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Detective Jawline sat in his car. He was a rational man, not given to silly superstitions or old wives' tales. A rational man without a clue.

Every month for half a year, someone had gone missing under the full moon. The victims had no apparent connections or similarities. White, black, old, young, drug addict, dog lover. Nothing.

They searched the woods. They canvassed the truck stop and the crack houses. They dragged the lake. They learned nothing, found no one.

So when the full moon came around again, he decided it was time to stake out that old, abandoned werehouse.

AHA HAHA HAHAHAAHA!

I see what you did there. *slow clap*

Instinctively, my first reaction was, "Dude, you misspelled warehou-- Oh, I get it. " Well done.

Thanks, Varda and Cutter. It's been a while since I've built a story around a lame pun, but I got "werehouse" in my mind and I just couldn't let it go.

(I think we can all agree my Casey story was built around pretty much the most sophisticated pun ever. Right?)

Cutter McKay wrote:Instinctively, my first reaction was, "Dude, you misspelled warehou-- Oh, I get it. " Well done.

That was my reaction as well! Well done sir!

Bump

Before I finished reading the last sentence I expected the Detective to be the werewolf himself, that being why he never solved the crimes. Therefore, I reject your reality and substitute my own.

Rejecting realities is a valuable skill.