My Dad Is a Werewolf

10 pages · 8 min · ages 5+

“Awoooo!” sang Dad. It was Halloween, and the moon was big and round, so Dad was a werewolf again. A werewolf only has one word. You just heard it. And tonight, for the very first time, Mabel got to be the grown-up. All the way to Granny's party. Mum only had to carry the pie. She had been looking forward to it all week. As long as the moon was shining, Dad stayed a werewolf. A werewolf, it turns out, is mostly fluff. He sat at the table in his glasses and his green cardigan. Every button had popped. His tail swished, and a chair fell over. Dad always made Mabel hold his hand. Even to the bins. So tonight, it was Dad's turn to hold hers. And Mabel was not going to let go once. Dad stood up and held out his big furry hand. Another chair fell over.

Mabel was a lion, because lions are in charge. The shark costume from August was still in its bag. At the front door, Mum whispered to Dad, so Mabel wouldn't hear. “Granny's made sausage rolls.” Dad was at the gate before Mum had finished whispering. So was Mabel. She had heard every word. “That worked for years,” sighed Mum. Next door, Mr. Abbott had raked every leaf in the street into one perfect pile. It had taken him all afternoon. He was admiring it with a cup of tea. Job done. Dad's glasses twinkled. Mabel held his hand very, very tight.

WHUMPF! Dad dived into the pile, and the leaves flew up like a firework. Mabel went in after him, because she was holding his hand. Mum held the pie up high, just in case. When the leaves came down, Dad sat up. He looked like a hedge with glasses on. Then the hedge sneezed. Now Mr. Abbott was the pile. “Dad,” said Mabel, in her best Dad voice. “What did we say about leaf piles?” “Awoooo,” said Dad. “He says sorry,” said Mabel. Mr. Abbott took a leaf out of his tea. “Not to worry,” said Mr. Abbott. He went to get his rake. Again.

On a garden wall sat a fat black cat. Dad saw the cat. The cat saw Dad. Dad wanted to give it a big cuddle. “Dad,” said Mabel, in her Dad voice again. “We ask the cat first.” “Awoooo,” said Dad. Mabel never asked the cat first either. Off Dad strode, and Mabel went skiing behind him on her heels. It was better than real skiing. And free. The cat tapped Dad on the nose with one paw. Boop. Dad stopped so fast his glasses slid down his nose. “He says sorry,” Mabel told the cat. The cat yawned. It had heard that before.

Halfway to Granny's, Dad stopped. He wanted to go back to the leaf pile. So he stood as still as a statue. Mabel knew that game. She played it every time they left the park. “Dad,” said Mabel. “Use your words.” “Awoooo,” said Dad. A little pirate came by with her mum. The little pirate looked at Dad. Then she stood as still as a statue too. The pirate's mum sighed a big grown-up sigh. So did Mabel. “Long night?” said the pirate's mum. “Very,” said Mabel.

“Bye, then,” said Mabel. “I'm going to Granny's without you.” Dad always tried that one on her. She took one big step. That was as far as her arm went. Dad waved. The rest of him stayed exactly where it was. “I do that one too,” said the pirate's mum. “Every morning.” “Shall I take over?” said Mum. She already knew the answer. Mabel straightened her lion's mane. “No, thank you,” she said. “Lions are in charge.” Then Mabel remembered Mum's whisper. She took a very deep breath.

“SAUSAGE ROLLS!” shouted Mabel. Dad shot off like a rocket, and Mabel flew behind him like a kite. Back down the street, the little pirate unfroze. “Where?” said the little pirate. Mabel's trainers touched the ground three times, and she laughed the whole way. She had not let go once. Granny opened the door. “Hello, Granny!” said Mabel. “Hello, darling,” said Granny. She was talking to Dad. Mum arrived four minutes later, out of breath, with most of the pie. There was pie on her nose.

Mum put the pie on the table. Nobody mentioned the missing slice. Granny had a plate of sausage rolls. She gave Dad one before he even asked. “Dad,” said Mabel. “What do we say?” “Awoooo,” said Dad. That meant thank you. Probably. “Only one, Granny,” said Mabel. “Lions are in charge.” “I'm his mother,” said Granny, and gave him another. Then nine more. It had been a very long night. Dad fell asleep in Granny's big armchair, with his glasses still on. Mabel curled up on his warm, fluffy lap. She was still holding his hand. His tail wrapped round her. Mum sat down on the sofa. Tonight, Mabel was the grown-up, so Mum had the night off. Granny went to get three blankets.

The way home took ages. Dad howled goodnight to every single pumpkin on the street. And the bins. The big house on the corner was giving out whole chocolate bars. All the other pumpkins looked worried. So did Mum. Mr. Abbott's pile was back. Perfect again. It had taken him all evening. Mr. Abbott was admiring it from his window, with a fresh cup of tea. A little cloud was drifting towards the moon. Dad's glasses twinkled. “Dad,” said Mabel. “Don't even think about it.” “Awoooo,” said Dad. This time, Mabel let go of his hand. Just in case.

WHUMPF! At that exact moment, the moon slid behind the little cloud. When the leaves came down, Dad was Dad again. He sat up in his baggy green cardigan. His glasses were wonky. There were leaves in his beard. Mum handed him his shoes. She had brought them, just in case. Dad had his words back. He used his best ones. “Good evening, Mr. Abbott,” said Dad. “I'll rake it up in the morning.” “Good evening,” said Mr. Abbott, and he raised his cup of tea. Mabel folded her arms, exactly the way Dad always did. “Dad,” said Mabel. “Now, what did we say about leaf piles?” Dad thought about it. A leaf fell out of his beard. “That,” said Dad, “was the werewolf.”