The sun rose gently over the crest of Missionary Ridge. It had been a few weeks since Jack had gotten a good wink of sleep, and he was slowly but surely coming up from a slumber that at last left him feeling rested. The aches of his first few dozen shifts at the railyards still stuck to his body, but they were nothing compared to how he'd felt after his first week.
His mom and pop were mighty proud of him, he knew, finally flying from his roost in a holler a few hours north to do good, honest work while others in his community made do on increasingly less. His name wasn't in the draft yet and the railyards needed men who were so lucky, so that's where he found himself. Union work was tough but fair, and he counted his blessings for the opportunity that had popped up while visiting his cousins down here.
As he combed and gelled his hair, a few frizzy strands stood out. The humidity was quickly coming as the spring warmed up. Some of the older men at the freightyard mocked his well-groomed appearance, but he'd seen it in a magazine once and been somewhat taken by the style. They weren't in his father's era of shortages and making do, they were in the land of plenty.
At any rate, it was just teasing, nothing he wasn't used to where he was from. He took it in stride, and they seemed to all be getting on just fine. He was starting, for once in his life, to feel as if he belonged somewhere. There was certainly more to do down here than drinking, nightlife and restaurants dotting the streets. There was an electricity in the air that made him feel like home could be something more than a house with four corners.
After getting dressed in overalls and picking up his blue hat, he walked out the door with a whistle and a smile. He climbed into his squeaky-clean brand new Impala and started the engine off, driving off to work. The traffic was light this Monday, moreso than usual, and he found a few minutes to himself to listen to his car radio.
Bad weather down in Florida, which was unusual, or so he heard on one channel. Tuning to the next channel, he heard a little line: Homeward bound, wish I was homeward bound. He smiled and hummed along to the tune. The radio was mostly bad or controversial news these days, and he was never one for politics. No one was ever done any good by upsetting the way things simply ought to be, he figured. Too many people in his life were angry, angry at Johnson for lettin' people into schools of a different sort, or angry at him for sending young men off to war. It was easier to keep your head down and not worry too much.
He turned off his car and punched his time in. He smiled at the receptionist as she recorded his card and waved him goodbye. He had tried to learn all of his colleagues' names by heart but he found himself always having to refer to her placard for hers. Susie, it had said, and he said goodbye to Susie after recollecting that information.
The railyard was busy with cotton bales from the south and meats from the north. He was thankful that for the day, his work was redirecting empty cars instead of unloading or reloading anything. It was easy for his mind to wander further, and throughout his shift, even during his brief lunch, he found himself lost in how grateful he was to have the life he lived. He'd have to find himself at a church the next week, however strong his wayward instincts had kept him away this week. He and the almighty were doin' mighty alright, he figured, and he was content to give him praise in whatever way felt right. He sure wasn't one of those folks who played with snakes, all respect to 'em.
As he clocked off his shift, he made his way to the bar down the way. Payday was still fresh from last week, and after paying his rent and putting some in savings for that house up the ridge he was eyeing, he had plenty for recreation. Talking with the people of the town was its own reward, and he'd even flirted some at the bar when especially tipsy, but nothing serious had ever come of it yet.
Strangest to him was something you just didn't hear about up in the holler, 'cept in some books he'd never bothered too much with. There was wolf folks down here. Some people got up in a tizzy about it but that wasn't him, folks are folks. And so he did find himself this evening engaging in conversation with a big fella who worked in piping and asking him some questions, hoping to pry a little.
He was a bit worried the wolf-man would take offense, but he was friendly as they get. Over some good whiskey they talked about a good deal. What surprised Jack the most was that his drinking companion, Dave, hadn't always been a wolf.
"So you can just change like that?" Jack asked, baffled. "They didn't tell me none of that up where I'm from."
"Folks who don't need to know don't want to know," Dave replied bluntly. "Except for you, I'm supposing. Was about thirteen when it happened and I've been big like this ever since."
"How'd your folks take to it?" Jack followed up.
"Bit apprehensive, I mean shit, they ain't hardly know anyone who turned. But they done went down to the library and they read up. Was sure nice, my pa supposed, having someone to help him out with the hardest work on the farm down in Huntsville." Dave took two more shots, Jack barely following up with one.
"How'd you end up here if you were down in Huntsville?" Jack asked.
"Welp, pa ended up selling to a bigger and better farmer from up north and that was that, they kept the house and live off the remainder. Ain't nothing for me to do but find work up here," he replied. "Frankly, it's better work."
"Can't argue with that," Jack replied with a laugh.
They continued on chatting, Jack mostly inquiring about the local area. He'd found a few good weekend plans and getaways, not to mention places to hit up for pretty ladies. Soon, his stomach began to growl and he realized he'd better go home to prepare himself something. Far too drunk by this point to drive, and the sun setting in the distance, he began to walk home.
It was only a mile or so back home, but the walk began to feel a little longer than expected. He chided himself for trying to match someone so much bigger than him on shots. His legs began to cramp up, but he continued onwards. Strangely, one of his shoes came loose. He tried not to think too much of it. As he continued walking and he passed a few people on the streets, some of them would call out to him.
Their strange words hardly registered in his mind, though they seemed to be vulgarities more often than not like "hey bitch!" or simply whistling. He tried to ignore the strangeness as it grew. Eventually, a particularly persistent onlooker started following him, and he just started off running. He felt like there was something growing out of his mouth as he did, and he wondered if he had downed some particularly bad booze.
He surprised himself with how fast he could run. It seemed like the street was whipping by him, even as he found himself occasionally stumbling, almost like he was in fact driving. At last, he found his way to his apartment. He made it up the stairs, unlocked, the door, and relocked it behind him as he slumped against the doorframe. He let out a long whine as he tried to get his bearings.
His apartment, normally mild-smelling, assaulted him with the scent of his laundry, the trash, and what seemed like a whiff of cigarettes from the previous occupant. He grimaced as he stumbled to his feet, noticing at last just how baggy his clothes felt on him. He resolved to disrobe, hoping nothing had gone wrong, and being drunk enough that he had nearly forgotten all about the events of a few minutes ago that had led him to return so rapidly.
He started growling to himself as he fidgeted with a button, wincing as it seemed like something cut him through the undershirt as he finally undid the button with less grace than he had hoped. It was at that point that he was finally able to look at his body and process the totality of what had just happened, though in bits and pieces. It was his feet that first puzzled him, as he went to take off his shoes.
Where he should have seen a boot to unlace, he instead saw nothing but diminished furred digits with claws at the end. Had he not known better, he would've thought he was looking at a dog's legs. As it were, he registered their movement as his own. He then continued to disrobe and noticed that the fur continued up his body as far as he could see. Gingerly removing his shirt, he finally noticed what certainly seemed to be breasts.
He'd seen wolf women on the street, and in theory he knew what must be going on underneath their skirts and shirts but he'd certainly never considered it in-depth, just as he didn't think as such about other women. He was now distinctly aware of the material reality of being a wolf woman in a manner that even in his stupor came to him like a second nature. He flexed his hands, now paws, experimentally. They were quite dextrous.
"Well jeez," he said with a sigh in a voice that was markedly more feminine than he was used to but still carried every bit of his normal cadence. He decided he was just going to have himself a TV dinner and call it a night. He checked to make sure all his blinds were closed, not wanting any unexpected visitors. It was too damn late to think about this.
His meatloaf was ready from the microwave in a few minutes, and he sat himself down to catch Gilligan's Island, if he could. Alas, it was a little too late and it was going to be more I Love Lucy reruns in the end after all. It was still better than the superhero gimmick they'd put on for her a few weeks ago, none of it quite made sense in his mind. His folks ate it up, of course, and he supposed young folks like him weren't really the target.
Anything, still, was better than thinking about what had just happened to his body. Even the meat loaf tasted different, though he tried to tell himself he'd just microwaved it a little too long. That might've made sense if it didn't actually taste more tolerable than normal. He could even imagine it being something his mom might've made.
Against his wishes, the booze now starting to clear up out of his head, his mind began to be drawn further towards that line of thought against his will. His folks never had a problem with him, there just wasn't much to talk about them with. He'd hardly know how to bring up what had happened to him. Hell, he wasn't quite sure if he'd be able to go back to work tomorrow. What kind of jobs did wolf women get? He sure wasn't pretty enough to be a secretary, was he?
He realized at that point that he had no actual idea what his face looked like now. In the rush it had just been something he'd put to the side. He reluctantly decided that there was no time like the present and hoisted himself off the couch and made his way towards the bathroom. As he opened the door and turned on the lights, he at first jumped back in shock, forgetting that the wolf in the doorway was now him.
His fur was gray, and while he didn't have a haircut to speak of anymore, he noticed that the fur on his head gave him something of a windswept look. He had no real way to gauge beauty when it came to wolf women, but he supposed it was as good a face as any. It was certainly better than he expected, thinking of the angularity of Dave back at the bar. This was a much gentler face, even as his snout extended outwards.
He also noticed he stood taller than he was used to. He'd seen some taller women among the wolves, and he wasn't quite sure whether this was normal, on reflection. A difference in size across the whole species would certainly explain why Dave was so…massive. He contemplated how to style his fur now, but supposed that with so much it'd be impossible with so little gel.
In the background, the TV switched shows, but he was still fixated on the mirror. His face almost seemed to suit him, he decided. He wasn't sure about this business about being a woman, maybe he could think about it more in the morning. He switched the TV off and turned in for bed. He was asleep soon after he hit the pillow.
He woke to his alarm clock ring-ring-ringing and shut it off. He brushed the sleep out of his eyes and remembered the events of the previous night. He looked down at his nude body to find all the usual whistles and bells all accounted for, with no fur or tail to speak of.
He pondered his situation for a few minutes, his mind slowly doing the math about the long list of errands he'd need to run. Best to just call in, it'd lead to some teasing but he could get a doctor's note by faking the flu, he was almost certain. He'd need some new boots for work, to go back and get his car, and to head to the library to figure out what the exact fuck he was dealing with.
He phoned his workplace. "Hello, this is Susie, how may I help you?" the secretary asked.
Caught almost off guard and unsure if his voice was back, he rasped somewhat convincingly, "Hi Susie, this is Jack McCray, and I got something of a nasty bug. I'm gonna need to head to a doctor's and be off for the day."
"Sure enough, sweetpea," she said with a customer service smile you could hear through the phone. "Just make sure you get me that note tomorrow when you're back, okay?"
"You got it, thanks a million," he replied as he said farewell and hung up after she also bid him as much.
He started off on the first item on his list. He had some Sunday shoes and could walk in them well enough, but he'd need to head out after nine to avoid running into any of his coworkers headed into work themselves. In the meantime, he performed the rest of his morning routine without issue. At about a quarter past nine, he walked out of his apartment and onto the street.
In a jarring comparison to last night, the street seemed almost friendly to him. He shook off some of the discomforting thoughts as a hazy memory came back to him at the corner he was now waiting for the light to turn green on. Older men tipped their hats to him, a young lady or two shyly waved. He did his best to smile back politely. It was rude to not return a greeting, after all.
Still, as he retrieved his car and shopped for boots, he couldn't help but feel shaken. Something wasn't right with the world today, even if it was the same as yesterday. He shuddered to think about what might happen were he to change again tonight in a similarly unfortunate location as last night. He'd have to be home after work to play it safe, which was a shame since some of the boys at the yard played Texas Holdem after work on Tuesdays.
Having acquired his boots, he now meandered his way to the doctor. Maybe they could give him something of a clue as to what was happening. He checked into the waiting room, and it was a mere few minutes before he was being seen in the back. He looked at the wall of the exam room to find it belonged to one Earl Winston, M.D., who had graduated from Vanderbilt a few decades past.
"Good morning, Mr. McCray," Dr. Winston said as he sat down in a chair next to a desk. "The nurses tell me you got yourself somethin' of a flu."
"Well, that's what I'm tellin' my work," he replied, "but in truth I've got something a little more strange."
"Alcohol ain't a stranger here, son," the doctor sighed. "Don't do it again and I'll write you a note."
"Well I mean it wouldn't be just the booze," Jack replied. "I seem to have changed into something of a wolfman."
"And you're sure it wasn't the booze?" the doctor asked.
"I lost my boots walkin' home and got hollered at by a few numbskulls so it'd seem to me that it was real," Jack said. He wasn't sure why he wasn't telling the doctor the rest. "I guess I just want to make sure it ain't some virus or something, it ain't here this morning."
"Son, I don't know a ton about them wolves," the doctor replied. "You can get yourself on down to a vet if you're mighty worried, but from what I recall it seems that's normal progression."
"Normal progression?" Jack asked. "Of what?"
"The official name's lycanthropism," the doctor replied. "It comes in stages, often 'round the full moon. Soon enough you'll be a wolf all the time, not just on full moon nights."
"Oh, that's…neat," Jack replied glumly. What had he gotten himself into?