Diary of a Haitian Werewolf

When my mother, Beatrice Jeannot-Durand, A.K.A. Granny Bea, sat me down and told me that I was part Wolf, I looked at the tall, slender and dark-skinned old Haitian woman and resisted the urge to laugh in her face. After all, this was the woman who partially raised me, and even though I didn't always care for her cryptic statements or bitter, cynical sense of humor, I always showed her much respect.

"Grandma, I love your stories," I said, smiling faintly, and Granny slapped me hard on the shoulder, and pursed her lips. I winced slightly, for my shoulder stung. We were sitting in the living room of the family house in the City of Montreal, Quebec. I had just come home after a grueling afternoon of practice with the University of Montreal varsity football team, and I was dog-tired.

"Jeune homme, I am not telling your stories, I just thought it's time you learned about the Family Secret," Grandma Bea said gravely, and I looked into her dark eyes, and amazingly, they changed color. I blinked in surprise, and Grandma smiled, and this time, her smile showed a hint of fangs. I shook my head, refusing to believe that the woman who took care of me when my parents were away wasn't what I thought she was.

"What's happening, Granny?" I asked meekly, and Grandma smiled, and then in a few simple words, she revealed a centuries-old secret to me. My name is Isaac Durand, and I was born in the City of Montreal, Quebec, to Haitian immigrant parents. My father, Joel Durand, is a constable with the Montreal Police Service, and my mother, Elsie Lucas-Durand, teaches mathematics at Lycee Saint Denis, a private Catholic school which I once attended.

I've always known deep down that my family and I were different, but I just couldn't put my finger on it. I remember when my cousin Yves, who lives in Quebec City with his Hispanic girlfriend Lola, was in the national papers for acts of heroism. Apparently cousin Yves, who studies business administration at Laval University, walked through flames to rescue an elderly French Canadian woman and her family when their townhouse caught fire.

The fact that Yves was not only alive but unscathed amazed the locals, who swore that he was burned badly during the rescue efforts. When Yves came over at our house for Christmas dinner during my senior year in high school, I looked at my tall, burly cousin with admiration. The dude has always been my hero. When I started school at the University of Montreal, I wanted to try out for the football team, but my parents were adamantly against it. Yves spoke to my father, and amazingly, both my parents had a complete turnaround on the subject of me playing football.

"Cuz, you're hands down the coolest person I know," I said, exchanging dap with Yves, who smiled and nodded. Yves is five years older than I am, and he's in the MBA program at Laval University. Me? I'm barely nineteen and just starting in the biology department at the University of Montreal. I want to go to medical school someday. That's right, people, I'm not just another jock, I've got brains and ambition. My paternal uncle Robert Durand, Yves's father, is a doctor. I intend to be one too.

"I've just got the Durand family good luck," Yves said to me, and then my parents laughed, and everyone at the family table exchanged a smile. One I did not share in. I've always felt like everyone in the family was hiding something from me. I just never imagined that the family secret was so damn huge, seriously. I'm the most disturbingly normal person you'll ever meet. I don't feel different from my friends. That's why I had trouble believing Granny Bea's shocking revelation.

"Why didn't you guys tell me that I'm a freak?" I said loudly, practically exploding on my parents, a few hours later. Dad had just come home after a long day at work, and Mom came in late from work because of a faculty meeting that apparently dragged on. I looked at my father, who matched my stare with his own intense glare. Tall, burly and dark-skinned, with a muscular build, my father, Joel Durand, looked much younger than his forty seven years.

"Izzy, lower your tone," Dad said evenly, using that restrained, polite and vaguely ominous tone he used when truly angry. I sighed deeply, and looked at my mother. My mom has always been the voice of reason in a family of hotheads. Petite, with medium brown skin, long black hair and sharp, angular features, my mom is a classy lady who always dresses professionally, even when she's not at work.

"Listen to your father, Isaac, we didn't like lying to you, mon fils, but we wanted to protect you," Mom said, smiling faintly at me. Mom's eyes met mine, and I held her gaze for a moment before looking away. I swear, Mom's eyes can trigger guilt within even the most cold-hearted person. Or perhaps I'm easily influenced. Whatever. I was still mad at my parents for dumping this on me. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I wasn't human. How is someone supposed to react to something like that?

"Well, I need to think about this, goodnight," I said, and I headed to my room, quietly fuming. I lay on my bed that night, unable to sleep in spite of the fact that I was more tired than a workhorse. I got up and looked at myself on the wall mirror. I took a real good look at myself, and tried to will my eyes to change color like Granny Bea's did earlier. Nada. Nothing happened. Whatever.

I ran my tongue over my teeth, and they were just my regular teeth. I'm six-foot-one, neither chubby nor skinny, but somewhere in between. My skin is dark brown, and I have a bit of an Afro and a slight goatee. I am a university student, as I said before, and I like to hang out with my friends at Caribbean-style night clubs sometimes. I'm not a party guy, not really, I am just trying to come out of my shell. I was raised to be a good church-going lad, like the majority of young Haitian men I know. Just don't want to be a damn square all my life, you know?

I closed my eyes, hard. Why does life always throw me a curveball when I least expect it? Earlier, Raymond Tremblay, the head coach of the University of Montreal football team, told me I'd have the offensive lineman position. Considering I'm a rookie, on a team full of tough guys with a lot of experience, this was a real blessing. I was on my second season with the team. Things were getting tougher, and I wondered whether I'd be able to handle it.

"Mon gars, you've got the stuff, don't sweat it," Coach Tremblay said, smiling as he shook my hand. I looked at Coach, a stocky, red-haired and green-eyed, solidly built French Canadian gentleman, and smiled in utter gratitude. I am not the toughest or strongest player on the team but I am a fighter. From day one, Coach Tremblay has been pulling for me, and I didn't want to disappoint him.

"Thank you, monsieur, I won't let you down," I said to Coach, my voice choked with emotion. We were in the locker room, and the other guys watched the exchange between us. Some of them with narrowed eyes. I've never been the most popular member of the football team. In fact, our quarterback, James Sykes, really seems to hate my guts sometimes. Dude stood nearby with his buddy Marco Vasquez, a burly Latino, and both eyed me coldly as I talked to Coach.

"Strays like you aren't fit to breathe the same air as real football players," James Sykes said to me, as soon as Coach was out of earshot. Standing six feet three inches tall, muscular and strongly built, with blonde hair, alabaster skin and green eyes, Sykes looked a bit like the late actor Paul Walker, only he was a douche bag. The dude has had it in for me since I first stepped onto the field and successfully tried out. It's like Sykes thinks I'm gunning for his position, which couldn't be further from the truth.

You know those guys who think they're all that? Sykes is definitely one of them. Unfortunately, everyone on the University of Montreal campus thinks Sykes is some kind of demigod. Everyone including Ginette Soleil, a tall, brown-skinned cutie whom I've had a crush on since our halcyon days at Lycee Saint Denis. Ginette and I grew up together, and I've always had a thing for her. Ginette friend-zoned me and she's now dating Sykes. Reason number one hundred why I hate Sykes guts. I still seethe with anger when I remember the last time I saw them together.

"Hello Ginette," I said, smiling as I saw my all-time favorite lady coming out of the church basement. Clad in a bright green summer dress, Ginette looked absolutely beautiful. Born in Montreal to Haitian immigrant parents, Ginette and I have much in common. After graduating from Lycee Saint Denis, Ginette enrolled at the University of Montreal, and we had a wonderful reunion. Old friends and all that. Everything was wonderful. Until Ginette started dating Sykes.

"Hello handsome," Ginette said, and she hugged Sykes and kissed him on the mouth right in front of me. I watched the two of them hugging and kissing in the middle of church, and jealousy coupled with disappointment shot through me like twin lightning bolts. I swallowed hard, and walked away. For the rest of the church ceremony that day, I avoided Sykes and Ginette. My buddy Joseph, like a true friend, busted my chops about the whole situation, which frankly sucked.

"Looks like the little Haitian creep is getting too comfortable," Marco said, and he smiled nastily as Sykes walked past me, intentionally bumping his shoulder against me. Normally, I would ignore stuff like that, but not this time. I whirled around and caught Sykes, and spun him around in a display of strength which amazed everyone in the locker room, including me.

"What the fuck?" Sykes said, a stunned look on his face as I shoved him backwards with such strength that he bounced off a nearby locker and fell on his ass. I don't know who was more surprised by this, Sykes or me. Seeing this, Marco gaped in surprise, then balled his fist and took a swung at me. I easily dodged Marco's swing, ducked under it and caught him on the jaw with a mean uppercut. Marco's head snapped back and he tumbled.

"Damn, what got into you?" said Joseph Guillaume, the only other Haitian guy on the University of Montreal football team, and my only friend on the squad. Joseph grabbed me and pulled me away from Sykes and Marco, who were just starting to get up, bruised, and wearing stunned expressions on their faces. Everyone stared at me as Joseph walked me out of the locker room. Luckily Coach was already gone...

"I don't know, Joe, I just got tired of their bullshit," I said to Joseph, and my buddy shook his head, then offered me a ride home. I accepted, and Joe drove me from the University of Montreal campus to my family's house in the south end of Montreal, and we exchanged dap before I hopped out of Joe's old pickup. I walked to my house, where Granny Bea awaited, with the most shocking revelation. All of a sudden, a lot of things made sense. I thought of the altercation between Sykes, Marco and myself, and wondered where my sudden strength had come from.

"Maybe being a Werewolf won't be so bad," I said to myself, smiling as I thought of the shocked expressions on Marco and Sykes faces. I went to sleep and woke up feeling like a million bucks the next day. The next morning I sat at breakfast with my parents and grandmother, and they were shocked at how quickly my mood had changed. Seriously, they all stared at me as I smiled and hummed a little song while eating my bacon and eggs.

"Izzy, are you alright, son?" Dad asked carefully, and I playfully slapped my father's thick arm and smiled. I nodded at my father, and then asked him about my true nature, correction, our true nature. I wanted to know everything about what makes us what we are, our strengths and weaknesses, and our limitations. My parents were thrilled with my change of disposition, and told me everything.

"You will be stronger and faster than any normal person, your senses will be sharper, and you will heal quickly from injuries that would kill or cripple a normal person, but you are not invincible," Dad said cautiously, and he and Mom exchanged a knowing look. I looked at the two of them, smiled in a way that I hoped was reassuring, and urged them to continue.

"Mon petit, it is important for you to know that true Werewolves, like ourselves, don't turn into wolves under the full moon, we are what we are, pretty much 24/7," Grandma Bea said, raising her index finger, and I looked at the wizened old Haitian woman and nodded respectfully. I respectfully and politely told my family that I wanted to learn more about our heritage, and they were overjoyed.

Thus began a most exciting time in my life. In this life, some people have advantages over others based on their parents money, their education level, their intelligence, and the opportunities which they've been awarded simply because of who they are. In Canada, if you're a Trudeau, you hold a certain amount of power and prestige. Ditto if you're a Kennedy, a Vanderbilt or a Rockefeller in the U.S. Equality is just a myth, folks, and I am not just talking about race, gender or sexual orientation. I am talking about the universe itself.

I've always felt that I was destined for greatness, but there have always been obstacles in my way. I grew up hearing stories from my parents about how they struggled in Montreal after moving to Canada from the island of Haiti and how hostile Quebec was to racial minorities in the 1980s. Mom and Dad stuck it out, went back to school, got jobs in their fields, had me, and later sent for Grandma Bea from the ancestral family estate in Cap-Haitien, Northern Haiti. Thus, the Durand clan established itself in Montreal.

Over the next few months, my father taught me the ways of the Wolf. We went into the woods on weekends, and Dad taught me about our kind. Through sheer concentration, we could fully shape-shift, from human shape into a wolfish state, or partially transform. In our partially transformed state, our eyes turn yellow, our teeth elongate and sharpen into fangs, and our fingernails stretch into six-inch, wicked black claws that can slice through steel. Even in human form, we are stronger and faster than most people.

"You must always control yourself, because if your secret is revealed to the world, you're a dead man, my son," Dad said gravely, and I nodded. We were sitting in a clearing, in the woods of northern Quebec, enjoying a warm, cozy fire. Earlier, we brought down a deer, using nothing but our natural weapons. Dad allowed me the honor of the kill, and I savored the feel of the deer's throat being crushed and sliced by my wicked fangs. I relished the taste of deer meat, which I ate raw, as is customary for our brethren.

"True power is concealed, always," I said, smiling at Dad as I wiped my bloody mouth with the back of my hand. I could tell from my father's nod and smile that he approved of my choice of words. Of course, I didn't tell Dad that I planned on mastering my superhuman abilities to enhance my athletic ability and dominate the gridiron, and also advance in the world by overpowering and overcoming my enemies, starting with a certain quarterback.