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The gravel path crunches under Monty’s feet as he swings his picnic basket in his hand. The sky is overcast and gray, rumbling with the promise of rain. Monty doesn't mind, he’s faced a lot worse than rain during his time.
He pushes the small metal gate open, making sure it closes behind him before he ventures deeper into the graveyard. His family’s headstone is small, despite how many people are buried under it. His grandma couldn’t afford much more than one headstone with just, The Finch Family, engraved on the surface with the date of their death scrawled underneath, barely legible.
Monty sits down in front of it, the dry grass tickling his legs as he unpacks the picnic basket. A ham and cheese sandwich for himself, jam on toast for his dad and one of his grandma’s blueberry muffins for his mom. He sets the offering at the base of the headstone.
“There you go.” He says, almost expecting a thank you in return. “Sorry Mom but Grandma didn’t let me take the butter so you have to eat it dry. I know it’s not as good that way, but it is what it is.” His only response is the birds calling to each other from the leafy tree tops that line the graveyard. He chooses to believe his parents’ are in those birds somewhere. Somehow. If he can turn into a blood thirsty werewolf, his parents can come back as birds. They have to.
He eats his ham and cheese in silence, listening to the birds singing their songs, closing his eyes and pretending he’s five years old again, being tucked into bed while his dad sang him to sleep, his baby hand wrapped tightly around one of his mom’s fingers as he drifted off.
The rain starts to fall. Gently at first, soaking the stone as if to wash off all the blood they shed at Monty’s hand. Six years have passed and he still sees their bloodied corpses everyday, mostly when he least expects it. He’ll be on the phone with his boyfriend, Kevin, and he’ll roll over on his bed as they talk and suddenly his dad is slumped over his dresser, his face ripped clean off, blood pooling everywhere, staining the carpet and his dirty clothes strewn around the room. It gets better when he’s away at school. A place his parents never knew of, let alone set foot in. Their blood hasn’t seeped into the floors of St. Churnley’s, and Monty’s made it a habit to sleep in Kevin’s bed with him so when he does have the occasional nightmare it’s not a big deal because his boyfriend is breathing next to him.
As Monty packs up his picnic basket, leaving the muffin and toast for his parents, the rain picks up, soaking through his clothes in almost an instant. Surely all the blood is washed off now. Surely.
“I’m back, Grandma.” Monty announces his presence, kicking off his shoes by the front door. He sets the empty picnic basket on the bench by the door and enters the small, overly cluttered living room.
His grandma sits on the squishy couch, her eyes trained on the TV screen as some reality game show plays. She doesn’t look up when Monty comes in. He’s not sure she even heard him.
“Grandma.” He tries again, raising his voice over the TV. She turns her head, her blue eyes massive behind cat eye glasses.
“Ah, Montague, you're soaked.” She croaks, her voice rusty with old age. “Go change before you get pneumonia.”
“Okay.” He nods, pairing it with an exaggerated thumbs up to make triple sure she understands.
He mopes up to his room, his steps weighed down by his wet clothes. His jean shorts rub against his skin in a way that makes him want to scream. Wet denim is one of the worst things in the world and whoever invented it needs to be punished.
His room is small and messy, his bed unmade, clothes strewn everywhere. His school bag sits open in the center of everything, waiting patiently to be packed. School starts in three days and Monty hasn’t even thought about it yet. He plans on doing all his summer work on the drive there. How hard could it be? He’d been preoccupied all summer, visiting his parents almost every afternoon and mowing his neighbor/taxi driver’s lawn several times for a bit of pocket money he keeps in a jar on his desk.
He goes to his dresser, digging in the pile of clothes next to it for some dry jeans and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt he stole from Kevin at the end of the school year. He swiftly changes out of his wet clothes, scared that if he looks down at his naked body all he’ll see is the blood that stains his skin.
He reenters the living room to see it abandoned.
“Grandma?” He calls out, his voice higher than he intended. “Grandma?!” Only now is he aware of just how dark the room is. No lights are on and the landscape outside the windows is dark with sheets of pelting rain. He takes his eyes away from the window only to let out a shriek and stumble backwards. On the couch, covered in blood, her arms severed, her eyes popped out of her skull, is his grandma.
Monty’s breathing hitches, his eyes refuse to focus. This can’t be happening. He can’t have killed her too. She’s all he has left. He killed her. He killed everyone. He’ll surely kill his friends next. Olexander, Kevin, Sargent Lewis. They’re all in danger with him around.
“Montague?” A lamp flickers on. Monty looks up, cold sweat soaking through his fresh clothes.
His grandma stands by the lamp, her eyes still in their sockets, her arms still attached. There’s no blood. She’s still here.
“I-” He pants, doing his best to wrangle his lungs back into working. “Hi.”
“I’ve been calling you.” She adjusts her glasses. “You look unwell.”
“I’m fine.” Monty swallows hard. “Just…cold.” And sweaty and in pain and maybe going crazy.
“If you want to wait to get your school supplies until you feel better-”
“No.” Monty cuts her off with a firm shake of the head. “If we don’t go today we won’t have time.”
“If you’re ill-”
“I promise I’m fine.” He forces a smile. “See?” It hurts to lie and he knows he shouldn’t, but the alternative is talking about it, and that’s the most terrifying thing in the world. Is this how Kevin felt all of last year? “Let’s go.” He heads for the door, doing his best to hide how badly his legs are shaking.
“Was it your dad again?” She asks, blocking his path, forcing him to look at her. “Hunched over the dresser?”
“No.” The air thickens around him as he struggles to breathe. But it’s not a lie. It wasn’t his dad again and it wasn’t in his room. He’s not lying. “I’m just cold, there’s nothing else to it I promise.” An invisible knife stabs him in the stomach as he lies. “Let’s go before the shops close.” He pushes past his grandma and shoves on his shoes, not bothering to tie the laces properly.
There’s a surprising amount of people in town despite the rain. Most people in England are used to it, but it always came as a shock to Monty at just how comfortable people are with getting wet. What blood stains are they hiding under their raincoats?
A small bell rings as they step into the stationary store owned by a friend of Monty’s grandma. An old man she went to high school with. The shop is small, with dark wooden shelves packed to burst with notebooks and packs of pens. Unlike in books, St. Churnley’s doesn’t send you to a magical hidden street to buy your school supplies, you have to get them in a normal town and the school supplies you with enchanted weapons that they, reasonably, don’t let you take home for the summer. Monty can’t wait to get his hands on his throwing axes again.
His grandma wanders off to catch up with her friend, leaving Monty to get whatever notebooks he’d like. He goes straight to the clearance section, two of the most unorganized shelves maybe in the whole world.
He starts digging through it in search of plain notebooks with just enough lined paper to get him through the year. He was never much of a notetaker, but Edgar refuses to let him slack off in class, or when it comes to homework. That’s the real curse, being roommates with Edgar during finals week. It’s a miracle if he’s allowed to go to bed before three am.
He grabs a pack of blue ink pens from the bottom of the mess and a pack of sticky notes to help him keep track of his life. He always loses planners, but if his wall is covered in sticky notes reminding him it’s date night then there’s nothing to lose and Kevin won’t be upset with him. Win-win.
He finds three notebooks in a discount pack for only three pounds. He only has so many classes that need notebooks, so this is more than enough. The students at St. Churnley’s are able to drop classes after their fifth year, so Monty dropped most of the normal school classes to focus more on combat and control. It’s not like any normal jobs are going to hire a bloodthirty werewolf anyway. Maybe he’ll become an improv actor or something. That’s a job anyone could do, even a cursed monster like him.
He’s startled as a firm hand claps him on the shoulder. He turns to see a boy from his block who he went to primary school with before being shipped off to St. Churnley’s.
“Monty!” The boy grins. Monty can’t remember his name off the top of his head. “Home for the summer I see.”
“Yup.” He smacks his lips, scanning around for his grandma to get him out of this conversation.
“How’s the freak school?” The boy asks, his face glowing with mischievous glee.
“Good.” Monty goes back to searching the pile to give his hands something to do besides sweat.
“You should bring your freak friends over sometime.” The boy continues, leaning against the shelves to block Monty from ignoring him. “I’d love to meet them.”
“They don’t live near here.” Monty says flatly, making intensely awkward eye contact. The boy holds his own, still smiling like an idiot.
“Or are they imaginary?” The boy scoffs.
“What?” Monty blinks.
“Is there anyone in the world who actually wants to be friends with you? You’re a murderer. Everyone in town knows it. Your grandma knows it. That’s why they shipped you off. You’re a fucking serial killer.”
Monty stares blankly, fighting back tears. He grinds his teeth, knowing that if he so much as opens his mouth he’ll start screaming and won’t ever stop.
“Y’know, my dad’s a cop.” The boy keeps talking, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “You kill anyone else in town and he’ll lock you up for life.” He licks his lips, his eyes bright with mischief. “He went to high school with your mom.” He tuts, twisting his face into something resembling sadness. Monty can tell it’s not genuine. This boy has never felt a genuine feeling in his spoon fed life. “He was real sad to hear about what you did to her. I’d never seen him emotional before that.”
Monty doesn’t move, waiting for the verbal punch to the gut he can smell coming from a mile away.
“You didn’t only kill your mom that night. You killed my dad’s best friend.” He puts his face centimeters from Monty’s. So close he can smell cigarette smoke on his breath. “And you didn’t even bother to pay your respects at the funeral. My dad said you weren’t there. Said you’re a disgrace to your mother’s memory and the fact that you’re not in prison is the real crime.”
“Monty.” His grandma magically appears beside them. Monty inhales sharply, not having realized he was holding his breath. “Did you pick out what you want?”
“Hmh.” Monty nods at her, a thick lump in his throat keeping him from forming words properly.
“Let’s go pay then.” She turns her attention to the boy, her face painted with a fake smile. “Tell your father I said hi will you, Charlie?
Charlie.
Monty burns the name into his mind.
Monty slams the passenger door of his grandma’s tiny buggie, buckling his seatbelt without a word, tossing his notebooks and pens to the floor, his hands trembling.
They ride in silence for most of the drive. It isn’t until they hit a red light three blocks away from Manchester Forest Heights does his grandma finally turn to him.
“I think they forgot to put manners in that boy.” She says, her voice firm. “Whatever it is he said to you, it’s not true. You know that, don’t you?”
“Hmh.” Monty nods, gripping his knees with all his strength, both wolf and boy.
The light turns green and his grandma presses the gas.
“Montague.” She sighs, her wrinkled hands just as tight as Monty’s around the steering wheel. “People will always view you as beneath them. You just need to learn that they don’t know what they’re talking about. You’re special and amazing and so sweet and-”
“Charlie was right.” Monty cuts her off, his voice cracked. “He was right about everything.”
“He wasn’t-”
“You don’t even know what he said!” Monty yells, suddenly fuming. “Don’t tell me he was wrong because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
His grandma parks the car in her usual spot outside their apartment. Monty unlocks his own door and flies out of it, racing up to his room before his tears break free from their cage.
He melts to the floor of his room, his back pressed against the door, head in his hands. Charlie’s smug smile plastered on the inside of his eyelids.
“Murderer.” He mutters to himself, the words echoing around his mind. “Murderer.” He spits the words at himself. “Didn’t even get out of bed for the funeral.” He rocks back and forth, barely conscious enough to notice. “Can’t even properly apologize. Stupid. Murderer.” His breathing hitches, but he’s too deep in his feelings to notice. He’s drowning, falling deeper into a darkness where the only sound is Charlie’s voice repeating the same verbal daggers over and over again on an endless loop. “Murderer. Murderer.” He mumbles, digging himself deeper into the dark void. “Murderer!” He shrieks, not feeling the words leave his body.
No one in the outside world moves. His grandma’s not coming to save him from himself. Olexander can’t hear him from the end of the block. Sarge isn’t here to teach him how to control it. He’s alone. Completely and utterly alone.
His phone buzzes in his pocket with an incoming call. The faint vibration opens a window to the light for him to crawl through. The rest of the shadows fall away when he sees it’s a facetime call from the one and only Kevin Creeley. His boyfriend. He wipes his eyes and answers the phone, plastering on a smile that falters only slightly when he sees just how red and puffy his eyes are.
“Hey!” Kevin grins, the camera centimeters from his face, ever freckle on his nose in great detail. “I managed to escape to the library for a bit, figured it’d be a good time to catch up.” He whispers.
“Hi.” Monty flinches as his voice cracks.
Kevin’s goofy grin fades instantly, turning serious and concerned.
“You okay? No, sorry, that was a stupid question. What’s wrong?” His eyebrows crinkle in a way that makes Monty’s knees go weak. If he weren’t already on the floor he’d be a mess.
“Long day.” He sniffs. It’s not a lie, it’s just not the full truth.
“Monty.” Kevin raises his eyebrows. “I’ve seen you after a long day. This is not one of those times so don’t you try and convince me otherwise.”
“Okay.” Monty sighs, puffing out his cheeks. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Just explain. I love you.” Kevin’s expression softens.
“I-” Monty looks around, as if the words are hiding under his piles of clothes. “Is it okay if I don’t want to talk about it?”
“Of course.” Kevin nods. “I’m here if you ever do.”
“I know, Kev. I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Didn’t we argue about this two days ago?” Monty smiles, rolling his eyes.
“Yes. And I won the argument, therefore I win. Period.” Kevin whispers, getting even closer to the camera. Monty’s heart melts. His lips look so delicate, his skin so soft. Monty would do anything to kiss him right now and he knows Kevin’s thinking the same.
“Three days.” Monty mutters, mostly as a reminder to himself.
“Huh?” Kevin cocks his head to the side. “Three days? Is that a wolf day? It’s too early, you’re last one was-”
“No, Kev.” Monty laughs. “Three days until school starts.”
“Oh.” Kevin laughs too. “Silly me.”
They’re both silent for a moment, looking at each other. It’s been the longest summer of Monty’s life, and he knows Kevin feels the same about his break. Being alone with Mr. and Mrs. Creeley for two whole months takes serious guts, Monty doesn’t know how Kevin does it. Especially since Kevin came out last fall via letter and his parents barely reacted at all. Apparently, from what Monty’s been told over the phone, they haven’t mentioned it. As far as either of them are convinced, Kevin’s not gay and isn’t going out with Monty. And he definitely doesn’t have an eating disorder. That would be ridiculous. Even if a certain multi-eyed teacher wrote to them himself so Kevin wouldn’t have to face the backlash directly.
“I can’t wait to see you.” Kevin says softly, just for Monty’s ears. Just for them. “I’ve missed you so much it’s not even funny.”
“Me too.” Monty bites his lip, suddenly feeling extremely drained. “I think I need a nap.” He stifles a yawn, making Kevin snort a quiet laugh.
“You’re like a puppy.” He muses fondly. “Go get some sleep. I love you.”
“I love you-” Monty’s cut off by a second yawn. “Love you too, Kev.”
The call ends and Monty slips his phone back into his pocket, pulling himself off the floor, his limbs aching, faint stars dotting his vision. He chucks it up to Charlie and crawls into his bed, not bothering to put on pajamas first.
Somewhere in the darkness something snarls at him.
“Montague.”