Wolf and Girl Stories

Three days ago, I started a flashfiction contest.  I got two entries and I wrote a story myself.  There may not be any literary prizes here, but I’m pleased with the stories, as it gives me something to share with you all today.  The winning story, imho, is the third one, but please leave a comment and vote.  I’d like to know which story you think is best.
Incidentally, I want to say, GOD DAMN WORDPRESS!!!  I worked and worked to get the formatting right on these stories, and WordPress kept putting the wrong, poorly spaced and balanced formats back.  Well, I give up.  You readers will just have to take the stories the way WordPress allows me to produce them.  GOD DAMN WORDPRESS!!!  I WANT A WYSIWYG INTERFACE!  GRRRRRRR!
Meet Me By the Fire
By Laurie Rose
The maidens giggled as they helped each other wash
their hair in the quiet place in the river.
The sun was shining warmly on the day, seemingly anticipating the coming
festivities as much as the maidens.
“Shareena, your hair is so beautiful, he is sure to choose you,” one of
the maidens pouted.
“I think he’ll choose her for her beautiful voice, “ another whinesd.
Shareena dipped her head into the water to rinse the herbal suds from her
flowing locks.  As she put her head up, she splashed Calaya, her best friend, and giggled uncontrollably.
“Oh, Shareena,” Calaya scolded, “you have
everything a man can want, but you are still like a child!”
Shareena laughed and then gasped as looking into
the forest she saw eyes looking back at her from behind a tree.  Shareena found a rock to lie on and be warmed
by the sun’s rays.  As she combed her fingers through her hair, she again spied the eyes in the forest looking at her.
“Surely, it must be Karlund,” she thought. Karlund was the greatest warrior in her village and the one she hoped to
be betrothed to this very evening.  Shareena removed the straps of her top, revealing much of her breast, as she spread aloe
and chamomile oil on her body to make it shine.
The eyes continued to look.  As Shareena massaged the oil  on her chest,
it became evident that the eyes watching her were causing her to be
aroused.  Shareena lay back on the rock, her breasts nearly fully exposed. Then she heard
the calling.  “Shareena, come to me.”  Shareena sat up quickly, looking
into the forest.  “Shareena………………….” The voice continued to call.  Was that
Karlund’s voice?  Shareena slipped her arms back in the strap of her top and slipped away while the other maids were
chatting and laughing.
Her limber body made its way easily as she called out
for Karlund.  “I heard your voice,
Karlund, make yourself known!  I am here
to………..” Shareena fell silent as she came face to face with a hideous
creature.  His teeth were sharp and pointy, ears facing forward, and he crouched ready to attack.  Behind the creature, a hideous female voice hissed, “You, woman, prepare to meet your final moments.  I will have Karlund as my own, and you are
the only one to stop me!”
Shareena jumped back and grabbed a large stick
just as the creature lurched forward to strike.
Shareena felt a new-found strength she’d never known before and with
both hands swung the stick hard making a loud thud on the creature’s
skull.  Shareena dropped the stick in surprise and looked to find the woman who had spoken had fled with haste.  Shareena, breathing quickly from as much fear as the physical strain of the moment, put her foot on the chest of the wounded
beast.  “I demand you state your purpose.  Why would you call to me and
attack me, creature?”
The creature,gasping, opened his mouth as though to speak, then disappeared as if he had
never been.   Shareena was bewildered as she looked around the forest.
In that moment, Karlund and his father stepped
from behind her.  Karlund’s father put his arm on his son’s shoulder as he praised his son, “You have chosen well,
son.”  Karlund smiled longingly at Shareena as he whispered, “I have found my true love.  Until tonight………….”
Shareena made her way back to the river, the other
maids staring at her dissheveled appearance.
Shareena could only smile as they maidens asked her endless
questions.  Finally, Calaya came very
close, enough to where Shareena could smell the fragrant herbs in her
hair.  “Shareena, you’ve only minutes
before we have to go to the fire for the festivities.  Do you not care?
Shareena smiled again, dipping her hair in
the water.  “Let’s  go, Calaya, let us dance, let us find our
true loves!!!”  Shareena half danced and
half skipped towards town, the other maids’ mouths wide open.  They could barely hear Shareena as she sang,
“It’s a goooood dayyyyy.”
From a story of true love, let us move on to a story of true lust.  Read this and then let me know if I have a great future in store for me as a wrtier of romances.
By Ken St. Andre
Runt hated his name, and he hated his status. He
was the smallest member of his pack, and the slowest, and the weakest. Even old
Greymuzzle could beat him.
So, he left. He changed into man-form and hitchhiked down the Pacific Coast Highway
until he reached San Diego.  Couldn’t get
much further south than that.  He got a
job at a Jack-in-the-Box cooking burgers and other local delicacies.  There was plenty of raw meat for him
there–just clip off an ounce before cooking, and pop it in his mouth.  Customers never noticed if their burger was a
little light.
And . . . he got a girlfriend, a cute little
brown-haired beach bunny named named Kara.
She caught him walking into the restaurant one morning and said
“Hey, what’s your name?”
“Runt–er, I mean, Ron.  Who are you? Why do you ask?”
“Ha, ha, ha!  Runt!? It’s a good nickname for you, Ron.  I’m not tall, but you’re shorter than
me.  Still, I like the way you look.  There’s something wild about you.”
“If you only knew,” thought Runt.  He licked his lips.  “Gotta
think of something nice to say to her.”
“You’re pretty hot.  What’s your name?”
“Kara.  Kara Smith. And you are . . .”
“Ron.  Ron Wolf   Hey, Kara, I’m a cook here.  Would you like a free burger, my
“I’d love one.  Make it rare for me, will you, Ron?”
And that was the beginning of a beautiful
friendship that got better every day.
Kara and Ron went to the movies together.  They went to the arcade together. They went
to concerts together.  They went to the
beach together.  They went to bed together.
Runt learned a lot about his Kara.  She was strong and wild, and she liked to be
on top.  Ron enjoyed his time with Kara, knowing that it would be short, because the full moon was coming.  With the full moon would come the change, and that, Runt thought, would be the end of Kara.
A werewolf dreams of the first maiden that he gets to ravish and devour.  He couldn’t help salivating every time he
thought of how he would really bite into her soon.  Grrrr and Yummm!
The day of the full moon came.  Ron got the afternoon off and took his girl
to a La Jolla beach.  They found a very remote spot way down past the nude beach and set up their blanket and umbrella.  By the time the sun went down they were alone.
“Tonight we stay and watch the moon come
up,” Ron told her.  He leaned in to
kiss her lips.  They were a bit salty
from her last swim in the ocean.
“Oh, Ron, you’re such a romantic.” Kara kissed him back, grabbed him, and rolled him on the blanket beneath her.  He lay beneath her with her bikini-wrapped breasts bobbling a few inches from his face.
He could scarcely repress a howl of glee.  The tingle in his skin told him the change
was starting.  He lifted his head to snap at her teasing tit, but she jerked backwards and he gnashed only air.
Kara  giggled.  “Down, boy!” she commanded.  Then her eyes widened.  “Ron,
what’s happening?  You’re changing!  Growing hairier, darker, more–“
Ron surged upwards and threw her off his body.  “I have a surprise for
you,” he growled.  His words were just barely human.  “You know why my
last name is Wolf?  It is because I am a wolf–a werewolf!”  He loomed over
her and let the saliva drip off his canine fangs and out of his muzzle.
Kara scooted away backwards until she could get to her feet. Runt advanced slowly, savoring each step as he
watched the terror on her face. It slowly occurred to him that she didn’t seem
as terrified as she should be.  Then he rushed her, claws outstretched to grab her rend her frail form.
Kara reached out, caught one arm by
the wrist, pulled him forward, bent to the side, and threw him to the
ground.  His head smacked into a boulder
and in the next second he found himself flat on his back with Kara stepping on
his chest.
“I think I’ll call you Rover,” she sneered. “And you should know by now, I like to be on
Poor Runt.  When you can’t win, you really just can’t win.  Just his luck to run into  a weregirl in his new home by the sea.
The third story takes place in Trollworld, and is by a member of Trollhalla. Come to think of it, all stories are by members of Trollhalla. Come on, rest of the world!  These contests are open to everyone.


by Bernard Assaf

“Bah!” came the cry, closely followed by chair-on-floor
scraping, pewter mug crashing, and sloshing liquid sounds.  “Dragon droppings!” Nocks lamented aloud.

Those in the crowd gathered at the Blue Frog Tavern who were
close enough to Nocks’ table, turned their heads in time to see the aftermath
of the collision.  One of the servers had
tripped over a wayward sword’s scabbard, and he had spilled his tray, which had
previously held aloft several of mugs of ale.
One of the mugs had sloshed its contents in a wide arc which splattered
on the head and back of the young woman who until a few moments previous to the
crash had been enjoying her evening meal.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Crumbs the server quickly replied.  He scooped up the spilled mugs and wiped up
the ale from the floor, then offered to clean her ale-doused cloak.

“No way!  That dishrag
is probably dirtier than my cloak.  I’ll
clean it myself,” Nocks fumed.  She
gulped down the last of her grog and shoved the last of the potato slices into
her mouth.  Nocks bent down and scooped
up her pack from under the table, then made her way outside.  Outside, she shook her head and the stray
splashes of ale that had landed in her hair sprinkled the front porch.  In the relative quiet of the mostly deserted
landing, she was surprised by slurping and smacking sounds.  Quickly she turned around and spied a patron
relaxing on a chair by the door.  He held
a glass to his face.  “Good grief!” she
barked.  “Men these days—no manners!” she mused silently.

At this hour, none of the reputable cleaning establishments
were open, so Nocks trudged off home.
The man without manners lowered his empty glass, shrugged, and resumed
counting the cracks on its interior.

Inside Nocks’ under-furnished room in the female wing of the
third floor of the adventurer’s guild hall, Nocks slammed and locked the door,
dumped her pack, and stripped off her cloak.
She crossed the room with its lonely bed, desk and chair to the wash
room, and dumped her cloak in the wash basin.
The tub still held a half-full mix of water and soap from her previous
bath and would now serve to clean her cloak, just as it had cleaned the grime
and sweat from her body that afternoon.  She
kicked her boots off her feet, pulled off her tunic and trousers and tossed
them into the basin as well.  That was
when she heard an unexpected gurgling sound.

“Death Goddess!” she cursed, swinging around to scan her
tiny two-room home for the source.
Making a full circle, Nocks focused on the wash basin.  The water was slowly sucking her garments
under, and the guttural gurgle became louder.
Confused, Nocks reached in, brazenly pulled out her clothes, and spied
her cloak—if it could still be called that.
A beast with matted fur the same black color as her cloak squirmed,
sputtered and clawed its way out of the wash basin, dumping itself on to the
floor. Astonished, Nocks peered into the washer, which was empty save the soapy

“What?  Who?” Nocks stammered, returning her gaze to the black animal as she backed up into the
room toward where she’d left her pack and sword.  The creature was growing in size like a
soaked sponge decompressing underwater.

Nocks reached her sword, eyes still fixed on the monster,
and as she pulled the blade from its sheath the creature stood up on its
cat-like hind legs, shook itself to dry, then stared her down.  “More!” it growled, guttural and feral.  It picked up her soggy tunic with its clawed hands.

Nocks, clad only in her black and white flower print
undergarments, charged the beast with a brave roar.  It was the first time she had entered into
combat with a piece of clothing, but the actual mystery of its transformation
from cloak to creature did not surprise her, for that was the magical norm of
everyday life in the city of Khazan.

The beast surprised her with a back-pedaling retreat from her
advance.  Nocks hesitated.

“More?” it said more hesitantly, almost questioningly.  Nocks sensed no aggression, but instead fear,
in this still growing creature.  The
beast looked about, spied the lone window in the wash room, leaped to it,
banged open the wooden shutters, and jumped.

“I don’t think so!” Nocks challenged, and leaped after
it.  She knew what lay outside—the river—and
she was confident in not only her leaping ability but also her splashdown and
swimming skills.  This cloak come to life,
or whatever it was, would not escape her!

The beast, only a second in front of her, splashed down
first, and then quickly scrambled up to the opposite bank.  Like a cannonball, Nocks plunged into the
river after it, her topknot of hair whipping in the night air.  She pushed up from the rocky riverbed that
came too quickly for her comfort—she’d have bruised heels for sure in the
morning—and broke the surface.

Nocks heard the cat-like creature shout pleadingly: “More!”  It was now about her same height and
scrambling away from her, still clutching the doubly-doused tunic.  As Nocks approached with sword in front of
her, the cloak turned cat-man dropped her tunic, turned to run, but tripped
over a root and fell over the upraised stone circle surrounding a landscaping
rock which Nocks had seen the children use to play king of the hill.

This thing made no motion to threaten her, and so Nocks returned
the favor, thrusting her sword into the earth.
Nevertheless, the chase coming to a close, she jumped up on the stone,
earth and rock dais and plunged one wet foot into the beast’s midsection.  She pointed her finger accusingly at the
creature.  “What are you—and what do you want?”

“More!” it stammered, afraid.

“More?  More what?” Nocks demanded.

Exasperated and licking its lips, the creature cried out.

The End


There are many strange adventures told in Trollworld, but I don’t think I’ve ever read anything stranger than that.

And now, esteemed readers, please comment and let the world know which story you liked the best.!



There will be another contest later in the week.  Think about it!  Wouldn’t you like to see your flash fiction published here at Atroll’s Flashfiction.  All you have to do is write something–preferably something fantastic–and email it to:




  1. Posted February 28, 2011 at 5:13 am | Permalink | Reply

    I vote for story #2. It had an actual werewolf in the tale.

    As for formatting in WordPress, you should take out all of the extraneous newlines in the text; they are confusing WordPress. Are you using the Visual Editor or the HTML Editor? In the Visual Editor, each newline indicates a new paragraph. In the HTML Editor, which is what I prefer, you can type two newlines for a paragraph break, and that works well for me. I don’t like using the Visual Editor because it always thinks it knows better than I do about what I want to do. In fact, I completely turn off the Visual Editor so that it doesn’t even have a chance to muck with what I’m posting. So I’m just the opposite of you; I don’t want a WYSIWYG editor, I want an editor that doesn’t try to think for me.

  2. atroll
    Posted February 28, 2011 at 2:28 pm | Permalink | Reply

    I don’t understand your explanation. What’s a newline? How do I turn off the editor built into the WordPress Dashboard editing form. Everything comes out right if I compose within the form itself, but if I copy and paste into the form, everything comes out screwed. I don’t want an editor that thinks for me either. If I put space into a blog, the space should be there. If I take space out of a blog, the space should go away, and it should do so in the Dashboard editing form. Grrrrrr. I guess I should do all my editing offline before I copy and paste and then just accept whatever format the Dashboard gives me.

    • Posted March 1, 2011 at 5:18 am | Permalink | Reply

      A newline is when the author presses the Enter or Return key on the keyboard. (Each keyboard usually only has one or the other, Enter or Return, and not both, as they are synonymous.) An invisible character is inserted into the text when the Enter or Return key is pressed, and forces the next character typed to start at the beginning of the next line of text. It’s actually a bit more complicated than that, and it differs from one OS to another, but you can think of it as a single hidden character inserted into the text.

      In addition to the author pressing Enter or Return, there are other ways for newlines to get into text. Some software programs insert newlines automatically when you’re typing and your text reaches the right edge of the window, rather than simply wrapping to the next line. Some word processors can be set up to automatically insert newlines or not. Email programs can insert newlines into text when the lines are longer than some particular width, and this can happen either in the author’s email program or the addressee’s email program. I’ve even seen it happen in both, and when that happens you will see paragraphs composed of mixed long and short fragments.

      You can delete a newline character by placing your cursor at the end of a line and pressing the Delete key on your keyboard. The thing is, depending on the width of your window, you might not notice any difference when you do this, because the text may wrap to the next line at the exact same place where the newline had been inserted. Sometimes you have to change the width of the window so you can see whether you have newlines in your text.

      With a program like Word, it is typical for it to not insert newlines unless you press the Enter or Return key. Moreover, Word files are sent as attachments to emails, which protects it from random insertion of newlines by email programs. You’re more likely to have a problem occur for plain text files, especially if they are sent directly in the body of an email message rather than being attached to the email.

    • Posted March 1, 2011 at 5:28 am | Permalink | Reply

      So…when you copy and paste, if the original text includes newline characters and they are pasted into WordPress, then WordPress is going to honor them and break your sentences at the newlines.

      As for turning off the Visual editor, I’m not sure if you can do that on WordPress.com blogs; I’m only familiar with the editors for WordPress.org blogs, the type of blog I have. On my blog, I can edit my user profile, and the first thing on the page is a checkbox to turn off the visual editor. Then you will only get the HTML editor. But even the HTML editor will act on newlines in the text, so I don’t think this is going to help you. You’re just going to have to make sure the text you copy and paste has all extraneous newlines removed from the text before you save your post.

  3. Posted February 28, 2011 at 9:06 pm | Permalink | Reply

    Regarding formatting: Perhaps submissions should be in notepad/ASCII text only. I had sent a Word file, which when you copied & pasted, probably copied all sorts of hidden codes with it? I suspect your other story submission also arrived by Word.

    • atroll
      Posted February 28, 2011 at 10:33 pm | Permalink | Reply

      Actually, Bernard, your story came out perfectly. I would not suggest Notepad be used by anyone who has access to any better word processor.

  4. MMD
    Posted March 1, 2011 at 8:28 pm | Permalink | Reply

    I vote the first one. Creative story. All of them were actually, but I like the storyline of the first one best.

  5. MMD
    Posted March 1, 2011 at 8:46 pm | Permalink | Reply

    I like the first one for the storyline. They’re all good

  6. Jax Dracon
    Posted March 1, 2011 at 11:02 pm | Permalink | Reply

    I like my brother’s entry, if that counts for anything. It reminds me of a story I used to read the kids at bedtime, only with fewer exposed undergarments and less ale. 😉 -Jax

  7. Stacirock
    Posted March 2, 2011 at 1:02 pm | Permalink | Reply

    I like Story #3 the best – though they were all fun to read!

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