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Motorcycle, Solstice, Claw

By Mark GagnonPublished 4 months ago 4 min read
Photo by The Ride Academy on Unsplash

The roar of motorcycle engines echoed through the normally quiet valley, alerting the villagers to the potential chaos about to arrive. Most residents hoped the riders would pass through without stopping, but a few waited anxiously for them to arrive. Members of the village clan felt visitors during the summer solstice was a sign not to be overlooked.

Thirty bikers cruised into town, relishing the attention their presence garnered. Yes, they were by far the greatest spectacle this backwoods village had ever seen, and it was time to party. There was only one combination bar and restaurant in this one-horse town, but one bar was all the biker gang needed to get the party started.

Braddock, the gang’s leader, was the first to park his motorcycle on the grass directly in front of the bar’s main entrance. It wasn’t a designated parking space, but he didn’t care. The rest followed suit, parking on the sidewalk, or the grass, basically any place but the parking lot. Braddock and his crew did this to make a statement—rules didn’t apply to him and his followers.

There weren’t many customers at that time of day, just a couple of men at the bar and a ladies’ social committee conducting their monthly meeting. When Braddock and his gang walked in, the locals stood to leave.

“Hey, where is everyone going?” bellowed Braddock in a raspy baritone voice. “No need to leave on our account, especially you ladies. We’re just looking for a little fun and want you all to join us. What do ya say?”

“What I say is it’s time for you and your crew to leave my bar.”

A man emerged from the kitchen door holding a twelve-gage pump-action shotgun. The short, older man did his best to look intimidating, but with the odds at thirty to one, it didn’t work. Off to the owner’s right side, a gang member reacted quickly. A shiny chrome throwing knife streaked across the room, embedding itself in the owner’s shoulder. In a well-timed move, the biker closest to the owner snatched the shotgun from his hands. The injured man fell to the floor, writhing in pain.

“Well done, Blade. You are definitely the best knife thrower on the planet!” Braddock exclaimed as he applauded his colleague. “Anyone else want to be a party pooper?”

The ladies on the social committee exchanged terrified glances. They realized their best chance to survive the night was to play along until situations changed. The bikers moved behind the bar and helped themselves to drinks and food, while one of the male patrons tended to the wounded owner. Music from the jukebox played and booze flowed well into the night.

The summer solstice full moon rose late that night, casting elongated dark shadows across the landscape. Most of the residents in the small town remained locked inside their homes, sheltering in place. Everyone knew what was happening at the bar, but that was not what kept them at home.

The party was in full swing when just prior to the moon reaching its apex, two women walked through the front entrance. They were tall and shapely, with stunning good looks. Every member of the gang stopped what they were doing to stare. The male members immediately felt a surge of desire rush through them. Female members raged with internal jealousy. The women strode confidently toward the bar. Two men entered next. They were tall, muscular, and devastatingly handsome.

Braddock approached the two female arrivals. “Welcome to the party, ladies. Glad you could join us. Gentlemen, we have enough men here already. I’m afraid you need to leave now.”

Multiple gang members rose from their seats and headed toward the newcomers, ready to toss the male interlopers out the door or window; whichever was more convenient. Everything happened exactly as the solstice moon reached its zenith.

From one female came a low guttural growl that slowly transformed into a blood-curdling howl. The other three followed her lead. Within seconds, the newcomers’ bodies morphed into creatures that were part human, part wolf. The gang members stood frozen in disbelief. Locals ran for cover. When the transformation was complete, the carnage began. Thirty bikers were no match for this pack of wolves.

The werewolves saved Braddock for their last victim. The largest of the male wolves held him pinned against a wall with one outstretched arm. Braddock stared into his captor’s eyes and with a quivering, terrified voice, mumbled, “I don’t understand?”

The werewolf grinned, exposing terrifying teeth, his claws piercing Braddock’s skin. “You should have paid attention to the sign as you entered the village.”

“What sign?”

“The one that read, Welcome to Wolfsburg.”


About the Creator

Mark Gagnon

I have spent most of my life traveling the US and abroad. Now it's time to create what I hope are interesting fictional stories.

I have 2 books on Amazon, Mitigating Circumstances and Short Stories for Open Minds.

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Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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    Creative use of language & vocab

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    Well-structured & engaging content

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Comments (3)

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  • Naomi Gold4 months ago

    Entertaining and relatable. *howls* 🐺

  • Jay Kantor4 months ago

    Hi Mark ~ You always pop out fond car and relatable 'schtick'. Reminded me of a real Biker Local Hangout, that when I parked my e-type among their shiny spoke sport 'Bikes' they'd tease me that my (4) wheel spokes didn't fit in to their scheme of things! I know weird, but true. Fun how old stories pop out from other Authors offerings. - Thank you for That - Jay Kantor, Chatsworth, California 'Senior' Vocal Author - Vocal Author Community -

  • Donna Fox4 months ago

    Mark, this is another great story by you! I love the eery, dark and twisted nature of this story. You did a great job keeping it shrouded in mystery until the end when you revealed that it was the biker gang that was in trouble from the beginning. Nicely done!

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