“Have a good morning,” Dorian said over the electronic doorbell.
Alone again, he exhaled. Third shift at the gas station-convenience store was perfect for him. Low traffic, pay he didn’t complain about, and at quitting time Dorian could be home, locked up before the sun rose. Until then, he indulged in the quiet, after-hours peace until his replacement arrived.
Dorian watched the night sky lighten with trembling fingers. A few weeks ago two people manned the store overnights, since then these were lonely graveyard shifts waiting for Morgan to show up and take over. She was taking her time arrive, Dorian reasoned. Dawn loomed outside, making him eager. Measured breathing couldn’t keep him calm. He drummed his fingers on the glass above the scratch-offs, occasionally checking his nails. Dorian needed something to do; anything to distract him from the ensuing morning.
He wiped down the coffee and ICEE machines, and while straightening the shelves of candy when he saw a truck settle at the pumps. Teeth clenched, he wanted to smash the windows. Regaining his professionalism, Dorian returned to his post.
>drinking water
A wrinkled woman in flannel got out. He hoped she wouldn’t come in; just stay outside, fill her flat-bed and pay at the pump. At any moment Morgan would swoop in from the backroom and free Dorian from work.
An electronic chime shattered his crafted fable. The customer came in and browsed through the aisles. Dorian tapped at the counter while she glided across bottle drinks, magazines, and tools. He bit his tongue hoping she couldn’t see him sweat.
“Good morning.” Dorian greeted her and gave his standard customer service.
>She tried to make small talk with him, but stuttered when she met his bright amber eyes.
He rushed to get her requested pack of menthols and ring her up. Anxiety rattled his thoughts and he yearned for solitude. She paid with exact change and as he handled it, the woman called attention to his shaking hands. He tried to laugh it off, “Just tired, you know; been a long night.”
While registering the money, he dropped the nickels and dimes. His facade clattered on the linoleum along with the coins. Dorian bent down but waited until the woman left before collecting the money from the floor. Embarrassment lit a fire in him.
With the store empty again, Dorian slipped into the backroom. The store would be fine without him. Morgan was on her way, anyway. He clocked out and ran.
“Sorry I’m late!” a woman’s voice startled him. Morgan came down the hall pulling her hair into a ponytail. Her face scrunched upon seeing her co-worker, “are you feeling okay?”
“Fine,” Dorian said and squeezed past her, “I’ll be just fine. See you tomorrow!” He didn’t wait for a response.
Crisp dew and gasoline came to his nose in greater detail than it should. He was burning up, and with one hand tried to unbutton his uniform. With more strength than necessary he tore himself out of the shirt. Dorian balled up the fabric and dashed across the parking lot.
Cool air breezed across his skin and soothed nerves, terrifying him. Overhead, the cloudless sky was still a deep navy hued. Sunlight had yet pierced the last vestiges of night. If all went as planned, he could escape the morning rush and make it home. Dorian sped off.
He rubbed at his sweating neck and face, moving his black bangs from his vision. The freeway was his usual best bet. Today, commuters clogged the fast lane despite his car horn. Gilded light would soon be streaming over horizon. A moving vehicle was the worst place for this.
Dorian swerved onto the shoulder. He threw the car in park and gripped the wheel. Traffic passed him by. Witnesses he didn’t want. Blood soared in his veins. Shallow breaths escaped Dorian’s mouth as he grabbed the shredded uniform and balled it around the car keys.
He hid the bundle beneath the car and searched beyond the road for a place to hide. A cluster of trees stood off in the distance, but the tall stalks of farmland were closer. He jumped the short wire fence and tumbled the small hill toward the crops. The first rays of the day caught him, igniting his veins.
It started in his legs, their structure changing from under him. Limbs became leaner, stronger, and better suited for running. His nails grew into claws, and Dorian wished he’d undressed back at the car.
He dropped to into the knee-high grass and pried his feet free, destroying the material in the process. Dorian threw the remains of his shoes to the ground. It dawned on him that he should bring an emergency change of clothes. Still exposed, Dorian rose on uneasy, wolf-like legs.
The morning sun drowned him, spurring the rest of his body to transform. Dorian held his breath and on padded paws he sprinted to cover. His skin prickled as black hair grew down his spine and across his shoulders like a mane.
He threw himself into the stalks of corn with a dull crunch. The real pain wasn’t his landing, but the continuing contortions. He dug his clawed fingers into the soil. His backbone lengthened and became coated in dense hair.
Dorian sucked through his changing teeth as the cartilage in his ears sharpened and his face stretched to a wolfish point. Tiny whiskers burst from his lips while lethal fangs lined his gums. Black fur adorned his legs and arms in uneven patches. As the changes finalized, feral instincts and motives unearthed themselves, burying his human mind. He gasped for air on the bed of corn husks.
Bright daylight washed over the cornfield. Dorian the wolf crawled out from the crops, wary of the traffic speeding past. His new body welcomed the sun. His lupine nose waded through scents of dew-wet leaves and grass, compost, rising car exhaust, and the musk of a nearby deer.
Excitement laced his gleaming golden eyes. Primal urges pushed him to test his claws and work his jaw on fresh venison. Determined and hungry, he bounded toward the oasis of trees. Once the sun set, Dorian the human would scurry back to his car. And, terrified, he would race home and wash the blood off himself. He would have little time to prepare for another shift.