Clogs for Paws

[Brian is] Long Away [from finding the answers he wants]

Brian continued to study werewolf legends in his free time. If he wasn't going to classes, studying for his upcoming High-Energy Physics test, or playing with Roger and Freddie, he had his nose buried in a book with the face of a wolf on the cover.

With his test approaching, Brian was struggling to balance out his stress levels. He hoped that going on a camping trip with Tim at Hompy Bong Forest would relieve some of that pressure, but then he got bit. Now he struggled to balance his priorities. Do I study for my test and make my parents proud or do I read more fairytales? he asked himself. More often than not, the answer was indeed read more fairytales.

Of course, these fairy tales, however entertaining and a good distraction, often led in circles. Brian constantly searched for more details on the elusive Lycan, but the only book to mention such a thing was the original tome he checked out from the college library. He did find some interesting and notable variations of the werewolf, however. For instance, the French and Cajun legend of the Rougarous caught his eye.

"A turn would be brought upon by not practicing Lent for seven years in a row," Brian read. Oh great, he thought, I don't even remember the last time I did Lent, if ever!

When he finally exhausted the college library collection on wolves and werewolves, Brian's curiosity and his studying procrastination led him to read camping guide from Hompy Bong Forest that Tim sent him before their trip. He sat on his couch with a teacup in hand, and a Beatles record played softly in the background.

Brian read the title aloud, "Mott Hoople and the Hompy Bong Village Mystery of 1966."

He paused a moment. "Mott Hoople? Did they mean 'Matt' Hoople?" he wondered.

"Mott Hoople was found dead in Hompy Bong Forest on July 4th, 1966. His body was mauled by a wild animal, presumably a large dog or a wild boar. The cause of death was ruled an accident by investigators," Brian read.

Brian thought, And why didn't Tim mention this beforehand?

"Partial prints of a giant wolf at the scene sparked a local legend of Hoople being killed by a werewolf," Brian continued, "but the killing of an aggressive boar later that month laid the village to rest."

Brian rubbed this temple. "Bloody hell," he cursed, "The biggest clue was right under my nose the whole time!"

He set the camping guide down and stood up. He trooped into the kitchen and picked up the phone.

Please don't kill me, dad, he prayed as he dialed Tim's number, I know this is long distance, but I think it will be worth the bill.

The phone rang a moment and clicked when a person on the opposite end picked up.

"This is Tim Staffell," his friend greeted in monotone.

"Tim? This is Brian," Brian replied.

"Brian?" Tim asked with a smile that could be heard, "How are you doing?"

Brian chuckled and said, "Doin' alright, Tim. The bite on my arm is completely healed. Can't believe I was bit only a little more than a week ago."

Tim's tone fell grave and he responded, "I thought- and I'm being honest here- that you would bleed out in my car on the way to the hospital. I'm so glad that you are all better."

Brian cringed at Tim's past worry. I hadn't even thought to put myself in his shoes, he thought, he had to drive me all the way up to Leicester where there was a real hospital while I was passed out and bleeding in the passenger seat. Brian replied, "Thank you, Tim. It didn't even leave a scar."

"What a miracle!" Tim exclaimed. Wow. He really was scared, Brian thought. To Brian, the whole experience of getting bitten was more of a foggy nightmare, but to Tim, it was a crystal clear real memory.

Tim sighed on the other line and asked, "Okay, Brian. What is the real reason why you are calling?"

Brian was taken aback by Tim's frankness. "What?" He asked.

"Brian, I've known you for years," Tim said, "I know that even you aren't making this phone call to say you are all fine and dandy. You would've written. So, what do you want?"

"Well, that was blunt. Wasn't it, Tim?" Brian retorted.

Brian could feel Tim roll his eyes. "I know, I know. What do you need then?" Tim reattempted, "What can I help you with?"

Brian looked back at the camping guide that laid on his couch. "What can you tell me about Matt, or Mott, Hoople?" He asked.

"So you finally read the camping guide I gave you, huh?" Tim laughed, "Bloke was killed by what they think was a wild animal. Villagers thought it was werewolves, but a boar was shot later."

"Anything else? Any rumors or anything that your Aunt told you?" Brian asked.

"Lemme ask," Tim replied. Brian listened as Tim's muffled voice and the voice of an old woman spoke. He heard Tim ask "Is that so?" and "Are you sure?" countless times and the voice of the old woman grew sterner with every answer.

"Okay, this is interesting," Tim said when he returned to the phone, "According to town gossip, there were actually reports of howling, as in wolf howling, the night he died."

The muffled sound of the old woman's voice filled the phone again.

Tim continued, "Apparently, police are said to have found not only one but two distinctly different wolf tracks at the scene and human footprints belonging not to Matt Hoople but a young man. I guess that is where the village got the whole werewolf idea from."

"That's very interesting," Brian said as he scratched the back of his head, "And why did you fail to mention this to me before the trip?"

"You wouldn't have come. Besides, remember what you said, 'Wolves don't live in England,'" Tim responded, "Take it from me. This town is made up of a bunch of lunies. A werewolf murder story isn't too off-kilter from some of the other stories that I've been told here."

Brian laughed. "Alright, Tim. Thank you and goodbye," he said.

"Bye, Bri," Tim replied and hung up the phone.

Brian glanced at the ticking clock. Hope we didn't take too long, Brian thought.

He walked over to his desk and stared at the map of the British Isles that he left out. From 1966 to now, one of the wolves that attacked Matt Hoople could've migrated down here, he decided.

Brian tilted his head and furrowed his eyebrows. "But why would a wolf want to go to London?" he wondered aloud.

He walked to his loo and looked into the mirror. He said as he moved his head from side to side, "That's good. Beard isn't growing back as fast as last week."