Subj: Soap Pt.13
Date: 12/12/99 3:48:50 PM Central Standard Time
From: marcos1

In the woods near Collinwood, Roger Collins sat in front of the campfire. It wasn't easy to be the leader of a group of boys, lead them to the right kind of thinking, the right kind of life. But this was something he was determined to do. They were called the Young Bankers. Ranging from six years old to twelve, these boys were ducklings under his wing.

"Mr.Collins," Ricky Roberts said, looking around at the surrounding woods, dark shadows seemed to form ghostly figures under the light of the full moon. The forest was full of the sounds of the night. An owl asked the eternal question--who, a solitary wolf howled a sad song of a lost love, swarms of bats squeaked and beat their wings like a legion of warriors off to seek their prey. It was the kind of night that scared a young boy of eight, wearing short pants and a red colored T-shirt with the initials YB. "I'm scared...I want to go home."

"Nonsense," Roger said, pulling up his short pants, handy flashlight in hand, "there is absolutely nothing to fear in the woods." He threw another log into the fire. "We are men...the crown of creation. We can conquer anything in the forest or in the business world." He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a flask of brandy. He took a quick sip. "What is the good word, boys?"

"Profit," the six boys said in unison.

"Profit, indeed," Roger said smiling. "There is nothing sweeter in this world and nothing that serves a man more, friendship has its place, and so does love, but nothing beats the all mighty dollar for providing comfort and pleasure." He put the flask back in his pocket, wiping off his lips with his hand.

The werewolf moved through the woods, jumping and leaping across the ground. Being new, the smells and sights of the wilderness brought such pleasure and delight. He threw back his head and called out to the creatures of the night. He was their new sovereign, an overlord of this group of trees, and no living creature dare to question his crown. It was a crown formed from large sharp pointed teeth. He was a hunter and everything was his prey. Howard Grundy was a brother of the full moon.

"Boys, consider this," Roger asked, "what would you do if you caught one of your employees, taking food to feed his family?" He was sitting next to the fire cooking a large all beef hot-dog.

"Fire him," Dinky Moose replied. He was a stout boy of eleven. "No questions asked, no second chances given. If a man's family is hungry, it is his fault for not making more money. The boss has to use such people to set an example."

"Excellent," Roger said, with a broad smile. "Other less serious examples would be an employee taking longer than one ten minute break, missing days of work for sickness or related family problems. Fire them. We must fire them all."

Howard could smell a new scent. It was blood. The red fluid circulating in the arteries and veins of animals. It had the scent of the ocean, both salty and sweet. He moved near the clearing and saw them, a group of young ones and one older male. Howard had only one thought. He would rip open their moist young bodies, drink their blood and feast on their flesh. Then he would tear the old one into shreds, throwing the meat into the bushes. He would let his lesser brothers eat that one. There
was just something about the old one. His canine brain couldn't fully grasp the complex subtleties of human language, but the words your loan has been denied flashed across his mind. Howard growled and sprang forward.

The boys and Roger Collins were frozen in place as the werewolf moved towards them. It seemed like a nightmare of the very worse kind. One that you woke from, covered with sweat, holding your pillow, and grateful to be in your own little room, your own safe place. But there seemed no escape from this, as the wolf(who walked as a man) charged forward. He first approached little Ricky Roberts. But then another creature flew into the clearing. He was a man with dark piercing eyes, wearing a black coat, holding a cane with the head of a wolf. The man swung the cane, blood splattered from the face of the animal. The man showed sharp fangs, much more terrible looking than the teeth of the wolf. He was a vampire, moving with lightning speed, drawing blood from the wolf man. Bits of hair and flesh flew into the clearing, as the two supernatural creatures engaged in mortal combat.

Miranda Collins walked into the clearing. She looked up into the sky and chanted the ancient words of an enchantress dead for several millennium. These words came to her suddenly from a dark region of her mind. She had been that enchantress. She had lived before. The clouds in the sky moved in swirl of sudden motion, white clouds merging with the black. The clouds blotted out the moon. The werewolf was suddenly no more. In his place was a very confused and frightened, Howard Grundy. Barnabas threw the little man to the ground. The vampire turned into a bat and flew away.

"Daddy, come back," Miranda shouted. The young girl had tears in her eyes. She just had to save him. She loved her father.

Howard Grundy hid behind a group of bushes. He was completely naked, confused, and utterly alone.

Roger Collins, who had grown up in Collinsport, sat down and continued to roast his wiener. He glanced sideways at the very naked Howard Grundy. "You should put some clothes on, old man. It really isn't decent," the balding man said, calmly.

To be continued-