Howling

Ian laid down to sleep on the grass and when he woke up he was human again.

Lana had laid his clothes out in the usual grove: a tie, a button-up shirt, and slacks. Nestled next to the clothes were his loafers, cashmere socks balled up inside. He dressed quickly, although his hands were no longer used to buttons. The belt, too, was hard to loop with his lack of finesse. He only really remembered how to put on the loafers — Lana had carefully explained to him which one went on which foot the day before. It had taken hours. He much preferred paws.

Ian dug through the pockets of the suit, digging out a ticket stub — round-trip — to Raleigh. The other pocket contained a small baggie filled to the top with peanuts.

The path out of the grove and through the forest was well-worn by Ian and, he suspected, by others like him.

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