Once upon a time, after the first story I stuck up here

for Halloween.  I wrote a followup.  Here it is.

This really did start(continue?) with an ominous knock on the door.

It'd been several months since the events of November; spring was trying to, nothing weird had happened/ran by/flew over, and I'd pretty much stopped worrying about such. Pretty much. I still had the silver-tipped ammo in my carry piece(I did try some in some water jugs, it expanded ok, but I'd still hate to explain the beads to to the cops). Till a day in April. Well, evening.

And yes, there really can be an ominous knock at the door.

Ominous and damn heavy. First thing I did was touch the sidearm, second was think "Crap." (Yes, I was carrying in the house. After that mess I'd been carrying EVERYWHERE I legally could, and some places you're not supposed to; nothing like getting sliced up by a were-something to make you real picky about being armed)

The door was locked, so couldn't just be opened, so for a moment I did debate going out the back; nah, might as well deal with this now, especially if I was spooking at nothing. I looked through the peephole, and that hope went completely to hell. There was BIG out there. The guy who'd been chasing the toothy thing. Black suit and tie, white shirt, sunglasses, and expression fit to scare the livestock just by being there. And, considering the size, I now doubted the deadbolt would hold if he knocked real hard.

Know that 'foot behind the door' thing, to keep someone from shoving it open? Probably wouldn't have done any good, but habits must be maintained, so I did that, opened the door about a foot and said "Yes?"

"I told you not to drink any of it."

Yep, it was him. Voice fit to break gravel. The Day had arrived.

"Well, between that and laying there bleeding out, it seemed worth a try."

"We need to talk."

His hands were empty, though after seeing him move that's not much of a comfort, but I stepped back, opened the door and said "Enter, scary visitor." Yeah, I was amazed myself, not normally being that good at snappy words. Especially when scared. Call it 'scared fatigue', I guess; I'd had bad nights and days wondering what I'd do if this guy or someone like him showed up, and I was all scared-out.

He strode in(proper word for the case), floor creaking a bit(how the hell heavy was he?), and I closed the door and said "Couch or chair, your choice."

He took the couch and sat, to some creaking. "Sit."

"My house, I will when I do. Now, what's on your mind?"

He glared at me- I don't think he liked being disagreed with- and finally said "What did it feel like?"

That did sit me down in the chair, and I thought a moment. "That's easy: Pain." He nodded. "Take every worst pain I've ever had, put them together, and all over my body at once. Worse than anything I've ever known. Or imagined."

He looked at me for a few seconds, then said "Nobody else has ever survived drinking it."

That sank in. I looked down and thought a moment, then looked back up. "I take it there've been a number of people other than you?"

"Some." Flat voice, more overtones of asphalt roller than I've ever heard before.

"If I may ask, how much did they take?"

He scowled at me. "You don't need to know that." A moment more scowling, then "How much did you drink?"

I laughed, probably with overtones of hysteria. "DRINK? There wasn't enough to drink, and I wouldn't have anyway. I saw you drink a slug, and I thought you were going to explode! A drop. A LITTLE one. And that was... well, Pain."

"Nobody else has ever survived it" he repeated. "I want to know how you did."

At that point I was seriously wondering if I could get the .45 out, let alone lined up on him and firing, if he came off the couch with hostile intent. Visions of hospital rooms with guards and restraints started dancing through my head, and I didn't like it. At all.

"You tracked me down, which means you probably know everything about me and- hold on, let's back up a bit: who are you, and who do- WHAT do you work for? And do, other than chasing nightmares, or is that it?"

He started to say something, I'd swear it was "Classified", then stopped, glared a moment, then took a ID case out of his jacket and tossed it to me. I opened it, and studied the card with the picture of Mr. Biggest, which informed me he was Franks and worked for the Monster Control Bureau of the United States...

I truly have no idea how long I sat looking at that, with things running through my mind at about Mach 2. I think every conspiracy theory/monster sighting/"The truth is out there!" I'd ever heard was mixed in. Probably only a few seconds that ended when he took it out of my hands and sat back.

"This visit is both official and not. The 'not' is I want to find out how you drank the Elixer"- you could hear the capital in that word "- and lived."

"Damned if I know." I'd spent time wondering about that stuff, and if the tiny drops I'd taken were the same effect as a shot, and if it was worse did it make you melt after it killed you? "Oddball genetic accident? How much did the deceased have?"

This time I got "Classified." "Fine, then, maybe just not quite enough to kill me? For all I kn- hold on, is it a healing agent of some kind or what?"

"Classified."

"Dammit, how can I guess if I don't KNOW ANYTHING?"

"Guess anyway."

Can't really yell about threats, in that there was no change in his voice, which was threatening just of itself, but it's always pissed me off when someone wants you to tell them stuff but won't tell you anything. "I have an idea, but it depends on the damned answer, so can you give me something?"

Scowl. Finally, "It.. restores." Silence.

"Ok... Maybe it's that I was actually hurt when I took it? That it concentrated on that instead of frying my nervous system?"

It was kind of amazing, really. I'd nearly been ripped open by a toothed and clawed whatever, saved death and maybe ingestion by this guy, healed by this Elixer, and now Biggest/Baddest was sitting in the house having a reasonablly civil conversation. Looking back, I'm really amazed it was going that well; I do remember that 'gut muscles so tight they're quivering a bit' feeling as this part was going on. But I digress, back to the scene.

He thought about that a bit, then finally said "That could be it. Or some combination. Probably never know without testing."

Oh boy. "No." Scowl. "N.O. Never taking that stuff again. Period. I don't care if you wave flags and sing the Star-Spangled Banner. And since national interests have come up, what the hell is the Monster Control Bureau?"

He just looked a few seconds, then said "This is the official part. The thing that attacked you was a supernatural creature-"

"What exactly was it?"

"Don't interrupt. And you don't need to know specifics. The MCB has been in existence a long time, and has been kept secret that entire time because either you stay quiet, or we kill you. If you tell anybody, I'll be back and kill you."

I started laughing, possibly a bit hysterically. "Tell? TELL WHO? Yeah, that'd be a conversation: "I tell you, it was a freakin' werewolf that sliced me up! And this big guy ran it off, and spilled some glowing gold stuff, and I drank some and it HEALED ME! Swear to God!" " I think I actually cackled, "No, thank you, I have no desire to wind up in a rubber-room ward somewhere. So I think your secret is safe here."

"It better be."

"Something does occur, does this Bureau have any oath to the Constitution? Or would that interfere with murdering people?"

He had the best poker face I've ever seen(assuming he didn't just scare people into giving him the pot); I got the feeling he really didn't give a damn about anyone and their opinions, but for some reason decided to say something. "You're ignorant of the facts and history, and in no position to make judgements. It's necessary, and that's all you need to know."

Now, I'm capable of getting really pissed at such, and arguing, but this was one of the times I was able to keep my mouth shut. Though I did ask "What was that thing?" He stared, and I added "That's a reasonable question, both because there's no reason not to tell me, and because I need to know what will kill such? Silver bullets, what?" More stare. "Not going to damage your security to tell me, and if they're out there I might actually need to know."

Stare. "Not a werewolf, call it a variant. Able to partially change in daylight and not at the full moon. Yes, silver, enough of it, will kill it. To be certain you have to kill it, then cut off the head. Preferably throw it in a river."

Part of my was registering "My, how extraordinary! A werewolf offshoot! But silver does work." while the rest of me was kind of gibbering in a corner. Holy SHIT! 'Variant' means-

I finally asked "How much of the folklore critters are real?"

He was debating whether to say anything, other than another 'Classified', but finally said "Most all folklore creatures are either real or based on real beings. No more questions."

I almost said "Fuck THAT!" and started throwing more, but he stood up, and I almost reached for the .45. "Listen. Since I was able to track you down myself I did not report you. If you stay quiet on this, there's no reason for the Bureau to know. Best that way. If they knew someone had survived the Elixer they'd want samples and tests." The visions of hospitals and restraints came back. "One more thing: is there any left?"

Yeah, I could have lied, but why? "Maybe three drops."

"Remember, just because you survived doesn't mean anyone else would."

He walked past me to the door and left, closing it normally behind him.