The Attack of The Evil Demon Spoons!
By: Pie

I told my parents I wouldn't take my little sister trick or treating. I told them she'd never listen to me, that she didn't think I was old enough to boss her. But would they listen? NO! Parents never listen to good sense if it isn't theirs. And now look at what's happened. How am I going to tell them that their precious baby girl is a werewolf?

See, little Meghan had become a werewolf on Halloween, true, but it had started long before that, before she was even born. I was of a mere age of nine; the year when nothing in particular happens to most kids. When you're eight, you're beginning to feel less like a baby. When your ten, you have risen to the level of double digit numbers. Nine is nothing. Zippo. Absolute bonk. For everyone except little ol' me...

I was walking home one day from school, three weeks before Halloween. I was not the poster boy for self confidence, trudging along the sidewalk, looking at nothing except the ground. I was a mousy boy, with unruly brown hair, brown eyes, and big, round spectacles. I looked nothing like my family with their luxurious, long blond hair and blue eyes; all with perfect vision, of course. I was the sport of the family, and my 'friends'. All my 'friends' were going to a Halloween party. All but me. I was looking forward to a nice relaxing Friday- alone. That's when I heard it. The Voice.

"Wilbur." I kept walking. The Voice became more persistent. "Wilbur! Wilbur Horace Smithocraker the third!" This got my attention. No one ever calls me that, with the exception of my parents when they are incredibly peeved. My name is Will. Will Smith. Isn't that so much better than Wilbur Horace Smithocraker III?

I replied, frightened, wondering who knew my name. "Hello? Excuse me, dude? Can you kindly keep that name to yourself?"

"Well, why on Earth would I want to keep a name like that, when I have a perfectly sensible name like Willomera Spoon?"

I spent a few minutes pondering that. "I guess you wouldn't...who are you, anyway?"

"Well, I'd show myself, but you have to promise not to scream." Her voice was doubtful.

"Of course! I promise! Cross my heart and hoped to die; no screaming," I assured her, not entirely positive in my ability to keep myself from screaming.

"Well, were going to have to go on a little trip. To my homeland, you see. It's not on Earth. But then, I'm not from Earth either. You have to be a brave little chap to come on this adventure with me. Are you sure you're up to it?" Willomera seemed to be doubted my confidence. Now, I'm not saying that I wasn't, but it is an entirely different thing to be criticized by yourself and to be criticized by others. I readily agreed, and we were whisked off to a place beyond imagination.

It seemed to be a forest, although it was nothing like any forest you'd ever see on Earth. The rolling grass spread all over the landscape, about a centimeter high with a thick, bristly carpet texture. There were trees, I think that's what they were, everywhere. Little midget trees, about 5 feet tall and bent over at the top, stretching towards the ground. The trunks were glowing, and, impossibly, singing! The trees throbbed with every beat, with their leaves falling up and down. The leaves were something else all together; they were liquid. The liquid would fall from the top of the truck, and rise back up again. In the liquid leaves were fish like creatures: spiky blue squares that blew in and out bubbles with the pounding beat. Thump. Thump. Thump. Jumping in rhythm were dogs. Not ordinary dogs, but MONGO dogs! The extra value meal dogs. The cream of the crop. The were as big as me; with long, silver fangs and bushy gray coats. Werewolves? Not possibly! After seeing this wondrous landscape, I could almost believe in anything. Almost. Not werewolves, my fear since I was born. Werevolveophobia the doctors call it. Freakishness, my parents said.

Suddenly, something shot at me and knocked me down. Winded, I gasped for breath while trying to determine my attacker. POOF! Again, I was jumped on.

"Hey!" I screamed. "Leave me alone!"

"Why, little Wilbur, you said you wanted to come with me." I recognized that voice. Willomera.

"Willomera, show yourself!" I demanded, still catching my breath. I was pulled around a tree. I turned and gasped.

In front of me, was a wolf. Not to be confused with the mongo dogs, this was definitely a wolf. It made the dogs look like puppies, with toothpick teeth. This... this.. thing was going to eat me! All promises flying out of my head, I screamed bloody murder.

The werewolf pounced on me, tackling me to the ground, fangs inches from my neck. "You promised you wouldn't scream," Willomera breathed. "You lied. I don't like liars. Especially liars who reject me from society. I'm not going to eat you, but I promise: one day you will pay. My clan, the Spoons, are going to get you." She joined the rhythm of the trees and bounced away. I was tossed back onto Earth. I never thought about that day again, convincing myself it was a dream. Put it out of my mind. Until tonight.

Tonight, when a pack of werewolves came, grabbed my sister, and took her away. As they were flying off, I glimpsed a tail growing from Meghan's rump. The wolves crowed, "Beware the evil Spoons!" and disappeared, taking my sister with them. Oh man. I am so going to be grounded!