The Beast Well Worn

Ron Koppelberger

The Beast Well Worn

The shelves were full of amber colored syrup, most contained the waxy honeycomb of diligent bees. He took comfort in his necessity, the rare flavor of savory fare. Toast and honey, coffee tinctured in the nectar of confederate reason, the reason of nature and its distinctions of glory. The effect was subtle and manifest in his ailment. He had gone to the doctor complaining of a strange skin disorder. Patches of thick bristling fur had appeared on his back and shoulders.
He thumbed through the encyclopedia as he chewed at the fresh bowl of venison and kidney gravy. His pantry was a motley array of dishes and delicacies, for the discerning palette.
Venison was one of his passions. The cup of honey laced coffee went down in a silky sweet symphony of bliss. The encyclopedia listed lycanthropy as a mental condition, …..the belief that one is a wolf… The business of trimming his fingernails was a secret one. The Tiger shank lay uneaten in his stainless steal freezer. Perhaps tonight he thought.
The patches of fur covered most of his back and arms now and his teeth had taken on a bulging pointed insistence. The can of chocolate covered ants, barely unsealed, were a compliment to the venison and kidney stew. He belched and knock over a thick viscous glass of cows blood. The scarlet fluid seeped between the floor boards and into the nap of his HOME SWEET HOME rug. Growling he thought about the conveyance of footpads and primal urges. He had a taste for the exotic and found himself salivating in wild throes of compulsion, an innate desire to devour. The elephant steaks and the jackal liver wouldn’t do, the zebra flanks and the goat eyeballs were none to him.
He padded through the pair of oaken doors in the front room and went outside. He forgot about the tiger shank in that moment as he headed toward his neighbors house and the most exotic fare of all, human stew.