20080226

Werehome

by Sarah Holland

The full moon hits me, and my skin breaks out in shingles. My ribs widen, spread, grow into stout oak rafters and joists. My face distorts, becomes a pair of flinty windows bracketing a red front door, while my teeth push forward and sprout from the lawn as a white picket fence. I don’t want to bite, rip, or gorge. All I want to do is provide shelter and comfort. But all night long, people stroll past saying “I never noticed that there before,” and “Strange how nobody’s ever home.”

6S

Sarah Holland lives in Maine. People who read her fiction often go on to lead very normal lives.

9 comments:

Tim said...

I suspect many a McMansion has lycanthropic tendencies. Excellent piece.

Leatherdykeuk said...

And if such folk were to step beyond the threshold...

Great piece.

Marie Mosley said...

Sharp piece. I read this three times and liked it more each time.

reynolds said...

What Marie said. Great writing.

Anonymous said...

Love this.

jem said...

I like this kind of writing. That sort of dark fairytale tone. Very good!

ThomG said...

This was brilliant.

Martha said...

Wonderful stuff - I really loved this piece. Way to go, Sarah!

spacedlaw said...

Brilliant idea!