It wasn’t the lake monster that bothered him or the continual screaming of his blind date. It was the fact that his grandmother was right all along.
He was cursed, but a late bloomer as far as curses went. The Reed men had some of the Wild in them. A touch of the fae folk to some. Others could whistle like and to birds. Sometimes the curse wasn’t so obvious or functional. Cousin Earl could only use chopsticks in his left hand, and any fork would fall from his grip.
Corinthian Reed looked at the emerald and silver charm that hung around his neck, then to his blind date. She was a quivering squealing mass of hysterics, now piling all the orange life jackets into a floppy foamy hut to protect herself.
His grandmothers words came to him, “No blondes, dates and lakes. You’ll regret it.”
Even from beyond the grave, the family would find another journal of strange and cryptic predictions of hers. She had a thirty percent prediction rate of absolute truth. The other entries were too vague, or too surreal. There was a very nice recipe for tea biscuits which interrupted a prediction of the end times.
Corinthian, (he always wanted to be called Ian) removed the emerald and silver charm. He took off his shirt and his shorts, felt the change come over himself, and sighed. Fur sprouted over his body as he launched himself off the boat into the inky depths.
Corinthian Reed, reluctant were-otter, went to the bottom of the lake. To fetch his blind dates purse. From the lake monster with good fashion sense.
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Reluctant by Pearce Kilgour is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 Canada License.
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Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://pearcekilgour.wordpress.com. But you should really ask him first… send someone to rub his neck, feed him a gin and tonic, that would be the best… in fact he thinks the world would be a better place if everyone got neckrubs.