The Werewolf (Alternate)
We had two versions of this story and couldn’t decide which we liked best, so we’re sharing our second version as a free bonus story. Please enjoy!
A note from Eric and Charlotte: We had two versions of this story and couldn’t decide which we liked best, so we’re sharing our second version as a free bonus story. Please enjoy!
Written by Eric Shipley and Charlotte Easterling
Illustration by Charlotte Easterling
Kovno Governate, Lithuania, September 1905:
“Jokūbas!” Darijus Mazounas, who was 10 years old, shouted from behind his brother.
Jokūbas stopped, sighed, and turned around. At 13, he was both proud that Mama and Papa trusted him to watch Dari and annoyed by having the boy along.
“Hurry up, Dari!” he said.
Despite being smaller, Dari had insisted on lugging the basket Mama had given them for collecting mushrooms.
Jokūbas sighed again. “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry it? You’re closer to the ground, so you can see the mushrooms better than I can.”
Dari’s chin jutted out. “Just slow down so I can keep up!”
They walked along quietly for a while, Jokūbas trying to keep his irritation under control and Dari panting and grunting dramatically. They presently stopped to collect some chanterelles, which put both of them in a better mood.
They stopped a few more times, this time collecting russulas. Dari wrinkled his nose at their fishy smell, so Jokūbas pushed one close to his face, laughing. Dari pushed his hand away and dropped the basket in the process.
“Dari, you’re spilling all our mushrooms!” which set off an argument and a short scuffle before they collected them back up. Dari promptly went back to shuffling along.
“Hurry up or the vilkacis will come out and get you!” said Jokūbas, putting on a scary face and waving his hands in a spooky way.
Dari tried to look defiant. “But Papa said that was just an old folk tale!”
Jokūbas smirked. They never could be sure whether Papa believed the folk tales.
“I know,” he said, “but Grandpa told me that one is true!”
It was sure that their grandfather did believe the old tales, especially the one about vilkacis.
“Grandpa told me,” Jokūbas went on, “that the big oak is where they go to change into wolves. He said their favorite food is slow little boys cooked into a stew with mushrooms.” The second part of that was a bit of embellishment on Jokūbas’s part, but it made him laugh when Dari looked around and moved closer to him.
“Asilas,” Dari muttered.
That brought a sharp look and tone from Jokūbas. “I am not a jackass, but I’m going to tell Mama what you called me!”
They walked along in sullen silence for a while, ignoring the mushrooms they passed. Dari suddenly turned and started heading east.
“Where are you going?!” Jokūbas demanded.
“I’m going to go to the old oak. I’m not scared of vilkacis–it’s just a story.” He stomped ahead, moving faster with his bulky basket than he had all afternoon.
Well, Jokūbas thought, now I know what it takes to get him moving.
The giant tree took them farther from home, and it was late afternoon. But the boys were on a mission now. They walked for another fifteen minutes before coming to it. The tree was massive, with heavy branches that swept the ground. Jokūbas shivered a bit as the wind rattled the leaves.
Dari set down the basket and gave his brother a defiant look. “See? No vilkacis! I told you it was just a story!”
Jokūbas snorted. “This is just where they come to turn into wolves. If you wanted to see one here, we should have come at night. Now they’re out roaming around in the woods.” He made his hands into claws and growled.
Dari kicked at him. “I dare you to go in there!”
Jokūbas straightened and looked at the tree. The heavy foliage made the space between the branches and the trunk shadowy. But he couldn’t admit to being scared now, not after all this.
“Fine,” he said, and bent to slip between the branches of the tree. The ground was soft and muddy with huge roots rising out of the ground like the backs of sea monsters.
Dari’s voice came from outside: “I dare you to walk all the way around the tree!”
“Fine,” Jokūbas called out again and started working his way around. He kept his eyes on the ground in front of him to avoid tripping over a root in the dim light. “We have to go home after this, Dari. It’s getting dark.”
“Sure! Coward!” Dari shouted.
“We’ll see who’s the coward!” Jokūbas shouted back.
He was just over half way around the tree when he saw the tracks. They appeared to be small human feet, maybe a child or a small woman had walked in here barefoot. He followed them a short distance before they stopped. It was getting darker with the sun now blocked by the trunk as well as the branches. He moved forward and saw the wolf tracks. He froze, looking back to where the human tracks ended. There was no sign of the person walking out from under the tree or the wolf walking in. He shivered, this time not needing the wind to help him.
“Dari!” Jokūbas ran the rest of the way around the tree.
Dari was doubled over laughing when he burst out from between the branches. “Oh no, did a vilkacis chase you?”
“Go look,” said Jokūbas.
Dari shoved the basket into his hands and went in under the cover of the boughs. A minute later he ran back out, any traces of boldness gone. Jokūbas grabbed his hand and scooped up their basket of mushrooms. It wasn’t even half full, so Mama would be unhappy, but he didn’t care.
“Come on,” he told Dari, and together they ran back home. Every step of the way they checked for the sound of howling coming from the forest behind them.
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The Werewolf
Jokūbas Mazounas was on his way home from the pub when he had a surprising encounter. This is a subscriber bonus post.
Kaunas, Lithuania, April 1911
Jokūbas Mazounas sat at his favorite table at the pub, beer in hand, and listened to the tales being told by the regulars… again. Even though it was the umpteenth repeat, no one was going to interrupt—partly out of unspoken agreement, partly out of loving those stories.
His friend Algis was weaving his story (entirely fictional, everyone knew) of an encounter with a laumė, a beautiful woodland spirit who had tried to lead him deep into the forest. This story became more elaborate each time he told it, with the laumė becoming more beautiful (and more naked) with each telling.
Jokūbas worked his way to the bar for one more beer before going home. He wasn’t in a hurry. He’d made the decision to go to America and join his older brother, who was now going by the American name of Emil. It was the right decision, but he dreaded breaking the news to his family, especially to his youngest brother, Dari.
He returned to his table with the mug of beer, and Algis came to join him. He was flushed and sweaty, maybe from his animated storytelling, maybe because he was several beers into the evening himself. Probably both.
Another friend, Kostas, stood up from a nearby table (although there really were no tables that weren’t nearby).
“The vilkacis,” he began, and was answered with a mix of jeers and applause. There weren’t any naked forest spirits in this story.
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From Strongman to Strong Man
Dominicus Klimas was a Lithuanian immigrant working to find his place in the world. He found his strength in the circus.
Written by Eric Shipley and Charlotte Easterling
Orange, Massachusetts, 1928
Orange, Massachusetts; View from the South Main St. bridge looking north. Image: digitalcommonwealth.org
Joe pulled his car into the field where the circus was starting to tear down. Seated next to him was his brother-in-law, Dominicus, a bear of a man with wavy red hair.
“Sure about this?” Joe asked.
The second-guessing was irritating, especially now that it was down to the last minute.
“Yes,” Dominicus replied with exasperation. “We talked about this. My mind is made up.”
Joe rubbed his forehead. “Okay, okay. I still have a hard time believing you’re running away to join the circus, of all things… But you’re twenty. Do as you please.”
Dominicus looked away. “I have to. You know why.”
The whole family had been excited about going to the circus, but his youngest sister, Flora (just five years old) and little brother, Freddie (who, at twelve years old, hated being called “little”) had been especially thrilled. Dominicus hoped they hadn’t noticed how making plans to go had reignited some long-standing feuds.
Papa was partly to blame. Freddie was actually his bastard son, and Mother had never forgiven his infidelity. Thereby, Myra, his not-so-sweet sixteen sister, hated Papa. Then there was Karolina, his older sister (by two years) who, according to Mother, had had the unforgivable nerve to elope with James, a man she didn’t approve of.
Thankfully, there was no trouble surrounding his sister Audra. She was only a year younger than Dominicus and was married to Joe (who Mother did approve of). This kept the outing from being a complete disaster, but without Papa and Karolina, it felt like the family was hopelessly fractured.
He had been captivated by the circus, though. The bright lights and shows and the cheerful hustle and bustle felt like something he had to be part of. But was he running away? Maybe, but it felt right.
He turned back to Joe. “Take care of yourself and Audra, yes?”
“Of course.”
They hugged briefly, then Dominicus grabbed the small bag that held his few belongings and got out of the car. He gave a quick wave goodbye, then turned and ran across the field towards the circus lights.
***
“You’re a big one,” said the manager, a wiry, dark-haired man who introduced himself as Bruno. “I’ll wager you’re strong too?”
Dominicus nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir! I am!” he said and hefted a nearby crate.
Bruno was impressed. “What’s your name?”
“Dominicus Klimas.”
“Russian?”
“No, sir! Lithuanian!” Dominicus hated being called Russian.
This time, Bruno was unimpressed. “Whatever. You’re hired.” They shook hands, and with that, Dominicus had joined the circus.
***
Photo shows a crowd of people at the entrance to a circus tent. On the right, sideshow attractions can be seen. Ca. late 1920s-early 1903s. Photo: fineartstorehouse.com
He never regretted his choice. Every day, he felt useful: setting up and tearing down, driving trucks, making repairs, tending to the animals (which he enjoyed greatly, even though it could be both dangerous and disgusting—especially the elephants).
When he got an hour or two off, he would sometimes visit a nearby town. The pay wasn’t great, but room and board was free, and beer (sometimes whiskey or vodka) was plentiful. There were other benefits he hadn’t expected, like the women in the troupe who would congregate and watch when he was working with his shirt off. They often wanted to do more than watch.
June, 1929
The noon sun was hot, and Dominicus was getting a drink of water when Bruno walked up.
“Sergei is leaving,” he said without preamble.
Sergei was the strongman, one of their most popular acts. He’d been with the circus for a few years and had decided to break into acting in the movies. Dominicus was sorry to hear this. He liked and respected Sergei. With the man’s tremendous strength, he could’ve easily been a bully, but he wasn’t.
“We need a new strongman,” Bruno continued. “Sergei won’t leave for a few more weeks, so he’ll train you.”
It took a moment, then Dominicus realized what Bruno was saying.
“You want me to be the new strongman?”
Bruno laughed. “Sure! A big Russian redhead will be a crowd pleaser.”
Dominicus bristled. “I said before, I’m not Russian! I’m Lithuanian!”
Bruno was still unimpressed. “Okay, fine. You’ll need to grow a mustache and you should exaggerate your accent. Doesn’t matter what it is—audiences love an accent.”
“So you want me to talk too?!” Dominicus could feel his heart racing. “I’d rather shovel elephant shit!”
“What is it with you big guys? Sergei was the same way when he started.” Bruno shrugged and put his hands up. “It doesn’t matter. He got good at his act, and so will you. He’ll teach you what you need to know. Congratulations!”
Bruno offered a handshake that Dominicus took, dazed and confused. What just happened? He thought.
August, 1929
“You’ll do great, kid!”
Dominicus jumped, startled by the clown on stilts who called down to him on the way to the stage.
“Thanks,” he called back, then returned to squirming in his very snug singlet. He felt like he hadn’t had a choice in being the new strongman, and the lights and crowds that had been so enticing now unnerved him. He did his best to put his trepidation aside and focus on the act Sergei had helped him create. The demonstrations of strength and showmanship still made Dominicus uncomfortable—they were all designed to make things seem more dramatic and dangerous than they actually were.
Bruno, theatrical in his red tailcoat and black top hat, introduced him. “And now, be amazed by the prodigious strength of our Russian giant! Introducing the Mighty Dominicus!”
Being called Russian yet again made Dominicus angry, but Bruno clearly didn’t care. And he wasn’t the first one Bruno had rebranded, which brought to mind a certain conversation with Sergei:
“No, brother, I’m Irish. My name is really Sean.”
Dominicus did a double-take. “So your Russian accent is a put on.”
“Aye lad. I protested, but Bruno wouldn’t budge,” said Segei/Sean with a laugh and wink.
An example of a strongman act: Ivan “The Great” demonstrates his strength by holding a plank with five dancing couples on it. 1924. Photo: rarehistoricalphotos.com
Dominicus scowled as uncharitable thoughts about Bruno occurred to him, but he decided to keep the scowl; it worked well for his performance. So he strode onto the stage and began. He flexed his muscles and strutted about, lifting a series of heavy objects and playing up the difficulty with some of them. To his delight, there was soon applause and cheering from the audience.
After that first show, he got over his nervousness and started inviting audience members to sit on a platform he would lift, pick weights for him, and choose bars for him to bend. After his performances, he would circulate in the crowd and revel in the delight people showed when he lifted them. And if it got him a kiss from a pretty girl, so much the better.
October, 1929
Dominicus sent postcards and letters to his family, but they didn’t write back. Until one day when a letter from Audra arrived. He was thrilled until he read the bad news: Mother had died.
He was shocked and saddened and felt a deep sense of loss. She’d been just forty-five! Audra wrote that they’d been to visit her just a few days before her death, and she’d seemed fine. The doctors said it was a stroke, so there was nothing that could’ve been done. Even so, Dominicus was crushed. And to make things worse (if that was possible), Audra’s letter was delivered after Mother’s funeral, so he didn’t get a chance to attend it.
November, 1929
Another letter came from Myra not long after Audra’s. It was a terse note telling him that Joe had died of a ruptured appendix not long after Mother’s death. Dominicus was again shocked and saddened. He’d always expected to see Joe again. And as with Mother, by the time he got Myra’s note, Joe’s funeral had already happened. It brought tears to his eyes.
Finally, at the end, Myra wrote that Papa was coming to get all of them and move them to New York where he was living and working.
He’s finally taking care of the family, dominicus thought, glad for a bit of good news.
He wrote back the same day, sharing good memories and offering what comfort he could.
August, 1930
Illustration of Dominicus Klimas by Charlotte Easterling
It was months later when Bruno announced that they’d be stopping in Nashua, where Karolina lived. Dominicus wrote to her and asked her to come visit. She promptly wrote back (which surprised and elated him) and accepted his invitation. So shortly after the circus was set up just outside Nashua, she arrived with her two oldest children in tow. She was taken aback to see him in his costume with his red handlebar mustache.
It didn’t take long for her to get over her surprise, then she introduced him to Adrian, who was seven, and Helen, who was five. They were wide-eyed, and Dominicus was concerned it might, at least partly, be fear. So he got down on one knee.
“Hello there,” he said to them.
They continued to stare but seemed a bit less shy, so he put a hand on each of their heads, then gently scooped them up, one after the other, and set them on his broad shoulders. Karolina laughed and clapped. After a minute, however, they started looking anxious. She helped get them back down, and then held on to their hands. Dominicus said that he’d made arrangements for them to do and see anything they wanted for free.
“Oh, thank you,” she said, smiling gratefully. She would’ve given him a hug, but upon hearing that everything was free, the two children started to tug at her.
“Slow down and stay with me!” Karolina shouted to be heard over the roar of the crowd. The kids relented, but only just. She knew impatient whines weren’t far off and gave Dominicus a small, wan smile.
“How are you? You look tired,” he said.
She dismissed it with a shake of her head. “I have four children, Dominicus. How else should I look?”
“Mama!” the children chorused.
Dominicus turned to them. “What would you like to do?”
After a short debate, they settled on going to see the elephants.
“Then that’s where we’ll start,” he said and mimed an elephant trunk with his forearm. They all laughed, then he guided them to the main tent. Nobody got in their way.
***
Later, when they were eating and the kids were distracted, Karolina confided that James had lost his job. He was looking for work but hadn’t found anything yet.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could help. This damn–” Karolina cut him off with a finger to her lips.
“Sorry,” Dominicus apologized. “This Depression has everyone hurting.”
Karolina agreed and continued eating without saying anything more. Dominicus realized the conversation was over and went on eating as well. Afterwards, the children were getting sleepy, so they said their goodbyes. Before they left, though, Dominicus slipped some money into her hand. She started to protest, but this time he cut her off.
“Just some traveling money.”
May, 1931
Dominicus was still with the circus when he heard from Myra again. More bad news—Papa had died. Myra was eighteen now and wrote that she’d taken Freddie and Flora back to Massachusetts. Audra, however, was staying in New York and wouldn’t say what she was going to do on her own.
Dominicus read this, thought for a moment, then went to find Bruno.
June, 1931
The circus was in Orange again.
Where it all started, Dominicus thought with a sigh. Except Mother and Papa and Joe aren’t here.
This would be his last stop. After his final performance, he said his farewells, which concluded by exchanging thanks and a handshake with Bruno. Afterwards, he lingered for a minute and looked around, then got into a truck waiting in the surrounding field. The youngster in the driver’s seat wisely stayed quiet as they pulled out and headed into town. Dominicus clutched his small bag of belongings. It was the same one he had when he started out, except it was now stuffed with souvenirs. And the field they’d just left could easily be the same one where Joe had dropped him off three years ago.
He wasn’t sure how to feel. The happiest time he’d known was ending, and it was daunting to think about what might come next. But at the same time, he felt strangely good. When he left before, he was running away. Now, he was going back to take up his responsibilities. He smirked at the irony. It seemed like being the strongman was what had taught him to actually be a strong man.
He looked in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t see the circus anymore.
Map of the locations in the story, left to right: Nassau, New York (where Dominicus’s father lived); Orange, MA; Athol, MA (where Dominicus’s mother lived); and Nashua, NH. Map: Google Maps.
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Baby Bootlegger
Meet five-year-old Helen, whose first job wasn’t quite legal. This post is a subscriber bonus.
Helen Mazunas hauled her ratty little wooden wagon along the rough sidewalk in Nashua, New Hampshire, intent on making her deliveries. The bottles clattered under their canvas as the wagon bounced, and she turned to make sure none had fallen out. She knew that the clear liquid in them was for grown-ups only. She was just five years old—the stinky stuff that Mr. John called his “namie” (home-made) didn’t interest her. But when she knocked on doors, the adults who answered were always happy to see her, but only after a few furtive glances up and down the street.