The Pluth Mud Werewolf
Ch 1 1910, Pawley's Island, SC Wilson: The island’s creeks were swollen with the tide. There was too much ground to cover, even for someone with a good nose. Wilson started at the school, and followed the scent past the Jackson’s property, deep into the unclaimed land along the island’s edge. Wilson scoured the wet edges of the creek, searching for the mystical feeling that called to him. Without a doubt, this was some witch bullshit. Something like this happened to him once before. The French scene in the early eighteenth century was big into magic sex parties. Like swingers, but everybody gets a fertility curse for the evening. This felt exactly like Compiegne, 1702.