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            "So buddy, I can take up to Buffalo

if you want. "

              Edward

sat looking out the window of the rig. "If that's as far as you're going, then

I suppose that's as far as I'll go."

              "Oh

hell no! I'm heading back home after that. I'm taking a week off to do some

fishing on Green Bay!"

"Green Bay? As in Wisconsin?"

"Where else? Didn't you see the rig's

plates. America's Dairyland! Home of Cheese Heads and the Packers. Haven't you

ever been there?"

"No, but maybe it's time I did.

Might have some family around there."

"Might? I'd think you'd know it or

you wouldn't. "

"There's a lot I don't know about my

past. I guess now is as good as any to start piecing it together."

"Oh, I see. You're going to do some

of that genealogy stuff. My aunt likes looking people up. Where was yours from?"

"A place called Wolf Creek. Ever heard

of it?"

"Can't say that I have. Sounds

small."

"Probably. Just big enough to hold

a pack I'd guess."

"A what?"

Edward realized what he had said. "You

know, so small it only holds a pack of cigarettes."

The truck driver guffawed. "That's a

new one! You're a funny guy. Yeah, I'll take you the whole way. It gets pretty lonely

driving across Ohio and Indiana. Flat and boring. Chicago, now she's more my speed.

But Wisconsin is my sweet heart. I was born there and I'll die there."

The truck rumbled along for hours,

across turnpikes and stopping for gas and food. Edward declined to eat. For

some reason the food didn't seem appealing. Once on the road again, his eyes seemed

to catch every detail of the trip, from animals hiding in the woods along the

roadway to the birds circling in the sky. He mentally shut down his nose while on

the ride. They truck was old and filled with odors of countless trips across

the country. Coffee, burgers, fries, and even the smell of sex permeated the

cab. The odor from the diesel engine was a miasma to his delicate senses, but a

free ride was a free ride so he rode without complaining.

They talked about many things, but

always Edward's mind was elsewhere. However, when the man mentioned New York

City, which was where they had come from, his interest increased.

"So, I guess you heard about the

fuss in the Big Apple?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of? They say a couple of

animals wrecked Central Park and half the city!"

"Sounds a little far fetched!"

"I think so too. I bet it'll come

down to some movie advertising campaign gone haywire. You know these Hollywood

types, always going over the top!"

Edward's reply was weak. "Yeah, it

was definitely over the top."

When they got to Wisconsin, Edward

found out there were two Wolf Creek place names. He got a map at the travel

mall and was going to walk from there. "Hell no! I can drop you off closer. I've

got a little ways to go before I need to turn off for home. Might as well put

you down somewhere as close as possible."

"Thanks!"

The ride was uneventful. They came

to a diner at a crossroads, and the driver pulled over. "I hate to drop you

here, but I'm turning. Think you can make your destination from here?"

Just then a group of motorcyclists

pulled in. They were wearing colors and numbered around thirty five bikes plus

the riders who were packing. Edward had opened the door and the lead biker didn't

see it in time and was thrown from his seat. Chaos erupted.

"What the fuck are you trying to

do? You fucking punk!"

Edward tried to help him up, but

the man swung at him. "I'll teach you to mess with a Spyder!"

The other bikers were parking the

rides and swarming the truck. The driver went against his better judgment and

grabbed a tire iron. He stood next to his passenger.

"Look. It was an accident. He didn't

mean anything by it!"

"Oh, look at Mr. Tough Guy. Do you

think you can take on the entire Spyder Clan?"

"Yes." It was Edward.

The bikers laughed. "One tramp

versus all of us?"

Edward's voice dropped a level

lower. "That's about right I'd say."

The man whom he had accidently

knocked to the ground balled up his fist and swung at him. It stopped like it

hit a rock wall. Edward felt his fingers growing. His arms began to ripple. "I'll

say this once. Leave!"

The man swung with his other fist

and found it too halted. "That wasn't a smart thing to do." Edward's eyes were

glowing.

"What the hell are you?"

The next voice came from the pits

of hell. "I'm your worst nightmare!" The man sailed through the air to crash

through the tin awing shading the door to the diner. Edward let out a roar. "Who's

next?"

But no one moved. That's because

the man they had planned on teaching a lesson to was no longer looking like an

easy mark. His shirt was ripping out, and his jeans split like tissue paper. In

his place stood something from the pages of some horror story. The truck driver

dropped his weapon and scrambled back into the truck. Edward waded into the

bikers and began throwing them in all directions. He had to fight the urge to

kill and feast. There was so much food here!

When the bikers were dispersed, he

vented his anger on their motorcycles. He didn't want them chasing after his

tucker friend. By the time he was finished, there was only one left intact. It

might have its uses. He walked over and stuck his head in the truck.

The driver whimpered. "I don't want

to die!"

"Why not, you're back home?" The

creature let out of low chuckle. " But trust me, you won't be dying today. Not by

my paw."

The driver just stared. "What are

you?"

"None of your business. Thanks for

the ride. It was a big help, but I think I have something better now. Enjoy

your fishing trip."

Choosing the wisest thing to do,

the poor driver passed out.

Edward changed enough to climb

aboard the Harley. He started it up, admiring the painted gas tank. It was a

wolf howling in front of a full moon. Nice! He hit the gas and rode out of the

mangled mess of broken bikes and broken bikers. He hit the road, getting looks

from every car he passed. Everyone assumed it was a stunt and waved at him. A

few tried to get photos, but he pulled ahead and out of their range. He pulled

off the first side road he could find and worked his way down it to a clump of

trees.

He got off and changed back. He was

now naked again. This was getting old. He was going to have to find some pants

at least. Luckily for him he had passed a farm house with wash on the line. The

pants he got were a little tight, but with an effort he pulled them on and

resumed his ride. He had no money, so he was only going to make it was far as

the bike would go on its remaining fuel. He looked over his map and made his

way west. Somewhere out there he hoped to find his grandparents' tombstones. He

didn't know if they were buried under the false name or a real one, but he

figured he'd know it when he found it.

Riding a bike without a shirt or jacket

got to be chilly, and Edward managed to correct the problem by sprouting a

field of chest hair. He did this without changing anything else. He was

impressed with himself and sprouted some on his arms to. Then just to be funny,

he beefed up his arms and pectorals. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses and

he'd look totally bad ass. Oh, and a leather jacket.

He was intelligent enough to keep

moving. The police might take a while to sort out what happened back there, but

they would eventually figure something out. He wanted to be as far away as

possible. The urge to kill was very strong now, and his hunger was getting worse.

The motorcycle ran out of gas near

a farmhouse. He knocked on the door and asked if he could park it in the barn

for safe keeping. The man looked him up and down. "Son, you can if you like,

but I've got plenty of gas if you'd like to borrow some."

"If you don't mind. I'm trying to

find my grandparent's old homestead."

"Is that so? From the looks of your

ride I would have guessed you were going to a gang meet. Then again, you're alone.

So what was your kin's name?"

"I don't know for sure."

"Well son, what's yours"

"Peterson."

"And your mama's"

"Rougarou."

The man stopped dead. "What did you

say?"

"Rougarou."

The man pulled a spike from his

overalls. It glinted silver in the sunlight  "Now son, I don't mean no disrespect, but if you're

a Rougarou, then I don't want to have anything to do with you."

Edward sighed. He did his best to

stay calm He was still worked up from the incident at the crossroads. This man

seemed nice enough at the beginning, so obviously he knew something about the

family name.

"Friend, I'm not here to cause you

any trouble. I've had my fill of it. I'll take your offer of gas and get out of

your hair."

"Not so fast. How do I know you're

not just some punk yanking my chain? Everyone around here knows the legend of

Wolf Creek."

"Not I."

The man stared at him.  "Is that all you under that hair?"

"What's it to you?"

"Cause if it ain't and you can

prove it; I might just have a word with you."

"Meaning what?"

The man rolled back his sleeve.

Hair sprouted" "Cuz if you can control it like I can, we might have a thing or

two to talk about."

Edward shrunk to his normal self. "You

mean like this?"

The man nodded knowingly. "Yes son,

just like that."

"What would you have done if I hadn't

been able to change after showing me your trick?"

"Then I would have had to kill you.

It's happened once or twice. Can't say I like it, but it fills the freezer. I'll

tell ma to put on some water for tea. Come on it boy, it's about time you came

back home. Us werewolves are getting to be few and far between."