The Perfect Shot

The first howl sliced through the evening like a fang through flesh.

Cooper Elwine shivered. He knew there were local werewolves, but to have confirmation chilled him. He patted the Smith & Wesson in its holster. He’d loaded it with five silver-tipped cartridges. ‘In case,’ he murmured to himself.

Overhead, the sky had begun to darken. The supermoon was on the horizon, in all its celestial glory. It glimpsed through the trees, poking its face out here and there as if in hiding.

His heart trilled within its constraints of bone, trying to break free. It was beautiful, and he would capture it in a picture to get his name out there. But he had only two nights to do it in. This moon was the last full moon of the supermoon, and, come the next cycle, the phenomenon would have faded. He’d missed last night’s full moon due to car issues—the glory of being a struggling photographer. He had only two nights left. Cooper shouldered his equipment and trekked on through the trees, up the side of the mountain.

The spot he decided on was quite a bit higher up than the village. Out here, the stars sparkled in the sky, unhindered by civilisation’s pollution.

Cooper gaped at seeing the moon, bigger and brighter than usual. The moon’s orbit didn’t follow a circular path, so there were moments when it was closer to the Earth. That closeness made the moon larger. Hence the term ‘supermoon’—or ‘perigee syzygy’ if you wanted to get technical. Supermoons made full moons quite spectacular. It gave one pause for thought about all those petty human rivalries. Humanity was only a spec when viewed on the level of planets and moons, systems and galaxies. He sighed, settled his belongings on the ground, and unpacked.

The astrophotographic equipment pointed towards the heavens, ready and waiting for human direction. He had a specialist camera and some non-hypered safety film. Setup as it was, it looked like some space-age weapon.

He sweated a little. The tools of the trade had cost him quite a pretty penny, money he couldn’t afford. But, if you wanted to get into this business, you had to be willing to invest. He hoped that he would soon see a return on that investment. Cooper cradled the equipment as though it were his baby. He was squinting through the viewfinder, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth when he heard it. He whimpered. ‘Oh God.’

The growl whispered from out of the trees behind him. It did not rumble and boom. Instead, it buzzed.

Gooseflesh rippled up all over Cooper’s body. Claws of ice ripped deep gouges into his heart: a werewolf. He spun around and fumbled the strap over his gun. He yanked it free from its holster and almost dropped it in his sweaty hands. He tried to yell, to scare it off—did that work on wolves or only bears?—but found he had no voice.

The creature was between him and the tree line. It crawled on all fours, head lowered to the ground. Green-yellow eyes watched Cooper. But it was tiny. And it had a little pink bow still attached to its head. Around one claw dangled a handcuff. Upon detection, the werewolf froze, and its eyes twitched.

Cooper frowned. He’d been expecting some colossal beast that would put a great big bear to shame. But it was a young she. During the day, this monstrous little creature walked around as a little girl. She would do little girl things like skipping rope and playing with dolls. She must come from a family of werewolves who tied themselves up each full moon. But because she was so small, she’d slipped out of her restraints. He now understood why her growl didn’t thunder through the Earth—she was only a child. His hands shook as he pointed the revolver at her. ‘D-Don’t!’ he stammered. ‘S-S-Stay back!’

But she didn’t. Instead, she snarled, showing Cooper her array of deadly fangs, slaked with saliva. She broke out into a run and bolted for him like a bullet out of a gun.

Cooper hesitated. She was a baby. Come daybreak, she’d be a little girl. A little girl that he’d shot and killed. He couldn’t do it. He leapt to the ground and snatched his camera equipment.

The infant werewolf passed inches over his head in a flurry of claws, teeth, and wild eyes. She crashed into the brush on his other side in a tangle of paws. She wriggled around, trying to right herself once more.

Cooper screamed. He needed this shot but wouldn’t kill or die for it. Cooper scrambled to his feet, pointing the gun at the creature in the bushes. He clutched his photography equipment close to his chest and bolted for his car.

By the time he’d gotten back into town, the sun was rising on the horizon. The sleepy little village was waking up, bit by bit. People were walking dogs, bleary-eyed. Yawning folks steered cars through the narrow streets. The smell of fresh bread and good coffee wafted out from the bakery.

He yawned and pulled his car over to the side. God, he felt exhausted. And sad. He’d missed his chance to get the shot. He had one more opportunity tonight, and then he’d have to wait until the next supermoon. But Cooper didn’t know if he could last that long. His dad was right; he should get a stable job instead. You couldn’t pay rent with your dreams. He staggered out of his car and stumbled up into the bakery. He ordered a mug of coffee and a handful of the baked delights.

The woman behind the counter smiled and brought his order to his table when it was ready. She hesitated a moment and asked him if he was all right. ‘Seems like you’ve got a lot on your mind, honey.’

Cooper’s heart warmed, but the sadness remained. There were werewolves here. Granted, they restrained themselves during their dangerous phases. But as last night had shown Cooper, even the smallest werewolves could break free. Could he have shot even if it had been one of her bigger brothers? Cooper looked into his heart and realised that he couldn’t. He couldn’t kill one of them—it wasn’t their fault they had this curse, this affliction. But, on the flip side, Cooper was rather fond of them not ripping him to shreds, either. He took a sip of delicious coffee, thanked her for her concern, and told her not to worry. ‘Tired,’ he said.

In the park, outside the window, a woman walked a golden retriever and a chocolate brown labrador. The dogs had their noses in the air, pulling towards the bakery. The woman was laughing and trying to keep them under control.

Cooper flinched when one of them barked, then chuckled. Thinking about the similarities and differences between wolves and dogs was wild. They were both animals at the end of the day. Instinct led them, but one was safer to be around than the other. He smeared jam over his croissant and sat back in his seat, watching them.

The woman struggled to hold the pair of dogs away from the bakery until she rummaged around in her pockets. She held aloft a dog biscuit, and both dogs immediately sat down and behaved. She then split the little biscuit in half and fed it to each dog.

Something clicked in his head, like pulling back the hammer of a revolver. He might be unable to pull the trigger should he reencounter another werewolf. But he could distract them and keep them entertained long enough for him to get the shot before fleeing. He downed his coffee and took a great big bite of his croissant. He ran up to the woman at the till, paid, and enquired about nearby pet shops.

The baker, shocked at this energy from a guy who had—moments before—seemed half dead, pointed down the road to him.

He thanked her and sprinted out into the sunshine.

The pet shop was a little way down the street. An older man with bushy eyebrows was unlocking the doors when he arrived.

Cooper burst in, unable to contain himself. A bell tinkled overhead. He strode to the counter with a wild grin as the shop owner regarded him with wide eyes. He emptied his pockets and his wallet and slapped the cash down.

‘This is all my money, how many dog toys and treats can I get with that?’