The hideous quacking sounded again; would it never cease? Penelope
threw off the covers and got up to look out the window. The moon
was full. The were-duck was back, and her silver bullets were in
the shop for buffing. She was helpless... or was she? The abominable
quacking seemed to shake the walls as she dashed downstairs to
the formal dining room. She had never had much use for the place,
but now it might be her salvation. Bam! Bam! Bam! The duck was
at the door. She slammed the dining room door as splinters of the
front door skittered down the hall. She leapt onto the table and
grabbed what she needed, hiding it behind her back just as the
door to the room was wrenched open. And there he was. Hobart, the
were-duck.
“Hey baby,” he quacked, “I dig
the négligée.” He hopped and flapped his way up onto the table.
“Keep back,” she warned. She
hated the way her voice quavered. “You’re not yourself, it’s
the Moon. Go back home.”
Hobart whipped out a sword. Where
he had been keeping it, she hadn’t a clue. She also had not
realized that he intended to kill her.
“You probably hate the way your
voice quavers when you try to sound tough,” Hobart said. “Don’t
worry, I’m not intending to kill you.”
Penelope backed almost to the
end of the table before she showed her hand. In it was a 14
inch long silver candlestick.
“Whoa. The lady means business,” and
with that Hobart made a tricky little double step and lunged
with the sword. Penelope caught the tip of the sword in the
base of the candlestick and snapped it off. She followed up
with a wild sweep that connected with the were-duck’s head.
Hobart went down.
“Penny?” her mother called from
the back bedroom, “you’re up early. Is everything okay?”
“Oh yeah. How do you feel about
roast duck for dinner tonight? I’m cooking.”
“Sounds lovely dear. But you
really should go back to bed until morning.”
“Yes mom.”
# # #
Night of the Were-Duck by
David C. Kopaska-Merkel
originally
published March 26, 2008
