The Beast Inside

As I write this, I’m currently sitting on top of my kitchen table. My pants are missing a half a leg of material and what I thought was my beloved golden retriever has grown a pair of horns, turned purple and is currently chewing on the end of the couch.

It can only mean one thing in Blueville. The full moon as arrived.

I can’t ask Ben for help because he’s currently locked in his basement dungeon. Mark is locked in my basement and I’m sitting on this damn kitchen table, cold and hungry, because I’m brand new to Blueville. Apparently, everyone here comes out as having a “true self” around their first Halloween. If it doesn’t happen then, it will happen by New Years Eve.

Yeah, I know. It was news to me too. So was the fact that apparently my dog was going to change. Ben didn’t bother to mention that little tidbit when he brought him to my house after I’d been in the car accident.

That reminds me; I’m getting my cast off on Monday.

I’m so happy about my cast coming off, but not about the fact that Winston is currently trying to eat the ottoman. I don’t care if it’s shaped like an elephant. I like that damn ottoman.

Calling for help from Miles is no good either. He just arrived and is sitting on the sill outside the dining room window, yelling at me to open up. I’m not sure I want to open the window and let him inside. Letting Miles the Cat will drive my dog insane, I’ll end up with broken furniture, smashed potted plants and poor Mark down in the basement will start howling. I do not need that kind of headache.

Shit.

Winston spotted Miles and went out the window.

-Marlowe

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