With the rain still coming down late into the evening, Joseph Carter sat in weatherworn handcrafted cedar chair inside his covered porched. Staring out into the street with a heavy look on his brow; his wife Angelica was resting inside after her day of Chemotherapy. A treatment that Joseph was told would only end up delaying the inevitable. Angelica’s cancer was terminal. Being informed by Doctor Tora Tachibana despite being told otherwise by Moon Lake’s oncologist Marcus Huntington; the mortality rate for those with cancer in the pancreas was one hundred percent. It mattered not if the person was a normal or a were.
Being a were, Joseph thought that he and Angelica were immune to such debilitating conditions. Moving to Moon Lake decades prior and shocked that the existence of were-beasts was not confined to old stories and Hollywood. While the pamphlet they were given did explain most of the ins and outs of were-beasts; dispelling the rumors of being nothing more than savage blood thirsty beasts. It did provide insight that werewolves were not the only types of weres out there.
At the time, Joseph and Angelica were young; freshly arrived from a small town in Pennsylvania deep in Amish country. With Samson barely six and their new born daughter Frances, the family was looking for a fresh start. Joseph being a hardworking man that loved to work with his hands soon started up a small furniture crafting business. Having to pick a member to be the family were, Joseph made a decision that all would become weres. Choosing that of a were-dog he underwent the conversion first; becoming a were-bloodhound. Angelica soon followed; allowing herself to be taken by her now stronger and youthful looking husband, she too also became a were-dog; her fursona more resembling that of a sleek greyhound.
Joseph’s son would have to wait a few years before he could become a were-dog, Frances even longer. But with him and Angelica both were’s the town was satisfied.
Back to the present, Joseph get up from his chair and heads inside of the house. A small bungalow that hasn’t changed much since the Carter’s moved in; with the exception of some modern furniture, and a small t.v, Joseph and Angelica have mostly maintained a spartan and simple life. Looking in the living room, Joseph see his wife resting still in her human form. Seeing her wince in pain every time she shifts into her fursona, Joseph knows his wife is in considerable pain, yet she tries to hide it when she can. Taking care to pick her up without waking her, Joseph carries his wife to the bedroom so she can rest more comfortably.
*******
It was around midnight when his sleep was disturbed; getting out of bed, Joseph felt something was off. Seeing his wife sound asleep and under the covers; the were-bloodhound howls lowly at her situation. Sad that she was dying and that there was nothing he could do about it. Yet that odd feeling returned; pulling his attention away from Angelica. Determined to find out what was wrong, Joseph gets out of bed; his paws landing onto the cold hardwood floor as he silently leaves the room. Walking down the hallway, Joseph again felt something was off; unable to determine what it is he sniffs the air, trying to determine if there was a foreign scent.
Not getting anything unusual, Joseph continues to walk down the hall. Passing the room Samson use to be in; his son moved out and now working as a deputy for Moon Lake. Yet as Joseph continues to walk he stops. Looking to his right he sees the door to Frances’s room. Without thinking he opens to doo to a room he hasn’t entered in years. Not since he kicked her out for coming out as a lesbian and becoming a were-feline; defying his will.
Opening the door, Joseph was met with a confusing scene. The room looking like it did when Frances was ten; posters of Janis Joplin and other folk singers all along the wall.
“What is going on here,” Joseph growling under his breath.
Walking into the room further to see someone sleeping in his daughter’s bed; Joseph growls as he doesn’t recognize the scent. Teeth bared, saliva dripping from his curled lips, he rushes to the bed yanking off the sheets. Ready to attack, Joseph is stunned that all he sees is an empty bed. Confused as he could distinctly smell something off; a scent that was still lingering in the room. Searching the room, Joseph turns to the only place left; the closet.
“Whoever you are,” Joseph growling as he places a paw on the closet door handle; “I will find you.”
Wrenching open the door, Joseph was once again met with a confusing sight; the closet before him was empty, save for France’s old clothes. Closing the door Joseph shakes his head as he heads to the bed. Sitting on it and wondering what is going on, Joseph wonders why he was pulled to his daughter’s room. Looking about, he see that besides the posters the room had a simple wooden dresser across from the bed. A feeling of pride wells up in Joseph as he fondly recalls building it for Frances; watching her paint it in several bright pastel colors. Getting up and approaching the dresser, Joseph opens up the drawers; inspecting the craftsmanship, admiring the hand carved scrollwork.
As Joseph runs his paws over the smooth pine, he spies a small red leather book. Curious as to what is could be, he grabs it and heads back to the bed. Opening up the book, Joseph realizes that it was Frances’s diary; torn whether or not to read her most private thoughts or put the book away, Joseph slowly opens up to the first page and starts reading.
Outside of the house, and odd looking man stands in the middle of street; unconcerned over the rain hitting his head, he continues to stare at the Carter house. Watching as Joseph reads the book the strange man left for the were-bloodhound to find.
“Perhaps after you read what was on your daughter’s mind at the time,” the odd man quietly remarks as he begins to glow and fade; “the rift between the two of you will close. I only hope,” the odd man now in his ethereal dragon form; “that it will be soon.”
As the ethereal dragon rises into air; his work done at the Carter house; he heads to someone else in need of his unique brand of assistance.