Little Women and Werewolves

Jo would shut herself up in her room, put on her
scribbling suit, and “fall into a vortex.”

Illustrations


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Jo would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and “fall into a vortex.”

The beast’s enormous teeth were bared and dripped foam that was hot when it fell onto his skin.

If there was a full moon in the sky, there would be werewolves aplenty on the grounds.

“We never feared the battlefield werewolves. They had piles of amputated limbs to pick at.”

He cried out only once as the werewolf tore away a fragment of his shoulder.

He couldn’t tear himself free of the waiting bones.

She cowered there on the floor, wishing she had not been so insistent on witnessing these games.

The distraught men gathered the bones reverently.

FROM THE OFFICE OF
WELLS PUBLICATIONS
New York, New York

APRIL 1, 1868

My Dear Miss Alcott,

This novel, as is, has a peculiar flavor, which I do not think will suit the frail palates of women readers. Your vibrant description of war amputees being pursued and felled by salivating, monstrous creatures was nearly enough to send this hale man into a swoon; I can little imagine there to be many women with the vigor and stamina necessary to survive this tale of Little Women and Werewolves.

I do, however, find the story of the sisters to be pleasing, appealing, and appropriate. Should you care to have this manuscript reconsidered for publication, expand upon the sisters and extract the werewolves and other unsavory themes.

One last note: If this has been submitted in jest, I heartily applaud your humor.

Very Truly Yours,
MANDRAKE WELLS

Author’s Note
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MS. BARNARD WAS ODD; A SEVERE AND RIGID LADY with a great deal of hair who read rabidly and usually devoured several books a week. She obviously preferred books to people, blustering into and out of the library with a mute scowl, and as we shared a passion for literary and historical fiction, I was the only librarian to whom she spoke, and then, only about books. Even though librarians often receive small tokens of appreciation from patrons, I was immensely surprised when, before moving to a nursing facility, Ms. Barnard bequeathed to me a smelly cardboard box full of yellowed books. Actually, there were books on top, but below the crumbling volumes nestled a very old manuscript, tied together with a faded, ancient blue ribbon. Below that was an assortment of dried insect husks and a mummified mouse.

I very much enjoyed the manuscript, but I did not believe Little Women and Werewolves was really Louisa May Alcott’s original version of Little Women until I finished it, turned the last page, and found the rejection letter from Mandrake Wells. It was then I remembered having read that Louisa May Alcott preferred writing Gothic pieces and mysteries. Little Women was ultimately published by Thomas Niles of Roberts Brothers, so Louisa May obviously did not approve of Mr. Wells’s condescending tone, and so took his advice but sent the rewritten book to a different editor.

Sadly, as the box had sat in my car and then the garage for months before I dug through it, Ms. Barnard was deceased by the time I found the manuscript. And so I dedicate this book to the memory of Ms. A. M. Barnard, and of Blitzkrieg, who was my own handsome, loyal, and beloved werewolf.

CHAPTER 1
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Pouting Pilgrims

“CHRISTMAS NIGHT WILL HAVE A FULL MOON, SO ON TOP of no presents, we can’t go out,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug. “It’s fortunate we thought to have a Christmas play, so we could invite friends to stay overnight, or it would have been completely ruined.”

“It’s so dreadful to be poor! And it’s a horror to have no father or brothers about to do heavy chores and protect us from the werewolves,” sighed Meg, rubbing at a spot on her old dress with her thumb.

“Yes, I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have lots of pretty things and other girls nothing at all,” declared little Amy, with an injured sniff.

“We’ve got Mother, and each other, anyhow,” said Beth contentedly from her corner. “And we can protect ourselves. Besides, Father is as sad as we that he cannot be here with us. And what does it matter that some girls have lovely clothes when they, just like us, must stay inside during a full moon? Remember that many of them don’t even have sisters, so they must shiver all alone in their pretty boots as they listen to the werewolves howl.”

Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her, was a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen who spoke in a soft voice, had a shy manner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression. Her father called her just that, “Little Tranquility,” since she kept herself happy and safe, beyond the boundaries where harsh reality could invade, within her own little world.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the cheerful words but darkened again when Jo said sadly: “No matter where he wants to be, the fact is we will have no father here for Christmas, and we shall not have him as long as this terrible war goes on.”

“He would want us to be merry,” Beth pointed out. “And we each have a dollar to spend for the occasion.”

“We can do little with that, and I would hardly want to, with such suffering going on all around us,” Meg said, trying to push from her mind all the pretty things she wanted. Meg, or Margaret, was the oldest sister: sixteen, and very pretty, being plump and fair, with plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet mouth, and white hands of which she was rather vain.

“I can do a lot with it. I can buy a new book, maybe two,” Jo said. She was fifteen, very tall, thin, and brown, and brought to mind a new colt trying to learn how to use its long limbs. Her features battled with one another: a firm, set mouth, a comical nose, and sharp gray eyes that were by turns fierce, funny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick chestnut hair was her one beauty, but it was usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way.

“I planned to spend mine on new music,” said Beth with a smile, a lovely tune playing in her head.

“I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing pencils; I really need them,” said Amy decidedly. Amy was the youngest.