Beach Party

“Are you coming tonight?” Kristi asks me. She is sitting on my bed with one leg folded up under her and the other one hanging over the edge of my bed, swinging back and forth.

“Probably not,” I reply.

“Come on, Megan! It’s the Fourth of July! We’re going to have a bonfire on the beach and watch the fireworks.”

“Mom and I watch the fireworks every year from our porch.” They shoot them off from the sports complex near downtown, so you have a good view of them just about anywhere you happen to be in the town.

“But it’s a beach party. You don’t want to miss that, do you? Everyone’s going to be there.”

“I’m guessing there’s going to be alcohol there.”

Kristi drops her gaze from mine to her fingernails, painted glittery red white and blue for the occasion.

“Well, Doug’s brother did mention dropping off some beers and stuff for us,” she admits.

“So what do we do if and when the cops show up?”

“We scatter and get the hell out of there like we did at Cory’s Halloween party last year.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“Exactly! You’re never there, Megan! You always miss out on all the epic shit!”

I would call it dodging a bullet rather than ‘missing out’, myself.

“Yeah, I’m not all that into epic shit, actually.”

Kristi emits a dramatic sigh that I find more befitting of a preteen girl than someone who just graduated high school.

“What are you into?” She demands. “I mean, you don’t like sports, you’re not dating anyone that I know of, and if you were dating anyone I would know. I’m your best friend.”

“Then as my best friend you know that I also don’t like parties or big groups of people,” I point out.

“Yeah, I know. But as your best friend I guess it’s up to me to drag you out of your shell. Somebody has to.”

“I’m doing just fine in my shell, Kris.”

“It’s not like you have anything else to do tonight,” she states, folding her arms across her chest.

I walk over to pick up the slim volume of short paranormal stories from my bedside table and hold it up for her to see.

She sighs again. “Oh, come on. You have plenty of time to waste reading.”

“Less if I waste time going to some stupid beach party,” I point out.

“Besides, isn’t there going to be a full moon tonight?”

“Yeah, supposed to be. So? You’re not superstitious, are you? You can’t think we’re gonna be attacked by a fuckin’ werewolf! Jeez, that shit you read must be going to your head, Megan.”

“It’s not that,” I reply. I set the book back down on the bedside table. “But my brother’s fiance is a nurse at the hospital, and she says it’s always extra busy there during full moons. People just tend to get really violent and weird and just plain crazy, I guess.”

“This party’s all gonna be our friends, people we just graduated with. If any of them were violent or crazy we would’ve found that out a long time ago.” I could, if I wanted to, point out exactly how many flaws there are in this theory of Kristi’s, but I don’t.

“I think I’m just going to stay home,” I tell her.

“Come on, please come with me. I’ll do anything. I’ll owe you one, I promise.”

“In that case, if I agree to go tonight will you promise to not drag me to the next party that comes along, or the one after that?”

Kristi makes a face. She seems to be unsure whether or not to count my reluctant capitulation as a triumph or a defeat. She would have been much happier about it without the attached caveat. “I guess, if that’s what you really want,” she sighs.

“Then it’s a deal, I guess.”

“Great! Doug and I’ll pick you up around six-thirty.”

“No. I want to take my own car so I can leave whenever I want.”

“Seriously?” Another sigh.

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Okay, fine.”

After Kristi has left for her house to shower and change for tonight’s ‘epic’ beach party, I go downstairs to find Mom in the kitchen.

“Hey,” I tell her, “Kristi wants me to go down to the beach for some Forth of July party the senior class is throwing tonight,” I tell her. “You mind if I go?” As a legal adult at eighteen I don’t technically need my mom’s permission for anything, but part of me is still hoping that she’ll say no.

Her grin tells me that I should have known better. I guess I did know better, really. The fact that I prefer to spend time alone in my room reading rather than spending time hanging out with my peers has always been a matter of concern for my mom. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like she’s ever been worried that I’m in my room looking up how to make a bomb on the internet or anything like that. She’s just concerned that the secluded life I’ve chosen for myself won’t turn out to be as fun and fulfilling as the one she’s lived. If I wanted to be cruel I guess I could ask her how ‘fun and fulfilling’ being a divorced single mother of a teenager really is, but I could never find it in myself to be that mean-spirited. Mom means well, I know that, but she doesn’t always seem to understand me.

“That’s great!” She gushes. “Of course I don’t mind!”

“I won’t be there long,” I assure her. “Probably just an hour or two.”

“Stay out as long as you want. Are you going with Kristi and her boyfriend, what’s his name?”

“Doug. No. I’m going to meet them there.”

“Okay. And Megan, if you get tipsy please call me and I’ll pick you up. I’ll be up late.”

“There’s not going to be any booze there.”

Mom gives me a crooked smile, her mouth pulled up higher on the right side than the left, and raises both eyebrows until they almost meet her hairline.

“Oh, please. You think I’ve never gone to a senior party before?”

“Even if there is, I’m not going to drink any.”

“I’m not telling you not to. Like I said, I’ve been to my share of senior parties. Just promise me you’ll call if you have too much.”

At this point all I can do is agree.

Fresh out of the shower and dressed in a pair of blue jean shorts and a red and white striped halter top that I almost never wear because it just feels a little too revealing, I brush my hair and pull it back into a ponytail.

“Have fun!” Mom chirps as I grab my keys from the little hook by the front door.

“Thanks,” I reply. I’m sure I won’t I add, but not aloud.

The beach is an eight or nine block drive from the slightly less affluent neighborhood of San Diego where Mom and I live. I’ve always thought it would be nice to live right on the beach and be able to hear the surf crashing outside our house, but that kind of real estate comes with an extra hefty price tag.

The beach, at least during the summer months, is more often than not teeming with people; families having picnics, couples snuggling together on blankets, people jogging with their dogs along the waterline. This seems to be especially true on this July fourth. I guess my former classmates weren’t the only ones to decide that this would be the perfect place to observe tonight’s fireworks spectacle.

I spot what I’m pretty sure is the party I’m looking for down at the far end of the beach. They have dug a huge pit in the sand and filled it with bits of driftwood in preparation for the bonfire that will be lit at sundown. According to the posted signs, bonfires are strictly prohibited on the beach. But then again, so are alcoholic beverages (let alone alcoholic beverages in the hands of underage persons) yet even from where I’m standing I can see that several of my peers are holding cans that I’m pretty sure do not contain soda.

There is hardly anyone else this far down toward the end of the beach. I only pass one or two people throwing balls for their dogs.

Closer to the group around the fire pit, but paying no attention to them, a lone man stands at the water’s edge staring out over the horizon. I’m not really sure why he catches my attention aside from the fact that there is a white bandage wrapped around his right leg from ankle to knee.

“Megan?” Derek questions as I approach the group of former seniors. He seems surprised, but not displeased, to see me. “I didn’t think you’d show up tonight. You hardly ever come to parties.”

“Yeah, well, Kristi talked me into it,” I tell him, attempting not to sound peevish and failing miserably. “Where is she, anyway?”

Derek shrugs his shoulders. “She and Doug aren’t here yet.”

She’d better show up. If she bails I’m going to be seriously pissed.

Derek must see something of my thoughts in my expression because he gives me a somewhat uncertain half-smile. “Don’t worry, they’ll be here. Go ahead and help yourself to a drink. Doug’s brother dropped off a couple coolers full for us.”

I dig around in one of the coolers until I find a Coke buried under the beers and hard seltzers.

It is another ten minutes or so before Kristi and Doug show up, crossing the sand toward us with their arms twined about each other’s waists.

“Megan, you’re here!” Kristi exclaims, holding both hands out to me. She is wearing a white sundress covered with large red and blue stars. Her boyfriend has opted for his customary khaki cargo shorts and white button-down shirt unbuttoned down to the belly button. No doubt Kristi had attempted (futilely) to talk him into wearing something a little more festive. “I was hoping you wouldn’t bail.”

“I was thinking the same thing about you,” I state.

“Sorry,” Doug apologizes. “I got off work a little late. Got to love those customers who come in two minutes before the store closes.” He gives me a little grimace. “She was a real Karen, too.”

He wanders over to one of the coolers to grab a beer for himself and one for Kristi. I could say something in protest, I guess, but I don’t. I already have something of a reputation as a stick in the mud and a wallflower. I don’t really want a reputation as a goody-two-shoes as well.

The sun is sinking lower toward the horizon now, casting a molten golden glow over the surface of the ocean.

“Should we light the bonfire now?” Someone suggests. Derek responds that we should wait until it’s a little darker.

I glance over and notice that the man with the bandaged leg who I’d walked past has moved farther away from our group, back up toward the other end of the beach and the parking lot. I can’t help but wonder if we’ve disturbed him with all our noise. Although now several yards farther away I can see that he is still standing very much as he was when I’d walked past him, at the edge of the ocean staring out over it.

By the time the full moon rises to its height I am contemplating slipping away to my car and going home. I’m getting tired of trying to pick out bits and pieces of the multiple conversations (none of which I am actually a participant in) going on all around me. I guess I could join one of the little groups of my peers and talk to them, but the truth is I’m just not interested. I’ve always hated small talk, I despise sports and trends and I couldn’t care less who’s dating who. And it doesn’t help that by now I am probably the only person here who isn’t at least two and a half sheets to the wind.

“Hey Meg’n,” Kristi slurs, throwing one arm around my shoulders. She has discarded her sundress and is now clad only in the skimpy two-piece swimsuit she’d been wearing under it. I don’t know how many beers she’s had by now, maybe four or five. “Kind’a s’prised you’re still here. Thought you would’ve lef’ by now.”

“I’m thinking about it,” I admit. “You know this isn’t really my thing.”

“Aww, don’ leave yet. Fireworksh’re in...um…” She glances over her shoulder and bellows, “Hey, Dougie, when d’ th’ fireworksh start?”

Doug jogs over to join the two of us. I can tell he’s been drinking, but he doesn’t appear to be in quite the state of intoxication his girlfriend is.

“Still another half hour,” he answers her question, glancing at his cheap department store watch.

Plenty of time for me to get out of here and be home to watch them from the front porch with Mom.

“I think I’m going to head home,” I comment.

“Nooooooo.” Kristi is clutching at my arm. “Jus’ stay ‘til the fireworksh’re over.”

“Let’s take a walk up the beach,” Doug suggests. “The three of us. I could use a break from this.” He turns to wave a hand at the general noise and partying going on around the bonfire.

“I guess,” I agree. Although I really would rather go home.

Kristi throws one arm around Doug’s shoulders and one arm around mine as she walks between us. She doesn’t actually need our help to remain upright, not quite, but she seems appreciative of our support all the same.

Thirty or forty yards from the bonfire the man with the bandaged leg is lying in the sand at the water’s edge, writhing and groaning in what seems to be agony.

Doug, Kristi and I pause when we see him.

“Is he ‘kay?” Kristi wonders.

Doug shakes his head, a little crease appearing between his brows. “Doesn’t look like it.” Yet he does not seem inclined to offer the man any assistance.

“We should help him,” I point out, my voice coming out a little sharper than I had intended. Although, to be honest, I’m not sure exactly what we might be able to do. My older brother’s fiance is a nurse, but she’s not here and I haven’t had any medical training myself.

“Sir?” I query uncertainly, taking one step toward him.

Doug places a hand on my shoulder, holding me back.

“Megan, I don’t think we should…” his voice falls off as the sound coming from the man lying in the sand deepens and adopts a hoarser, harsher quality, more a growl than a groan.

The man lifts his head just an inch or two and I can see that something is very wrong. His head is too large and misshapen, his nose extending far beyond the length it should be, like the muzzle of a dog or a wolf. Also like a dog or a wolf, his head is covered with thick silver-gray fur. His impossibly round eyes shine yellow in the reflected light of the full moon.

“Oh shit,” Doug whispers behind me, his short fingernails digging into the flesh of my shoulder. “shit, shit, shit!”

The man (or whatever it is) struggles slowly to his feet. He appears to be weak, or maybe just momentarily disoriented. His jogging shorts and t-shirt are hanging in shreds from his muscular, hairy form. The moonlight silvers a long string of saliva dangling from the sharp fangs that fill his panting muzzle.

For just a moment or two he stands motionless, his head lowered and his inhuman yellow eyes focused on the three of us, before he lifts his head to point his muzzle at the sky and emits a blood-curdling howl.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Doug shrieks, his voice high and almost girlish, as the thing takes first one and then two steps in our direction. “Megan, you and Kristi run for the car! I’ll go back and tell the others to get out of here!”

“No, stay wiff me! Don’ go! Don’ go, Dougie!” Kristi is clutching at his hand.

“Go! I’ll warn the others!” Doug turns and races for the bonfire.

I tug Kristi by the arm, attempting to pull her in the opposite direction toward where my car is parked at the far end of the beach. She refuses to budge, crying and screaming Doug’s name and attempting to break free of my grasp.

I manage to drag her a few feet away before the wolf thing springs at Doug’s retreating form and pins him to the sand before he has managed to make it halfway back to the group around the bonfire.

“No!” Kristi wails. “Dougie! Dougie!” She has redoubled her efforts to pull away from me and run to him.

Hearing her, the werewolf (I can’t believe I’m actually using that word, but what in the hell else could it be?) raises its head to glance back at us over its shoulder. There is a long strip of something dangling from its jaws. Its muzzle is dripping with something that looks wet and very dark in the moonlight.

“Dougie!” Kristi shrieks again.

“He’s gone,” I tell her. “He’s gone, Kristi. We need to get the hell out of here!” I tug on her arm.

She doubles over, retching up a bellyful of beer into the sand.

I manage to get Kristi to my car just as the fireworks begin to explode in the sky above us, brilliant flashes of red, white, blue and green accompanied by thunder-like claps that nearly manage to drown out the shrieks of terror drifting toward us on the gentle breeze from the opposite end of the beach.