Lewis “Doc” Shrivner became a hobo when the market crashed in 1929.
His descent into poverty was a reflection of what was happening to Americans everywhere. The rich suddenly became poor. The poor somehow got poorer. Hard times caused lifestyle changes.
Doc once rode in First-Class train cars and enjoyed the many amenities that came with it. The conversion from riding in luxury to empty boxcars was surprisingly smooth for him. He was always disillusioned with humanity in general.
His decision to “drop out” of society turned out to be a good one, and he found himself happy for the first time in his life. The months turned to years and he made a reputation for himself in the hobo universe.
After two years of riding the rails without being thrown off a train, he became a legend. His peers talked about his exploits with pride. He’d made many a fool of the security thugs that went after him.
Doc knew about, and was greeted at, every hobo camp from California to Maine. His stories were shared from coast-to-coast by admiring fans. Sometimes his peers suspected he was telling them a yarn, but still eagerly listened, enthralled by his mellow baritone and speaking skill.
One night in an Indiana hobo camp, Doc told a group of about twenty men and boys about a scary experience he once had.
“I was riding from Iowa to Idaho on the Central Railroad, when I met a strange man. Right after I jumped onto the car I looked around, as always, to see who else might be there.
“A big man wearing a knee-length fur coat was standing in a corner staring at me. His dark hair and long beard were scraggly and unkept. But it was his pale blue eyes that got my attention. They were souless. Like a sharks.
“I said hello, and he nodded slowly. As I came closer his size surprised me. He was the biggest man I’d ever seen. And believe me, I’ve seen a lot of guys in my time. He was at least seven feet-tall and thick with bulging muscles.
“The bearskin coat he wore was greasy-looking and matted with dried mud and something else. He wasn’t wearing a shirt under his coat, and his dirty chest showed numerous scars. I wondered if he was a mountain man like I read about in dime novels?
“He still hadn’t said anything when I approached him and stuck out my arm to shake his hand. They call me Doc, I said conversationally, What’s yours?
I saw what looked like a flicker of a smile as he reached out his enormous hand (twice the size of mine) and engulfed mine…gently.
“I am Richard, Earl of Sandwich, late of England,” he said with a true limey accent. He sounded serious, so I didn’t laugh at what I thought was a silly pretense on his part.
“Suddenly he was serious, “Will you help me?” he asked.
“If I possibly can, I replied.
He stooped over and picked up a heavy-looking canvas bag.
“There were steel shackles for hands and feet inside. He dropped the bag and I heard the metal clank. Taking a key off a necklace he wore around his thick neck, he handed it to me.
“It’ll be dark soon, so I don’t have much time, he continued. I’m a werewolf – I do hope you know what that is – and there’s going to be a full moon tonight. Before it comes up I need you to lock me up until daylight comes, and I’m in my man shape again.
Well, I can tell you boys, I was scared shitless. I couldn’t very well turn him down though. When I stopped gulping for air and calmed down, I assured the Earl I’d be glad to help. I’m pretty sure he smiled when I said that.
The hours went by fast and I locked him up as he requested. He told me he was tired of killing people, but he didn’t know how to rid himself of his curse. The padlock and chains, he reasoned, would contain him long enough until the curse withered in the daylight.
Just before the moon was totally full he said one more thing.
“I hope this works!”
The next thing I knew a snarling horror was struggling across from me, trying to rip itself loose from the chain wrapped around the two-by-fours lining the side of the car. It’s howls curdled my blood!
To my absolute horror, the thing broke loose and was working on the chains holding it’s hairy arms and legs together. I can still hear it’s howls of rage. Then it was free and looking at me!
“What happened next?” One of the listeners cried out.
“It killed me!” Doc howled with laughter.
The group slowly stood up stretched. Everyone was getting ready to settle down for the night when a huge man in a bearskin coat stepped into the light of their bonfire.
“Could you help me?” he asked.
As It Stands, werewolves, or no werewolves? That is the question.
Louisiana 1924 – Livingston County
The Village of Albany – Population 396
Main Street consisted of a barber shop, a general store, two boarding houses, a saloon, and on the corner, a curio shop with a fully articulated skeleton hanging in the front window.
The only time people came to Albany was if they had relatives there, or if they went to the curio shop. The owner and curator of the shop, Mr. Li Wei, was a wrinkled old man with a long thin white beard and piercing blue eyes.
He walked with the aid of a long wooden staff that had intricate carvings on it. He looked out-of-place wearing a plain black suit, white shirt, and red bow tie. A photo of him in full Mandarin dress when he was a young man hung over a display of shrunken heads and poison arrow tips.
In the course of Mr. Li Wei’s years of travel he acquired curiosities from all over the world. From Memento Mori Dolls to an ornate Tibetan Human Kapala, Mr. Li Wei collected oddities that went from the macabre to the ugly.
There were worn out old movie props and rows of apothecary jars holding strange herbs and roots in glass cases. Trick boxes made from bamboo sat alongside intricate pieces of carved ivory in the front display case.
Mr. Li Wei also had a dark secret.
He provided protection for werewolves by locking them up in his cellar on nights when there was going to be a full moon. It started with his son, Niu, then his werewolf friends in Livingston County began showing up too.
On some full moons he had as many as four werewolves locked up in chains and snarling at one another until dawn. In the morning he’d unlock the chains of the sleeping men.
The good news for Livingston County was that ever since Mr. Li Wei opened his curio shop unsolved murders went down to zero. For thirty years there was no talk about loup-garou’s in Livingston County, unlike the other counties surrounding it.
Who knows how many more years that arrangement could have gone on if not for the local chapter of the Klu Klux Klan?
One afternoon a Kluxer saw a black man enter the curio store. The problem with that was the curio store was considered to be on the white side of town. Blacks were not allowed to be there.
The Kluxer, sensing some fun, got out of his chair and ran over to the saloon. Minutes later six rowdy drunken men showed up at the curio shop. Their leader went in first and moved Mr. Li Wei aside as he looked for the black man. He wasn’t there!
“Where’s that nigger?” the Kluxer shouted.
“Not here anymore. Go away,” Mr. Li Wei calmly replied.
“Are you screwing with me chink?”
“No screw. Li, no know. Man leave.”
The others outside grew restless when they saw there wasn’t going to be any action.
“Niggers are not allowed on this street! You know that.”
“That what Li said. So man go.”
As the Kluxer walked out the door he couldn’t help but feel the old man was hiding something. How could that “darkie” get away so fast he wondered?
The next night the curious Kluxer, Billy Ray Nedhem, decided to stake out the curio shop instead of going out hunting with his friends.
“It’s going to be full moon tonight Billy Ray! C’mon!”
“Naw…you old boys go without me. I’m feeling a bit peckish.”
From Billy Ray’s position on the second floor bedroom in the boarding house he was able to see the curio shop clearly. Hours slipped by as Billy Ray tried not to nod off when he saw a man appear at the curio shop door.
Instantly alert, he watched the man enter. He was white. He kept watching and another man showed up. He was black! Then another white man went in. It was enough for Billy Ray who grabbed his hunting rifle and run downstairs.
Two of his Kluxer brothers were playing checkers in the front parlor.
“Grab your shootin irons!” Billy Ray shouted. “Follow me!”
When the three men burst through the door Li Wei was sitting in a wicker rocking chair puffing on a long whalebone pipe. His eyes lit up when Billy ray pointed his rifle at him.
“That does it you sneaky chink! Where are you hiding them? I seen ’em come in here with my own eyes.”
Mr. Li Wei looked over at a bright red oriental rug in the corner. He knew Billy Ray had been watching him. So he didn’t chain the werewolves in the cellar up. The moon was full when he pointed at the rug and said, “Trap door.”
Billy Ray grabbed the rug and threw it aside. Grinning he opened it and charged down the steps with his buddies behind him. Mr. Li Wei quickly closed the door and put the rug back over it.
He could barely hear their screams.
As It Stands, some things are best left alone.
The human slave donors stood quietly in line outside the temporary tent, waiting to give their lives.
Blood was desperately needed for the victims of the attack.
Nine of them lay in a row of cots, weakened by their terrible wounds. A slave knelt by each of them making sure the IV’s were working properly.
When the donor slave was finally drained of all life blood, the body was tossed aside into a growing pile of corpses. The four vampires that survived the attack intact were gathered outside the black tent keeping watch.
It was the second time this winter that the werewolves launched a vicious sneak attack deep into the vampire’s stalking grounds on a full moon. Clearly, something had to be done. It was a lean time, and their human stock supply was getting dangerously low.
The vampire community was using up their walking blood banks to survive these savage assaults.
Count Baltar, their leader, urged them to come up with a way to find out where the werewolves spent their days as humans and easy targets. This was the second blood drive, and possibly their last, if they weren’t successful he warned them.
The population of werewolves in the area had been growing steadily for years.
The werewolves knew they were getting close to killing the last 13 vampires in the entire country. By banding together, the werewolves were finding out they were more than a match for their blood-sucking foes.
Their wounds healed faster and they didn’t require human blood to heal.
In their human state the werewolves were able to organize the humans in the small country. They taught them how to kill vampires and where to look for their lairs during the day when they slept.
Finally the day came and no more blood lines were needed. The vampires were all gone.
Once that was achieved the humans celebrated for days. So did the werewolves who declared open season on them with their foes out of the way.
As It Stands, mankind is no match for the supernatural.