According to the old folks a loup-garou is a man-wolf who walks around upright on two legs. He, or she, has large red eyes, a pointed nose, shaggy hair, and long, sharp nails. Cajun children grew up with the warning "Be good or the loup-garou gonna get you" ringing in their ears.
The Cajun loups-garou differ from the Hollywood stereotype, who are often portrayed as loners, solitary outcasts. The Cajun loup-garou is anything but. They love to party. They can dance all night just like their human Cajun counterparts. They hold their balls at Bayou Goula during a full moon and also on the night of St. John's Eve, June 23. This is the night they gather from throughout the Delta for a gigantic convocation.
FYI: to ward off an attack throw a bayou bullfrog at a loup-garou (they're terrified of frogs), or sprinkle salt on the creature and their fur will catch on fire.
Following is a short scene from my story:
She stood there a moment, squinting into the blackness. Red eyes stared back at her. She couldn't move. She heard a mewling sound, like a cat in pain. She realized the sound was coming from her.
Denny. I've got to get to Denny. He'll take care of me. And I've got my frog. Papa Leon always said the loup-garou was scared of frogs. He promised me. If I can just get to Denny's house.
She whirled and sprinted toward the pasture, fueled by adrenaline and secure in the knowledge she had the fastest time on the track team in the hundred yard dash and the high hurdles. The fence loomed ahead of her. It didn't take long to make it over the wooden rails, and she looked for the porch light's welcoming beam ahead.
It wasn't there.
She could see the muted blue of a television set from a window, but the porch light was out. She kept running.
Just make it to the house. Denny would be waiting. She didn't know if those red eyes were still behind her. She sure wasn't going to stop and look. She wasn't going to stop until she got to the back door.
Sidonie had to go over another fence to get into the back yard. The blue water of the swimming pool gave off an eerie glow in the moonlight, mirroring the giant white orb in the glassy surface. She skirted the edge of the pool and skidded to a stop at the door.
She grabbed the doorknob and pulled. Nothing. She yanked harder. Several times. Where was Denny? He was supposed to be there to let her in.
She turned and backed against the door, clutching her frog to her chest. The red eyes emerged from behind the pool umbrella. Hairy hands reached out. She shoved the frog at him. He snatched it away.
My advice? Stay away from Bayou Goula in June. If you must travel there take a burlap sack full of live bullfrogs and a gallon-sized salt shaker.