Mormon Werewolves In Denim Jackets

I spoke with my Pastor on the phone.

“I’m going to give them a try.”

“Joseph Smith was an occultist. His teachings can’t be trusted.”

“I need to explore my faith.”

“The women who follow him are freak shows. Have you any idea of the rumours which surround them?”

“Like what, for example?” My Pastor’s pessimism was discouraging. I was looking forward to Martha and Melody, the female Mormons about to knock on my door for a religious meeting.

“All I’ll say is don’t light any scented candles, whatever you do. That’s a stern warning. And don’t play any classical music.”

“Okay…” He hung up. I looked at the phone receiver in my hand rather perplexedly. If it didn’t have the Christian God written all over it, he was always the same. There was only one book in the world and that was that. The Bible. Well, I was about to try another interpretation of it.

Martha and Melody knocked on at the time they said they would knock on. I invited them in, out of the winter’s night and into the secluded comfort of my property. They were both average height, medium weight, pretty in their own way. Both wore beige blouses with denim jackets, and expensive-looking pendants; which, by the way they shimmered and glimmered, I imagined to be putting a spell on me. They seemed to move and speak as one, as if their mannerisms had been linked together. They finished each other’s sentences and sipped my offered coffee at the same time as each other. We made ourselves comfortable as they read from the Book Of Mormon.

“You should be beginning to feel a warmth in the room,” Martha said.

“And experiencing a beam of intoxicating light sneaking into your soul,” Melody added.

“May we light a candle?” they both said. “And play some music from our phone?”

NO, DO NOT LET THEM! I heard my Pastor scream from somewhere deep inside my own head.

Scented. Classical. I didn’t have time to refuse them. I studied their faces. Their skin was like porcelain, so smooth and silky. I realised then that they were more than just merely pretty – they were truly beautiful. I would have fallen in love with them, but there was something DIFFERENT about them, something that almost, in tragic contradiction, couldn’t be lovable. It was hard to put my finger on what though. Just SOMETHING ABOUT them.

They went into a trance with the candle and the music. They started snoring and speaking in tongues as one. I left the room out of awkwardness and took a quick piddle in the bog. When I returned, I found it hard to believe the predicament facing me.

My pet cat, previously sleeping on his cat mat, was torn in half. Martha and Melody were dancing with what remained, spraying blood around the room like uncorked champagne. They were at least two feet taller, and covered in fur. Their denim jackets had stretched like the Hulk’s shorts. Their gleaming white fangs looked odd along with their lipstick, and their pointy ears were silhouetted against the moonlight coming in from my net curtains. The flame from the candle wavered, and I snorted odours of Beeswax and Amberwood. The sounds of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 filled the room.

I went into shock and froze. Their terrible beauty was intoxicating. They looked like creatures groomed by both God and The Devil, wolf and human in equal measure.

“Welcome to the Brotherhood,” they said. We kissed.