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The Book of Monsters: Snakeface

The Book of Monsters: Snakeface

by Mike Purfield
We took 10 new horror authors and asked them to create original fiction using classic horror monsters--without breaking the rules! Snakeface is Mike Purfield's creation--an original Werewolf story!


We took 10 new horror authors and asked them to create original fiction using classic horror monsters--without breaking the rules! Snakeface is Mike Purfield's creation--an original Werewolf story!

Product Details

Scrybe Press
Publication date:
Sold by:
Barnes & Noble
File size:
200 KB

Read an Excerpt

3:14 A.M.

The full moon hung over the schoolyard at the Owel Grade School as Greg parked his Camaro next to the jungle gym. The left fender and headlight were smashed, wet with blood and a bit of brown fur, the windshield was gone, framed with shards of glass, and there was a large hole on the driver's side of the roof. Contrary to the condition of the car, Greg was in good shape. His moppy brown hair was pasted to his head from the sweat leaking out of his body, also dampening his t-shirt under his denim jacket.

Greg, calming down from his God-like high earlier, sat in his car and stared at his client, Mr. Fine, who stood by the swing set, his Cadillac parked behind him. He was at least 20 years older than Greg's 27 years, his hair was died black, and his skin was deeply tanned, contrasting with the winter weather they were meeting in. He looked nothing like a person who would hire Greg to steal. In fact, this was the first person to ever hire him. Greg normally stole valuables from houses and only for himself. Why ask a small time thief to steal something for such a rich man? Mr. Fine told Greg that he needed someone who didn't travel in his circle due to the importance of the package; he trusted ignorance. Fine then looked at Greg expectantly, revealing a black leather briefcase in his hand, wanting to move things along.

Actually, Greg wanted to get the switch over with. The crudely bandaged wound on his forearm, hidden under his jacket sleeve, was itching, possibly growing infection. He took the brown leather briefcase off the floor of the car and got out, leaving his revolver on the passenger seat. He walked out to the swing set.

"You look likeshit," Fine commented.

"What?" Greg said, moving his good ear forward.

Fine sighed and said, "You look like shit."

"Yeah?" Greg asked. "Well, let me tell you, I feel like shit."

"You weren't hard of hearing earlier."

"No. No, I wasn't. So do me a favor and talk loud."

"It all went well, no one saw you?"

"Not exactly."

"She saw you." Anger surfaced on his tan face.

"Calm the fuck down, okay? Dead people can't talk."

Fine's anger was replaced with a smirk. "You killed her."

Greg flinched at the man's smirk, wondering what was behind it. He then decided to let it go.

"Let's get this shit over with." He held out his brown briefcase and they switched.

They placed their cases on the cold ground and opened them at the same time. Greg smiled down at the bundles of cash. More than satisfied, he closed it and then looked at Fine. The older man gazed in wonder at the contents of the brown leather briefcase.

"Like it, huh?" Greg asked.

"I can't believe I finally have it."

A growl moved through the night, catching their attention. Fine and Greg turned to the jungle gym behind them.

"Oh, fuck," Greg spat. "You should be fuckin' dead."

Crouching down on the top level of the gym was a large brown-haired wolf that stood at least five feet tall on four paws. Its drooling mouth opened slowly, the pink tongue peaking out in anticipation. With dark eyes, it looked at Greg, its tail and paws twitching, ready to attack.

Greg was about to reach for the gun behind his back, but then remembered where he left it. He shook his head, reading the signs and understanding there was no stopping it; he was dead.

"Don't move," Fine said.

But he did, just enough to see Fine step up next to him and point a .38 automatic handgun at the large wolf.

"Dude, I fucked it up earlier," Greg whispered, "that gun is not going to do a damn..."

The wolf leapt from the jungle gym, teeth bared, thick black claws out, and tackled Greg. He pressed his hands to its body, trying to push it away as it stretched its mouth to his neck.

Fine fired his gun.

The bullet punched into the wolf's side, pushing it off Greg and to the ground.

Greg sat up and crawled away backwards from the animal. Fine moved closer to the wolf, his gun ready for another bullet.

"Holy shit, man," Greg said.

The wolf lay on its side, limbs twitching, and mouth stretching out in a silent scream. Then it started to do something weird. The fur receded into the body, revealing black leather-like skin that turned peachy white. The arms and legs cracked and shrunk, turning human. When it was done, all that was left was a dead naked woman with a bleeding bullet wound in her side, eyes open in pain.

"Oh my God," Greg said, recognizing the dead woman. "That's..."

"Yes, it's Ms. Shrewsbury, the woman you stole from."

"She was a..."


"And those are silver bullets in there."

"Yes," Fine said, holstering his weapon under his jacket. "I think we should leave now."

"Oh, fuck. Please."

With his free hand, Fine grabbed Greg's and helped him up. The thief got on his feet, moaning from the pain in his arm where Fine grabbed.

"Ah, man," Greg said, holding his arm.

Fine stepped back, cautious. "You all right? Did it harm you?"

"No," Greg said, pulling up his jacket sleeve and revealing a bloody bandage over the wound. "I got bit earlier."

Fine whipped his gun out and pointed it at Greg.

"Hey!" Greg stepped back, holding his arms up. "What are you doing, man?"

"You were bitten. You're one of them," Fine stated.

"No. No. Wait, you don't understand..."

Fine fired.

Greg took the bullet to the chest, falling down to the dirt, dead.

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