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Story Notes:
Disclaimer: Characters from the movie are owned by First Look Home Entertainment and others.
Story and Picture: Sing Down the Moon
The moon rises full and golden.

Nicki sits at a window, open to let in the scent of the city, watching as the moonlight bathes her world. From far away she can hear things, all the rhythms of the city, people sleeping and fucking and fighting, cars and busses and trains, pampered pets and mutts digging through the garbage, and everywhere the sound of madness.

Her belly rises in front of her, full and heavy, and she supports it with one arm whenever she shifts her weight.

The moon's light slants through the window and she tilts back her head and basks in it. Her skin is too hot, she's cooking from the inside out, and in the light she can pretend she is cool and content.

This is not a werewolf story.

Her skin doesn't sprout hair when the full moon rises. Her body doesn't twist into an animal, four legs and a tail and teeth like knives. She is not a half-woman, half-wolf creature racing through the night, hunting human flesh.

This is not a werewolf story; the horror stories are not real.

Nicki tucks a piece of beef - nearly raw, heated just enough to take the edge off the refrigerator chill, just enough that, if she closes her eyes and holds her breath, she can pretend it had been alive seconds ago, and now the cow is stretched in front of her, neatly slaughtered, dinner waiting - into her mouth. She chews languidly, lazily, her jaw working it over and over between her teeth.

The baby - babies, maybe, she doesn't know - kicks again, three times in succession, and then is quiet.

There are monsters here, growing inside her body, changing her from the inside out.

John sleeps in the bed, naked, one arm flung over his eyes. His legs twitch a little with his dreams, and he growls, low in his throat, a sound which is less human than many he makes.

They are all changed, all mutated from within.

Sometimes, when she's alone with her thoughts, she thinks hers is the worst, the most unfortunate. After all, she was bitten after they thought they were free, after they had lost so many on the island, after they knew something was very wrong with Johnny and with Matt. They were out in a boat on the water, exhausted and wounded and a little broken, but safe.

And then the dog, the final hunter, burst out at them and, before John broke its neck, it sank its teeth into her wrist, twisted and tore her skin and cracked her bones.

Now, things grow inside of her, and all the things she once believed, all the things she once wanted from the world, all have changed, slipped from her thoughts.

This is not a werewolf story. They have not been cursed by gypsies, they did not pick the wrong flower under the wrong cycle of the moon, they were only bitten by things which were once simple dogs and are now so much more.

This is the aftermath of government experimentation.

This is the beginning of the end of the human world.

Nicki cradles her stomach, her baby - babies - growing inside. Matt is bringing them dinner, and maybe flowers to place on her table. She will curl up between him and John on the bed and she will sleep. When the moon moves through its changes and there is no more light, she will speak to it then.

This is not a werewolf story, and Nicki refuses to howl at the full moon.

When it is new, however, she sings the songs of the changes, of the future and the past.

When it is new, however, she will tilt back her head and howl.

But this is not a werewolf story.

She will have her happy ending.


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