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 nιgligιe. 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.
