Detective Wolfman

January 1st, 1925 might have been the start of a new year for The Wolfman, but not for most people.

Most people were stuck in their old ways, getting lost in stories and rumors from the 1800’s selling everyone the same old narrative that The Wolfman was bad. Most people were wrong. Dead wrong. Detective Wolfman was determined to forge his own fate and prove he was a good guy, once and for all.

Wolfman inherited his abilities from his father, and not a rabid werewolf wandering the woods at night, which was a rumor cruelly started by the local villagers. Rabid wolf bites happened on occasion, sure, but it was rare. Most sane werewolves left humans alone, and only hunted other animals when they needed food.

Wolfmans job was to investigate and stop criminals. So naturally, once in jail, they spread prison rumors about him. But unlike people, rumors escape the confines of their cell, so now everyone was scared of Detective Wolfman. Monster, creature, night stalker they called him.

As if!

“It’s not my fault I’m good at my job,” Wolfman would tell himself every time he heard a new, cruel rumor.

Wolfman was on a case, investigating Gary Mulligan for murdering his wife Mary on a rainy Monday afternoon for insurance money. He had a warrant, but wanted the house to be empty before he entered. Then there’d be no chance of evidence tampering or deadly threats.

Wolfman waited outside in his second hand Hudson Essex, all he could afford on a detectives salary. If he could make this arrest, he might get a promotion and a better car.

He saw someone drive off in a Ford Model T and assumed it was the murderous Mr. Mulligan moving away from his manor.

He got out of his car, put on his trench coat and fedora, found a spare key under the mat, and went inside.

It was dark inside. He lit up a cigarette to both relax and see where he was going.

His cigarette glowed at the tip, its bright red embers flying off and lighting up the face of his suspect.

It was then he realized he wasn’t alone, and fists would have to fly if he was to make it out of the tiny dark room alive.

“Gary, good to see you! I thought you left,” Wolfman said.

“That was my friend, Ricky. Now, who are you and what the hell are you doing in my house?” A deep, raspy, baritone voice said.

“Pipe down, you. I’ve got a warrant here, and it says I’ve got the right to search your house, see, right here,” Detective Wolfman said and pulled out the paperwork from his pocket.

“This could be plagerism,” Gary said.

“We know you killed your wife. I’m entitled to search your primary residence for evidence of foul play, Mr. Mulligan,” Detective Wolfman said.

“Is that so? Well, I ain’t Gary if that’s who you’re looking for. I’m his brother, Stan. And I’m afraid I can’t let you search my brothers property, seeing as how he isn’t here and all,” Gary, the scary man with the deep voice, said.

“I wasn’t aware Gary had a brother. According to my files, he was an only child who was adopted after his parents died in a mysterious house fire. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a job to do, Gary. Or Stan, or whatever dumb name you’re calling yourself,” Wolfman said.

Gary stood up and charged detective Wolfman.

Wolfman’s muscles grew bigger, his wolf hair got longer and his eyes turned dark red. Then he socked Gary Mulligan so hard, his head almost spun around.

“Holy crap, your strong. But not as strong as me,” Gary said, not even noticing his nose was now bleeding, and raised his right fist in the air.

But before Gary’s fist even came close to Wolfmans face, Wolfman grabbed it and crushed every single bone in the bastards balled up hand.

A huff and a puff was all Gary managed to squeak out of his mouth.

“You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer,” Wolfman said.

He handcuffed Gary Mulligan with a smile, took him to his Essex, and shoved him in the back seat.

“You know your rights. Now shut up and wait here,” Wolfman said and growled, just to scare Gary into submission.

“Good boy,” Wolfman said and grimaced gratefully when Gary remained silent.

Wolfman went back inside Gary’s house to look for clues.

He went up to the second floor of the house.

That’s where he noticed an out of place window that looked like it had just been replaced.

He walked over to it, opened the window and looked outside. There was shattered glass in the grass. Wolfman wondered if Gary had pushed his wife out the window.

He walked outside to inspect the glass. He was walking slowly, and noticed a hollow sound beneath his feet. He jumped up and down to confirm he heard the sound.

He brushed some leaves aside and saw a basement door beneath him.

He took out his standard issue revolver and shot the locks off the door. He opened the basement and walked down the stairs.

He pulled on a chain switch to turn on the light and it was then he saw it.

Mary’s decomposing body, halfway inside a large leaf shredder.

“Oh, Gary. What have you done. Your poor wife,” Wolfman said.

Gary attempted to pull Mary out with no luck, the bottom half of her body so mangled in the machine it wouldn’t move a muscle.

Wolfman went back to his car and drove Gary to the police station and told the other detectives where the body was.

“We got him. We can charge this bastard with murder, all thanks to you, Detective Wolfman,” Detective Munson said.

“It was no big deal. I’m just doing my job,” Detective Wolfman said.

“You know, Wolfman, none of what they say about you is true. You’re not so bad,” Detective Munson said.

“Thanks, Munson. You’re not so bad yourself,” Wolfman said and they laughed hardily.

“What now?” Detective Munson asked.

“Now, we make our case in court, get the real monster convicted, and it’s on to the next case,” Detective Wolfman said and smiled.