TheLycanthropeClub
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2021 Story Request #2
🕑 Added 2022-01-11 21:20:00 +0000 UTC(Apologies for the delay. I lost a day or two recovering from my COVID booster shot).
"What if you did a story about a young, energetic man - who happens to be a bassist - that joins a metal band on tour, not knowing that all of the members are secretly werewolves? I would like to further add that in order for him to join, he has to become a werewolf, too. I'll leave you to come up with other plot details."
-SomeRando05
Owen nervously jingled his keys in his pockets as he stood in the studio waiting room. His gaze drifted over to the unoccupied reception desk, up to the framed posters of famous metal bands arrayed along the adjoining wall and then over to a window overlooking the parking lot. Through some trick of the light the glass acted as a mirror, casting a clear, albeit translucent reflection of the lanky twenty-something bassist. Owen noted his spiky blond hair, nose piercing, surprisingly clean complexion, clear blue eyes, black leather jacket (worn but still serviceable), vintage Immortal T-shirt and faded denim pants. He adjusted his electric bass's case strap and brushed back an errant strand of hair.
A few more minutes passed. Then, a door directly behind the reception desk opened and a middle-aged woman emerged. She wore thick-rimmed designer glasses and a suede red jacket over a white blouse.
"They're ready for you," she said, waving towards a second door to her left. "Third door on the right."
Owen nodded eagerly.
"Thanks!" he said.
Owen opened the door and made his way down a short, featureless hallway. Upon reaching the third door he paused, took a deep breath, and knocked.
"Come on in," called a voice.
A tingle of giddy anticipation ran through Owen. He realized he was grinning - manically. He took a moment to relax and then entered the room.
The studio was large and cluttered. Owen counted at least six different chairs and two couches - some shabby and ancient, others new, modern and clean - arranged haphazardly around the room along with a few amplifiers and several squat tables littered with bottles, plates, utensils, half-eaten take out and stacks of paper. The walls were almost entirely covered with framed and unframed posters (many of which were affixed at odd angles), bumper stickers, old photographs, clocks, car license plates and other gimmickry; notably, a taxidermy largemouth bass wearing a pair of sunglasses hung on the wall to his left. Rugs of varying size, shape, color, pattern, texture and condition lay strewn along the floor, some overlapping. A large glass window on the far wall divided the lounge/control board portion of the studio from the recording booth proper. A musty odor permeated the air.
Striking as the room was, Owen's attention immediately focused on its occupants - all four members of the heavy metal band Skoll.
"Hey," said Petyr Skalski - the lead guitarist, a stocky, brown-bearded man with intense forest-green eyes - from his seat on a torn blue sofa.
"You're Owen, right?" asked Lee Long - the drummer, a muscular blonde wearing a sleeveless black vest - sprawling on a leather couch.
"Uh, yeah, yeah," said Owen, overawed.
"Alright, man," said Lee. "Take a seat. Don't matter where."
Owen looked around and behind. He stepped back and sat on a padded folding chair.
"I'm Lee," said Lee. He nodded over at Petyr. "That's Petyr."
"Olaf, but I go by 'Gungnir,' " said Olaf 'Gungnir' Kalas - vocalist and rhythmic guitarist of Skoll, a tall, handsome, pale-skinned and somewhat androgynous individual with striking red hair.
"Rolnik Sowa," said Rolnik - backing vocalist, percussionist, keyboardist, back-up guitarist and composer, an intense-looking man with a sinewy build and long black hair.
"Yeah, uh, wow, great to meet all of you," said Owen more enthusiastically than he had intended. He already knew all of their names and more personal details about them than he'd readily admit.
There was a long pause. Owen nervously eyed the band members. They were all looking at him with a sort of bored, brooding curiosity.
"So, um," said Owen if only to break the awkward silence. "I, uh, thanks again for this opportunity. I mean, I don't mean to gush, but it's an honor just to be considered for this."
"Relax, man," said Gungnir, waving a hand dismissively. "No egos here."
"We've self-published half our albums," said Petyr with a shrug. "Not like we're Metallica or anything."
"Ugh, goddamn sellouts," said Rolnik.
"But we do want to make sure you're right for the band," continued Gungnir. He hesitated. "I'll be straight with you, dude; you weren't exactly on our short list and we already have some concerns."
Owen felt a lump growing in his throat but he nodded.
"Petyr's cousin's friend said you're a big fan and know your way around a bass," said Rolnik, leaning forward. "That's the only reason you're here today. We'll give you a shot, but no promises, skil?"
Owen nodded again. "Uh, yeah, yeah, got it," he said with a slight quiver in his voice.
"First, what other bands have you been in?" asked Rolnik. He paused. "Have you been in any other bands?"
"Er, sort of."
"Sort of?" said Rolnik, raising an eyebrow.
"I mean, garage bands - no-one famous," explained Owen. "I've played gigs but they've mostly been tips-only performances at bars, backyard parties, that kind of thing." He hesitated. "I think...yeah, I've been in four bands. Five if you count the group I joined when I was still in high school."
"Playing the bass isn't exactly your day job, right?" asked Petyr.
"Nope. I mean, yeah, I'm...not a professional musician yet," admitted Owen.
"What do you do for a living?" inquired Gungnir.
"Um....IT."
"IT?"
"Yeah, I fix computers and shi-...stuff for a real estate company downtown. Don't like it. Really boring."
"Got a college degree?"
"Two-year community college. Couldn't afford a four-year even though I got accepted at a few."
Gungnir and a few of the other band members exchanged odd looks that Owen could not read. Then, Gungnir addressed him once again.
"Alright," he said. "Let's hear you play."
"Uh, Sure!" said Owen, already unslinging his bass. "What do you want me t-?"
"Anything. Just show us what you got," said Gungnir, leaning back in his seat.
It took a little longer than usual for Owen to remove his bass from its leather case and plug the instrument into a nearby amp; his nerves were already frayed and the band's silent, expectant stares weren't helping. For a moment he considered withdrawing his application right there and then and walking out of the studio with an apology. But by the time this notion had entered his mind he was already gripping the neck of his Yamaha BB734A. He tuned his bass. The familiar press of the strings against his callused fingers eased his mind. Reflexes honed from years of practice took over. He started strumming away, first improvising a simple groove. Then he began riffing. Deep, reverberating notes filled the studio. The band watched - or rather, listened - in silence. Owen eventually transitioned to solos, weaving parts from Motorhead's Stay Clean, Mastodon's Blasteroid and Iron Maiden's Powerslave into a chaotic medley. Then, he stopped, ending on a loud, dirty chord.
Owen sat there, breathing heavily. His fingers had gone numb. He suddenly remembered why he had been playing and looked up at the band.
"So, uh...yeah," he said, diffidently.
Gungnir frowned. He turned to Rolnik, whose expression hadn't changed since Owen had started playing.
"Mmm, not bad," said Rolnik, though he sounded, if anything, displeased.
"I thought he sounded pretty good," remarked Lee.
"Uh, thanks! Thank you," said Owen.
"Do you know any of our songs?" asked Petyr.
"Yeah, yeah! I know, uh, Half-Moon Maiden, Burn the Trolls, uh...Warrior's Lament-"
"Play the solo from Warrior's Lament," said Rolnik. "The bit after the first chorus. You know the one, right?"
For a brief, panic-filled moment, Owen wasn't sure which part Rolnik was referring to.
"The one that goes 'dun-DAAA, dun-DAAA, da-da-da,' right," asked Owen hesitantly.
"Yeah yeah, that one," said Rolnik impatiently.
Owen nodded, lifted his bass and started playing. It wasn't a particularly difficult song but a few of the chords were unusual and demanded careful timing. Owen silently cursed as one of his fingers slipped mid-note but he pressed on.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," said Rolnik when Owen was around halfway through the solo.
"Sorry," said Owen weakly. "I haven't played that one in a while."
Rolnik turned to the other members of the band. Lee and Petyr nodded while Gungnir lifted his hand and wiggled it midair, lips pursed.
"Seriously, man?" said Lee, addressing Gungnir.
"Rolnik threw him a softball and he fumbled on that last chord," said Gungnir, shrugging.
"The guy's sweating bullets; it's performance anxiety," said Lee.
"Like it'll be less stressful when he's playing in front of a live crowd?" said Gungnir.
Owen shrank a little in his seat.
"Play it again," said Rolnik, raising his hands to his chin steepled.
Despite Owen's apprehension the song came out smoother the second time. He got the errant chord right. Gungnir nodded almost imperceptibly as he finished.
"Mmm, okay," said Rolnik. "I think we're good for now. Why don't you step out for a breather while we talk things over? The bathroom's the second door down if you need to take piss. You can leave your bass here. We'll call for you when we're ready."
"Uh, got it," said Owen. He rose, unplugged his bass and carefully rested it on the chair. He turned back to the band. "Thanks again for-"
"Yeah yeah, man," interrupted Rolnik, raising a hand. "Just...give us a few minutes."
Owen nodded and hurried out of the room. He took a few steps down the hall and then finally exhaled. Shivering with nervous energy, he darted towards the bathroom, turned the sink on and splashed water in his face. It proved shockingly cold. Owen tore a paper towel from a nearby dispenser and dried himself off. He stared at himself in the mirror.
"I sounded like such a goddamn scrub," he groaned.
He stood there for a time, hunched over the sink, the hiss of the sink hanging in the air. The rush and excitement of the audition had completely faded, leaving only a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
Then, his ears perked up. He could just make out someone talking over the sound of the running sink. Curious, he turned the water off and listened. The voice was coming from the hall. He nudged the bathroom door open and peeked out. He could now discern multiple voices but they were still too distant and/or muffled to be comprehendible. Then, Owen noticed that the door leading to the studio was slightly ajar. He realized he must not have fully shut the door when he left. And the band hadn't noticed.
Owen swallowed. He stepped out of the bathroom and crept a few feet towards the studio door, being careful to stay out of sight. He stood there and listened.
"...freak out. And that's the last thing we need."
"I gotta agree, man. Safer to go with that guy from D'Angelo's pack."
"'Cept he doesn't know squat about computers and couldn't get through any of our songs without screwing up."
"Yeah."
Owen couldn't quite catch what the next person said; it sounded like they were farther away from the door than the rest of the band. A tremor of guilt passed through Owen as he listened but he remained where he was.
"But then we'd be converting this guy just so he could join the band. And it's not like we could undo it if things didn't work out."
"What if we didn't convert him? Only had him play at human concerts."
"Not happening. Georff would find out and put an end to it. Maybe even make us break up the band. Besides, we still need a bassist for the packmeets."
There was a pause. Owen considered what he had heard so far, bemused and slightly concerned. Not much of it made any sense to him.
"So, no?"
"Yeah, no good."
"Hang on hang on hang on. Why don't we just askhim?"
"Huh?"
"We tell him what we are, explain that we have to convert him if he wants to join the band and then let him make the decision."
"We can't just ask him. We ask him, he knows. Then we HAVE to convert him."
"Nah, man. That's not the lore."
Again, a band member just beyond Owen's hearing said spoke.
"So, it's a gray area."
"Yeah."
"What happens if he says no?"
"Tch. Nothing, that's what. We'll tell him our pack will hunt him down and slaughter him if he goes public. And even if he does start blabbing it's not like anyone's going to believe him."
Owen's unease swiftly turned to panic. Many heavy metal bands claimed to be pagans, cultists and/or Satanists - and some of them actually were - but he'd never heard of anyone taking it this far!
"Think Georff'd be pissed if he found out?"
"Yeah, probably. But I don't see hi-"
Then, Owen's phone started ringing.
Owen cursed. He yanked the vibrating device out of his pocket - nearly dropping it - swiped the screen and silenced the call. He looked up just in time to see the studio door swing open.
Gungnir stood before him.
"Huh," said the red-headed giant, gazing down at Owen.
"Um, er, hey," said Owen, terrified.
There was a long silence.
"How long have you been listening?" asked Gungnir eventually.
"I...um..."
"You heard the bit about us slaughtering you, didn't you?" said Gungnir, folding his arms. He sounded strangely calm - amused, even.
"I..."
"Relax, dude," said Gungnir, raising his hands. "We aren't going to slaughter you. Rolnik didn't mean it," He looked over his shoulder. "Right, Rolnik?" he called back into the studio.
"I meant we would just scare him, obviously!"
"Right," said Gungnir, turning back to Owen. He gestured for him to come inside.
Owen hesitated. He looked back at the exit.
"Come on, man," said Gungnir. "Ain't nothing going to happen to you. We just want to talk." He chuckled. "I mean, if you want to puss out and run, go for it. We'd get to keep your sick Yamaha."
Owen winced. He'd completely forgotten about his bass. There was no way he was leaving it behind. So against his better judgment he followed Gungnir back into the studio. Worryingly, Gungnir turned and shut the door behind them - fully this time - and locked it. He then walked over at sat down at the same chair he'd been in during the audition. The rest of the band hadn't moved from their seats. Owen just stood there. The band regarded him with intense, owlish interest.
"We told you to wait until we called," said Rolnik after a while.
"Um...yeah, sorry," murmured Owen.
"Why were you spying on us, dude?" asked Lee.
"It just...happened. I heard you talking and, well..." Owen trailed off with a shrug.
Gungnir sighed.
"Alright," he said, leaning forward. "I get it. You just wanted to know how you did. Well, here's the good news. You're the best bassist who applied. You're a little rough, but I think you got potential. And more importantly you know computers. We need someone who can deal with technical shit - maintaining the website, social media, maybe even helping Rolnik with recording and editing. If you want the spot, it's yours."
Owen's jaw dropped.
"Wait, we're actually doing this?" asked Petyr.
"Don't have a choice now," said Rolnik.
"But there's some sorta bad news," continued Gungnir, still addressing Owen. "In order to be a full member of the band, well..." he hesitated "Ah screw it. Better to show than tell." He rose. "Everyone okay with me wolfing out?" he asked, looking around the room.
Lee, Petyr and Rolnik nodded.
"Right," said Gungnir. He nodded at Owen. "Okay, this is going to get a little freaky, but you aren't in any danger. Just watch."
With that, Gungnir took his jacket and T-shirt off. He tossed both articles on the chair behind him, bent down and then started untying his shoes. Owen watched in astonishment and growing discomfort as he stripped down to his underwear, revealing a tight muscular physique worthy of an Olympic swimmer. He turned, winked at Owen, and then shut his eyes. His hands curled into fists. Gungnir's pale white skin started acquiring an unhealthy looking blush. Then, Owen spotted rust-colored hair sprouting along his hands, arms, legs and chest.
"What the f-..." gasped Owen.
A series of bone-chilling snaps and cracks filled the studio as Gungnir body bulged at places as though some monstrous parasite was trying to burst out of his skin. Initially grotesque, these tumor-like growths gradually merged into smooth, solid masses of muscle and sinew. Before long Gungnir's already impressive build grew to hulk-like proportions - massive biceps, rock-solid abs, bulging pectorals - but it was rapidly obscured by a thick growth of reddish-brown fur that soon encompassed his entire body. His nose, jaw - indeed, his entire head - stretched outwards, forming a half-muzzle. Long, sharp fangs jutted from his gums. His ears grew, lengthened and migrated up his temples. Suddenly, he lurched forward as his heels traveled up his legs while the balls of his feet expanded, ultimately forcing him to adopt a digitigrade stance. Finally, a long, bushy tail emerged from the small of his back through a hole that had been punctured through his underwear (which, while strained and taut, survived Gungnir's amazing metamorphosis intact).
Owen's stared at the transformed musician, eyes wide, mouth agape. Gungnir now stood at least eight feet tall and had gained at least two hundred pounds of muscle, flesh and fur. More to the point, he had transformed into a burly russet-furred anthropomorphic wolf.
"I'm impressed," rumbled Gungnir in a much, much deeper voice. He took a step back and forth and stretched his arms. "Half-expected you to start running or screaming."
"Bu-Bu-Bu-Bu-Bu-..." stuttered Owen.
"Want to guess what he is?" asked Lee, grinning.
"Werewolf!" gasped. "He's a werewolf!"
"Yeah, he is," said Rolnik. "All four of us are."
"What?" yelped Owen.
"All four of us are lycanthropes - werewolves," said Rolnik.
Owen felt a little faint. He stumbled back and half-collapsed on a torn red sofa. He wasn't exactly scared just...overwhelmed.
"So...when you were talking about converting me," he said hoarsely, sorting through everything he had heard. Suddenly, he looked up at them. "You want to change ME into a werewolf?" he cried.
"It's, uh, a requirement for joining the band, yeah," said Gungnir, shrugging his massive shaggy shoulders. "We're a werewolf-only band. We play a lot of packmeet gigs. Uh, performances for other werewolves on full moon nights," he clarified. "Even if we didn't transform, every werewolf there would sense you aren't one of us and, well, not all of us are cool with humans knowing we exist."
"A lot of us are cool with it," said Lee. "But the pack elders, eh, not so much."
"And we gotta do what they say," said Petyr. "Mostly they keep out of our business unless we make trouble. It was hard enough getting the band started but we made it work."
"But...isn't being a werewolf like, a curse or something? Like, you go savage every full moon?"
"That's just a bunch of superstitious bullshit, man," said Rolnik crossly. He pointed at Gungnir. "Does helook like he's about to tear you limb from limb?"
"Uhh..."
"Obviously not," said Rolnik. "We can change whenever we want. Harder to stay human on a full moon, yeah, but it's doable."
"There's a lot more to it than that," said Gungnir. "But we need an answer from you before we go into any more details. We're not going to force this on you, Owen. You say no, that's cool. Just don't go calling up Decibel with an exclusive on Skoll being werewolves. You say yes, we'll introduce you to the pack, schedule your conversion ceremony and next thing you know you'll be playing your first gig with us. Whaddaya say?"
Owen stared at Gungnir. Then Petyr, Lee and Rolnik. He considered the astonishing proposal for well over a minute. Then, he spoke.
"Are there...werewolf groupies?"
Gungnir grinned toothily.
Comments
Travis Sebastian
I'm now picturing this werewolf band harmonizing with howling undertones.
Also, with the wording you chose, it makes me think you have it set uncanonically in The Lycanthrope Club universe. Just something interesting I pointed out.
Do you think you’ll make a Part 2?
