Excerpt from my GS fanfic novel.

Only the most disturbing werewolf design, ever.

Look at the arms. They're almost human.

 
I've decided to put up an excerpt from my novel, Ginger Snaps: The Feral Bond. The novel is fan fiction based on the Ginger Snaps films.  First I'll give you a spoiler warning: if you haven't seen those films but intend to, stop reading here.


I'll set the scene up assuming that you haven't seen the film. The characters in this scene, Ginger and Brigitte Fitzgerald are close sisters. They were both fifteen (Irish twins) when Ginger got attacked by a werewolf. This scene takes place two years after that tragedy unfolded.

In the GS fiction-verse, werewolves change mentally and physically throughout the month, with the final shape-shift happening around the full moon.  Now Brigitte's a werewolf and Ginger's a ghost haunting her. Brigitte has been holding off the changes by injecting an extract of monkshood, a plant related to wolf's bane. But she overdosed, and was found unconscious on the street. She's now awakened in a youth rehab/psychiatric facility. She had thought Ginger's ghost was her hallucination and she wouldn't talk to Ginger. However, one patient--a psychotic girl named June--revealed that she could see Ginger. June could also see that there was something supernaturally wrong about Brigitte, but couldn't determine the exact trouble. June is talked about, but doesn't appear in this scene.

For those who are familiar with the GS series, this novel starts after the first five minutes of Ginger Snaps: Unleashed. Ghost, Alice and Tyler aren't in this version. This is Unleashed rewritten with the assumption that Brigitte's not doomed to begin with, she has a chance. This is also Unleashed if it had a blockbuster budget.   

This sisters have made up, but it's brittle. Trauma from Ginger's terrible last month is causing stress between them. Here, they both recall what happened, and have different versions, with Ginger's memory of the final night hazy. The last thing she remembers is Brigitte clutching her hand and saying, "Now I am you."

Lastly, I have elaborated on some things about lycanthropy that were only touched upon in the film. Ginger mentions an ache that she mistook for sexual desire. This scene describes that ache in more detail.

    Light was just beginning to come into Brigitte's window when she awoke with a sudden, pleasant tingling in her head and limbs. This enjoyable sensation lasted until she opened her eyes to blood on her pillow. She gasped.

    Ginger sat on the bed, transparent at first. The ghost held her palm up. Her appearance turned opaque and gained weight.

    “Whath have I. . . ?” Brigitte lisped.

    “Don't worry,” answered Ginger. “You weren't hunting in your sleep. You were just biting your mouth. I thought I'd wake you up in a good mood.” Ginger winked and wiggled her fingers.

    Brigitte shook her head, afraid to ask. She popped up, put her hands over her lips. “Oh, shith!” She turned the pillow over and ran to the bathroom to wash the blood from her mouth. For some reason, her own blood tasted flat. She studied the bites.

    Behind her, Ginger spoke, but had no reflection in the mirror. “That must have been quite a wet-mare you were having. 'Oh, Sam! Oh, Sam!' Fuck, I had to wake you up. I thought somebody might walk in while you were touching yourself.”

    Brigitte grunted, fuming. The inside of her mouth looked more pale than before.

    Ginger went on, “Hey, what happened to that loser, anyway? He left you, didn't he?”

    Brigitte pounded the sink, shouted, “You killed him!” and spun around.

   The spirit looked appalled. “Oops!”

    To Brigitte's amazement, Ginger was not right behind her but lying on the bed. She moved from that position to sitting on the pillow with no motion between. It looked like a jump-cut in a movie.

    Brigitte's claws had grown back, and she flexed them in anger now.   “Are you saying you don'th remember that?”

    The ghost shrugged. “I must not have been quite myself, Bee.”

    “Oh, bullshit-th!” Brigitte spit the last letter, turned back to the mirror, examined her mouth again. Most bites were almost healed. The one on her tongue causing the lisp was visibly closing, the swelling going down. She probed her teeth. They looked normal but were much sharper.

   “Shit, the mood I gave you didn't take."

   "What?"

   "I found out from June I can change people's moods.”

    Brigitte turned. “Ginger, how dare you involve that girl in this?”

    “She was involved anyway, being trapped here with you. After you talked, you seemed to get along.”

    “Yes, that's the problem. I'm like this because I tried to help you! Remember what you offered me on Halloween?”

    Ginger shrugged, puzzled. “Trick or treat?”

    “Don't make fun.”

    “I'm not. Things get hazy after my argument with Mr. Wayne.”

    “Argument? You mean the one where you bit his ear off, ripped his face, and tore his throat open— that argument?”

    Ginger's eyes gazed up and down. “Did we have another one that night?”

    “This isn't funny. What happens when I have a change of heart in a day or two, and I want to share my disease? Just when I'm about to lose control, you get me a friend to infect.”

    “No, you wouldn't do that.”

    Brigitte stared askance at Ginger, recalling her sister's startling change in attitude in the final stages.

    Ginger continued, “In all this time, have you found anybody who was willing to help you?”

    With a shake of her head, Brigitte gazed at her nails and touched her tongue, now totally healed.

    “Now that you've talked," said Ginger, "I know you won't try to scare her because she's the only hope you've had since—” Ginger stopped, not wanting to mention his name again. “We're both overdue for some good luck.”

    “You're right about that.” Brigitte bit off a nail, spit it into the trashcan. “I don't feel generous about it yet, and I don't think I will. You won't tell her, I might be tempted, will you?”

    “I promise. I can't help you without her.”

    Brigitte sat on the bed and checked her feet. Her toenails had torn through her socks during the night. “Fuck!”

    She began to take them off but Ginger interrupted. “Jason must have been so pissed at me. He didn't rape you, did he?”

    Brigitte's perplexing grin unnerved the undead spirit.

    “No,” said Brigitte. “I got away. I thought it was over. I didn't know he'd chase me for two fucking years.”

    “I wonder why he's fixated on you?”

    Brigitte offered only silence.

    “B, I gotta say, I'm in awe of you. I never thought you could make it without me.”

    Brigitte showed her fangs. “If you call this 'making it.' You know what kept me going? Anger. Rage over what this did to you. I wasn't going to let it win. Every time I put the needle in my arm and felt like my chest was being gouged with a hot poker, I knew I hurt her worse.”

    “Her?” Ginger blinked and squinted.

    “You know who I'm talking about.”

    Ginger shook her head. “No, I don't.”

    Brigitte pointed to her own belly. “The little bitch trying to get out and take over.”

    “I never thought of it as a person, only as a throbbing ache,” said Ginger, after a forced smile. “But then I didn't carry it in me for two years.”

    “Now I find out there's an afterlife. I have you back, but I still can't feel anything but rage.”

    Ginger inhaled through teeth, or that was how the hiss sounded. “Careful B; it'll twist that anger.”

    “You think I don't know that? I can't turn it off! That's why I can't be in here.” Brigitte stood, holding her lower belly. “They blab about emotions in these places. They might even put me into therapy! If what I've pent up gets released, the survivors will regret it.

    Seething, she walked to the window and put her hand on the pane. The snowy landscape was wide and pristine. She imagined staining it with blood as far as she could see, and knew that still wouldn't be enough. “I can't stand being locked up another night.”

    Ginger was at her side without a sound. Brigitte frowned. Nobody sneaks up on me.

   “Please, you've ignored me so long, B. Could you answer my questions now?”

    “Answer mine first. What's it like being dead?”

    Ginger sighed.

    What's she breathing.

     “I never imagined an afterlife like this; no light to mark my passage, nobody to guide me. I'm on my own. I don't know if I'm earning my wings or suffering my damnation, but the signs sure aren't good. It's lonely and boring, and I always crave a cigarette, even though I don't even have to breathe. That's just fucked!”

    Brigitte smiled. “If we'd known, I guess we wouldn't have wasted our time thinking about suicide.” She walked back to the bed.

    “Or started smoking.” Ginger again sneaked up on Brigitte. “But what gnaws at me worse than anything is what's what's happening to you. I feel so helpless, and I'm‒ ” She halted with an abrupt change in posture, and covered her mouth. “Oh, my‒ ”

    “What?” Brigitte sat down on the mattress.

    “I've just realized, we've switched places! I'm still fifteen. I'm the younger sister now, forced to watch it happen to you. Jesus! This is my Hell! What the fuck did I do?”

    Brigitte sounded weary. “Poetic justice never rhymes, Ginge. Hell's supposed to be eternal, but this'll be over in a few days.”

    Ginger sat down with her. “That means this is only the beginning. For us both. No! You won't change. That mustn't happen. That won't happen.”

    Brigitte locked eyes with her. “Ginger, there's no hope for me. I can break out before the full moon and spare the people here; then I can maybe fight it for a little longer, but you already know monkshood isn't working so well anymore; even if I score some‒ at the rate my healing was accelerating--I have a few weeks at most.”

    Ginger turned away.

    Brigitte reclined on her elbows. “And if there's one thing legends agree on, it's this is hopeless.”

    Ginger met her sister's eyes sidelong. “No, I will stop it somehow. By my eternal soul. I swear.”

    “You better find out how fast. Did June say you were in Hell?”

    “No, she didn't.” Ginger smiled. “And I guess she would know. My turn, then. What happened to Mom and Dad?”

    “Dad's been looking for us,” Brigitte sighed. “He's showed up a couple times, but I dodged him. I hope he gave up. I emailed and sent him letters, warning him to stop.”

    “He's been looking for us?”

    “He thinks you're still alive. Last time I lost him was in Edmonton six months ago. He looks so pathetic.”

    “Why doesn't he know I'm dead?”

    Brigitte chuckled, and dried her eyes. “You were completely changed when you died.”

    “I didn't change back afterward?”

    “No. Hollywood fucked up again. You died in the house, and the body decomposed fast. They weren't able to preserve it, and in a half-hour, it stunk up the place so bad, police were using moon suits. Looked like they got a few photographs, but they couldn't tell what it was. They ruled that it must've been the old Beast of Bailey Downs. You remember it? The one who got us in this fucking mess.”

    “Yes, how could I ever forget the B-o-B-D.” For Brigitte, events had taken place two years before, but for Ginger the trauma of the attack was still fresh. Ginger shut her eyes with the vivid memory of its teeth and claws ripping and gouging her.

     “They think we were its masters and used it to kill people.”

    “Jesus on a fucking bicycle.” Ginger opened her eyes again. She asked softly, “How did I die, B?”

    The question made Brigitte's left hand go numb again. She flicked her fingers. Ginger's desolate, wistful tone told Brigitte this question was important. Brigitte dreaded a flashback, and fought the invisible tentacles trying to drag her into the past. The numbness spread to her shoulder. The room was distant and blurred, but Ginger's voice anchored her.

    “I know it's hard for you, B‒but please‒I have to know.”

    “Sam stabbed you.” Brigitte didn't know at first if she lied out of compassion or spite; she just wanted to get rid of the question.

    Ginger was stunned. “Really? But I killed him, too?”

    Brigitte nodded. The room was solid around her again, and sensation began to return to her arm. Rewriting history helped. “A lucky stab while he was dying. He put a butcher knife right in your heart.”

    Ginger clutched the bird skull on her necklace, like a priest‒ beset by doubt‒ clutching a rosary. “B, please swear to me, is that really what happened?”

    Now Brigitte sensed power in her secret. She could tell the truth was, for some reason, vital to Ginger. What started as mercy Brigitte resolved with a vindictiveness surprising even to herself.

    “I swear.” She smiled and intentionally bit her tongue with her incisor, drew blood and swallowed. She dropped her stare to the necklace Ginger wore--the talisman they used to swear their blood oath nine years ago--into the skull's dark accusing glare.

    And fuck you, too!

    “Good,” said Ginger, relieved. “I'm glad you weren't the one who had to do it. I could tell it's hard for you to remember, so, I'll drop it.”

    A question snapped into Brigitte's mind and it was out of her mouth without a thought. “Why did you make a play for Sam?”

    Startled by Brigitte's sudden berating tone, Ginger's posture shifted with supernatural speed. “First, I gotta tell you‒ don't take this wrong‒ but I was gonna kill you, B.”

    Brigitte nodded. “Of course you were.”

    Ginger froze, stock still.

    “I know what this shit's like now, Ginge. This shit makes you secretive. I knew your secret, and I scorned you; so you were gonna kill me. I understand, but you didn't do that. You hit on Sam instead. Why?”

    Ginger giggled. “You mean besides the obvious? He was hot!”

    Brigitte glared, waiting.

    Ginger closed her eyes. “I'm trying to remember. I planned for you to catch us flagrante. That's why I told you where I was going. I wanted you to see he was a scumbag, then I was going to kill you both.”

    Brigitte smirked. “But then he turned you down!”

    “Oh, B, of course he did! I didn't even look human! I had six tits by then! He was a creep, just not a freak.”

    “He never made a move on me. Sam and I weren't even thinking of romance. All he wanted to do was help you.”

    “Yeah, and he just bought your whole story? I'll bet he did.”

    “He believed me because it was his van that hit the B-o-B-D and saved us that night.”

    “So? He was, like, twenty-two, and you were fifteen. It was disgusting!”

    Brigitte raised her voice. “Being fifteen didn't stop you from jumping his bones.”

    “That was different. I wasn't myself; it was revenge. Remember, he fucked Trina, and how that messed up her mind? I didn't want that to happen to you.”

    “Trina made it up. He wasn't like that. And that has nothing to do with why you made a grab for him.”

    Ginger laughed derisively. “Not like that? B, are you forgetting he was the neighborhood drug dealer?”

    Brigitte stood up, her face red. “Here's what's wrong with your story. If you screwed Sam, he would have been infected. You knew, because you already did it to Jason.”

    “No! You can't be thinking that.” Ginger stood up in shock.

    “I know what really happened between you and Jason. I was with him for six weeks after you died. You raped him.”

    Ginger's eyes widened. “He told you that?”
    “Oh, he didn't say that word, but the description he gave didn't leave it to the imagination.”

    “No, B., he wanted‒ ”

    Brigitte waved her hand. “That's not how Jason related it, and he had no reason to lie. You could've also overpowered Sam, but instead, you gave him a choice, the same choice you gave me, right? I imagine your words were similar, too. 'Swap some juice.'”

    Ginger's face wrinkled. “Ew! I said that to you? I don't remember.”

    “So, here's what you really planned to do: I show up, interrupt you and Sam, you kill me. Then you and Sam hunt happily ever after.”

    “No!”

    “Or maybe you would've commanded Sam to do it. The way you were able to command me before you died. You were the Alpha. Your scent would've worked on him. He would have followed your orders.”

    “What‒ ? No!”

    “It would have been cold vengeance and poetic justice at once.”

    “This is your imagination!”

    “Is it?” Brigitte said, sarcastically. “Then I'm sorry, Ginger. I can't think of another reason why you're in Hell.”

    Ginger staggered and gaped, stunned. Then her expression turned furious. But instead of shouting caustic words, she screeched. Not a human cry, but a preternatural keen that paralyzed Brigitte. Then, with a loud rip, Ginger transformed. Skin split away and disappeared exposing a glistening, bone white husk. Brigitte stared, immobilized, into the empty abyss of two eye sockets. The wraith lashed out, its spectral hand went into her chest.

    An explosive, all-encompassing pain wracked Brigitte's entire body, so excruciating she couldn't even scream. All her voluntary muscles contracted at once. Her joints crackled. Her arms flew up, bent, elbows out like wings, fists clenched at her armpits. She pitched forward, landing on her chest. Her body already arched back with her heels almost touching her head, which saved her from landing on her face. Then, her muscles released; her legs uncurled, kicking the floor.

    The horrible shriek stopped. Quick as it started, so did the pain. Brigitte regained control of her body. Relief swept through her. The agony lasted less than a second, but it was dilated time. The pain surpassed Brigitte's imagination. If it had lasted any longer, she knew she would've gone insane. She caught her breath. Both her heart and abdomen pounded out of sync. She lifted her head.

    Ginger the wraith knelt over her, its hair blood red, its clothes were like rags spun from shadows. It was mostly transparent now, except for its mouth and eye sockets, which were still infinite black.

The apparition shook a bony finger at her and rasped, “Don't‒ ” Then it turned back into Ginger, and its voice changed as well. “. . . make light of that again!” Tears streamed from her eyes and disappeared as they fell. Ginger cradled her own shoulders. “Werewolf!” Her energy spent, she faded away.

    Dizzy, Brigitte got to her knees. To her surprise, her body was whole and unharmed, only her feet were bruised from kicking into the floor. Something fell out of her mouth. She caught it. A tooth. Another lay on the floor. Her tongue told her she had a new, bigger pair of incisors.

    Also her claws had regrown and were now retractable.

The oath under pressure