Will the real wolf spirit please step forward?

Bad news folks. The wolf creature is real. Here she is, howling at the moon with a night spirit on Halloween.

The wolf creature actually exists, or did on Halloween night, at least. She was my costume for The Portsmouth Halloween Parade. Instead of sketching a picture, I thought I'd post a shot of The Real Deal. I think the hairy legs in Bryan's drawing are much more menacing and I may work on that for next year, but as you can see, he did a great job depicting the beast.

Wolf Spirit Revealed

Clearly this is not nearly as impressive as the actual monster, but I tried to capture the fun attitude that the spirit had (as shown by the little smirk).  Well done!  I particularly enjoyed the dialogue between the two!

ECOMP 5004: Something wicked this way comes...just the beginning

From his tiny bed by the window, Lycaon heard the scratching at the closet door and knew it was time to face the inevitable. For a week, the creature had loped into his dreams, night after night, latched onto them with her fangs, and carried them into the realm of Nightmare. In his heart, he’d known she’d continue on until she reached his waking hours.

“Crrrrrrr,” went the door.

“Crrrrrrrrrr.”

And here she was.

In the moonlight he could see the beams on the closet bulge with each lunge, like the lungs of a wounded animal gasping for its last breathes.

Lycaon’s feet hit the warm, plush rug. Odd, he thought, that this cozy room, with his stuffed animals, "Toy Story" curtains and comforter-laden bed, might - no - did harbor a creature such as this.

In his mind’s eye he pictured her, half woman/half wolf, in her fur-trimmed coat - the delicate, feline skull, whiskers curled back around to her chin, a thick, white stole draping her human shoulders. It all belied the strength of her haunches, trimmed with razor-sharp claws, and the deathblow her fangs could render.

“Crrrrrrrr.” Another long scratch.

He heard the wood splinter.

Resigned to his fate, Lycaon padded across the room and reached for the door. Turning the knob, he could just make out a low rumbling. He wasn’t sure if it was a growl or a purr. The door was only just ajar when the light from her slanted yellow eyes cut the darkness. He could see her short pointy ears, standing erect, the white coat, open at the skirt, revealing the pale, white faces of dead – those she had last feasted upon – lining the hem just above her knee in a straight, expressionless line. Towering above him (as tall as his father, he thought) she gazed down. Her thin lips curled into a smile.

“You could have knocked,” Lycaon said dryly.

“Not part of my instincts,” she said, strutting from the closet and taking a seat on the edge of his bed. She crossed her furry, muscular legs, stretching her claws.

“Can I offer you a snack?” Lycaon lifted a tiny plate bearing a couple of leftover crackers drenched with peanut butter and held it out.

“No, thanks,” she purred. “I just ate,” and she gestured to one of the white faces in the row at her knee. As she did so, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror on the wall and gasped.

“What?” Lycaon asked.

She leapt up and strode directly to the glass.

“There’s two things wrong with this picture,” she sighed, more to herself then to the boy.

“One: I am not supposed to cast a reflection. Which is why I’m here seeking your help.” She turned now and looked him in the eye. She crinkled her pink nose, as if befuddled. She sniffed the air. Lycaon felt a bit awkward, so he asked a question with hopes it would divert her gaze.

“And the second?” he queried.

“Oh.” She turned back to the mirror and smoothed back the fur tufts protruding stiffly from her cheeks like a bed of nails. “I just licked my fur and I can’t do a thing with it.”