Introducing Aware Mouse

The Weremouse.

Prologue:

The Southern Grasshopper Mouse

Is a lycanthropic terror. Not only are they viciously carnivorous, they are immune to venom, known to annoy scorpions into stinging them just for the buzz created. Venom gets them high, then munchies ensue and the southern grass hopper mouse devours, anything and everything. Ounce for ounce the most terrifying mammal ever conceived.

The truly horrific fact is, that these little terrors are carriers of a form of rabies that is lycanthropic in nature. Those bitten that are not eaten, transform into a weremouse.

Once transformed, the change is permanent. The victim becomes a cheese addicted carnivorous highly intelligent and aggressive creature.

She ate what?” The Mayor asked.

“ Before or after the Sheriff , boss?”

“What?” The fire chief handed his smart phone to the Mayor, who stated incredulously at the screen pretending not to hear the noises also captured. Mayor Bumbly made an attempt to sit down. The bar stool chose violence rather than cooperation. The sleazy biker bar’s floor was unexpectedly clean. Mayor Bumbly introduced himself to the rough wooden floor face first. The rest of his disheveled being followed in short order. The bar stool, rage powers activated over exerted itself as it began teaching an introductory course in the ramifications of gravity.

Mayor Bumbly received a hard earned lesson in sudden deceleration dynamics. The wood floor was pleased to comply. The rough hewn floor deemed losing a few splinters in the process as being an acceptable transactional cost. The mayor got the point, rather pointedly. The ancient vampiric oak flooring eagerly absorbed the blood spilt during the mayors accelerated learning curve experience.

“Cotton picking worthless hound dawg can't hunt!” Mayor Bumbly cursed as he struggled to his feet. Tearing the broken remnants of the stool out of his way.

“Ok, okay, make the call!”

He bellowed while stomping back outside to stare at the full moon. The mayor slumped his way into his four by four, to wait for the inevitability of fate to manifest. Repeatedly smashing his forehead onto the steering wheel did nothing to help his increasingly sour mood.

Containing the event was not going to be easy. The county, now short a Sheriff, three deputies and the local biker gang opened whole avenues of trouble. The only thing that had kept their little hidden valley free of the border cartels had been the local chapter of the Misfits.

Now, they were gone, which was going to invite explanations to the club at large, nevermind potential turf wars and the entire sheriff's department now non existent.

Mayor Bumbly tried unsuccessfully to forget what the surveillance cameras had caught. Another round of head pounding ensued.

Until the night before the small town of Loco Whereo New Mexico had lived peacefully with the Chupacabra, who had kept to herself out in the desert. That was all in the past now.

There had been no choice but to make the call. Things were already out of hand, there was no way that the cheese crazed weremouse could make it worse. That was the hope anyways. Mayor Bumbly considered the probable possibilities. This triggered yet another round of head pounding. This time Mayor Bumbly managed to knock himself unconscious.

Big Mike, the fire chief watched the mayors coping mechanism, from a safe distance. When the head banging ceased, he sent a watching paramedic to check on the mayor. The cavalry, so to speak was on the way. Nothing more to do but wait, and pray.

*†*†*†***†***†*†*†*

Bob had answered the call. Which as always was a tricky feat. Six legs, and no hands or prehensile digits had been a problem until smart phones and voice activated interface had become a thing.

Bob the mutant bobcat yowled in joy at the call. Boredom had been nearly unbearable. Now, a hunt, and a reason to rampage promised needed distraction. Bob loped up the hill sniffing the air as he searched for Mal, he followed the distinct aroma of distilled scorpion venom.

Mal was enjoying her favorite concoction, a mixed drink of moon Shine, Rattle snake venom and distilled scorpion venom. Equal measures. It was her second glass. The setting sun cast long shadows that seemed to wiggle and dance. A serene happiness spread through her, it felt as if she glowed in pleasure.

The rather large meal she had scarfed down the night before had upset her stomach. No matter now, done was done. Corrupt cops and drunk bikers had been a spur of the moment snack. Mal belched loudly. Blech, that greasy cop kept making her gassy. He tasted even worse the second time.

Bob loped into view yowling something about the mayor and the deal and time to go. Mal didn't really care. She felt pretty good and an excuse to ride into town seemed a good idea. She scrambled onto Bob's back and they were off.

Bob took care of the prep work. Mounting the gyro stabilized two wheeled doom cycle. Mal giving rambling hints at encouragement in process. For his part Bob hurried, because he wanted to hit town before Mal sobered up. It would be much more entertaining that way. They were ready, mounted and enroute in record time.

Bob pressed hard on the brake activators with all four rear paws. The doom cycle slid , spinning like a two wheeled top slinging dirt and gravel in all directions.

Mal, even more intoxicated having imbibed while enroute down the mountain attempted a leaping somersault from her perch on Bob.

Which she had rather proudly felt was an impressive entrance right up until the unpaved parking lot disavowed her illusion of grandeur. It is never the fall that hurts, it is that sudden stop that breaks the fall. Mal rolled onto her back and caught her breath. She felt the pressure of eyes upon her.

Struggling to her feet Mal stretched herself to her full four foot nine, and announced, “ Have no fear I am here! Malicious Malinda The Aware-Mouse at your service!”

Mayor Bumbly watched the scene play out. Another round of head banging ensued. Unnoticed by anyone the vampiric floor of the misfits clubhouse giggled and burped.