There was a group of werewolves (yeaaah…), dressed in 1940s style. It seemed to be a small community, not more than 40 people, living in a village. It was late autumn – fields were cleaned, leaves were full of color, the sun set early, but it was warm. They were dressed light with women having still summer dresses and men wearing no coats or jackets. They did have electrical lights everywhere, but there seemed to be no electricity. Many places were lit by petroleum lamps. That gave the place slightly dirty image.
The people were interesting. They looked like wearing animal masks, which were part of their own face. Like you had a grey wolf woman, who had the muzzle which was only her nose and the mouth’s lower part was missing, turned into human lower lip. Oddly they looked natural and at ease with each other, but they did seem quite closed society.
They had a meeting place. It was a playground for ball games and it had tribune next to it made of wood painted black.
There they had a young boy, who was sick and the village doctor (grey trousers, brown vest, white light grey striped shirt) was searching for the reason. He did find the reason and the cure and he called the people on the playground to show them.
But it went all wrong.
He explained them that it was the certain fleas that were causing the boy’s high fever, his twitching limbs, fuzzy eye site and disability to think at all, which would eventually lead to body’s total shut down. He also said that eating another type of fleas would save them. He gave the boy the fleas and took few himself. I remember him forcing himself to swallow them down, but it was very hard. In meanwhile, the boy started twitching again and white foam came from his mouth. He died right there. The whole community “oh’ed” in shock, but nobody touched the boy in fear of getting the disease.
The doctor also realized there that they thought that the fleas he gave him were the killers, not the fleas the boy was carrying.
A blank moment.
I think it was the next morning, because there was a feeling of sunshine and it was lighter than before. The doctor was washing the boy’s body on his desk at the office, when something caught his attention. He went outside of his small wooden room and saw a glimpse again. He followed it into a house not far from him and saw a small boy, who couldn’t be older than 10 years.
The boy led him in the bedroom, where he found six beds in small area. They were all aligned and there was only room far small alley like space between the wall and the beds. The window was covered with rag. In the beds layed all the people from the house, quietly, holding bouquets of forest flowers on them.
“What are you doing?” he asked with shock.
A woman in flower patterned summer dress pushed herself up and looked at him for a second. Then she layed back on her bed.
“Waiting for death to arrive.”
He was puzzled. “But I still live!” he argued. “I also ate the fleas and I’m still alive!”
I remember him standing there, in full despair, hands hanging free as he just didn’t know what to do or say to make them believe him.
Then I woke up.