Scratch

Chelsea closed the door behind her, the various sounds of drama and comedy muted while her three young children settled into screen time on their respective devices. Now in the garage, she stood beside the family car where, mere hours ago, she and the kids had collected groceries, went shoe shopping, had stopped at a playground. Such normal things.

Now, she had ten minutes before her husband drugged her for the children's sake. Jake was already waiting for her in his newly constructed office, the project that stole half of their garage in an effort to claim some work-from-home sanity. Chelsea rounded the family car and stepped through the office door, which Jake quietly closed behind her. Chelsea could not make out any sounds from the children with this second closing of a door. Somehow, it heightened her anxiety and calmed her at the same time. The children were too far away; no, they were safe.

"It's that time of the month again, " Chelsea joked weakly, an attempt to disrupt her own thoughts. She was getting nervous now. Jake smiled at the quip; it was old between them, hardly funny enough to elicit a genuine laugh, but the familiarity of it did them both good.

"Well then, it's best you get your rest." The warmth in Jake's eyes intensified as he spoke, creased as they were with sadness. He was getting nervous, as well. The sleeping pills were effective for now, but as Chelsea built up a tolerance for them, they were going to need to find another solution. She was getting stronger with each passing month, something they discovered under unfortunate circumstances that neither of them wanted to experience again.

"Whatever we need to do to keep the kids safe," Chelsea said with conviction. "You have the, um...?"

"Talisman," Jake said, grinning despite the situation. He liked saying the word. He patted his right pocket.

"Do I get to know what it is now?" Chelsea could not help asking. The "talisman" was Jake's promise to her that he had accounted for a way to keep the kids safe should the unthinkable happen. If, for some reason, the children came to the garage looking for their mother during her transformation, Jake claimed to have come up with a way to protect them. Maddeningly, he would not reveal what it was. Chelsea doubted he was hiding a miniature pistol loaded with a silver bullet in his front pocket, so that was some relief, but it still irritated her to be left in the dark.

The dark. That was when this whole ordeal began. Chelsea's whole world had been turned upside down from just taking out the trash one dark night, the light of the full moon cutting through the trees enough to help her accomplish the task. Or, she would have accomplished it, had it not been for the wild animal attacking her. No, not an animal; the wild man. The...

She glanced at the the clock involuntarily, and grimaced. Just a few minutes left. They had better get to it, then. Soon, she would be asleep in the office, away from her family, yes, but also away from the moonlight that compromised her humanity. Hopefully she would sleep through the night. The moonlight, it called to her, compelled her; it was as though some part of her actually wanted to transform. She hated to admit it, but that was why Jake was with her even now. She could not trust herself to take the pills on her own. She desperately did not want to hurt anyone, let alone her own family...but she worried that, left to herself, she might just let the pills remain untouched in their bottle.

Jake seemed aware of the time as well. "I have water here for you, " he offered, holding out a glass. Chelsea reached out to accept it, reminding herself how lucky they were, really. It had only been a scratch. Had it been any more than a scratch, she might not be here at all.

A scratch. Chelsea felt a different kind of itch rise up within her, an inexplicable urge she could not deny. Glass of water still in hand, she turned to the nearest window and tugged at the blackout curtain. She was too absorbed in her search to register Jake's immediate, obvious terror.

"Chelsea! What are you doing?" Jake's voice was a harmony of anger, fear, and pleading. Chelsea took little notice. She found what she was looking for -- the tiniest sliver of delicious moonlight illuminating the bottom edge of the window. She brought her finger to it. The light made the tip of her fingernail glow.

A noise began a slow crescendo in the small office. A guttural sound, coming from Chelsea's quickly-pulsing throat. A growl.

"Chelsea," Jake started, but he was interrupted. A door opened, a small voice:

"Mom?"

It was Kenny, the five-year-old. He stood with the office door slightly ajar, his tablet dangling from his sticky child's hand.

Jake's eyes widened. His hand went to his pocket, straight for Plan B, without a second thought. He pushed a button, then dove for his son, pushing the child toward the front of the family car and laying his body over the boy as a loud chugging sound dominated the space. Cool air rushed in.

The werewolf part of Chelsea's brain could not register what Jake had done; all she could see was the driveway illuminated beyond the quickly opening garage door, shining with that glorious, transformative moonlight. Instinct compelled her away from her family, and out to the night. She leaped onto the street with a howl, then ran with mind-boggling speed.

His child still clutched in his arms, Jake pulled the talisman from his pocket: the garage door opener. He had done it; led the danger away from their children. Unleashed it onto their neighborhood. Unable to imagine the consequences of what he had just done, he clicked the button again, shutting out what he was afraid of most.