Monsters on the Mind

The flogs lately have been talking a lot about the game called Werewolf. Cherished by the Roost, Werewolf is a Who-Done-It game in which a werewolf murders victims; villagers must logically discern the identity of the werewolf. We have played this game so much of late that it has come to affect my everyday life. I have begun to wonder who to trust; those who seem innocent are enemies and the dubious turn out to be telling the truth. Fear and suspicion are my new reality. The werewolf could be anywhere.

This morning, we split into task forces and I was left at Staffenson prairie completely alone. The sky was ominously cloudless and the sun shone eerily. Coreopsis, leadplant and heliopsis gave the landscape a beauty like that of a siren, luring wanderers to their demise. As I began to go about checking flowering of Echinacea, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. All of a sudden, a grotesque monster reared its many heads. At first I thought it was a hydra, but then I realized it was more similar to Frankenstein’s monster. It was as if some doctor had surgically stitched several leadplant flowers together forming a massive mega-flower which loomed forebodingly over the heads of its brethren.

Absurd Leadplant

After my heart slowed back down to a normal pace, I continued onward. My quest included locating flowering Echinacea in order to determine differences between burned and unburned sections of the prairie. I scoured the horizon for the elusive blue flags marking Echinacea which blended bewilderingly well into the sea of purple leadplant. Since I was busy peering everywhere but the direction I was walking, I accidentally ran straight into a gigantic frog. It was 50 meters tall and at least twice as long! This monster, thankfully, was quite friendly. It had no problem with me and, when I ran into it, merely said ‘oosh’ and hopped away.


The next creature I encountered was not quite as amiable. Just as I was about to leave the prairie, a grotesque beast oozing with slime emerged from the depths of its lair. It hissed and placed itself squarely in my way.

I had never seen this creature in real life, but I had heard tales of its terror. The local lore says that if the creature shakes its tail at you, you will be cursed forever. Only one has survived an encounter with this beast: the esteemed adventurer Stuart Wagenius. Some say that Stuart killed the beast with one watermelon seed, spit with the might of Paul Bunyan and the force of Chuck Norris. I have witnessed this ability and think this could be true.

I, unfortunately only can spit a watermelon a measly couple centimeters. Instead, to get past the beast, I accepted the challenge to answer a riddle. It asked me:

If I wore pants, would I wear them like this—

or like this —?’

Fortunately, I guessed correctly (I can’t tell you the right answer otherwise I’ll be cursed) and I was allowed to pass.

After a morning of adventures, I was quite glad to be back in the company of the team for lunch. Several accusations of ‘werewolf’ and ‘minion’ were levied in jest, aligning nicely with the Werewolf theme of the day.

In the afternoon, most of the team journeyed out to plot 1 to check the status of flowering Echinacea. Most of us were convinced that some werewolves had probably moved around the flags and twist ties marking the position of the flowers in order to confuse us.

The end of the day was marked by more horror, but not of werewolf making.  When we got back to the Hjelm house, I noticed a lone Echinacea head rolling across the table, a reminder of the mass carnage from the previous week. In the name of science, we had guillotined many Echinacea heads and carried the heads home as trophies of our conquest. All of today I looked for monsters… but could it be that I was looking in the wrong place, that we ourselves are the monsters?

After traveling back to the Roost, enjoying a lovely meal from Andy, and having a discussion about Michael’s interesting article for literature club, we ended the night with, of course, a game of Werewolf.




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