slam would work perfectly. "Just get them excited, and boo," he proudly whispered to himself.

Just then, his wolfishly sharp nose picked up a scent, a fresh human scent. Whipping around, fist at the ready, he saw the wispy black hair and whitish overcoat clad man sitting on the stairs. "Boo," the figure said, half-heartedly.

"Holy shit, dude. What are you-" Taking a heavy breath he started again. "Sorry to barge in. I thought the place was deserted. If you don't mind my asking, who are you and what are you doing here?"

Raising himself up with one hand on the banister, the mystery man brushed his hands on his jacket. Sweeping his palms out as if to say 'Ta-da', he uttered, "I'm the Chambury Poultrygeist."

"You!? But you're just a hu-" Silencing himself, he really didn't have a recovery. Thankfully the other man did.

"A human? Yes. And you're a werewolf."

Shocked, Lykanos didn't know how to respond. Sadly, he started going with the wrong answer before shutting up. "How did you..."

Seeing the look of shock on his intruder's face, the man in the overcoat decided it best not to leave a lycanthrope in suspense. "I've seen my fair share of werewolves, trust me. And witches. Want my advice, never date a witch." The last bit came out with spite, hinting to deeper wounds in that department.

"So, how are you the poultrygeist? Oh, Lykanos, by the way. Sorry, you kind of caught me off guard there."

"It was not my intent, I assure you. I know better than to spook a werewolf. Believe me. Curtis Attison. You can call me Curt. But, yes, the whole 'poultrygeist' thing was all a big misunderstanding. See, I made this nice couple that moved in a big Thanksgiving feast. How was I supposed to know they'd freak out? That was, oh, how many years into my curse... four... or was it five?" Curt proceeded to count on his fingers, lost deep in thought for the next twenty seconds or so. Lykanos was kind enough to snap him back to reality with a question.

"Curse? What kind of curse?"

"Oh, my bad. Yea, I should have started from the beginning. So, my girlfriend was a witch. Big mistake. Never date a witch." The man approved of Lykanos' accepting nod. "So, there I was, big Thanksgiving feast. See, like you, I'm American. Yes, I can tell from your lack of an accent. Sorry, as mine is a bit faded." He was right, as his accent was still slightly American, but he couldn't help the Canadian twinge sneaking in every so often. "So, right, there I was, American tradition for my Canadian girlfriend. We're having a good time and then... Oh, what was it... I said something stupid. I then jokingly said that she should let me use her magic trinket to let me go back and fix it. That's when she just freaked out."

"What did she do?"

The more engrossed in his story, the more Curt's body language started to show through. Waving his arms, he passionately continued. "So she starts yelling at me about not respecting magic and how she was going to teach me a lesson I'd never forget. Well, the stupid witch used magic that was beyond her. She cursingly bound me to her time trinket, but at the cost of her own life. I tried to stop her, but dangit, when Abby makes up her mind." Exasperated, the cursed lover let out a heavy huff.

Following along so far, Lykanos' curiosity was piqued. He needed to know more. "And what was the curse she put on you?"

"It's a little confusing. So, I get to visit this plane of existence once every year, the day I was cursed."

"Thanksgiving."

"Yes, Thanksgiving. The rest of the year, I spend it reliving that same day, every day for the rest of that year. All 364 days of it! Or is it 365?" Looking off into space, his fingers twitched as he lost himself in thought.

After a moment, Lykanos had to break in again. "So, it's kind of like the movie Groundhog Day, but it refreshes every year?"

"Is that the movie with Tom Hanks?"

"Actually, I think it may have been Bill Murray, but I am pretty bad with actor's names usually."

After a moment of silent contemplation, the man by the stairs nodded. "Yea, I think you're right. But, I watched it hoping that I'd get answers. Nope. Lucky bastard gets to escape his loop. My only comfort is that my hell changes after every year. But, yea, same thing... though I'm not trapped. Get to go as far as the day takes me."

With a curious tilt of the head, Lykanos wanted to know. "Is that pretty far?"

"Not far enough, sadly. Still gets boring. Been at it for, what... twenty five, thirty years?" Again, the man locked up in thought, contemplating his timelines.

"The lady at the kiosk said twenty six since you spooked the family. So, that was, what, four years in? Thirty would be about right."

"Yes! Thank you! So, about thirty years I've been trapped in this hell with no end in sight." Shielding his face with a hand, he was definitely in emotional turmoil.

Lykanos was a good man, a kind man. He couldn't just sit by as this guy continued to suffer. Something needed done. "Hey, I'll help you. You have my word. Maybe I can ask the werewolf elders if they know anything?"

"Tried that. Several times. They refuse to help a human they don't know well, and it's hard to prove my trust with only a day at a time. Been killed by them many times. Would not advise it."

"Hmmm..." Lykanos was at a bit of a loss. "Maybe your girlfriend's notes? Did she leave anything behind?"

"Oh, I should have said."

The wolf in Lykanos showed through as his body language perked to attention. "Oh?"

"Yea, I know how to end the curse. Just can't do it myself. Also, convincing the locals is tiringly ineffective. Telling them they need to dig up a grave always seems to turn them away. Oh, by the way, we need to dig up my old girlfriend."

"Alright, let's get going."

This time it was Curt's turn for shock. "Whaaaa? You'd gladly help dig up a grave?"

"Well, if it's the way to end your curse, sure. Plus, between the pets I've buried and the video games I've played, I'm just desensitized enough to be perfect for this." A quick comical smile helped relieve the tension that Curt had been building since his big reveal. With a huge sigh of relief, the Chambury Poultrygeist was almost in tears. "Thank you! Oh, thank you. I'll take you there right away. Only a few hours before this all resets, so we need to hurry."

***

Fortunately abandoned at nine o'clock, the graveyard was far less spooky than the movies made it seem. Plots were pretty even and there was enough tree coverage to disturb the dead without getting caught. As the two walked through the rows of headstones, Curt eventually ground to a halt. "Here. Here lies the bitch that trapped me."

"Hey, I kind of take offense to that."

"Sorry. To bitch?"

"Well, yea, as a werewolf I have the right to, right?"

Snickering in bewildered amusement, Curt slapped his leg. "Fair enough. I'll leave the women of your kind out of this."

Looking around, Lykanos refocused on the man. "Where can we get some shovels?"

Still chuckling at his companion's complaint, Curt pointed to a shed. "Over there. There should be one... or was it two?" As he started to drift into thought, Lykanos took charge. "I'll get them."

Returning with shovel in hand, Lykanos gave Curt a dirty look. "There was only one. Who's digging first?" Returning the gaze with a snide smirk, the wispy haired fellow couldn't help but reply with, "Don't you do it doggy style?"

The werewolf's mind instantly went to the gutter. In an embarrassed daze, he stammered though a response. "Wha, well. Umm, that. That's a very. I really hope you mean digging, otherwise that could be a very personal question."

Curt burst out laughing. "You're blushing."

"Shh-shut up. No I'm not. Quiet down before you get us caught." With that, Lykanos redirected his energy into digging. Having experience in this area and with the gift of extra lycanthropic might, he made short work of the dirty deed, slamming the shovel against the wooden casket within the hour.

"Alright, now what?" Lykanos had to look up, as Curt was still standing outside the grave. "You going to get in here and help?"

"Oh no. Sorry, I can't. Nope. Part of the curse. So, when Abby cursed me, she had to make this little binding totem thing. Well, I learned later that since I wasn't actually there for her funeral, she was buried with it. Something about how she was passionately clutching it in death. That bi-" With an uneasy glance at his human-esque canine companion, he reconsidered. "That 'witch'. If I get too close, it actually burns me. Trust me. I've died a few times in horrible fiery agony trying to grab it. But, here, I'll make it easier for you. See that partition in the casket? It's just a couple inches above that, dead center in her hands."

Stroking his mustache as he contemplated his options, Lykanos wasn't a fan of what he needed to do. "Alright, so I need to crack open the coffin and snag a relic from her..." His obvious shudder gave Curt a little twinge of glee. "Her hopefully boney dead hands."

"Well, it's all crispy. Not boney yet, but at least she isn't gooey anymore. Trust me, the smell. Woo!"

With a groan, Lykanos slammed the shovel's blade into the gap between lids and stomped hard enough to splinter the old material. He reeled back as soon as the stagnant air in the chamber assailed his heightened senses. Coughing and choking on the odor, he had to turn away.

"Come on, we don't have much time left!" blurted Curt.

Looking at his watch as he continued trying to get the foul air from his lungs, he wheezed back at the freeloader, "Hey! We still have over an hour. If you want to hop in here, be my guest." Backing off, Curt circled the grave. "Thank you," huffed Lykanos as he bent down to get the object.

The next part was the hardest in this whole ordeal. As he carefully peeled open the splintered tomb, he mentally prepared for what he was about to do. He was going to defile a thirty year old corpse. As he felt around in the dark decay, his whole body spasmed from the overwhelming disgust. His only comfort was that he was at least not dry heaving. "Desensitized indeed," he mumbled to himself as he pulled the talisman free.

Curt backed away as his champion stood. "Ok, now I need you to destroy it. I still can't get near the thing."

Climbing out on the far side of the grave, Lykanos was skeptical. "If I destroy it, will there be any sort of magical backlash or curse transference? Basically will I be getting screwed here?"

"No, none of that. Worst case scenario, I die, which I will gladly take. Death would be a sweet release from this stupid, petty curse."

"You sure? No going back."

With a steeled nod, the poutrygeist replied, "I'm sure. Do it."

Laying the cursed object on the ground, Lykanos ran the shovel through it. Nothing seemed to happen... at first. Eventually a red glow started to radiate out of the overcoat's inner pocket.

"Welp, it's as I feared," stated Curt as he winced. Producing the radiating trinket, he held it out for Lykanos to see. "This amulet is the thing she bound me to. The thing I joked about. It's an old relic claimed to let the user travel back in time. Just long enough to undo one mistake. With the curse broken, my energy is being consumed." Dropping to a knee, he kept the medallion aloft, an intricately carved piece of bone, shaped oddly similar to that of a wishbone. "I-I want you to have this. It's a one-time thing. Destroy it to release its power."

Still in shock, Lykanos wasn't sure what to do. "I-I."

Rapidly fading, the ghostly poultrygeist bowed humbly. "I give it to you freely. As a gift for your kindness. Thank you for everything Lyk..." As he disappeared into the stillness of the night, the amulet fell harmlessly to the ground, still, lifeless.

It took a few minutes for Lykanos to recompose himself. Even so, he was not about to touch the artifact directly. Taking an old ski mask from his inner coat pocket, he scooped up the gift and stored it safely.

Walking back to his house, dirt covered and exhausted, the first thing he muttered was a tired, "Happy Thanksgiving."