Posts Tagged ‘story’

Every person you meet has their own story. Their story concerns how they were raised, what their life was like, previous jobs, and relationships. Characters are no different. A character should have a back story. The purpose of a back story is to give a reason for your character’s motives, habits, dreams, and even dislikes. When creating a back story, you will need to create not only the past of the character, but times, and experiences. The back story, however, is not a character history. Histories take a long time to build and structure. They could make up a story in themselves.

While a character history would be good, it takes too long to create. Plus, it is usually unnecessary for the purpose of writing a single story that concerns your character. A back story is a briefer compilation of key points in your characters life that brings him or her to a conclusion. That conclusion is the beginning of your story.

The things that people experience in the past can have results on how they act or react in the present. Almost everyone has secrets. These secrets will affect them, probably more strongly, than other past events. What is your character hiding in their past? What secret could affect them in the present (or future)?

To heighten the suspense of the past, or secrets, add pain. More pain means more sympathy, which in turn leads to more interest from the reader. To create an interesting past for your characters, the easiest way is to ask, “What if…?”

What if your character quit high school? What if they decided to become an exotic dancer? What if this exotic dancer is from a very high class family? What if the point of being an exotic dancer wasn’t for the money, but to spite that high class family? The what-ifs can go on as long as you need them to. And every what-if gathers into a specific spot in the back story: the character motive.

Using a back story, you can find reasons for everything from the motive, to behaviors, even to habits. Think along the lines of a counselor. They have to get their patients to talk, even face things that bother them, in order to move on to healing. Treat your character as a patient. Ask questions. Get them to talk. The farther you delve into their past, the more likely you are to uncover the trauma that starts them on their path. Like real people, how the character deals with that trauma determines their character traits.

Take a trauma where a child witnesses her mother’s death. If they try to run from the reality, they are more likely to run in the future. They may not want to deal with the real world and could end up creating an elaborate fantasy world that they escape to when things get too rough. This will lead to behaviors that include distancing themselves from others, the inability to connect with their emotions, or deal with other people’s emotions.

If the child becomes angry and lays blame on someone else, they are more likely to become aggressive. They will be prone to emotional outbursts and will have issues dealing with their, or other people’s emotions. If the child accepts the death as reality, they could end up being too realistic in their dealings with other people, becoming slightly pessimistic. If the child then has to support the remaining parent, the child misses out on their childhood. They will be more likely to be overly responsible and often refuse to “enjoy themselves”. Or they could end up blaming their remaining parent for the hardships that they are forced to endure. And so on.

When creating your own back story, keep your mind open to anything that occurs to you. Begin with an overview of the past. After the overview is complete, move inward, toward the trauma, while keeping an eye on cause and effect. Remember to add influences that affect the personality traits of the character. They will not be as strong as the story behind the motive. This is mainly because the motive impacts the character more than anything else. Also remember to use senses to backup the key points of the back story.

In the real world, our senses will pick up on something that will remind us of something in our past. So using senses during a traumatic event in your character’s past could end up being used in the story as a way to block the character from reaching their goal. Using the child who saw her mother’s death, you can add that the room smelled heavily of lavender. Lavender was the mother’s favorite flower. The father, in the attempt to make his wife’s passing easier, tried to bring her everything she liked most in the world. The end result would be that the child abhors the smell of lavender and serves as a reminder of that dreadful day. Now, every time your character smells lavender, she remembers the death of her mother.

Back story is a useful tool in discovering motivations and habits of your characters. You have to remember that character motivation is usually the driving force of any story. The character wants this or wants that, but in order to achieve their wants, has to complete a series of tasks. Character back stories give writers a chance to glimpse the character. They help to form the character more completely in the writer’s head. This makes the character more real when being written about and easier for your readers to connect to.


A Writer’s New Day

Posted: November 26, 2014 by Cat Reyes in Stories
Tags: , , , , , ,

Amelia stared at her computer screen, its dim glow illuminating her face as she struggled to find the words that would satisfy her. A cursor blinked lazily on the left side of the page, a beacon of temptation. But not just any words would do, they had to be the right words to convey the story she envisioned in its glaring detail.

For her, writing was as necessary as breathing. A pull of something that was constant in the back of her mind, begging her to write an extra word here or there, to make up the lines of a story half-remembered, or long forgotten. She lived to write and dreamed of ideas. Her characters danced pirouettes in her head; all whispering the sweet nothings of their stories in her mind’s ear.

Her skin crawled with the need to fill the blank page that mocked her, demanding her attention. Her coffee sat cooling on the desk next to the keyboard, every once in a while sending a vague draft of its warm odor to her nose, a reminder of its presence.

Fear began to well, joining with her need: the beginnings of panic. She had to write. But what to say? There were so many words; words that described an item differently to each person who saw it. Words echoed in her head, all evoking a line of thought until she thought she couldn’t handle any more. But still they came. The color of the monitor, the screen within, all yearning to have their words heard. Still, characters swam by her mind’s eye, desperately seeking her attention and more, her approval.

Music blared in Amelia’s ears, a loud cacophony, not meant to draw her attention but to define the mood in which she could write if she could find the words. A soft, elaborate waltz of notes invaded her ears, almost bringing tears to her eyes as she thought of knights fallen in battle, women waiting for their soldier’s return, and death itself in his endless search of companionship.

Death, like her, wanted perfection. That fundamental need to express the world in a way that all could understand and agree with. Death’s need was for the perfect companion, to share lost nights with, as he paced the earth in search of souls too old for their bodies. She needed the story that told what she felt, the words of her characters as they needed them described.

Finally, unable to find what she sought. She turned the monitor off with a harsh motion of her hand. Embittered tears trickle down her cheeks at the face of her failure.

A sip of coffee and the doorbell rings. So begins the new day.


Posted: November 16, 2014 by Cat Reyes in Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

“Sire.” A cool voice sounded from outside the glass that Tom was perched near. Tom nodded to his invisible accomplice then turned and glanced back at his people. Father stood in front of the mantle, lecturing Harry/Son, who was staring avidly at the fire in the fireplace. Mother sat in a rocker nearby, but was completely engrossed in her knitting. They would never notice his absence.

Tom faked a huge yawn, showing off his long canine teeth, and then leapt from his place on the sofa, before sauntering toward the door. Glancing at the humans, he frowned. Typical. All they cared about were the problems that Harry had gotten into. Harry had tortured a neighbor’s milk cow, by scaring the beast. If it hadn’t been for the fact that the cow won’t give milk, Tom wouldn’t have let the lecture go on so long. Now he figured that Harry probably wouldn’t do it again.

He opened his mouth and let a loud yowl erupt, telling his humans that he was ready to go outside for a while. Father glanced at Tom but didn’t stop his tirade over Harry. Mother jumped as if she had been started, then, finally, putting her knitting aside, approached the door and opened it. Tom meowed his thanks, and then strolled into the darkness beyond his home.

Once outside, the voice that had alerted him to the time, came from the flowerbeds.

“Sire.” The voice spoke, its tone amused and annoyed.

“Ok, Catamount, why am I being summoned at this time of night?” Tom asked, turning his already night-ready eyes to the shadows where a large black cat loomed.

“There is a human child left at the edge of the village, crying up a storm, but no humans have noticed it.” Catamount stated, shimmying out of a rose bush.

“That is why you summoned me tonight?” Tom asked, staring at his personal guard in surprise. “Why didn’t you wake up your humans?” Catamounts’ tail bristled slightly, and Tom remembered belatedly that Catamounts’ humans had abandoned him in the village when they moved.

“Sorry, chap.” Tom stated, embarrassed. “I forgot.”

“Yes, sire.” Catamount replied, clearly ruffled. “The child is different though.” He added by way of explanation, as if he wouldn’t have woken up his humans if they hadn’t abandoned him.

Tom nodded. “Alright, show me the child, and we can decide what to do.”

Tom knew that Catamount was suspicious and prone to believe old wife’s tales, but he was one of the biggest and strongest cats in the village. Tom had had to put up with Catamount prowling around him since he was a small kitten. His parents were the King and Queen of the village, and when his father died, Tom became King. His mother had always been concerned that Tom would be attacked by frequent feline visitors, and had begged his father to install a bodyguard.

Tom didn’t like the fact that Catamount’s humans had left him behind, but he also hadn’t looked forward to the task of finding a new bodyguard.

The village had many comings and goings in the last human year, families moving from other areas, other old families living for new lands. Tom hadn’t liked the change, which had never happened before. He was uncomfortable with the new humans, getting bad feelings from them, or their animals, which had a cruel look about them. His village was growing and no one had had the decency to consult him about it. He had specifically chosen to live with the Village Elders as soon as he realized his father’s upcoming death, just so that he could keep abreast of the news.

Catamount coughed, dragging Tom’s attention from his thoughts.

“Carry on.” Tom motioned his old friend forward with a slight wave of his paw. Catamount nodded and began to lead Tom through the village. After a few moments, Tom realized that they were heading for the crossroads, an area where wagons and carriages often tore about, sometimes killing the occasional animal.

Tom stopped. “Why are we going to the Crossroads?” He asked his protector.

“The child is on the far side of town.” Catamount replied glancing over his sleek shoulder.

“And how do you know about it?” Tom asked, concern bringing his ears forward. He listened intently to his friends reply.

“I was told by Fluff.” Catamount said shortly. Tom thought he heard an edge of anger or sadness in his friends tone.

Tom sat on his haunches considering. He didn’t like the fact that Catamount had spoken to Fluff, the local glutton. Frowning he realized that as far as he knew, Fluff hadn’t left his home since Tom was starting to learn to hunt. So how could Catamount have spoken to him?

Especially since Fluff lived on the other side of the Crossroads. “What am I supposed to do with the child? My humans are on this side of the Crossroads. I haven’t been on the far side in over six human years.”

“We thought that it might be best if you saw the child personally.” Catamount stated as if it was obvious. He had continued walking even though Tom had stopped.

Glancing around, Tom noticed that he was near the main street of the village; across the way from him was a bar whose occupants were in the full swing of another of their nightly celebrations. Horses were tethered up to the fences, looking terrified at the thought of their masters returning to claim them. Tom guessed that the carriages were housed in the stable.

Tom’s tail twitched as he spotted a mouse, but he sighed. First deal with the child, then he could grab himself a snack before returning to his home. Tom sighed, stood, and trotted after his companion.

“Ok. So how far past the Crossroads is the child?” Tom asked, still not liking the idea of the Crossroads. His uncle and two brothers had been killed at the Crossroads, and he didn’t fancy the thought of himself going the same way.

“Not long after we cross.” Catamount stated casually. He slowed his walk to let Tom catch up then matched step beside him.

Tom was caught up in his thoughts so didn’t realize when they finally approached the dreaded crossroads. The only thing that stopped him from walking right across and possibly being killed was Catamount tackling him.

“What?!” Tom demanded outraged.

“Don’t think and walk at the same time, you might miss the obvious.” Catamount told him gruffly, stepping off Tom. Two carriages chose that moment to rumble by. Tom was amazed that humans would still be out of bed after dark, but then remembered that the tavern was still open. Sighing he told himself to be more cautious in the future.

Suddenly, Catamount charged across the Crossroads, a sleek black streak in the night. At the other side, clearly out of breath he called back, “get ready… Now!” Tom hesitated staring at an approaching coach.

“For the love of Isis, Tom. Move when I tell you.” Catamount shouted at him, when the coach had passed. They waited silently as more carriages, coaches, and horses passed, until there was another break in the traffic, then Catamount called, and Tom launched himself into the road. Half terrified, he ran as if the devil himself was behind him. Out of nowhere came a speeding horse, its hooves striking the ground directly in front of Tom’s heedless charge. Tom froze, even as the beast swept past, and stared at it. A carriage wheel rolled over his tail and he screamed in pain, but the moment he was released he bolted to where Catamount stood.

“Good job.” Catamount stated, not looking at him. Tom frowned, licking his painful tail.

“Why humans create death traps is beyond me.” Tom told his guard. The other cat snorted.

“The child isn’t far from here.” Catamount told Tom, his voice seemed to be deeper than it had been. Tom glanced up at his friend, but Catamount wouldn’t look at him. Sighing, Tom got to his feet.

“Let’s hurry this up, Catamount.” Tom said, they began moving and quickly came to the place that the child was supposed to be.

Tom glanced around, not seeing anything. The sound of snuffling reached his ears and he glanced at Catamount. “It’s probably been crying this whole time and is finally falling asleep.” The black cat said, staring around, it kept its gaze from Tom, and Tom was starting to get a creepy feeling, as if something bad was going to happen. He had had the feeling once before. At the time he didn’t know what it meant, but shortly afterwards Harry had come home crying, his arm was broken.

That same feeling had started to plague Tom, and he couldn’t pinpoint why it would. His humans were all home and accounted for, his parents had been dead for the last three human years, and he was in the company of Catamount who wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

He shook his head, disgusted at himself for trying to find things to worry about. If his mother had been with him, she would have told him off for going out after dark, on the far side of the tracks, with or without Catamount. Tom glanced at Catamount, wondering if his friend had heard the tales of the Beast. Knowing Catamount though, Tom admitted, he did know about the stories, and believed them. But then why was Catamount out with Tom on the far side of the Crossroads looking for a human child? Tom shivered uncomfortably.

Catamount started toward the sound of the snuffling, and Tom fell in behind him, as he always did, trying to keep his wandering mind at bay. The black cat slinked stealthily into the trees that lay to the side of the road, and Tom, spooked by memories of the stories his mother had told him, had no choice but to follow his guard.

The snuffling sounds grew louder, until they were almost thunderous. Tom froze realizing something was definitely not right. Catamount didn’t seem to notice Tom, and soon vanished from sight.

After a few seconds, the snuffling was silenced. Tom realized belatedly that the forest was still. He knew that there should be sounds emanating from the various creatures of the forest, but he couldn’t hear anything. For a moment, he had the panicky feeling that he had lost his hearing.

Suddenly, his skin prickled, and his tail fluffed. Tom knew when his skin prickled that he was in danger. Quickly he started to back the way he had come, but realized just as quickly that he didn’t know which way he had come from.

Terrified he huddled close to the ground, hoping that his mottled fur would make him practically invisible to anything that would come upon him.

A loud snap came from Tom’s right, and he understood that the sound was a twig breaking. The night was silent again, but his muscles still hummed with tension.

He sensed movement and unintentionally turned to face it. A creature standing almost as tall as a man, but was definitely a cat stood next to him. A yowl caught in Tom’s throat as he stared at the creature. It was huge and black, bigger than any cat he had ever imagined. Its eyes were blood red and stared at him, knowing where he was.

Unable to stay under that terrible gaze, Tom bolted. He didn’t know where he was going, nor did he care, all he wanted was to be anywhere than in the forest at that moment. A movement straight in front of him caused him to falter then stumble. How had the Beast gotten in front of him, when it was behind him?

But no, it wasn’t the Beast, it was Catamount. Tom redoubled his efforts and within a few seconds stopped next to Catamount. “You will never believe what I just-.” Catamount turned his gaze on Tom, and to Tom’s horror, his eyes were as red as those of the Beast.

Alarmed, Tom bolted the way he had come, but remembering what was waiting him in that direction, he turned, and slammed into a large fluff ball of a cat. Fluff the glutton of a cat was out of his home. Fluff looked at Tom. His voice was cold when he spoke, “What’s wrong, sire?” He asked, his blood red eyes seeming to peer into Tom’s soul.

Tom turned to run, but only froze, paralyzed by fear as every single cat of the village prowled toward him, their eyes glowing bright red, their faces twisted into gross masks of what they once were. Then the Beast waded into them, striding toward Tom, his mouth opening wider with each step.

Tom’s shriek split the air.

He jumped backwards and fell off the sofa. His heart thundered in his ears, as he looked around the familiar scene of his home. Mother was still sitting with her knitting needles clutched in her hands, though her eyes were on Tom. Father was still telling off Harry. Tom breathed a sigh of relief knowing that he was safe.

Trying to look nonchalant, he leapt back onto the couch and stretched before he curled up on his perch. Glancing out the window, before he closed his eyes to go back to sleep, he froze.

There amidst the bushes that decorated the sides of the house were two sets of eyes, one larger than the other and both blood red.

1. GAUGE YOUR AUDIENCE. Don’t make your story too “easy” for older readers or too complex for younger ones. It is easy to get lost in the tell of the story and forget who you are telling it to, so it is very important to keep your reader in mind.

2. INTERESTING BEGINNING. Try to find a unique way to open your story. This opening needs to, at the very least, set the atmosphere of the story.

3. KNOW YOUR CHARACTERS. You should have a basic idea of your character, be it a name or an image, something that you can start off with. The more you know about your character(s), the more they come alive in your mind, and through your writing, in the mind of the reader.

4. KEEP THE STORY MOVING. The story needs vivid details in order to create a sense of reality within the reader. However, avoid becoming long-winded. Remember that you are telling a story and it must move forward.

5. THE END. A good story requires a good ending. Don’t try to draw the story out. Let it end where it needs to.

6. RELAX. You did a good job. Take a moment to catch your breath and pat yourself on the back. You have done what no one else in the world can do: you have written your story. Congratulate yourself.

I wrote this for school a couple months ago and decided to post it here for all of you to enjoy!


Of all the people in my life, one person stands out the most. She was my best friend for twelve years, until she passed away in the Spring of 2004. Her name was Phoebus Shootafar, or as everyone else knew her, Phoebe. She was not a person in the usual sense, but, in fact, was a purebred Shetland Sheepdog.

No one knew that I would go home in a few days with a dog. One of her parents was my parents’ mythology professor at school. My mom and dad were invited by the professor for a lively luncheon at their place. Since my parents had no one else to watch my brother and myself, they brought us along with the usual strict orders to be polite and obey the rules. I never previously met the professor myself, and though I heard stories about him and knew of him as being fun and very into mythology, I knew that he was a grown up, which meant, in my mind, boring.

When we pulled into the road that led to their place, we were greeted by the professor, his wife, and their dog. I was instantly enraptured by Phoebe, though, sadly, at first, she was not interested in me other than as an intruder in her space. I could not take my eyes off of her, and she would not take hers from me. After all, she did not know who I was and I was probably there to steal her tennis balls.

Before too long, with the assistance of the professor’s wife, Phoebe forgot I was a threat. I transitioned from the person who was going to steal her tennis balls to the person who was throwing them for her to chase. We spent a good part of the day that way, me throwing the balls, her chasing them with her gold, brown and white fur flowing like liquid as she moved. Early on, I had noticed a small triangular cut on her tongue and queried the professor’s wife about it.

“Phoebe’s grandmother is a grand champion,” the professor’s wife told me. “Sometimes, the owners of champion dogs do something to the dog’s babies so that when they grow up, they can’t compete.” I did not really consider it at the time, but as I grew up, I would become more and more involved in animal rights because of that small cut on Phoebe’s tongue.

All too soon, it was time to go. My parents were calling me from the car, telling me we needed to go home to get dinner started. I could only stare at them, holding a slobbery green tennis ball in my hand. Then I burst into tears. I did not want to go. It took some cajoling and a few “no desert after dinner” threats to get me into the car.

Like many of the kids I knew, I had watched endless episodes of Lassie and knew I wanted a dog like her. Combined with the fun day I enjoyed with Phoebe, my heart was set. I wanted Phoebe and I would do anything to get her. So, I hatched a plan.

I started cleaning and I was a terrible housekeeper. I tried washing dishes, but after two plates and a cup ended up shattered on the floor, my mom took over that job. I was not allowed around the stove while dinner was cooking, but that did not stop me from trying, at least until after I burnt dinner that night. My next cleaning attempt occurred the next day when I tried to sweep. I did not realize that you were supposed to sweep everything the same direction, not just stir things up swinging the broom every way that it would go. I shattered a lamp in the attempt. At that point, my parents forbade me from even trying to help clean until I was much older. So, I took my efforts outside. My next step was the garden. I started working on pulling up weeds. I was doing a pretty good job, too, until my dad came out and yelled at me for pulling up several of the plants… ok most of the plants in the garden and leaving several, in my opinion, very pretty weeds.

My parents must have caught on to what I was doing because, when I got home from school a couple of days later, Phoebe was sitting on the porch her tail wagging and a tennis ball in her mouth. It turned out that the professor and his wife, while they loved Phoebe, could not take care of her since they spent most of their time teaching in town, over an hour away. The professor gave my parents Phoebe after hearing about my various attempts at cleaning, in the hopes that I would put my attention somewhere else.

From that day on, other than school, Phoebe and I were never separated. That summer, we were explorers making our way up Compost Mountain and fending off hungry carnivorous sheep. A couple of summers after that we were battling a dragon in the backyard that had cleverly disguised itself as a tree. The tree-dragon won, by the way. When I got my driver’s license, she went with me, riding in the passenger seat, her head stuck out the window. When I got married, she wore a headband and helped walk me down the aisle.

When she passed, I knew that I would never find anyone else like Phoebe.  She helped me get through bad breakups, chick flicks, and my numerous tirades over school, my parents, my brother, or my stories. She also served as my motivator, helping me with whatever I needed, be it a tree-dragon, or a long drive. She was always watching, always waiting with patient brown eyes that melted my heart. She loved me completely, never doubting, never holding back. She was my best friend.

Go back to Other Thoughts

Hey guys,

This is just a quick post to share with y’all. A friend of mine recently entered a contest for creating the ultimate blog guide. There were a bunch of competitors and my friend won first place. I am really proud of him and hope that you all would show support for all the contest entries by viewing the pages. There is a lot of great info here, so it is actually worth the time spent to check it out!

Here is a list of all the competitors and their work: The Firepole Marketing Ultimate Guides Contest Winners!

And the winning contest entry: 99 Ways to Edit and Revise Anything You Write!



werewolf photo: werewolf werewolf.jpg

Child Missing!

Local child, Wesley Smith aged 5 years, was reported missing early this morning by his mother, Danielle Smith. Local authorities released her after questioning and do not believe she was part of the child’s abduction.

Wesley is described as a Caucasian male, 3’3”, weighing around 40 pounds, with short red hair and blue eyes. Wesley vanished from his place of residence on Grey Owl Drive around 4:30 in the morning. Witnesses claimed to hear glass breaking and screams emanating from the house at around 4:15 in the morning. The 911 call was made five minutes later.

Anyone with information about Wesley’s whereabouts or abduction is urged to call the Park County Police.

Man Claiming to See Werewolf to be Heard in Court

Michael Williams, believed to be involved in the disappearances of two men is due to be seen in court for a preliminary hearing.

Williams claimed that he and fellow hunters, Sean Corbet and John Worth, entered the Targee National forest to hunt the creature they believed was responsible for the reports of animal mutilations. While the three men were in the forest, Williams alleges that they were attacked by a werewolf. Williams was the only known survivor from the incident. Police have scouted the area but were unable to reclaim the bodies of the missing men, nor were able to confirm Williams’ story.

Williams has refused the services of a court appointed attorney.

Go back to Werewolf Attack Part 1                    Go to All Things Werewolf                   Go to Stories                   Go to Werewolf Attack Part 3

I came up with this when I was doing some research today. Hope you all enjoy it. Remember, this is a kind of first draft and will be finished at a later date. No, it’s not done. It’s a two or three part short story. Enjoy!
werewolf photo: werewolf werewolf.jpg

Man survives a Werewolf Attack!

The strange string of attacks and sighting culminated today in an unusual account by a local hunter who says he survived a werewolf attack. The three hunters; Michael Williams, Sean Corbet, and John Worth; had been hunting in the Mountains of Western Wyoming for nearly ten years, says Williams. The group, he claimed, did not believe the reports of strange animal mutilations or sightings of a giant hairy creature roaming the woods where they hunted. Since they had never seen such a creature, the three men assumed that the reports were of a bear and thought that they would resolve the issue that had, so far, baffled investigators.

The three men hiked into the Targee National Forest Tuesday afternoon, planning to bring back the bear. However, they were in for more than they could handle, admits Williams. The attack began after the three men heard what Williams described as, “the most unnatural howl I have ever heard.” The hunters were further concerned when a deer raced by right between them, apparently fleeing from a large predator. Shortly after the deer vanished, the men loosed their guns, starting to hear sounds of growling. Williams claims that the growls sounded like they were coming from a wolf.

At one point the growls stopped moving. As the men turned to face the wolf, a creature burst from the shrubbery and attacked, dragging Corbet just as quickly as it appeared. The screams stopped shortly after Corbet vanished, before the remaining men could react.

Williams claimed that he and Worth had no choice but to leave the man behind and go for help. As they ran, they were aware that the creature they barely caught a glimpse of was following them. As the two men reached a clearing, the beast appeared again, slapping Worth hard enough that Williams heard the other man’s neck snap. Then the creature turned on Williams.

“It was tall, taller than a man,” claimed Williams, “and covered in fur. It smelled terrible and looked worse. It was like some strange mesh of wolf, man, and bear. There was nothing else it could be, but a werewolf.”

The creature took a swipe at the remaining man who, with quick thinking, pretended to be killed by it. “It swatted me around a bit,” Williams stated, “but it must’ve gotten bored because it wandered away.” The werewolf, Williams asserted, was eating the remains of his friend.

“After that, I thought I’d better get the **** out of there. I crawled until I reached the tree-line before running the rest of the way to the truck.”

When asked why he didn’t immediately go to, or call, the police. Williams had this to say, “I honestly hadn’t thought of it. My first thought was to get the **** out of there. When I saw I was bleeding, I could only think about getting to the hospital.”

Dr. George Lebrowski treated Williams wounds. He admitted that, “Williams had several deep cuts across his chest and arms from where a creature struck him. The wounds were reminiscent of a bear’s claw.” Williams received forty-three stitches on his chest and arms.

When the authorities returned to where Williams claimed his fellow hunters were, they were unable to find the remains.

Deputy Sheriff James Rainier of the Park County Police Force had this to say, “The guy is in shock. Doesn’t know what he saw. It’s probably a bear that attacked him, but to be honest, I wouldn’t put it past Williams to have had something to do with the missing men.”

Williams has been released into police custody where he is being detained for further questioning.

Go to All Things Werewolf                                                          Go to Stories                                                     Go to Werewolf Attacks Part 2

A ‘Story’

Posted: January 20, 2014 by Cat Reyes in Stories
Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I don’t know who wrote this ‘story’ but I think it’s brilliant and I had to share. I found it when I was visiting a little ma and pa’s diner up in Whitefish, Montana. Hope you all enjoy it (and if someone could tell me who wrote it, I’d be very, very happy)!

Please be sure to read this all the way through. It is extremely worth it!

Life Explained

On the first day God created the cow. God said, “You must go to field with the farmer all day long and suffer under the sun, have calves and give milk to support the farmer. I will give you a life span of sixty years.”

The cow said, “That’s a kind of tough life for sixty years. Let me have twenty years and I’ll give back the other forty.”

And God agreed.

On the second day, God created the dog. God said, “Sit all day by the door of your house and bark at anyone who comes in or walks past. I will give you a life span of twenty years.”

The dog said, “That’s too long to be barking. Give me ten and I’ll give back the other ten.”

So God agreed.

On the third day, God created the monkey. God said, “Entertain people. Do monkey tricks and make them laugh. I’ll give you a twenty year life span.”

Monkey said, “Monkey tricks for twenty years? I don’t think so. Dog gave you back ten, so that’s what I’ll do too, okay?”

God agreed, again.

On the fourth day, God created man. God said, “Eat, sleep, play, enjoy. Do nothing, just enjoy. I’ll give you twenty years.”

Man said, “What? Only twenty? Tell you what, I’ll take my twenty, and the forty the cow gave back, the ten the monkey didn’t want, and the ten the dog returned. That makes eighty, okay?”

“Okay,” said God. “You’ve got a deal.”

So that is why for the first twenty years we eat, sleep, play, enjoy, and do nothing; for the next forty years we slave in the sun to support our family; for the next ten years we do monkey tricks to entertain our grandchildren; and for the last ten years we sit in front of the house and bark at everyone.

Isn’t it strange…

You spend the first two years of your child’s life teaching them to walk and talk, then spend the next sixteen telling them to sit down and shut up?

Children quote everything you say. Often word for word. And usually what you should never have said in the first place.

Why should you host children’s parties? To remind you that there are worse children than your own.

Childproofing your home doesn’t seem to work. They still get in.

For headaches, make sure that you follow the directions on the aspirin bottle: Take 2 and keep away from children.


Go back to Stories

Just wanted to give an update. I am currently working through Cleo’s Journal and will get a new post up soon. But here is something I started working on when I was in my teens. I never finished it. In fact, I forgot I had it until a couple days ago. Hope you like it. 🙂


I clearly remember the day that I found out monsters were real. It was the cruelest moment of my life. I had just turned sixteen, enjoying my ‘Sweet Sixteenth’, which was flowing happily into the am hours. My parents were watching us all closely, probably to make sure that we weren’t trying to sneak in beer or drugs, or something worse.

There were nine of us, five of my friends, myself, my parents, and my baby sister, who was six at the time. Though, if I remember correctly, my baby sister was asleep on the front room couch while we danced and laughed on the patio.

Maybe it was our laughter and the loud music, or maybe we just smelled really good. But it came before we realized what was happening. At first, I thought it was an axe-murderer to add us to its list of murdered people.

That would have been preferable to the truth.

My mother had walked away from us to have a cigarette, letting my dad watch us all goof off in the pool. Shortly after she left our field of vision, it couldn’t have been more than a minute, her shrieks split the air, then there was nothing. My dad took off. He vanished where she had disappeared, and more horrified screams ripped through the cool night air.

My friends and I wasted no time in getting out of the pool. I thought I had heard a splash as someone fell back into the water, but I was too busy running the twenty feet to my sliding glass doors. I heard one of my friends scream, but it turned off like someone had pushed the mute button on the TV.

The patio door had somehow gotten locked, so I started running for the kitchen door which was to my left about ten feet. More screams ripped the air and there was a definite thud of someone either falling or being thrown.

I threw open the kitchen door, just in time for me and another girl to rush inside. As I turned to close it, I watched another of my friends, who had almost reached the doorway, be tossed aside, as another body slammed into her. I stood rooted to the spot staring as a man wrestled with her for a few minutes, before he put his head to her neck. Her shrieks still flood my dreams.

He ripped a hole in the side of her neck and lapped at the blood that welled out. Then he looked at me, almost as if daring me to do something. But all I did was stand there and stare at him, one hand on the kitchen door, as my friend screamed.

His face was etched into my mind. It looked almost animalistic. His teeth were abnormally long; his canines alone were about an inch long. His eyes looked to be made of ice and they seemed to glow. And his face and clothes were covered in blood. But otherwise he looked like a normal twenty-year-old guy with rather unkempt black hair.

I had read enough horror stories and watched enough movies to recognize him for what he was, a vampire.

I don’t remember much about the weeks after the attack. But I knew that the monsters I had fantasized as a child were real. Nothing would change that fact.

My sister, friend, and myself were the sole survivors of that night’s episode. I became engrossed in urban legends about vampires. Gleaning all the information I could about them. My sister and I didn’t stay long at any foster home, mostly because of my strange obsession, and that fact that they couldn’t talk me into believe that what the cops said had happened. They thought that it was a psycho who had attacked my parents and friends.

My sister who had woken up due to our mom’s screaming had seen the whole thing out the patio windows. She was the only person who believed me, and shared my obsession.

My friend’s parents put her into intensive care at an asylum; I never did see her again after that.

I killed my first vampire shortly after the whole thing happened. It had called me into the night from my parent’s house, state hadn’t figured out what to do with us at the moment so had let us stay there. The thing that saved me was the fact that a pastor, who came to my house every day, had given me a cross.

The worst part about the whole thing was that the vampire had been my mom. I killed my dad and every one of my friends the same night, when I realized that if my mom had woken up, they would too. My sister never knew about that, and I was not going to tell her.


Go back to Stories