Loup Garou Of Haiti

"Tonight's the night," Pierre Hebert said to himself. Seated at a corner of the Ottawa Main Library, the tall, dark-skinned young black man tried to read in peace. The novel Into The Drowning Deep by Mira Grant was interesting. Something about flesh-eating mermaids attacking a cruise ship in the waters above the Mariana Trench. Good stuff all around. Pierre, a native of Cap-Haitien, Republic of Haiti, grew up hearing stories about monsters and such. Novels with solid horror content were totally his style. Not today, though...

Earlier, Pierre ate breakfast consisting of soup, bread and orange juice at the Ottawa Mission, one of the city's biggest shelters. The life of a homeless man in the Capital of Canada is nothing to write home about. Pierre has been living on the streets ever since his uncle Etienne Hebert tossed him out, six months after he came to Canada from the Island of Haiti. Pierre had a refugee claim pending with the Canadian immigration authorities, and a pro-bono lawyer assigned to his case. Yeah, things were rough but Pierre still had hope.

"Given the situation in Haiti, with the gangs and stuff, I have high hopes that the immigration and refugee board will allow you to stay in Canada," said attorney Nadine Yazdani. The tall, dark-haired and bronze-skinned young South Asian woman spoke confidently as she met with Pierre at the Tim Horton's located near the Ottawa Main Library. Pierre, who kept himself clean in spite of being homeless, tried to remain hopeful.

"Thanks, ma'am, I just received my work permit in the mail, I am already applying for jobs and I got my resume saved in a flash drive," Pierre said with a smile. Miss Yazdani gave him that polite, vaguely patronizing smile that Canadian citizens gave to those who were fresh off the boat. Pierre smiled and tried to keep calm. A year ago, Pierre was studying at the prestigious Notre Dame University of Haiti in Port-Au-Prince. Pierre was a scholarship student, meaning that he was no dummy. He wanted to be a lawyer. Of course, none of that mattered now. Especially to someone like Miss Yazdani.

"That's a positive attitude to have," Miss Yazdani said gently. Pierre nodded and smiled. He'd insisted on paying for the coffees he got for the two of them. Tim Hortons doesn't let non-paying customers patronize their precious edifices. Pierre wasn't born yesterday. When Yazdani offered to pay, Pierre insisted and then forked the cash over to the young Somali woman working at the cash register. Yeah, Pierre was homeless but he was still a man, dammit. Canada could take a lot of things away from a man, especially a black man, but not that...

"Thank you, ma'am, until next time," Pierre said as the meeting came to its conclusion. He shook hands with Miss Yazdani, who looked so stylish in her gray pantsuit and white blouse. Grabbing his backpack, he stepped out. It was a sunny day in early September. It wasn't cold yet. Pierre knew the cold was coming. Something else was coming as well. All day, Pierre had been feeling...it. Tonight, whether Pierre liked it or not, he would have to let out his inner beast. Mother nature does what she wants and takes no prisoners.

Fortunately for Pierre, the City of Ottawa's social services system did help out its destitute...at least a little bit. Pierre took out his red and white OC Transpo bus pass, which was loaded for the month of September. With it, Pierre would be able to board any OC Transpo bus or O-Train and get around the City of Ottawa. The staff at the Ottawa Mission was kind enough to let Pierre use their building as his mailing address. He was overjoyed when the work permit arrived in the mail. The green and white piece of paper contained Pierre's picture and a bunch of other stuff. With it, he went to City Hall and got himself a social insurance number, also known as a SIN. Good stuff.

Pierre looked at the three resumes he'd printed from the Ottawa Public Library computers. The cover letter was stylish, and the resume outlined Pierre's work experience. He recalled how he'd worked as a waiter at Café Du Port restaurant in Cap-Haitien before moving to Port-Au-Prince for university studies. He also worked as a clerk at Panoramix Videos, the biggest seller of DVDs, both mainstream and pornographic, in the City of Cap-Haitien. Of course, Pierre left out the part about these establishments being in Haiti. Canadian employers only valued Canadian work experience. This much Pierre knew. Got to play the game...

"Game time," Pierre said to himself as he tucked the resumes into a waterproof plastic folder, and then put them in his backpack. The backpack contained a change of shirt and pants, a pair of clean socks, a couple of tattered Sergio Bonelli Comic books ( Blek Le Rock, Akim and Special Rodeo ) and a copy of Pierre's Haitian passport. The original was in the custody of the Canadian Border Services Agency. They would hold onto it until Pierre's case with the immigration and refugee board was decided. Pierre didn't like the CBSA. They were little more than federally empowered bullies...

Pierre hung out in the library until it was dark, and then walked out. Walking through the streets of Ottawa, he was just another face in the crowd. Metcalfe Street. O'Connor. Bank Street. Pierre made his way to the train station located close to Parliament Hill. He climbed down the huge staircase leading to the lower level. He never cared for escalators. They gave him vertigo most of the time. Upon reaching the electronic turnstiles, Pierre took out his red and white OC Transpo pass and tapped it against the mechanical reader. It beeped and then let him pass. Good stuff.

There were quite a few people waiting for the train. From well-dressed businessmen and businesswomen, possible government worker types, to college and university students and others. Pierre looked at the students. Young men and women of all hues wearing stuff with logos like Carleton University, University of Ottawa, Saint Paul University, Algonquin College and College La Cite. Pierre's well-worn backpack had the University of Notre Dame Of Haiti logo in blue and yellow. Once upon a time, in another country, Pierre was just like these young people. A young man with a dream. Now look at him...

"Regrets, I've had a few," Pierre said to himself as the train arrived. The doors opened and Pierre went in, along with hundreds of other people. He sat on one of the blue chairs near the entrance. A tough-looking, masculine white woman with purple hair held hands with a chubby black woman. Both glared at Pierre. He ignored them. A middle-aged Asian woman and her white boyfriend looked at Pierre curiously. Pierre ignored them as well. He looked at his pay-as-you-go cellphone. Chatter, the provider, was cheap enough but the phone's data acted up as the train sped through the underground railway. Great. Pierre couldn't listen to music on his headphones or check the news. Great. Just great.

The train sped toward Tunney's Pasture Station after leaving Parliament and Pimisi. A pretty young black woman sat next to Pierre. She bantered with her green-haired, skinny white male friend. Pierre just looked out the window. From time to time, people looked at him curiously. Pierre ignored them. When surrounded by...them, he felt uneasy. Pierre was different, and not just because he was a foreign-born black man who found himself homeless in the Capital of Canada. Nope, it went much deeper than that.

The train reached Tunney's Pasture Station. Pierre went on the platform and waited for the line of buses heading to Kanata, Ontario. After ten minutes, the 64 bus came and picked up ten passengers, with Pierre among them. Pierre rode the bus and looked at the darkening skies. He felt...weird. Oh yeah. He could feel the Change, the same way a man or a woman with a queasy stomach knows they're going to the toilet soon. The Change was something else, though. The Change was mother nature's way of reminding certain polite, incognito monsters masquerading as humans that they were something else...

"Last stop," said the driver, a middle-aged blonde woman, as the bus pulled into Morgan's Grant. The newly constructed, pricy area of Kanata was close to the woods. In fact, this whole area was just woods a decade ago. Some of the locals who bought those lovely, pricy houses sometimes encountered deer, foxes and even coyotes when out and about. Pierre thanked the driver and got out. He walked through the well-lit paths. He wandered into the darkness, away from the beautiful suburbs and towards the woods.

When the Moon rose, Pierre was ready. The tall young black man was naked, having tucked his jacket, shirt, pants, underwear, socks and shoes into a black plastic bag. That plastic bag was hidden behind a thick oak tree. Pierre was surrounded by nothing but woods. Closing his eyes, he welcomed the Change. In the movies, werewolf transformations are often grotesque and painful. Pierre and his kind were nothing of the sort. The Loup Garou that were commonly found in the many, many Islands of the Caribbean were similar to the Werewolves and Lycanthropes of Europe and the Americas but they were different. The Skin Walkers of North America were similar to the aforementioned beasts as well but they also differed.

Pierre shape-shifted, going from a tall, well-built young black man to a huge, black-maned wolf with golden eyes. The black wolf stretched its jaws and howled, welcoming the presence of the Moon. The majestic beast sniffed the air. The woods were teeming with wildlife. In the woods of Ontario, deer, elk, coyotes, foxes, possums, raccoons, hares and other critters often dwelled within walking distance of human settlements. Reveling in the feeling of freedom and power, the black wolf broke into a run.

In the movies, werewolves, lycanthropes, skin walkers and other types of wolf-men and wolf-women were seen as monsters. The humans who hunted them were seen as heroes. That's how North America and Europe viewed them. In the Caribbean, the Loup Garou are seen as functions of nature. The peoples of places like Haiti, Barbados, Trinidad, Antigua, Guyana, Saint Lucia, the Dominican Republic and others did not see the Loup Garou as monsters. They did not hunt them. The Loup Garou fed on wild animals or sometimes domestic cattle. They did not prey on humans. The balance of power between modern man and beast-man was maintained in the Islands...

Pierre roamed the woods, and after prowling for hours, he satisfied his hunger by feeding on a plump hare. Sated, the black wolf lay on the grass, in the middle of a clearing, and looked at the skies. The Moon hung low and fat in the sky. To the black wolf, the Moon was sacred. When mother nature chose to trap the spirits of man and wolf in the same bodies, eons ago, the Moon took pity on the beast-men. Henceforth, the presence of the Moon would always set the beast-men free. Pierre's parents, Antoine Hebert and Marguerite Jacques-Hebert, had been Loup Garou, just like him. Folks, the Loup Garou cannot turn humans into half-breeds by biting them. They're a species, existing within the laws of nature, like everything else.

When dawn came, Pierre returned to the tree where he'd hidden his belongings. As the Moon vanished from the rapidly brightening skies, Pierre returned to human form. The black wolf was once more trapped within the body of the tall, awkward young black man. Pierre gathered his belongings. He took a piss and a dump in the woods, then washed himself in a pond. Drying himself with a small towel, Pierre put his clothes back on. When the earliest OC Transpo bus came, Pierre caught it.

"Rough morning, young man?" asked the bus driver, a middle-aged African guy. Pierre smiled and nodded at the man. Tapping his OC Transpo pass on the mechanical reader, Pierre then headed to the back of the bus. Folks got on the bus. A pretty blonde gal in a Tim Horton's uniform. A bunch of young guys in construction helmets, overalls, jeans and boots. A few well-dressed ladies presumably headed for the office. A few businessmen clutching their valises containing their laptops and their morning coffees. Just ordinary folks going to work in Ottawa.

Pierre nodded off at the back of the bus. The African bus driver tapped him on the shoulder, waking him up. They'd arrived at Tunney's Pasture Station. Pierre thanked the older black man and then headed out. He grabbed his backpack and headed for the trains. He raced down the steps as the train doors were about to close. Leaping from the middle of the staircase to the platform in a display of almost superhuman agility, Pierre grabbed the closing train doors and pried them open. Folks gawked at him as he forced his way in.

"Got to seize the moment," Pierre said to a middle-aged white man who looked at him as if he had two heads. Pierre sat down. The train left Tunney's Pasture, headed toward the East End of Ottawa, by way of downtown. For once, the cell and its data worked fine in the underground railway and Pierre checked his messages. The day before, Pierre applied to a bunch of different companies. One of them, a security company called Carling Security, was interested in interviewing Pierre. How cool is that?

Pierre replied to the security company manager, and listed his phone number and availability. When the train arrived at Rideau Shopping Center, a bunch of people got off. Pierre did as well. He walked to the Ottawa Mission, greeted the workers and the regulars and then went in to take a shower. While Pierre was having breakfast, consisting of buttered bread, hot dogs and coffee, he got a reply from Carling Security. The manager wanted to see Pierre at three o'clock the very next day at the company's office, located near the Bayshore Mall in the west end of Ottawa. Pierre hastily agreed to the interview. Nothing to lose.

"Yes," Pierre shouted, as the security manager confirmed the interview a few minutes later. Pierre nodded to himself. He had a lot of things to do. He would need a clean shirt, clean pants and clean shoes for the interview. No problem. He's got those. Same thing with the printed, crisp and clean resumes. According to what information Pierre was able to glean, Carling Security trained guards for free to help them get their Ontario Security Guard Licence, but there was a catch. Those guards had to work exclusively for them. No skin off of Pierre's back. Work is work, for real.

Pierre made his preparations, and then waited for the Ottawa Main Library to open. He would learn as much as he could about Carling Security in order to prepare for the interview. He would also look up the rules and regulations concerning security guards in the Province of Ontario. Pierre's goal was to get a job, save some money, and rent a room or apartment somewhere. After printing out some information about Carling Security and the Ontario security guard licence program, Pierre went out. He headed to the nearby World Exchange Plaza. If he was going to get a job, he would need a bank card.

"Good morning, ma'am, my name is Pierre and I would like to open a bank account with Toronto Dominion Bank," he said to the pretty redhead at the teller counter. The young white woman, whose name tag read Isabelle, seemed perplexed. Apparently, she didn't like Pierre's odd combination of assertiveness and politeness. Oh yes, Pierre understands the Canadians and wasn't about to let them railroad him. Sure, he did walk into the bank without an appointment but so what? Pierre wanted to get things done. Suddenly, a familiar scent assailed Pierre's nostrils.

"Perhaps I can help," said a feminine voice. Pierre turned away from Isabelle, and saw a vision of beauty. A tall, brown-skinned and short-haired young woman in a stylish pantsuit stood there, smiling. The young woman's name tag read Faduma. She appeared to be African mixed with something else. Not white. Not Asian. Perhaps Arabian. The young lady looked like what one might get by combining singer Beyonce Knowles with movie star Salma Hayek. Oh, and she didn't smell human...

"Good morning, madam, I am Pierre, hello," Pierre said with a gentle nod. Inside of him, the black wolf stirred and Pierre's eyes flashed bright yellow. Faduma looked at Pierre and smiled faintly. The exotically beautiful young woman's brown eyes suddenly flashed bright yellow. Those lovely lips of hers pulled back ever so slightly, revealing teeth that were too white and too sharp. That was for a half a second. Pierre blinked and Faduma's eyes resumed their brown color, and her teeth looked normal, if immaculate. Like something out of a Colgate ad or something.

"Hello, Pierre, I am Faduma, you've chosen our bank, how smart of you, please follow me and I'll set up your account," she said with a smile. Pierre followed Faduma to a nearby office. Isabelle glared at them as they went in. Frowning, the redhead shook her head. Faduma's decision to help a walk-in like Pierre irked Isabelle. She probably thought it was a black thing. If she only knew. Loup Garou can spot their own kind even in human form. It's one of the best kept secrets of the Multiverse.

"Thank you," Pierre said, smiling as he sat on a chair near Faduma's desk. After taking the copy of his Haitian passport and the work permit he carried everywhere, she typed into the computer. A few minutes later, Faduma had Pierre set up with a new checking and savings account. She gave him a temporary bank card and helped him select a pin number. Pierre was quite thankful when Faduma revealed he would receive a new, permanent bank card in the mail within a few business days.

"Always a pleasure to help kindred," Faduma said with a gentle nod. Pierre shook her hand and pocketed the business card she gave him. With a smile on his face, Pierre walked out of the TD Bank located inside the World Exchange Plaza. Pierre had been in Ottawa for months and thought that he and his loathsome uncle Etienne Hebert were the only Loup Garou in town. Apparently, that wasn't the case. Hmm, Pierre wouldn't mind running into Faduma again. Perhaps he'd give her a call after he got a job and a place to stay...that wasn't a homeless shelter. Got to have the basics, for real.

"Things are looking up," Pierre said to himself. He returned to the Ottawa Main Library, preferring to stay off the streets and out of trouble. When night fell, Pierre headed to the Ottawa Mission. The young black man could barely sleep bcuase he found himself giddy with excitement. Danger awaited, along with the possibility of success and advancement. Pierre tried to stay positive and manifest the things that he desired the most. What a man wants and works hard for, he has a chance of getting.

In time, Pierre would succeed in many, many endeavors. He would get the job with Carling Security. He would be granted refugee status and then become a permanent resident of Canada. After returning to school, Pierre would earn a Law degree from the University of Ottawa and become a successful attorney. He would marry an amazing lady, a member of his own secretive species of course, and sire a whole brood of young Loup Garou. Someday, he would share the tale of his struggle with his descendants. The tale of a Haitian Werewolf in Canada. For now, though, Pierre's struggle is just beginning...