There are as many types of lycanthropy as there are species in the animal kingdom. Some of the people struck with this ability are fortunate enough to become werewolves or weretigers. Some people are not so lucky, such as the case of Edgar Sullivan, the Were-Pug.
On the night of a full moon, a night like any other, Edgar is walking home from work. He feels his anxiety heighten with the sight of the moon. It isn’t long before Edgar feels the changes. Short wisps of beige fur spread like a wave across his body. His hands melt into paws, fingernails extending into stubby claws. His face turns black. His skin extends and wads together into wrinkles.
Edgar sighs and steps towards the curb. He holds out his arm to hail a taxi. A car passes by, whipping up a cloud of debris into the air. Edgar quickly covers his eyes, mouth, and nose, but the debris still hits him. He can feel tiny bits of sand and dust inside his wrinkles. It itches like crazy. Edgar frantically tries to clean his flaps with his claws. After a few minutes, Edgar calms down. He pulls a bottle of lotion from his pocket and rubs it soothingly into his creases.
* * *
Edgar is not alone in his dilemma. Every once a week, he gathers with people who have similar hardships to discuss their issues. The room is filled with people sitting in fold-out chairs. The room is dimly lit with fluorescent lights. Edgar takes a sip of his coffee, then stares into it, looking for the courage to speak. Finally, he stands up in front of the group and introduces himself.
“Hi everyone,” he says nervously. “My name is Edgar, and I am a Were-pug.” The room quietly applauds. Edgar recounts the tail of his ex-girlfriend. They have been going out for several months. He had managed to avoid her on the nights he changed for a while, but eventually she found out his secret. She broke up with him the next day. She said he was a hideous monster. The crowd cheers and voices word of encouragement as he sits down. The groups attention turns to the next person. He claims to be a Were-Potato Bug. He tells them of a time when he was jumped by several racist thugs. He rolled into a ball to protect himself from their beatings. Eventually they laugh it off, and use him to play a quick game of soccer before stealing his wallet and running off.
* * *
On the night of another full moon, Edgar is in a hurry to get back home. He sees the bus at the end of the block and makes a run for it. He reaches the bus in time, but he is exhausted. His lungs ached with fire. The small curved nostrils aren’t able to provide enough air flow. He snorts and snarls and gasps to fill his lungs, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. Eventually he leans on his side, gasping wildly like a trout on land. The bus driver watches him momentarily. He then produces a phone and calls for an ambulance. It takes five minutes for the paramedics to arrive. One of them hooks a mask around Edgar’s mouth and nose and turns the tank on. It pumps pure oxygen into his lungs. Several more minutes pass before Edgar can breathe properly again. He looks up to find a group of people watching him to see what had happened.
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