'kay, due to certain technical problems, I'm not going to update this for a while, at least until I find my USB key and am able to actually start writing again.

I didn't really like this chapter much, but it does explain a lot. I know parts of it seem awkward, but I was a little distracted by other things while I was writing this, but I wanted to get this bit out of the way so that I could write the next bit, which I'm working on now.

***

Chapter Four

Over the next few days, Jon found himself at Mr. Sellars' old house every afternoon. Oddly enough, Mr. Sellars seemed to warm up to Jon after the first day, giving him chores that were significantly easier. It was almost as if the old man had been trying to test Jon that first day. Sometimes, Jon completed the tasks he was set within less than an hour, and it was on one such day that Mr. Sellars showed him the Gallery.

     The Gallery was a sort of art studio that Sellars had set up in his attic. The room smelled strongly of paint, and the walls were covered with all manner of drawings, paintings, even an etching or two. There was one particular painting that caught Jon's eye.

     "Is that...? That's my poster!" Jon exclaimed.

     "Your poster? What do you mean... oh. I see," said Sellars.

     "What? What is it?"

     "There were, at one time, two identical paintings. I painted them both myself, but one day, while I was out, someone broke into my house and took one of them,"

     "But... my poster isn't like a painting. It's on poster paper and everything,"

     "It's meant to be like that. There's a way of doing that, I thought it would be easier. Listen carefully, young wolf, that was no ordinary poster, that wasn't even an ordinary painting. Even I don't fully understand it, but somehow that poster changed you. I recognized it almost immediately. Did you not wonder why I called you 'young wolf'?"

     "Well yes, actually. But I don't understand..."

     "I call you that because that's who you are. Also, I thought 'young wolf' sounded less patronizing than 'little wolf'," Mr. Sellars chuckled at this.

     "So... that fang thing?"

     "Belongs to you. It's a symbolic thing, going back many generations, for the young, inexperienced pack members to receive something of this sort from an elder, usually their teacher."

     "Wait a second... what?"

     "Humour an old man, won't you? If it helps any, this goes back centuries before me. The practice began in France, I believe. Blame them if you like, but wear it always, anyway."

     "So you're telling me that I'm a werewolf?"

     "Yep."

     "And you are too?"

     "All my life."

     "So that poster changed me?"

     "Uh, no, actually. It merely awakened something you already had, dormant genes, or whatever the scientists are saying these days. It's irrelevant, the point is, it's always been there, it just needed something to wake it up, so to speak."

     "So does that mean my parents...?"

     "No. It skipped their generations, and it's extremely rare. Even if they were to be bitten, nothing would happen to them. They have no idea, and neither does anyone in your family going back a long, long time."

     "Okay. Hang on, before, did you say 'pack members'? Do you have a pack? Are there more werewolves around here?"

     "I had one, once upon a time. We never lived around here, though. We lived in Quebec, near Trois-Rivières. Then came the war, and..." Sellars broke off, Jon decided not to press the issue.

     "Here," said Mr. Sellars after a few minutes, handing Jon a paintbrush, "Let's see what you can do. Paint something."

     "Is that my job for today?"

     "Sure, why not,"

     Jon took the brush and looked at it dubiously. "What happened to grumpy, anyway?"

     "You want me to be grumpy? Well, in my day, children were supposed to respect their elders and do what they're told, now paint."

     Jon turned around to see a blank canvas and, holding the paintbrush at arm's length as if he were frightened it might explode, he began to paint. He was surprised to discover that, although he had never had much in the way of artistic talent, the picture he held in his mind translated surprisingly well onto the canvas. He was almost finished when he heard a car horn and was interrupted out of his thoughts.

     "I am going to have a long talk with your mother about that car of hers," said Sellars angrily, "Well, I suppose it's time for you to go now. Until next time then, after all, tomorrow is the full moon..."

Last edited by scifiguy (2010-03-21 13:35:11)

Love it. Although everything seems very forced. I can completely beleive that you were distracted on the last part. Is it bad? No. Is it good.... Somewhat. Your style of writing is interesting but you need to space it all out. It can he torture, trust me. But the result would be a future best seller

Good story overall but it will be over in 6 to 7 posts

you know this rather good i think you should keep it up!!!!