Eulogy for a Werewolf

​

LindaAnn LoSchiavo
 

      Wilson’s kid sister asked me to give his eulogy and I agreed to speak about my long friendship with a fellow I met before he was cursed by the village sorcerer.  Honestly, I thought he’d outlive me.  But when that 16-foot reticulated python got loose, it could have been any one of us townsfolk, reduced to a grotesque altar of digested flesh.  Except there was a full moon when the snake slithered deep into the woods and Wilson happened to be nearby, shaking off civil twilight to focus on his messy art. No, there won’t be any werewolf-shaming, dropping like a claw hammer from above to spread dirt around.         Instead I’ll reveal some private achievements my late friend was modest about.  Though the full moon curse conflicted with many of his career aspirations, Wilson was determined to support his parents and his polio-afflicted sisters.  His way to wealth, always kept secret, was by inventing and distributing Entrail Helper, a product used by more Asian restaurants than M.S.G. – – and many of those "Top Chefs" you’ve seen on TV.  Martha Stewart shook his hand once but her stingy producers refuse to show his trademark during the credit roll.  The late Anthony Bourdain was even in talks with Wilson about a sponsorship deal in 2018 and planning for a werewolf tattoo on his forearm’s "knife" muscle. Cancel culture came for werewolves decades ago. Anne Rice made vampires sexy but refused to co-author a series with him – – even for a free lifetime supply of his other profitable creation, a pricy supplement widely sold in health stores, whose brand name I won’t mention except to say Wilson nicknamed it H.O.W.L., an inside joke we chuckled over.  Despite the fact that a powerful hex made his role in life predetermined, Wilson kept his sense of humor about coping with 42 sharp teeth, the clumsiness of claws, and "mosquitoes mistaking him for bruised fruit," as he liked to say, making that odd whistling sound with his impressive back molars, his eyes furtive as candles holding back the dark.  Nothing wet-wiped the hope away.  Trying to be a force for good, he donated anonymously to those hexed by misfortune: amputees, the Special Olympics, and so on.  He hosted a private Facebook group for shape-shifters for some years. When four were-beasts posted about always wanting to swim but excessive body hair got them bullied, he held a swimming class in his parents’ carpeted basement for otherkins.      For an entire month during one summer, he and his spirit kin were face down, blowing bubbles into shallow bowls of salted water and pantomiming the breast stroke.  I attended once, to time how long they could breathe in the water, and poked fun at Wilson later on over a roadkill pizza and some whisky neat.  But he understood criticism is fellowship – – even if dished up by those who don’t need curses lifted.  Criticism means your buddies haven’t given up on you and still comment on what you need to know.  May you rest serenely, Wilson, in copper-crusted quarters, remembering all the times the sun fell asleep and electric nights rotated, when moon deities invited you to partake, happiness heavy on your tongue, lips expressing a rosy satisfaction.

​

          Native New Yorker and award-winner, LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a member of British Fantasy Society, HWA, SFPA, and The Dramatists Guild.

          Books in 2024:  “Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems” [Wild Ink], “Apprenticed to the Night” [UniVerse Press], and “Felones de Se: Poems about Suicide” [Ukiyoto].
          Accolades: Elgin Award for “A Route Obscure and Lonely” and Chrysalis BREW Project’s Award for Excellence for “Always Haunted: Hallowe’en Poems.”
Twitter: @Mae_Westside
YouTube:   LindaAnn Literary: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHm1NZIlTZybLTFA44wwdfg