The Erew
The full moon was just rising, glowing through the branches of the black silhouetted fir trees that crested the low dark hill to the left, beginning to dim the stars of the dark night sky. He felt the prickle in his nose that signaled the beginning of the transformation and he paused his movement towards the farmhouse. The change would become complete once the moon’s glow fully bathed him and he did not want it to occur too close to where he could be seen from the lighted windows of the house or be scented by the dogs.
The aching was familiar, as his ears shrank, becoming puny and less capable of picking up the warning noises that his life depended on, his eyes migrated towards the front of his skull, nose shortened, jaw and teeth too, as the change proceeded from his head downward to his body and limbs, where his spine lengthened with creaks and snaps that he could faintly hear, body fir reabsorbed into a fine brown fuzz and lastly, his limbs stretched out, his paws extending into fingers and toes, and he could finally stand erect on two legs.
Inside the farm house old man MacDonald and his wife were finishing dinner. “Those damn rabbits are getting into the vegetable garden again. Digging under the fencing I put up,” he said. “And I’m worried the coyotes might be prowling around the chicken coops.”
“Yes, I heard them howling last night,“ said Mrs. MacDonald. “What are you going to do?”
“I hope the dogs will help scare off the rabbits, but I don’t want them to get into a fight with any coyote that might be carrying rabies.”
“Oh, that would be bad,” she said.
“I think I’ll load up the shotgun with number four shot and keep an eye open tonight. With the full moon it’ll be easy to see any rabbits. Maybe you can cook us up a rabbit stew tomorrow night,” he replied.
“Now don’t you be shooting a lot of holes in the cabbages and lettuce with the shotgun,” remonstrated his wife, “And I don’t want to crack a tooth on a pellet. If it’s that bright tonight, why don’t you just use the .22?”
“Okay, that’ll work too,” he replied. “No need to shred the cabbages into cole slaw.”
The erew-man moved cautiously from tree to tree, ever closer to the garden. He was six-feet tall and had a human’s intelligence but with the same appetite and grace of movement that he possessed as an animal. He sized up the situation. There were the farm dogs—two of them. And the farmer himself. The fence around the garden that he’d dug under on other nights was low enough that, as a human, he could easily vault it. Or why not just open the gate and walk in?
How did he get to this condition, his human mind wondered? Maybe it was from the coyote that he’d barely escaped when he was young. Got nipped on the left flank but somehow managed to get away. He’d heard the legends told among older rabbits that there were some wolves and their cousins the coyotes that could change back and forth from human to animal. Could that coyote have been such a changeling? And with the bite, made him one too?
No matter, here were vegetables ready to be eaten. He moved still closer, now out in the open. The dogs caught a whiff of his scent and came dashing, barking, from their kennels beside the house. Then they almost tumbled to sudden stops, completely puzzled—smells like rabbit but looks like man? He lunged toward them, raising his arms threateningly and growled from deep in his human throat. It was too much, too confusing, the dogs turned and ran, yelping.
Inside the house, old man MacDonald heard the barking and stood up from his Lazy-boy recliner where he had been watching a movie rerun on TV and stretched, limbering up his knees and hips. Okay! must be the rabbits, he thought and he got his trusty old bolt action .22 from the gun chest and loaded five bullets. The barking turned to yelps and he wondered, could it be coyotes? No matter, he was armed.
Dogs gone, the erew-man easily leaped over the low fence. Cabbages and lettuce. No, not tonight, he was tired of them. But now the carrots were ready. Ah. He began to pull them out by their tops. I’ll just gather a whole bunch and take them back to my den.
Old man MacDonald opened the kitchen door, standing framed in the light, and squinted into the grey of the moon-lit garden. What? Stunned!! No rabbits but a big buck-naked man pulling up his carrots in the moon light? He rubbed his eyes and looked again. “Hey,” he shouted, finding his voice at last, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The erew-man glanced over at him and, giving a throaty grunt and with an armful of carrots, bounded over the fence and loped off towards the woods, leaving the farmer yelling at his vanishing back.
Mr. MacDonald went back into the house, slamming the door behind him.
“What was all that about?,” his wife asked.
“First rabbits and coyotes, and now some damn hippie just stole our carrots and took off for the woods.” he replied. “Just as naked as a jaybird. I’ll talk to the sheriff tomorrow.” He unloaded the gun, stored it away, and sat back down in his Lazy-boy. “What did I miss in the movie?” he asked.
The erew-man slowed as he neared his burrow in the woods, setting the carrots down, sat on the fragrant, needle-covered ground, and waited. After the moon set, the process would reverse and though it would ache as always, he would again shrink down and become a rabbit. Until the next full moon. He brushed the dirt off a carrot and began to chew on it while waiting for the change to occur.
The Long and The Short of It 