Wolfboy

It's not even noon and the kids are yet again causing a ruckus in the backyard. Mrs. Partridge blows a strand of steely grey hair out of her eyes and slams her fist into the bread dough, kneading it vigorously. She says nothing, but you can tell she's seconds away from grabbing her birch switch and going to town on them.

"I'll see what they're up to," you say hastily.

It's summer, and you can't blame the kids for being extra feisty when they're cooped up like this. The heat makes even you want to scream sometimes. Partridge Orphanage was started as a passion project by Mrs. Partridge and her husband, but when he died in a horse accident, funding all but ground to a halt and the orphanage was very nearly shut down. However, in a city as large as this one, the rejects need a place to go.

So, Partridge Orphanage stayed open and only a year later, was swiftly filled to the rafters with squirrelly children. Children who are making so much noise right now that the neighboring buildings might complain about the noise.

You wash your hands off and go to the front yard.

"Children, what is all the noise for?" You demand from the top of the porch stairs

Never mind that at fourteen you're almost still a child yourself, but as the oldest, you're expected to look after the others and help Mrs. Partridge run the place, considering she works alone along with a part-time cleaner. You didn't mind that much seeing as it curries you favor with Mrs. Partridge.

"There's a werewolf!" A girl not more than six years old, exclaims.

"Such tall stories," you mutter and descend the stairs to see what they're crowded around. "How can there be a werewolf-"

Your words die in your throat when you see a furry thing yipping and spinning in anxious circles, bloody foam flecked at the corner of his mouth.

"A-all right, children! Give him some room," you stammer, afraid of fingers being nipped.

The last thing you want is for a child to have a raging werewolf saliva-induced fever. Miraculously, the children obey, backing away and creating a large circle around the werewolf, who shivers and crouches on his haunches with wide eerie blue eyes, like a human peering out from the disguise of a beast.

"He's got a tail!" One of the children says, while another adds, "His legs bend funny too!"

"Settle down, children. And lower your voices, you're scaring him," you say, biting your lip as your mind roams.

You've never seen a werewolf before, even though it's common knowledge that they exist. Werewolves are dangerous and the few that coexist with humans are forced into manual labor, mostly on farms. Even fully grown, they never quite act human, so you've heard. What are you going to do with a pup of all things?

"What's this I hear about a werewolf?" Mrs. Partridge demands as she is led outside by some of the excited children.

The children step aside to let her pass, and you can't help but shift your stance slightly to shield the pup as Mrs. Partridge approaches. She doesn't like furry things and you've seen her kick at stray dogs when they get too close in the streets. Her eyes fall on the werewolf pup and grow wider.

"Oh my," she murmurs, more shocked than anything else.

For a moment, everyone is quiet. You burst out with,

"Mrs. Partridge, see how small he is, he definitely can't survive on his own."

She ignores you. "How did it get in?" She asks nobody in particular.

"Through the hedge at the side of the house, I think," you suggest.

Mrs. Partridge looks like she's about to tell you to put the pup in a box and place it right back in the street, but a thoughtful look comes across her face and she lifts her chin.

"It may stay. Provided you take care of it and keep it out of the way."

"Really?" Your heart soars.

Mrs. Partridge huffs. "Don't get too excited, girl. If it so much as nips at one of the kids, it will have to be put down. Do you understand?"

"Yes Mrs. Partridge," you say dutifully.

"Children, come with me. The meal is almost ready and you must all wash your hands. Including you, Jeremy!" Mrs. Partridge herds the rest of the children inside, leaving you with the werewolf pup, who stares at you warily.

You crouch down slowly.

"You heard her, you can stay," you tell him. "I don't know why she agreed, it must be a miracle. Just stay out of her way and you'll be fine. Blink if you understand me."

The pup looks confused, and with a whine, rolls onto his back, belly up and ears floppy against the grass. His paws and legs are clumpy with dried mud and like this, he looks more like a beast than a human.

"It's okay," you tell him. "I'll take care of you. Can I pick you up? Mrs. Partridge will be up in flames if you get dirt on her floors."

The werewolf rolls back onto his belly and cautiously scoots closer, his tail beating against the floor like a puppy that has been shooed away many times but is still hoping someone will want him. He whines and yips when you pick him up, but he doesn't bite you. That's a start.

He's incredibly thin and weighs next to nothing. You press him against your chest and feel the shivers wracking his small frame.

"Poor thing," you murmur. "Let's get you a warm bath and a meal."

Luckily, everyone is preoccupied with eating, so you have the kitchen and mudroom to yourself. You heat some water and mix it till you have a bucketful of lukewarm water. Then you set the werewolf in the tub and proceed to wash him carefully, trying not to be too personal about it. You're sure if he was in a better state, he could do it by himself. In the dimly lit mudroom, it's hard to look at the wet thing in the tub and not have your eyes deceive you into thinking it is a dog.

The water is brown by the time you rinse him off. You swathe him in a towel and tell him to wait while you get some spare clothes. You're not even sure they'll fit him, but he needs to wear something. When you come back, the pup is slightly larger than before and less furry. Even if his body is grotesquely deformed from being in between forms, he's standing on two legs, at least. If he were a human boy, he would be about nine or ten.

"Oh!" You blink, trying not to look slightly horrified at the contrast of wolfish muzzle and ears with human hair and a mostly human body. "Here, can you put them on?"

He takes the clothes from you with clawed hands and nods slightly, retreating into the mudroom. You fix two plates of the leftover food. You have no idea what a werewolf truly eats, so you hope the fare will agree with him. He sits well enough, handling his fork with clumsy hands, ears flicking as they listen to faraway sounds. He sniffs at the food and eats the beef and greens but ignores the mashed potatoes, so you try to put your portion of beef onto his plate. He growls as you reach out. It's soft and under his breath and he looks ashamed of himself immediately afterwards. You show him that you are only offering some of your food, not trying to take any away from him. He lets you put the beef on his plate and eats in three big bites, his tail thumping quietly. For the remainder of the meal, you eat in silence.

You watch him through the corner of your eye and wonder if he will manage to fit in with the rest of the kids. He has to, otherwise, he has no chance.