Lycan Subscribe

It started as a joke. Eleanor Davies heard “Lycan Subscribe” in every “Like and Subscribe”, and suddenly all she could picture was werewolves watching YouTube tutorials under the full moon.

So she made an account. Lycan Subscribe. At first, it was just silly comments on videos. Hunting videos:

“Doesn’t count if you use weapons. #ToothAndClaw.” “What do you do with the entrails when you field dress a deer? Asking for a friend.”

Mostly, she just liked messing with hunters.

Then came the dog training channels with ultrasonic whistles:

“Can you clean up the audio? I can only hear a high-pitched whine.”

One slightly tipsy night, she left hate comments on Vampire TikTok—mostly Twilight-themed:

“#TeamJacob” “F**k you, The Cold Ones.” Occasionally something more pointed: “BRB, just getting holy water and garlic.” Those got downvoted. A lot.

Trolling is a strange addiction. That dopamine hit doesn’t really care if it’s a laughing react or an angry face. And the replies—oh, the replies—had her shaking with laughter, glad her roommate was still out at that party Eleanor hadn’t wanted to go to.

So she made a channel. First YouTube, then TikTok. She posted funny, anonymous videos about her “transformations.” Corn syrup and red food colouring were in her weekly online shop. Moon phases were marked on her Google Calendar.

It spiraled into an arts project. A commentary on social media, on identity, on how fantasy bleeds into reality. This was War of the Worlds. This was Ghostwatch.

She knew these posts weren’t meant for real life. Not at the house parties she left early to schedule uploads. Some videos were embarrassing. Some confusing. Now her Google search history included the word “yiffing.” That was nice.

Eleanor was a funny girl who somehow projected confidence in a believable way. She had friends—maybe more than her studies allowed time for—but not the kind of friend you shared your weird secret project with. Being the only one who knew made her feel special. And God knows, Eleanor just wanted to be special somehow. A slightly-goth arts student wasn’t exactly unique.

Then the channel started to go viral. First among the arts students at Solace Bay University—Goooooooo, Mermaids! (The football mascot. Unironically chosen, despite the lack of footwork.) She uploaded several times a week. The comments came thick and fast. Some were funny. Some deranged. All gold.

Most people seemed in on the joke. Other “Lycans” invited her to parties. The addresses checked out. She traced one IP to the local tabletop gaming club.

Sure, the links to those articles about missing girls were maybe a bit dark, but—

Tragedy + time = comedy. And when you’re only twenty, eight years is an eon.

Then the vampire accounts started hating on her. All in good fun. Until it wasn’t.

The threats got specific. Tangible. She blocked accounts. They came back. She turned off comments.

Then she received a silver bullet necklace in the post. And some aconite she didn’t order from Amazon. She Googled it: Wolfsbane.

Then, one morning, it wasn’t just unfunny. Lifelong vegetarian Eleanor opened her locker to find a deer’s head rammed inside.

At twenty, it was humiliating to have your mother called to pick you up from “school.” She sat in the admin office, bookbag clutched in her lap. Jeans not quite fitting over the legacy of her freshman fifteen. Mousey brown hair plastered to her face. Blue eyes rimmed red.

She almost didn’t check the message. The notification tone wasn’t one she recognized.

That got your attention. ;-= 6:43 AM. One hour after moonset tomorrow.

Then another message. A what3words location:

copper.sanguine.moon

Just inside the edge of a wooded area near Solace Bay. She had twenty hours.