Harold’s neighbor was fucking again. The pounding of the walls. The yeah-yeah-yeah and the too loud grunts. It sounded like some porno.
Harold’s neighbor was some posh sort with a fake tan. He always ran into her in the hallway.
“Oh, hello.”
She never returned his hellos. It was always some glare with a nasty snarl.
————————————————————-
“I’m pretty sure she’s a werewolf,” Harold said, to his best mate, Charlie. “She never smiles. She’s tan. And uh…”
“Yeah, that’s it. Stereotypical werewolf right there!”
Harold kicked the ground causing a small dust storm to swirl around him. He coughed and coughed until Charlie walked away, unamused.
“I’m not faking it!”
“Whatever.”
Harold didn’t like Charlie much, but he didn’t have anyone else, unless you counted his grimacing neighbor.
————————————————————-
The grunting stopped and Harold stepped into the hallway. He examined the flowery wallpaper and waited for something to happen. The neighbor’s doorknob shook and out walked a dog.
It was standing on hind legs and everything, dressed to the nines in a rather stunning red sheath.
He blinked and the dog was gone. Just the neighbor with the red lips with the matching red sheath. The dog was the neighbor. The neighbor a dog. She blinked twice in his direction and he nodded.
He couldn’t tell a soul.
Not Charlie.
Not anyone.
She walked over to him, smelled his neck and licked his ear. Then suddenly he was on her arm. Where we they going? He doubted very much he would be alive in the morning.
“It’s worth it,” he thought.
