LOVE THY NEIGHBOR

Though I love pets, I always forbid myself from adopting any. Their lives are too short, and mine far too long, and while time made me wiser in some ways, it unfortunately did not harden me in any. The loss of them would cripple me with sadness. Eternity with a broken heart sounds unbearably long. Time in itself is torture enough.

When I knock on my new neighbor’s door, right across from mine, I am greeted by a strange, goblin-looking cat. It doesn't seem to care that I am a stranger and immediately demands attention by rubbing against my legs. Its slender body, oversized ears, white short hair with black splotches, and gigantic green eyes make it look like an overgrown bat. Somehow, it reminds me of Adam Driver.

Though I have caught glimpses of my neighbor over the three weeks he has been living here, I didn't know he had a pet.

“Sorry,” a gruff voice apologizes as two large hands pick up the animal.

“It’s completely fine. I adore cats.”

I can't help but be a little judgmental. He doesn't look like the kind of man I would imagine owning such a funny-looking animal. I would picture him as more of a big dog dad—to an Irish wolfhound—or a snake owner. No in-between.

“Can I help you?”

Suddenly I feel intimidated. If from a distance he looked grouchy, he seems downright unfriendly up close. The young man towers over me, his face closed like prison doors, a three-day beard covering the lower half of his face while strands of dark brown hair obscure the upper part. His eyes are unreadable—I can't even tell what color they are— and he doesn’t look happy to have been disturbed.

I glance down at the cat, purring loudly in his arms, flopped on its back without a care in the world. Surely, a man owning such a tranquil pet can't be that bad.

“Hi, yeah… I’m Levy, your neighbor. I’m really sorry to bother you at this hour. I have a leak in my apartment. It was supposed to be fixed by 3 PM, but the repairmen are still working on it. My issue is that, in the meantime, I have no running water. Tonight I have a very important work-related event, and… well, I need to take a shower. I was wondering if maybe I could use yours?”

A tick in his jaw makes me regret asking. He doesn't look pleased at all. Well, he never looks pleased, but right now, he seems even more displeased than usual.

“I understand if it’s too bothersome, though—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts. “Just… be quick. It’s late.”

“I’ll be done before you can say ‘meow.’”

That was a stupid thing to say, I think, as he arches a puzzled brow.

“Let me grab my toiletries quickly. I’ll be there in a sec,” I add hastily.

When I come back, he silently leads me through an almost empty living room, overlooked by an open kitchen. It is a little bare, yet quite cozy. The room is lit by an overhead lamp radiating a warm yellow glow. A random painting of a lake hangs on the wall. A vintage leather couch warms the space, with a small wooden coffee table sitting on a fuzzy cream rug at its foot. A slight smell of dog makes my nose twitch, probably lingering from the last tenant.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a fluffy carpet kind of guy,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

What an impolite thing to say to someone who is kindly letting me use their shower. Silences make me uncomfortable, forever have. I always end up saying stupid things.

It doesn't seem to bother him, though. He just shrugs as we enter the bathroom.

“Well, it’s soft. And Gisele loves them.”

“Gisele?”

He points his chin toward the cat marching imperiously behind us.

“Ah, of course,” I smile.

He turns to leave, but I catch him by the elbow.

“Thank you. You’re a real lifesaver. I’ll make it up to you.”

“It’s fine. No problem.”

When I come out of the bathroom, I am holding a drenched Gisele bundled up in a towel I found next to the sink.

“I’m sorry. She just jumped in.”

“Yeah, she does that,” he sighs, gently taking the cat from me.

Carrying my dirty clothes on my forearms, I give one last pet to the wet gremlin before heading toward the door.

“I’ll be taking my leave. Thanks again, neighbor.”

He nods before retorting, “I didn’t peg you for a tattoo kinda guy.”

Glancing at my naked torso, I chuckle. I hadn’t brought a clean shirt—only sweatpants to change into, since I’ll be putting on a suit anyway.

“Well, they look pretty… And the soccer moms love them.”

A slight smile curls his lips, and suddenly, he doesn’t look so scary anymore.

A few days later, I buy eggs, flour, a vanilla pod—everything I need to bake French crepes. I even get fresh strawberries and chocolate to melt on top. I hope he’ll like it.

The smell of batter cooking fills my apartment, pinching my heart with bittersweet nostalgia. I could cry, almost. I miss the taste of crepes so much.

I’ve heard shuffling behind his door all morning—he must be remodeling—so I hope the dessert will give him a chance to take a break.

When I knock on his door, a loud grunt makes me wonder if I am intruding.

When my neighbor opens the door, he is shirtless, disheveled, sweaty, and panting heavily.

Oh, I definitely am.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer quickly. “This is a bad time, isn’t it?”

He runs a hand through his hair, brushing it back with shaky fingers. His face is bare, and I notice he doesn’t look so good. His complexion is grayish, his lips pale, and his amber eyes are bloodshot and shiny. Poor lad must be running a fever.

“No… you’re good,” he rasps.

A pang of worry tugs at my chest.

“Sorry if it’s intrusive, but could I come in for just a second? I just want to put the food on the counter. I hope you don’t have any allergies. I know I should’ve asked first—”

“Just put it on the counter,” he interrupts. “And stop babbling. Take a breath, Levy.”

He remembers my name. I still don't know his.

I set the plate down slowly and sneak a glance around. The blinds are tightly shut, with only the kitchen hood light on. The couch has been pushed into a corner, the coffee table precariously perched on top of it. The rug is gone—rolled up and stuffed somewhere out of sight.

The strangest thing is the garish blue plastic pool in the middle of the living room, surrounded by large bags of ice.

And where is Gisele? Something is definitely bizarre, I can feel it in the tense atmosphere. It makes my skin tingle, like when a lightning storm is about to break, and tear the sky apart.

“Gisele is sleeping in my room,” he says, answering my silent question. “Feel free to check on her if you want.”

“Sure. But first, what’s your name?”

A long silence follows. I can't tell if he is bothered, bored, or about to throw up.

“Ardal,” he finally huffs out.

He suddenly slumps over, groaning, his face hidden behind his forearms. Chills make all the hair on his body stand up.

“I’m not gonna lie, Ardal. You look like absolute shit.”

I gently press the back of my hand to his cheek.

“You’re burning up.”

He only grunts in response.

“Okay, neighbor. Let’s get you to bed.”

Before he can protest, I slip an arm under his knees and another behind his back, lifting him effortlessly.

“Put me down,” he mutters. “Just… help me get the rest of the ice into the pool. Cold dips are the only thing that helps with the pain.”

“Alright.”

His legs barely support him as he slides to the ground beside the pool. Together, we rip open the bags, pouring ice until the tub is full.

“Grah!” he rasps. “Help me in, help me in! Please, Levy.”

“I’ve got you,” I reassure him, gripping him firmly under the armpits to ease him into the ice-filled tub.

Though his lips are already turning blue and his body is trembling, he sighs with relief.

I hear a strange crunching sound, even through the water muffling everything. It’s unmistakable. It sounds like.. bones snapping.

“Now,” he breathes in a low voice, “You need to leave.”

“I can’t leave you alone in this state. What’s even going on with you?”

“Leave. Now.”

He grabs my face and pulls it so close I can see that his eyes are more gold than amber, his pupils blown wide with adrenaline.

“I’m begging you. Get the fuck out.”

He pushes me back hard enough to make me stumble and fall on my ass. His voice is laced with panic, so I obey.

I shoot up, and leave.

My heart is pounding. I can't shake off the sheer fear I read in Ardal’s eyes.

I sit on my floor, back against the wall. I close my eyes, take deep breaths to calm my mind, and concentrate. I need to shed my human capacities and let my true ones shine through.

To the sounds, I open my ears: crackling, crunching, bones on bones, snarling, ice cubes snapping against each other, ripping, sloshing, ragged breaths, whimpers of pain.

To the smells, I open my nose: metallic—lots of blood. The bitterness of fear was omnipresent, mingled with cold water, leather, and sweat.

Something dark is happening in that apartment.

And I can’t help him because he won’t let me. I clasp my hands behind my head and crush my ears with my elbows, trying to make it stop. He is in so much pain. And something... something is wrong with his heart.

Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Ba-thump.

Its rhythm is all over the place.

I get up quickly, and as I look for my phone to call for help, I realize...

I can’t hear anything anymore.

Fuck the phone.

I frantically rush out the door, praying he hasn’t locked his behind me. When I turn the knob, I’m relieved—he hasn’t.

Inside, the first thing I see is a slumped silhouette. There is pink water and ice cubes everywhere. It seems he has thrashed a lot.

The next second, I am right beside him. I press my ear to his chest.

Nothing.

“No, no, no,” I croak, gripping his shoulders and shaking him. His skin is deathly cold.

Acting on pure instinct, I grab him and pull him out of the plastic tub, laying him flat on the floor.

I think I might black out right then and there, but my hands move on autopilot. I pump his chest as hard as I can without killing him… further.

“Come on, come on...”

Suddenly, his eyes shoot wide open, glowing yellow with an animalistic light. His jaw slacks open—wider and wider—dislocating in a garish way that sends chills down my spine. And I have seen many horrible things in my lifetime.

My stomach clenches in disgust as his back arches with an awful crack, and I jump back when he rolls onto his belly.

His spine protrudes grotesquely, moving like a snake under his skin. The angle his knees snap into makes me yelp in surprise. What the hell is going on?

Ardal doesn't look human anymore.

He is nothing more than a fleshy, monstrous creature, with bones piercing in and out of his body, spurting blood everywhere. Some flies into my mouth, and I can't even distinguish it from the taste of my own fear.

Small white pebbles litter the floor—little pearls floating around in a red lake.

Teeth, I realize in horror.

Clawing at the floor, my neighbor—if I could still call him that—lets out horrible mewls of pain that make my still heart ache.

Then fur begins to sprout. His nose elongates into a snout, long fangs growing from his bare gums. Only then does it click.

Werewolf.

Ardal is a fucking werewolf.

Shit.

I have seen creatures like him before, long ago. In legends, most of the time. In wars, once. So long ago I forgot about them, forgot they are real, as real as I am; not just nightmare-fuelling tricks of the light.

But tonight is not a full moon. Hell, it’s not even night yet.

A sense of impending doom takes over my very soul, and fear like I have never felt before invades every cell in my body.

The sea is receding, preparing to engulf everything.

Times are about to change. This fact roots itself so deep in my bones, I know it to be true.