ale Parisian moonlight illuminated the silver swords in the hands of two men. One was old and held a lantern. The other, in his prime, brandished a glinting blade and a blunderbuss. Before them was the mouth to the catacombs, a gaping void—hungry, silent, waiting. The young man stepped in front of the lantern and yelled into the black.

“We have come, beasts, where is she?”

In answer, the many howls of werewolves reverberated throughout the labyrinth of bones, followed by the screams of their captive, Madam Katrina, his beloved.

Down the two descended into the subterranean night eternal, the silence of the dead reaching out to smother the living. The going was slow. The young man, impatient, went to race forward.

“Be still,” his older companion whispered in the dark. He motioned to his left, then right.

“The shadows are more lively than normal.”

They listened: heard heavy breaths—claws scratching against bones and stone. The young man fired his blunderbuss in front of them. There was a burst of fire, a blaze of silver, and a flash of fangs as two massive beasts cried in pain and fell to the ground dead. Both men quickly used their blades and cut off the werewolf heads. Madame Katrina let out another scream. They followed the sound for several agonizing minutes until they came to the source.

A large chamber flooded in moonlight where countless bones glowed. The chamber was crowded with dozens of werewolves, some half changed, others fully formed. All had their attention on an altar made of skeletons. Laid upon it was the young man's fiancé, unconscious. Over her stood a beast with fur as white as the moon. It opened its mouth and spoke.

“Brothers, sisters. We have found our future queen!”

They bayed in joy.

“She bears the mark of the Wolf Mother. I shall bite her, and we shall reign immortal. France shall be ours.”

The old man climbed up a flight of stone steps to a ledge that looked down on the canine congregation. He opened a bag and tossed handfuls of silver dust into the air. All the beasts coughed and foamed at the mouth, poison burning in their lungs. The youth let forth a battle cry as he charged into their midst, hacking left and right. Limbs were severed, blood flowed.

The white wolf lifted the body of his beloved with one arm and placed her soft flesh close to his open jaws. The young man rushed forward and stood on the altar, his voice full of rage and power.

“You shall not harm her, you beast of the damned!”

He raised his sword.

“I am Lord Adrian Adolp—err, adolpers…ugh! Shit! What's my character's name again? What's my line? Line... please?”

“Cut! Cut!” cried Rick Rogers, the director. He jumped down from the camera crane he was perched on, confidently striding into the story he was trying to tell.

He walked up to Ethan Mastern.

“You alright, buddy?” he whispered softly, coming in close.

“I can't remember these damn lines,” Ethan mumbled.

ick pulled back. “Script!” he shouted, snapping his fingers and holding out his hand. His request was echoed by assistants and crew members till a copy was placed in his waiting palm. He thumbed through the pages, and found his mark.

“Look, the line is: ‘I am Lord Adrien Adolphe. It is my bloodline's destiny to end this werewolf mutiny.’”

Ethan lowered his eyes and nodded.

“Okay, okay...sorry, man. I screwed up the scene, didn't I?”

“It's fine. Everything was fantastic up until that point.”

“Okay, good, so we don't have to do another take? Can we use it?”

“We can use some of it—we can edit around, but we have to go again. Are you good for another take?”

The actor paused for a moment, riddled with self-doubt, then did his best to pull it together.

“Yes, yes, I'm good. Let’s go for it.”

Director and actor both looked up from this private moment to the dozens of crew members waiting with bated breath.

It was no secret that while filming Werewolf Mutiny, Ethan Mastern was becoming somewhat unraveled. This was his first film since his very public trip to rehab, and before that both of his films at the box office had failed. He was a star falling from grace, but this was the ‘80s! There was a fresh boom of exciting films with fresh ideas and Rick Rogers, ex-Vegas magician, had turned into something of a horror rebel icon. In his mid-40s, Rogers was a man whose shirt was always open, revealing a chest full of thick hair with a gold chain hanging from his neck. He wore large-framed glasses that gave his eyes an unneeded magnified intensity.

“Hey! What are we doing here?” shouted the White Werewolf, who took off his vicious-looking head to reveal a man in his early 30s. It was Tony Dice, special effects master and occasional monster for Rick’s pictures. They had been working together since the Vegas days.

“Rick, I don't mean to be a drama queen, but I'm sweating my ass off in this rug! It's at least 102 degrees in here.”

Rick held up his hands to quell the gathering storm.

“It's all good, folks. We. Are. Ready. To. Roll.” He winked at Ethan and went back to his perch.

The actors took their places, and the camera began rolling.

 The scene once more commenced.

“Alright, ready...and action.”

The pale beast lifted the body of his beloved with one arm and placed her soft flesh close to his open jaws. Lord Adrien rushed forward once again and was standing on the altar, his voice full of rage and power. “You shall not harm her, you beast of the damned!”

He raised his sword. “I am Lord…Ad—fu...”

Ethan lost his balance and fell, tearing the lavish jacket he was wearing. Tony in the werewolf costume did his clumsy best to help him up.

Ethan looked to Rick up on the crane.

“You know what? I need some time, is that alright?”

The group of werewolf extras let out a collective groan. 

“Hey, man,” one of the actors called out, pointing at Ethan. “We ain’t getting paid enough to deal with this. Quit messing up the shot. We aren't going to put up with this much longer.”

The others all spoke at once in a mixed babble of agreement.

“Shut up! I won't be threatened by a bitch in a dog's costume,” said Ethan.

“Werewolf!”

The extra looked to Rick, his voice slightly muffled in the vicious-looking wolf head. “You need to keep your actor in line, man! We’re tired of this.”

The wolf extras gathered around the director.

“Look, man, it's not just your actor. A lot of weird stuff has been going on around here.”

“Yeah, Doug and Andy haven't shown up for work all week. And Lucy too.”

The others agreed.

“Fix this, or we might go on strike!”

“I passed on a gig for Cats for this, man!”

Rogers sprang to action.

“Hey, hey, let's all just calm down. We can shoot some other scenes while Ethan takes a break, okay?”

Doris the wardrobe manager came storming on set, a cigarette hanging from her lips.

“What the hell did you do to my jacket?” She poked at Ethan's stomach. 

Doris was four-foot-five and shriveled like a raisin. Her voice was thick with years of hard drink and ashtrays. She took the jacket and looked at the director with fire in her eyes.

“I swear to God, Rick, if that punk ruins one more of my costumes I'm going to skin his ass and make him into a coat! I have enough problems without my assistant.”

than stormed off and hurried backstage. It wasn’t the script he was having trouble with, or the jonesing for drugs, even though both were a challenge. It was the bodies he’d found in his personal dressing trailer.

He knew why they hadn't shown up for work, because for the last three consecutive nights he had found a body stuffed in the closet. The first was a boom mike operator. The second was a janitor, and the third had been his hair dresser’s assistant operator.

Each night he had driven out to bury them. He was too afraid to call the cops. If he did, who knows what they might blame him for? He just needed to take a moment to himself.

He hurried from the set to his trailer. The California night air was cool compared to the hot soundstage he’d been working on, not to mention the heavy layered clothes he had on. He wanted to take them off, but knew Doris would bite off his head if he did.

He wandered for a bit, then had no choice but to return to his trailer. He hoped to God there would be no body this time. He was tired of driving out to the desert and burying them. He just wanted to rest.

He opened the door and let out a surprised scream of shock. It wasn’t a dead body, it was worse—it was his ex.

He slammed the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doing here, Penny? I told you we’re through.”

She was a tall, angular, goth girl in full getup. Her fishnet stockings and knee-high studded boots were on his table. A Walkman was around her neck, blaring Depeche Mode.

“I’m rescuing you, baby.”

“I don't need you to rescue me, I'm working.”

“This is working? Ha, for shame Ethan. Working with the director of Mutant Rats From Hell and Vampire In the Ballpark? And the list goes on. I'm a little disappointed in you, honey.”

Ethan felt defensive. “Hey, this is my chance at a comeback.”

She rolled her eyes. “Really? A cheesy horror flick set in the 1800's Paris catacombs? Come on, you're not even filming on location!”

“So what?”

“So what? You can't even have a mini vacation. It's just a bunch of shitty sound stages. And you know how I feel about werewolves.”

 She’d been nothing but bad for him since they’d met—he hadn’t been into drugs until Miss Penny Dreadful appeared in the night. He was shaking. Saying no to her was harder than drugs.

She stood up on her heels. She was a good five inches taller than him, and she looked down, running a pale hand through his hair.

“I've been following you for longer than you realize. I'm not letting you go—we are good together. You may know this, but despite our age difference, I fell in love with you. What we have is good, we are good. This is familiar, you are my familiar.”

Ethan raised his voice and tried to seem stronger than he felt. “I'm so sick of this goth crap! We are through. Remember? I told you this in rehab. Hell, you were the reason I ended up there.”

She batted her mascara-heavy lashes.

“Oh, sweet honey, you're the one who overdosed. I provided the toys, it was you who played too rough.”

She laughed.

“Speaking of which.” She reached into her fanny pack and pulled out a bag of white powder. “I brought you some candy, a little snout sugar.”

He felt himself get all shaky.

“No! No!” he cried.

“I've already helped myself to some snacks in your trailer. It's only fair I offer you something in return for cleaning up my messes.”

It was her! Could she? Would she? Was she a—?

Ethan turned around and ran. He stumbled into a security guard.

“Hey, man, there’s a crazy chick in my trailer. Get her out, please!”

The huge man, obviously a bodybuilder, looked at him then at the trailer.

“You got it, buddy!”

His voice was high-pitched—it surprised Ethan.

“Oh, and when I get back,” said the guard. “I was wondering, sir, if you wouldn't mind looking at my screenplay? It's about a bouncer who’s also trained in the ways of the samurai.”

The actor rolled his eyes. “Just get that bitch out, please.”

The bouncer nodded and took steady, long strides over to Ethan's trailer. He waited for a moment. There was a scream, and then the vehicle rocked back and forth violently for what felt like an eternity. Then nothing. Just silence.

Ethan hurried back to the film set. 

The crew was in the middle of filming a few scenes with Mort Wilson and Alison Croft, his onscreen love interest. Mort Wilson was an old horror veteran who had once been chums with Vincent Price. Alison was a no-name the producer was dating. Everyone's attention was on them. The set was an old library where Mort's character was learning of a cure and the prophecy that Alison’s character was destined to become the Wolf Mother.

Rick's full attention was on the pair of actors. He raised his hand.

“And cut! Awesome stuff. Good work, guys. Let's take five minutes. Jill, can I get a cup of coffee?”

He walked over to his chair and saw Ethan.

“Hey, man, you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I'm better now.”

“Good.”

Jill, his assistant, came with a cup of hot joe. He took out a flask and poured some of its contents into his coffee.

“You want some?”

He offered the golden flask to Ethan.

“Rehab, remember? That's the last thing I need right now.”

“This,” Rick motioned to the flask with emphasis, “this is just what the doctor ordered, trust me.”

He sat down next to his actor. Ethan was quiet, then leaned in.

“Hey, Rick, do you believe in all this?”

Rick tilted his head. “Hey, if you're having doubts...don't. Man, this picture is going to kick ass when it's done.”

“No, not the film. In all of this.” Mastern's face was pale and he was sweating.

“In monsters?” Rick eyed him.

“I met a girl a while back. She was a super fan at one of my signings, and I don't know if something came over me, but she has this power.”

Rick smiled. “We've all been there, my man.”

“No, it's different, okay? I only see her at night, and she comes and goes at will and, and I think she's a—”

“Sex-crazed stalker?” Rick finished.

“Vampire!”

Rick gave a hearty laugh till there were tears in his eyes. He finally caught his breath.

“Screw you, man!”

“Hey, hey, hold on. I’ll handle this, don't worry. Where is she?”

“In my trailer.”

“Okay, you wait here. Just go over your lines or something.”

Rick scribbled on a piece of paper then tore it in half. “Hey Jill, will you give this to Wardrobe and Effects?”

Rick got up and left with a wink.

At the trailer, the director knocked on the door before entering. The trailer was dark, the floor slick with blood.

Rogers recognized the bodyguard. The poor guy was upside down, strung up on from the ceiling by a fishnet stocking, his head barely touching the floor.

“Holy hell in a pie hole! God, Josh, sorry I never read your script. Hey, is anybody else here?” he called.

There was a shadow within the shadows. He took a step back, two eyes appeared and burned bright. A woman appeared, looking him up and down.

“You interrupted my dinner. Are you another one of Ethan's errand boys?”

“Errand boy?” said Rick readjusting with his glasses. “Come on, lady, I'm the director!”

“Rick Rogers?”

“That's right. You know my work?”

“Yes, I do. Your movies suck!”

“You must be?”

“Penny Dreadful,” she said with a bow.

“Penny Dreadful the…”

“Girlfriend,” she interrupted.

He shrugged. “I was going to say crazy ex.”

She floated above the ground, hovering right up to his face, licking blood from her fingers.

“He's my property, not yours," she said.

“Well, Ethan signed a contract with me, so technically the studio owns him. For now, anyways.”

“You don't seem too freaked out about this, sweetheart” She motioned to the gore around them.

“No need to be disappointed. I'm a horror director, remember? Blood and gore are my forte.”

She slowly swayed from side to side, like a cat deciding whether or not to pounce.

“You know, I'm still hungry. Maybe I'll have some junk food.”

“Ouch,” said Rick.

She hissed, exposing her fangs, her lower jaw unhinging.

He gave a soft chuckle. “Miss Dreadful, if I may.” He motioned and took a seat.

“I'm going to level with—you're not the only one trying to drain me dry. I'm in a bit of a bind. I put on a big face, but my film is over budget and behind schedule. The studio is breathing up my ass, my extras are threatening to walk off, and my lead actor is having a breakdown. And now… now you've been wreaking havoc the last couple of days. Don't think I haven’t noticed the missing crew members, or those ghouls of yours on set.”

Rogers let out a deep breath. He took out his flask and took a swig.

“Hey, maybe we can work something out. You're not half bad looking, minus the goth makeup. We could replace the lead lady, just like that. How would you like to star in my film with your man?”

She pursed her lips. “I think I can drink to that.”

He offered her the flask. She took it and in one motion drained the whole thing. In a split second she vomited a stream of blood. Her throat began melting as steam billowed off her body. She flew to the very back of the trailer, shrieking and writhing from the holy water she’d just ingested, burning with riotous abandon.

ick opened the trailer door and in rushed Doris. She dual-wielded two crucifixes, holding the half-melted Vampire at bay. Right behind the little lady charged Tony, still in werewolf costume. He ran past them and plunged a stake into Penny’s heart. The temptress of the night burst into flames, filling the trailer with smoking ash.

Ethan was half asleep in the director’s chair when Rick woke him.

“Hey champ, it's taken care of, but you're going to need a new trailer. Ready to do another scene?”

The actor was dazed. “Wait, what? You handled it just like that?”

“Yep.”

“She really was a...”

“Sure was.”

“And you just—”

Rick readjusted his glasses.

“Kid, this is Hollywood. I'm surprised you haven’t dealt with vampires sooner.”