Sharp Teeth (Moonlight)
The style of this story is modeled after Toby Barlow's fabulous book, Sharp Teeth, from which the title is also taken. It is also about a fairly inconsequential character that no one really seemed to care about, but once this idea settled in, it just wouldn't let go. So, I hope you enjoy it.
Sharp Teeth
I.
Three years later
and Talbot still can’t remember much.
He remembers an old man
and a dog
but what he can’t recall
is whether he saw them together
or one right after the other.
What he remembers
is fierce hot pain in his shoulder
piercing deep in every cell of muscle and bone.
What he remembers
is the way he went blind
from white light.
What he remembers
are the lightning surges of adrenaline
that almost felt good.
The first time he found out
he freaked
pissed his pants in half a second flat
but for weeks afterward
he couldn’t get out of his head
how good it had been to feel
the raw energy
wound up in the coils of his sinews
the uninhibited power
pounding against his ribcage
the astounding discovery
that he could smell the perfume
of the woman at the end of the hall
Even now
on warm LA nights
he strips down to nothing
and lopes his way around the neighborhood
or breaks into a run and flies all the way to the desert
stopping to pant with his tongue hanging out
his belly stretched on the warm ground
the scent of a jackrabbit close by
the sound of a mole scurrying underneath
nothing is closed to him
unlike the human world
where hiding your nature is essential
where lies are spoken like truths.
And it’s that freedom that keeps him from going insane.
II.
It’s not what you think.
Talbot can change from two-legged man
to four-legged animal
with little thought.
Just a matter of a few minutes
and a few bones.
Moon’s got nothing to do with it.
Moon’s got an effect, though.
Truth
is Talbot hates the full moon
like pulling the tides
it pulls and pushes and drags and tugs his brain
in too many different directions
gets his wires crossed
and he becomes something
other
man and animal fighting for control of his body at the same time
and there’s no control
and anything can happen
Full moons mean headaches
more than just the feeling his head is splitting apart
he has to plan:
plan
plan
plan
until every detail is right
every possible problem married with perfect solution
contingency is everything
carefulness is key
anything less is disaster.
Like that time he killed three kids by the docks
ripped out their throats
while one of them cried for his mother
Or the time he saw a guy eating a kebab on the beach
and tore off his whole hand
then ate the kebab before ripping the guy’s intestines out
It’s important that he plans
because waking up
isn’t like the stories.
No finding a bloody finger on the pillow
and wondering why it’s there,
no blessed mornings
of complete forgetfulness.
Just a hangover the size of Mt. Olympus
and three hours spent hunching over a toilet
and the rest of the day curled up on the floor sobbing his brains out
because he remembers everything
and knows he’s a monster.
III.
In all the stories, the shows, the movies
they’re loners,
creatures relegated to solitary existence in the dark.
It doesn’t work that way.
Humans, wolves, it’s hard for them to fly solo
being pack animals by nature.
He’s heard of packs
roaming around in the city
but Talbot’s checked them out
nothing more
than street gangs
and a man in his position can’t be associated
with the likes of them
Still, it’s dangerous to be a lone wolf
with no protection
even more dangerous
to be a lone wolf
who puts other wolves away
Talbot knows this
and still, he has no pack
no one to look after him
no one to warn him of danger
no one to take a blow for him
he looks over his shoulder
every damn second
of every damn day
and wonders when the wolves
are going to come
for him
IV.
Talbot knows she’s not his
knows she belongs to someone else
but he can’t seem to keep the animal instinct
at bay
territory is territory
Beth is a part of the pack now
and the pack looks out for its own
V.
The man in him knows
or thinks it knows
that St. John is alright
the animal in him knows
knows it knows
that there’s something off about Mick
the animal notes the smell
mint and leather and cologne and blood and vague decay
instinctively realizes the smell isn’t normal
the man strives to reason away
“A rat crapped out in the walls of his apartment,
scent just rubbed off on him.”
“Guy’s a private investigator,
probably around blood all the damn time.”
but the animal is insistent
“be careful
be cautious
he isn’t normal”
Talbot isn’t sure which side he trusts more.
VI.
The voice on the phone says
“File’s for your eyes only.
We’ll stay in touch.”
but every other fiber of Talbot’s being hears
Alpha Male
“listen closely”
He’s almost positive the list has little to do with him
he only knows a handful of the names
Mick St. John
Josef Kostan
a few others
most of them are names he doesn’t know
nothing more than black ink blots
on a white page
probably a random selection
But
Talbot can’t shake the feeling
that this man is not
just a man
that there is something more
lurking in the shadows
behind that voice
something the man
and the animal
finally agree on
“something isn’t right”
But
Talbot wonders
what if
the animal was right
what if
Mick is on this list for a reason
what if
someone else knows the reason he can’t help but bristle every time St. John walks by
and again
both the man and the animal agree
that might be worth the risk
Sharp Teeth
I.
Three years later
and Talbot still can’t remember much.
He remembers an old man
and a dog
but what he can’t recall
is whether he saw them together
or one right after the other.
What he remembers
is fierce hot pain in his shoulder
piercing deep in every cell of muscle and bone.
What he remembers
is the way he went blind
from white light.
What he remembers
are the lightning surges of adrenaline
that almost felt good.
The first time he found out
he freaked
pissed his pants in half a second flat
but for weeks afterward
he couldn’t get out of his head
how good it had been to feel
the raw energy
wound up in the coils of his sinews
the uninhibited power
pounding against his ribcage
the astounding discovery
that he could smell the perfume
of the woman at the end of the hall
Even now
on warm LA nights
he strips down to nothing
and lopes his way around the neighborhood
or breaks into a run and flies all the way to the desert
stopping to pant with his tongue hanging out
his belly stretched on the warm ground
the scent of a jackrabbit close by
the sound of a mole scurrying underneath
nothing is closed to him
unlike the human world
where hiding your nature is essential
where lies are spoken like truths.
And it’s that freedom that keeps him from going insane.
II.
It’s not what you think.
Talbot can change from two-legged man
to four-legged animal
with little thought.
Just a matter of a few minutes
and a few bones.
Moon’s got nothing to do with it.
Moon’s got an effect, though.
Truth
is Talbot hates the full moon
like pulling the tides
it pulls and pushes and drags and tugs his brain
in too many different directions
gets his wires crossed
and he becomes something
other
man and animal fighting for control of his body at the same time
and there’s no control
and anything can happen
Full moons mean headaches
more than just the feeling his head is splitting apart
he has to plan:
plan
plan
plan
until every detail is right
every possible problem married with perfect solution
contingency is everything
carefulness is key
anything less is disaster.
Like that time he killed three kids by the docks
ripped out their throats
while one of them cried for his mother
Or the time he saw a guy eating a kebab on the beach
and tore off his whole hand
then ate the kebab before ripping the guy’s intestines out
It’s important that he plans
because waking up
isn’t like the stories.
No finding a bloody finger on the pillow
and wondering why it’s there,
no blessed mornings
of complete forgetfulness.
Just a hangover the size of Mt. Olympus
and three hours spent hunching over a toilet
and the rest of the day curled up on the floor sobbing his brains out
because he remembers everything
and knows he’s a monster.
III.
In all the stories, the shows, the movies
they’re loners,
creatures relegated to solitary existence in the dark.
It doesn’t work that way.
Humans, wolves, it’s hard for them to fly solo
being pack animals by nature.
He’s heard of packs
roaming around in the city
but Talbot’s checked them out
nothing more
than street gangs
and a man in his position can’t be associated
with the likes of them
Still, it’s dangerous to be a lone wolf
with no protection
even more dangerous
to be a lone wolf
who puts other wolves away
Talbot knows this
and still, he has no pack
no one to look after him
no one to warn him of danger
no one to take a blow for him
he looks over his shoulder
every damn second
of every damn day
and wonders when the wolves
are going to come
for him
IV.
Talbot knows she’s not his
knows she belongs to someone else
but he can’t seem to keep the animal instinct
at bay
territory is territory
Beth is a part of the pack now
and the pack looks out for its own
V.
The man in him knows
or thinks it knows
that St. John is alright
the animal in him knows
knows it knows
that there’s something off about Mick
the animal notes the smell
mint and leather and cologne and blood and vague decay
instinctively realizes the smell isn’t normal
the man strives to reason away
“A rat crapped out in the walls of his apartment,
scent just rubbed off on him.”
“Guy’s a private investigator,
probably around blood all the damn time.”
but the animal is insistent
“be careful
be cautious
he isn’t normal”
Talbot isn’t sure which side he trusts more.
VI.
The voice on the phone says
“File’s for your eyes only.
We’ll stay in touch.”
but every other fiber of Talbot’s being hears
Alpha Male
“listen closely”
He’s almost positive the list has little to do with him
he only knows a handful of the names
Mick St. John
Josef Kostan
a few others
most of them are names he doesn’t know
nothing more than black ink blots
on a white page
probably a random selection
But
Talbot can’t shake the feeling
that this man is not
just a man
that there is something more
lurking in the shadows
behind that voice
something the man
and the animal
finally agree on
“something isn’t right”
But
Talbot wonders
what if
the animal was right
what if
Mick is on this list for a reason
what if
someone else knows the reason he can’t help but bristle every time St. John walks by
and again
both the man and the animal agree
that might be worth the risk