A Marvelous Night for a Moondance

This was just the sort of thing that was always happening to him. You overlook one minor detail and look what happens! How many times had he made plans with someone only to have to back out at the last minute because of "bad timing"? He couldn't believe his luck.

He tried not to let his miscalculation ruin the excitement he was feeling. As he stood before his dresser, looking into the mirror to straighten his tie, he remembered their encounter.

He remembered the smell of her hair as they bumped heads at the newsstand. He had accidentally dropped his umbrella and bent down to pick it up. The woman behind him had seen his fumble and was bending down to fetch the umbrella as well. Smack! He had apologized, they laughed, he walked with her to Starbucks, they got some coffee, chatted, bam, bam, bam, and then they had set the date for another encounter. A more formal encounter. Dinner and a movie.

It had all been so effortless, that he didn't even think about the details. He enjoyed her company and she his, and when the time came to go their separate ways they instinctively set another date to prolong their flirtation. He was caught off guard. He didn't know that Saturday, today, would be a bad day for their next meeting.

But standing in front of the mirror like this brought it all back to him. Yes. Saturday, the 26th was a bad day. He'd even marked it on his calendar. He marked all the bad days on his calendar.

"Maybe she won't notice," he said out loud. Not notice? How could anyone not notice?! It was crystal clear. He was hideous. She was going to notice alright. She might not notice that it was him, but she was certainly going to notice this little affliction of his.

As he walked to her house for their first date he realized he'd forgotten to pick up some flowers. He noticed a beautiful bed of tulips along the driveway of a neighbor. He quickly ripped a handful from the ground and hurried on his way. What a way to start a date. First with his little monthly problem, then forgetting the flowers...what was next?

He wondered if he should've called to cancel the date. He had missed out on so many opportunities for a meaningful relationship because of his little problem, he could've just added this one to the list. But he felt there was something special about this girl. He could sense it. He wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers like the others.

He rang the doorbell to her house and gently brushed back any stray hairs. He smelled the fresh tulips in his hand. Inside he could hear someone bounding down the stairs.

The door swung open and there she was. She looked surprised. Her eyes were wide. Immediately he launched into an explanation.

"Hello Gail. It's me Tom. I'm sorry about this, um, the way I look, I didn't, you see, when we made the plans, I uh, didn't realize, ha, see I have a little problem, it's medically documented..."

"Tom," she interrupted. "You look fine. I just didn't recognize you at first."

"Really? You're not freaked out?"

"No. I knew there was something different about you. That's what interested me in the first place."

"Oh, wow, that's...I'm just shocked. Most people have a problem with this sort of thing."

"Tom, I'm a nurse. I'm used to people with maladies."

"But lycanthropy dysmorphism?"

She smiled and took the flowers.

"These are beautiful, Tom," she said. "Let me put these in water and I'll grab my coat."

Tom stood on the porch, reflecting on his good luck. Of all the people to meet by accident at a newsstand! Finally he'd found someone who understood and was accepting of his medical condition. He breathed in the night air and looked up at the full moon. This was the start of something big. His stomach growled.

"Are you hungry?" asked Gail as she closed the door behind her.

"Boy am I!" Tom said.

"I know a great Italian restaurant up the street. We'll walk. It's such a nice night."

Tom put his arm around her shoulder and breathed in her lovely fragrance. He leaned closer and she giggled. He howled into the night and swiftly grabbed her throat in his jaws, ripping through the muscles and tendons, and chomping through her spinal cord. Mists of blood decorated the door of her house. He tore a piece of flesh from her abdomen, stood up, and looked at the moon.

Damnit, he thought. This was always happening to him.