In the myths and legends, the light of the moon transforms men and sometimes women into wolf-like beasts, and they roam about, ravaging the countryside and preying upon the unwary. Makes for lousy storytelling, the moon-based dependency that these fictional creatures operate under. The truth is that shape-shifters exist in many cultures, from the Native American Skin-Walker myth to the Lycanthropes of Europe, and it irks me that my kind are so often overlooked.
"Bultungin, does that word mean anything to you, dear reader?" I ask you with a sly smile. Of course not. I am Vaughn, a six-foot-tall, young-looking man with dark brown skin and a smooth shaved head. I hail from the Caribbean, and both African and Caribbean blood flows in my veins, among other things. I am a shape-shifter, blessed with the ability to turn into a hyena, albeit one significantly larger and more anthropomorphic than anything produced by the African wilderness.
There are quite a few of us Bultungin or Were-Hyenas roaming this world, forever disguised as ordinary men and women. If you saw me walking the streets of Ottawa, Ontario, my current stomping grounds, you might think that I am a young man on the prowl. I check out the pretty ladies, especially the ones with nice round butts. I also notice certain fellas, especially the masculine ones with strong bodies and deep voices. No flat-booty gals or effeminate males for me. This bisexual gentleman adventurer has specific tastes. Kindly walk away if you don't meet my standards.
Walking around the City of Ottawa is a pleasure for me. People tend to notice me because of my allure which is distinct, masculine and predatory. In turn, I notice...everything. Especially fellow predators. There are so many predators in this metropolis, and they're awash in ordinariness, just like me. I like to hunt predators, not because I care for justice but because I like they smell and taste. Every predator must have a niche, and mine is other predators.
I stand in a corner of a west end shop, not far from the train and before a large marketplace. I am waiting. For him. The old man with the kind smile. He befriended the lonely widow because he's fascinated with her sons. The old man's heart skips a beat whenever he sees the widow's sons. The widow, Tiffany, has her hands full with her sons Jason and Todd. She thinks of the Old Man, Jeffrey somebody, as a father figure. If she only knew...
"Thank you for watching them for me," Tiffany tells Jeffrey, who smiles. Last week, Jeffrey took Jason and Todd to a hockey game. That's how predators work. They befriend you. They earn your trust. They move in for the kill. Women are so used to dealing with predators who want them for their bodies that the idea of a male predator targeting the men in their lives doesn't occur to them. Lots of gay men befriend forlorn women just to be around their handsome husbands or boyfriends, whom they secretly desire.
"Anytime, we had fun," Jeffrey tells Tiffany, but he looked at Todd and Jason while saying it. At this point in time, Todd and Jason still think of Jeffrey as their mother's overly nice older male friend. He hasn't done anything creepy yet. Jeffrey is average-looking, dark-haired, fifty-plus, blue-eyed and Caucasian. He looks like a college professor, a bank manager or the guy who does your taxes at H & R Bloc. Jeffrey looks harmless, that's the secret of his success.
Jeffrey has lived all over North America, from Boston to New Jersey, and now he finds himself in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, after a lengthy sojourn in the City of Merida, Mexico. Wherever Jeffrey goes, he repeats the same pattern. He befriends a lady, usually one who is widowed or divorced, and has sons. The lady and the sons are later found dead. If they're found at all. Jeffrey is a serial killer and has been doing this for decades. He's good at it...
I wait until Jeffrey parts from the lovely company of Tiffany, Jason and Todd, then goes to his car, parked in front of Loblaw's grocery store. While on his way, Jeffrey sees me, a tall, dark-skinned young man in a long dark coat. I look to be in my late twenties. In this part of Canada, African immigrants and Afro-Caribbean people are becoming a common sight, so Jeffrey's gaze doesn't linger over me. As he gets into his car, I flash him a predator's smile. Jeffrey senses something amiss, then turns. I'm already gone...
I don't need to follow Jeffrey since I already know where he lives. Tonight, Jeffrey will go missing. He likes to go for long walks late at night because he's an insomniac. Sometimes he goes to parks, and sometimes he ventures into bars and pubs. Like me, Jeffrey likes to bring both women and men to his bed. I like that about him. In a world where a man is limited to only banging one sex or gender because society is rigid, Jeffrey's bisexuality is admirable. I might have bought him a drink, his hobby not withstanding...
"What the fuck?" Jeffrey gasps as I toss him to the ground, after attacking him from behind, of course. Jeffrey falls, and rolls on his back. He looks up at me, eyes filled with surprise, but not fright. I stand over Jeffrey...and smile. He recognizes me from before. I nod, and then I let it happen. In the movies, shape-shifting is either grotesque or downright artistic. In real-life, I am simply shedding my disguise. I'm not a man becoming a monster. I'm a monster disguised as a man. Some things it's better to do au naturel...
"I'm the angel of death, with fur," I reply to Jeffrey, as I will myself to become the seven-foot-tall, muscular, furry, spotted, hyena-like yet humanoid, fanged and clawed beast that I've always been. Jeffrey gasps in shock, and I get to work. A lot of predators like to toy with their prey. I tear Jeffrey to pieces, and then I devour him. Waste not, want not, I guess. I don't leave any traces. Not a speck of blood. Not a single strand of unnatural hair. No bones. No strips of flesh. I consume my prey, and satisfy the ravenous hunger that I've been feeling for so long...
Like I do after each kill, I go for a run. There's a wooded path not far from here, and I run through it. I don't howl at the moon like a CGI-generated werewolf in a lousy horror movie or cheap television show. I leap from tree to tree in a manner that Tarzan would envy. And I do it while listening to my favorite song, Linkin Park's classic What I've Done. I'm a stylish and tasteful sort of monster, not a barbarian. I don't hate humans. I consider myself a shepherd of sorts, with humanity as my flock. Sometimes, it's necessary to cull the bad sheep from the rest of the flock. Humanity is better off without the likes of Jeffrey, believe me...
The next day, I return to my job. I work at a call center. I walk the halls, and soon I am awash in humanity. There's William, the ginger-headed office pretty boy whom a lot of the local black ladies, including big-booty, curvy African goddess Marla, seem to like. William wears tight pants but otherwise plays it straight. Of course, William makes too much eye contact with other men to be totally straight, and I'm convinced that he and his buddy Alexander are more than friends. I feel bad for Marla, she's one of those sisters who craves white boys. Too bad many white boys crave each other.
"Quit staring," I told William when he came sniffing after me, early on in my tenure at the call center. Men who like men, and men who like both men and women tend to make lots of eye contact with other men. As a Bultungin, I have sharp senses and can smell things normal humans cannot. William's scent is often on Alexander and vice versa. I could care less. I just don't mess around with co-workers, female or male, straight or gay. William got the message and amuses himself with Alexander and his legion of unsuspecting black female admirers. Let them have their fun. I just don't care to join the game.
William walks past me with Alexander and Marla in tow, and I allow myself a smile. Marla has a nice big ass that seems ready to burst out of her dark gray Capri pants. I've fantasized about sliding my dick into her pussy while smacking her ass. Marla can get it every day and twice on Sunday. Of course, this will remain only a fantasy. Bad things to gentlemanly monsters who get involved with ladies who are purely human. It never ends well. Thanks but no thanks.
