This is a Friday Fictioneers submission for 19th September 2014. Thanks to Dawn Q.Landau for the picture.
(Nb, I was snowed under last week so unable to respond to many comments. I will try harder this time, I promise).
Anton’s father had claimed he came from a long line of werewolves. It was the sort of smooth-talking that got the girls interested in seventeenth century mitteleurope. He didn’t stick around long enough to prove it after seducing Anton’s mother in Herr Morgenthau’s wheat field but there was something about his hairy palms that had convinced her.
When he was thirteen, Anton would greet each full moon with excitement. Perhaps this was the night he would make the change. He never did. Perhaps his tutors were right and the whole werewolf thing was a slightly hamfisted metaphor for puberty.
Then one morning, he woke up in Herr Morgenthau’s meadow that he realised something was up. The meadow had been grazed to the quick and he had no memory how he’d got there. That night, his mother was forced to confess that she’d also had a fling with a centaur nine months before he was born.
Finally, can I just leave a plug for my book? I suspect by this stage, every reader who was going to buy it will already have done so, but you can’t blame a chap for trying, eh?