For Mature Readers Only

#2
November '01

Strange Tales Presents

Werewolf by Night

Funeral Song
Part 2

Written by Chris Munn

New York City, where the creatures of the night love to come and mark territory, pissing on every corner newsstand they can find. This place was my stomping grounds not too long ago, during my "respectable" period. I had a job, an apartment, and even - *gasp* - a girlfriend.

I haven't returned because of that...I hate this city and everything in it. If it hadn't been for a hunter tracking me down in the wilds of Washington, I'd have never found out. Apparently, my dad died recently, and tonight is his funeral. I say 'apparently' because my father died a long time ago, a victim of the same curse that afflicts me. Lycanthropy is a severe bitch on family status, especially when your own sister is so terrified of you that she goes into hiding and erases her identity. The aches and pains of being a werewolf by night, I suppose.

As I walk through the cemetery that's hosting my father's second funeral, I can't help but wonder if it's true. What if...? What if he was alive all this time, and kept it hidden from me? It wouldn't make any damn sense; he was my father for Christ's sake! A loud noise makes my head shoot up, forcing me to realize that I've been standing outside of the tomb lost in thought. Yes, the funeral is in a tomb, and I know what you're thinking because I thought the same thing myself.

The stone door, surprisingly light, opens to a staircase that descends into the crypt. This must be the place, why else would there be candlelight and chanting? I make my way down, grabbing a candle for light as I attempt not to crack my head open on the cold wall. Leave it to dear ol' dad to have his funeral not in a church but a cemetery...appropriate for someone cursed by the kiss of the occult, I suppose.

After reaching the bottom, seeing the attendees of the wake, I have came to the conclusion that are some people in this world far worse off than I. I haven't seen this strange an assortment of mourners since my buddy Michael Morbius' funeral a few years ago. I decide to take a seat in the back, taking in the surroundings before I make myself face the contents of the casket. To my left, a few vampires are chatting about the sudden lack of blood supply in the city. You wouldn't think a vampire would have a problem finding blood, but oh well. I'll meddle in their conversation later, I suppose.

To my right, a cyclops woman cries her eye out, leaking enough tears to fill up a gas station Big Gulp cup. Immediately behind her are a couple of what appear to be elves...you know, like the Keebler mascots. The thing behind them takes the Pulitzer for stupidest occult power ever; he's a big worm. That's right ladies and gentlemen, a really big earthworm. Damn, Dad, you knew how to make friends in all the right places, didn't you?

I adjust the collar of my trench coat, deciding to cover my neck when I see the vampire boys winking at me. This is a damn disgrace, and I'm disgusted by what I see here. My father was a blue-blooded, rich European, not some coffin dweller that sucked the life out of rats and other associated rodents. Enough of this shit, I say. I stand from my seat, preparing myself for the 'shock' of my father's body in the casket. As I make my way to the altar, I notice everyone's eyes (or eye in that one lady's case) upon me. It's like they know who I am, despite me never seeing these freaks before in my life.

Time for the big unveiling, my eyes rolling back in my head as I finally stand before the casket. I look down...and my heart skips a beat. It's him. My father's corpse is looking back up at me through closed eyelids, a serene look on his face. I feel my knees buckle, a wave of nausea coming over me. A four-armed man catches me as I tumble backwards, with the noise of the mourners' inquiries about my condition filling my ears.

"You gonna be okay, man?" the four-armed man asks me as he helps me to my seat. I nod slowly as I brush my hand through my long, brown hair. I can't believe this is happening...what the hell is going on?

"He's going to be fine," a female voice states from behind me. I see the four-armed man almost cringe back in fear before he leaves my line of sight. I manage to throw my head back, curious as to whom decided to speak for me.

"Heya, Jack," the woman replied to my curious eyes as they searched for a hint of remembrance. The nausea returns as I realize who it is.

"Lissa," I state bluntly, not quite knowing what to say to the sister I never had.

"Always a funeral to bring a family together, huh?" she asks with a weak smile. She takes the seat beside me, her long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Dad always said we looked alike, but now she's as much a stranger as everyone else here.

"Guess you didn't know he was alive, either?" she asks, knowing the answer before the question even escapes her mouth. I shoot a 'no shit' look before I put my head between my knees.

I pull my head up just as the first speaker takes their place at the podium. It's one of the vampire boys that was shooting me looks, and I'm surprised when he pulls out a piece of paper to read from.

"Alexander Rossoff," he starts, "what can I say about him that everyone in this room doesn't already know? I am, by my own admittance, a vampire...and despite the fact that werewolves are our mortal enemies, Alex had an air about him that made him impossible to hate. He was more than the howling dog that most werewolves are associated as; he was a friend that stuck his neck out for his supernatural brethren. I commend Rossoff for this, and I hope we all have a damn good time in Hell."

As the vamp makes his way back to his seat, I feel a slight chuckle coming on. How sad is it that these people knew Alexander Rossoff better than his own son and daughter? Pretty damn sad, if you ask me.

"Apparently," Lissa says to me as the four-armed guy starts to the podium, "our father was some sort of occult diplomat, attempting to make peace between vampires and lycanthropes." My eyes kind of glaze over as she says this...I never would have imagined my little sister being so well-versed in the language of the supernatural.

"Hello, everyone," the four-armed guy says nervously, "my name's Gunter Thommhassen, and I had the pleasure of being Mr. Russell's chauffeur for many years. He was a kind man, a generous employer..." Yada, yada, yada. So this is how my father's going to be remembered. As a damn liaison to the monster community, thanked by a one-eyed woman and a four-armed driver. Like I said before, the aches and pains. Dad and I had never had the best relationship in the world, but it wasn't that terrible either. He was my father, and I loved him despite the fact that he kept his curse secret from me. He knew it would consume me the same way it did him, but I believe he kept me in the dark out of fear. Like an eighteen-year-old kid would believe that his dad was a werewolf, after all.

Everyone kinds of sits in silence while Gunter is shuffled back to his seat. Evidently he'd run kind of long, rambling on about this and that. A relatively normal looking guy takes his place at the podium, showing that at least not all of Dad's friends were hideously deformed.

"Everyone, I'd like to point out that we've two very special people in attendance," he starts while pointing toward Lissa and I, "Alexander's children, Jack and Lissa, need our support through this difficult time...and perhaps talking to them will help alleviate our own grief."

Great, just what I need. I'm in a complete state of shock from seeing my dead father, and now I've got a bunch of freaks wanting to get in touch with my emotions. As they come toward us, I 'accidentally' shove Lissa to the forefront and make my way around the crowd, heading straight toward the man at the podium.

"Just what the hell is going on here?" I ask, accenting the frustration that I'm feeling. The older man smiles like he's known me for years.

"I'm so glad we were able to find you, Jack," he replies as he puts his hand on my shoulder.

"So you're who sent the hunter after me," I say as bluntly as possible while I brush his hand away. I don't enjoy being manipulated, even under circumstances as this.

"My name is Roberto Stolanetti, I was your father's personal advisor for many years. I watched you grow up, Jack...even if you never met me."

"You're right, I've never met you before in my life," I say, the anger rising up in me. "This is how you honor my father's memory? By holding his funeral in a place of death and decay? What kind of friend were you?"

I shove Stolanetti out of the way, determined to make it to the casket. Scooping my dad's body into my arms, I turn back toward the shocked mourners. If the big worm had eyes, I'd swear he was trying to stare me down.

"This isn't how my father deserves to be buried!" I announce to the room as they all turn toward me. "He's coming with me, so he can be taken care of in a proper way."

"No one will let you leave this room with the body, Jack," Stolanetti states as the doorway becomes blocked by the vampires. "Alexander may have been your father, but he was our friend...I'm sure you've figured out that there had to be a reason why he didn't tell you he was alive."

"No, I haven't," I say while locking eyes with Lissa. Her eyes show me exactly how she feels toward me...the hate reflecting the years of separation.

Realizing that I can't bull my way through this, I drop my dad's body onto the cold ground. Tears begin to well in my eyes as I head toward the door, shoving people to the side. I don't say a word to Lissa. I get up the stone steps as hard as I can, fighting back the rage inside me. The wolf wants to come out, to make these people pay...but I can't let it. I'm not an animal; I'm a man. Because of this, I know there's only one place I can go.

I sit in the wooden row, bowing my head in service to a being that I never thought I'd even think about. The church, and religion itself, was always something I enjoyed to avoid. But now, faced with the death of my father, there is nowhere else for me to go.

What did Stolanetti mean about me not knowing my father? Did Dad keep his existence a secret on purpose, did he fake his first death because of me? That would make just one more relationship I've managed to destroy...Dad, Lissa, Martine, Roxanne, Father Adobe, Morbius....the list goes on and on and on.

It stops now, no longer will I let this curse have a stranglehold on my life. I'm not going to let my death reflect my life, as I now realize that's what happened to my father. There's a cure out there somewhere...and I'm gonna find it.

Next Issue: Now that Jack's found a purpose in life, that of finding a cure, a meeting with Roberto Stolanetti sets him on a quest to the place where his ancestor was afflicted with the curse of lycanthrope...but what he finds may be a little too much for his sanity to bear.