Zodiac :: Pieces

February 22 to March 20

The Fish of the zodiac.

Pieces are passionate, compassionate, -always willing to help, generous, dreamy, great friends, romantic, humorous, emotionally receptive, affectionate, and honest.










Prone to be stubborn, fickle, and passive, exaggerate, hypersensitive, they talk too much, and suffer from paranoia.
Compatible with Aquarius, Cancer, and Scorpio

Physically they have small feet, heavy eyelids, and liquid eyes.


Images found on Pinterest


French lore believes in the Louleerou.
A man usually bastard -no I mean fatherless- transforms into into the beast every full moon.

As lore has it the transformation always takes place at midnight. The lycanthropy throws himself out the window and plunges into a well. He comes out with a goat skin given to him by the devil.

by Cristiane Vleugels

by Cristiane Vleugels

He runs around on all fours and attacking and eating any dog he finds. When he returns to human form by taking off his goatskin at dawn he returns home.

He often gets sick and vomits undigested paws and other parts of the dogs. If shot or killed while in louleerou state he instantly returns to his human form. Being a louleerou brings shame to the family.

**My source is dated 1863 -being a bastard in that time was also shameful.

Image found on Pinterest

I’m honored to have Vampire Maman here with one last werewolf story.
I can’t thank you enough Juliette for being here. :D

A Werewolf’s Train to Nowhere

A story from Juliette Kings (Vampire Maman)

Right after I’d graduated from college (the first time) from one of the rare Universities (now a well respected and famous school) that accepted women I took a trip across country on a train to meet my brother Val. He’d gone to New York City without me, leaving me, a young woman, unescorted. I would have done fine on my own but back then, in 1881 young women, even Vampires, didn’t travel alone.

I got on the train on a dark full moon night and made my way to my car. I was to share a car with several other students and some sort of chaperone. What I found was three young men dressed in rather garish suits of the latest fashion (or so they thought) and nobody else. Two had short beards, again, the style of the time. I recognized one from school. The train started to move. There was no getting off. OK I could have jumped, but I was in a long dress with a bustle no less and jumping wasn’t a practical option. Contrary to popular belief I couldn’t turn myself into a bat and fly away. So I stayed. They were horrible the entire time making crude jokes and being as vulgar as they could be. They insulted me for being a Vampire, calling me dead and cold and well, they were vulgar to say the least. I was in Hell and ready to get off of the train.

I sat took claim to a settee with a small table and tried to ignore my garishly dressed companions. A young woman climbed aboard and the three men cheered. She was dressed as garish as they were in the most stylish of gowns but it was a bright orange color with brown beaded trim. Her hair was as orange as the dress and piled high on her head. That included a lot of fake hair to go along with her real hair.

She eyed me up and down. “Who invited the Vampire?”

“I’m Juliette,” I said to the Werewolf girl. Holy crap I’d been stuck for a cross country trip with four Werewolves. Every muscle and bone on my body tightened up. I wanted to scream. Instead I just kept my place in my corner while my companions made as much noise as they could laughing out loud and of course the alcohol and drugs came out. Of course.

Just as the parting whistle blew the door opened again and in stepped my friend Pierce. Finally, another Vampire had arrived, and a strong protective one at that. His father owned the train car and I didn’t even put the two together. Pierce was a friend of my brothers Max and Andy. At age 28 he was the oldest of our group. We made quite a contrast in our highly fashionable yet subdued attire compared to the flamboyant brightly dressed Werewolves. We were also a lot quieter.

The Werewolf girl who was named Phoebe gave Pierce a long hard look then smiled and licked her lips. Pierce is attractive with a narrow face, a sensuous mouth and dark heavily lashed eyes. Of course she noticed him. She’d no doubt try to have his clothes off, have her way with him then tear his throat out. Well, maybe not, but I didn’t want him to get her claws into a friend who was almost like a brother to me.

The males were Luke, Seth and Eldon. I’ll never forget their names. They were rude and loud and young. Had they been Vampires I might have thought they were fun, but since they were Werewolves I thought they were disgusting. Phoebe was just as bad with her crude laugh and dirty jokes.

Pierce and I played cards and stood on the back of the train in the night air. We mostly talked. I asked him about people we knew who’d gone out into the world – the young Vampires we’d grown up with. Pierce was on his way to New York. I was on my way to New York as well to meet my brother Valentine. After that we’d board a ship to London.

Conversations with the Werewolves were in bits and pieces of insults and crude jokes. Pierce’s father did business with their families. To keep the peace and keep favors in check he’d offered to let the young adults of the pack to ride with us. Also, by being with Vampires the Werewolves were more likely to behave themselves. At least that is what everyone thought.

On the second night, after a half of case of Champagne, the young Werewolf men, Luke, Seth and Eldon stripped naked right in front of us and said they were going out for a run. Phoebe decided to stay in. They ran out and I could hear them up on the roof of the train car howling, then down a side ladder and they were gone. Phoebe sat by the window looking at the full moon. She’d taken off her jacket and bodice down to a short-sleeved lace covered blouse. Long dark hair sprouted on her arms and hands. Her fingers grew claw like. Fur grew down the side of her face. She ignored us as a low growl came to the back of her throat as she watched for her pack mates.

Peirce and I watched three huge wolves run along the side of the train. The moonlight reflected off of their silvery gray fur. They were beautiful.

Then we heard horrifically loud shots. Our fellow passengers a few cars down were shooting at the wolves. Pierce ran out of the car. I could hear him shouting for the men with the guns to stop. Phoebe started to scream and scream and scream.

The next day we heard news of three young men found dead by the side of the tracks. The story was they had been drinking and had a fight on the top of the train and fell off after shooting each other.

I will never forget holding Phoebe in my arms and rocking her, trying to tell her that everything would be alright. I knew it would never be alright but I said it anyway.

For the next week as we made our way across the country she’d howl mournfully at night. The passengers said the train was haunted. I knew they’d brought on their own ghosts when they killed the wolves for no reason.

Werewolves and Vampires are predators but even we don’t partake in the senseless of killing animals for no reason other than target practice.

Pierce and I related the story to others but over the years we’ve kept a lot of the details to ourselves. It seems like so long ago. It was a long time ago. A long long time ago.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

Vampire Maman knows a thing or two about werewolves. I’m so honored to have her here today and tomorrow to tell you all a few stories. Werewolf stories…. :D
Thank you, so much Juliette for being here and finishing up our Lupercalia fun. :D

Strange Strangers on a Full Moon Night

A story from Juliette Kings (Vampire Maman))

Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky last night. The moon was less than full but still exceptionally bright.

This morning I dropped the kids off to school. Garret’s car is in the shop so mom gets to drive. Anyway, I drop them off behind some temporary classrooms (that have been there for 45 years) because Clara doesn’t want to have to walk by the large group of “Stoners” who hang out every morning at the logical drop off point. So this morning she tells me she over heard one of the Stoners saying “That woman stops and turns around every morning. Weird. I guess she doesn’t want to stay here.” They had no idea I was dropping off kids. Sigh.

So the moon, teens, clueless thoughts… what does that all lead to? It made me think of a distant memory of when my brothers Val, Aaron and I were teens.

Go back to 1873. We lived in a city that had regulairly flooded, burned down, flooded again and survived illness and lawlessness and all sorts of disasters. It was enough to make anyone want to leave, but instead people thrived and it grew. Railroads made kings. Agriculture was starting to boom. It was a city with growing art and culture and the new capitol building was almost finished. But to us it was home and our concerns were not those of adults or even most people. We were teens, comfortable in our own skin, a little less Victorian than most our age, a little more independent than most. My brothers and I lived in a tight knit community of Vampires, part of the Modern Vampire Movement. But you already know that.

One night that April, under a full moon, my brothers Aaron (age 17), Valentine (age 14) and I (age 13) were taking a stroll along the Sacramento River. We were always out looking for vagrants and activity from any riverboats. We were on the prowl, three well heeled kids who could use our innocence and charm to get in and out of any situation before our prey ever knew we were there.

With our stomachs full and our dark little souls throughly amused we walked home through a grove of trees on the edge of the riverbank. There we came upon a camp. Two figures were hunched over half a dozen large fish, I believe stripers or maybe steelhead. They grunted and tore at the fish. At first glance we thought they were coyotes or large dogs, but then we realized they were something else.

“Werewolves,” whispered Aaron holding his hand out to signal us to stay still.

We watched in fascination, with a bit of disgust, as the two turned back into their human form – a young man and a young woman. They were about our age and completely naked. He was skinny, unlike my muscular brothers. His skin was pale under the moonlight like the bellies of the fish he’d just devoured. She was also thin with ribs sticking out and knobby joints. Her grayish unhealthy looking skin was covered with red welts. Long dark hair hung below her waist. But what surprised us most was the hairless tail that hung down about 6 inches on the end of her spine.

I elbowed Aaron and he gave me a quick look that said “don’t move.”

“She has a tail,” Val whispered a little too loud. Aaron put his hand over his little brother’s mouth.

The Werewolves put on their clothes, plain and worn compared to our fashionable togs. We had a home and parents. These two were obviously strays just trying to survive their miserable condition.

Val and I wanted to approach the Werewolves but Aaron was against it. He said we should just let them be and they’d be dead more sooner than later. There was a prominent pack of well-heeled Werewolves in town but we had little to do with them and it was obvious that these strays were not part of their pack.

Occasionally my parents would deal with the Werewolves, but always held them at a distance and with considerable contempt. One thing that stood out about the well to do Werewolves was their fondness for velvet. No kidding. Those Werewolves loved their velvet.

This isn’t going to be a moral story where we went back and helped the young Werewolves. We went back and they were gone. None of our friends had ever seen them. We told our parents about them. In turn they mentioned the strays to the pack leader in town and he had never heard of the young Werewolves.

It was just one of those weird things. Ships that pass in the night.

I asked my friend Adam, who is a Werewolf, about the pair when I stopped by his studio this morning (he is a photographer by trade.) He’d never heard of them. The tail on the girl turned out to be something extremely rare, just like a tail on anyone who is remotely human like.

“Why didn’t you help them?” Of course he had to ask.

“I don’t know. We were just kids. We thought they were dangerous. Beside that, maybe they didn’t need or want help. My parents asked around. Nobody knew anything, or if they did they weren’t telling us about it. I’m talking both Werewolves and Vampires. Nobody knew anything.”

I knew there would be nothing online about them but I after I left Adam I checked anyway. There was nothing.

This story has no moral or reason behind it. Just a story of something that happened a long time ago that I’ll tell my kids about and maybe they can find a moral in it.

It might be a mystery forever. But I have a knack for finding people and things so you never know. You never know about anything, not really.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman


Duppy originated in Jamaican lore. A vampiric spirit or benevolent spirit created by the shadow of the dead person. They’re feared because their breath can cause illness and if you’re touched, “Duppy boxing” can cause seizures.

In Caribbean lore, Duppies are called Jumbies.
You can conjure a Duppy by throwing Rum coins into a grave. They attack the living and cause poltergeist activities once raised.


Image from Google search

The Hunter

Today we’re treated by the @Highwulf himself.
Thanks for coming by and Celebrating Lupercalia with us, Peter.

The Hunter

The large black wolf glares contemptuously down at the small dark township has threatened to

encroach on the wolf’s territory for the last month. The lights flickered like a mirror of the starscape

above, all except for the brighter than usual full moon. It knew well tonight’s moon was a hunter’s

moon and it was, if anything a hunter He was the strongest beast in his pack and there was less lack

of normal prey to sustain him or the others back in the den.

He growls low in his throat and lopes silently down the path that leads to the small town.

The animals knew by now that when the silver goddess light’s up the path that they should hide,

they’d seen him before, seen his wrath displayed on others,

A fox darts across the trail with a struggling badger in its jaws. The fox shakes the tiny beast

viciously in an attempt to snap the creature’s neck. Blood flies this way and that, a little of it

splashes the wolf’s muzzle and eyes. The blood dripping from his muzzle sends the beast into

a blood frenzy, charging the fox with his full weight, crushing it into the dirt. Teeth and claws

exchange brutal injuries to these kindred cousins. The fox clamps it’s maw on the wolf’s throat with

all of its strength while the wolf scratches the smaller creature’s shoulder and bites its throat in

response. He shakes his head back and forth until the fox ceases its struggle. Blood pouring from

the fox lends a sense of finality, the blood frenzy slowly passing as it continues down the trail. The

scent that lured him from his den is back in its nose, its throat, and it tastes its True prey is further

The wolf leaves the fox and badger’s carcass where they lay, let the other creatures take them,

they’re no concern to him any longer.

The wolf enters the hamlet silently through a break in the fence, sticking to the empty alley’s thick

shadows with the posting on the wall, ‘Killer on the loose, Curfew in effect. Anyone out after

8pm will face prosecution.’ The clear sound of a car slowly rolling by causes the wolf to slink

deeper into the alley. His thick black mane making him all but disappear where he waits cautiously

until He passes, walking through the street. It is Him, his scent has drawn the wolf here. It stalks

him through the streets, silent as the night and darker than pitch, it sticks to the shadows to avoid

detection. A part of the wolf wants his prey to flee, a good hunt to honour the silver goddess above.

The man walks up a garden and opens the door unaware of the danger just a few steps behind.

The black beast pounces, every fibre telling him this is the time. The weight hit the man from

behind, sprawling him face first in the hallway, the wolf’s maw clamped down on his neck before he

had a chance to react or even to cry out. The wolf pulls back, his teeth still on the man’s neck, more

correctly with his spine, and the bite force of the beast’s jaws pulls the spine partially out the the

hole in his neck, his spinal cord severed, the man paralysed and helpless.

It claws at the man’s face, gouging a massive rip in his jaw, exposing his inner mouth, the teeth

visible through the wound. A gurgling sound escapes the man’s throat as he tries in vain to scream.

The monster bites at the softer meat just below the ribs, digging his muzzle in the newly torn flesh in

his back and howls inside the man’s body. The jaws opening in such a fashion tearing the opening

further in the same way a man might open a pair of curtains, albeit a fleshy one, exposes his body,

his spine and ribcage. The wolf cares not for them at this time, as it dunks it’s muzzle inside the man

savouring the morsels, flesh and organs. The man continues to gurgle in pain as he is eaten alive.

Finally after much of his insides are devoured, the wolf eats the heart giving the man at long last an

end to his suffering.

Jason wakes naked in a foetal position at the bottom of the staircase, his head killing him but with

no recollection of the last night. The door of his house still open and fear and disorientation rise

as he sees the corpse of a man. 6’2” or was when he lived, now he’s nothing but a hollow husk. He

closes the door and ascends the staircase and searches for the bathroom, he stares in horror at the

visage staring back at him. His face and chest are covered in blood and he sees a scar on his neck.

“What the hell is going on? Where am I and why can’t I remember the last night?” He jumps back

in fear as he sees the face of the dead man staring accusingly at him behind him.

After a few minutes of sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he vomits blood and something resembling

liver into the sink. The voice of reason tells him to get dressed, that he had apparently already

killed this stranger and might as well steal some clothes unless he intends to walk through the

He steals a pair of jeans and a polo shirt and looks through the house. In the spare room, he

discovers a murder kit:rope, industrial tape and a selection of knives. Jason remembers vaguely

news of a serial killer in the paper. He sees a letter in the letterbox addressed to a Phil Jackman.

He looks down at his wrists and sees bloody manacle scarring. “I guess it didn’t work, but why

He leaves the house taking great pains not to attract attention & determines to call the police

anonymously later. The township is now flowing, a river of flesh & scents, flavours only his pallet

can taste. He steps forward, taking his place among them, A wolf amidst sheep, in the blink of their

eyes he vanishes, he walks among them ever the unseen.

The moon will be full tonight, better be careful about that huge black wolf seen just outside the town