Miranda Kenneally

Mexican Food Cures Writer's Block

Amish Werewolf Goes to Prom, by Miranda Kenneally and Trish Doller

Chapters 1-9


Chapter 1  (Klaus)

I’m asking Margie Cartwright to prom. She’s not really my type – she’s about twenty pounds overweight and hates dogs, but I hear she puts out and all I want on prom night is to lose my virginity at the Hampton Inn out by the interstate. I’ve already got a room booked, and I’m fairly certain she’ll do the dirty deed with me.

So what’s my problem, you ask?

Well, prom is on the night of full moon, and I’m set to phase that night. That’s right. I’m a werewolf. If Margie finds out, she won’t give me any because she’s so anti-dog. And if I don’t figure out a way to get the school administration to change the prom to the night before, there’s no way I’ll get laid at the Hampton Inn. Damn it! They’ve even got a free continental breakfast there, so after Margie and I wake up, we can go downstairs and have biscuits and gravy and limp bacon. And then maybe we can do it again before checkout time at 11:00am.

But there’s another problem. I’m Amish, and I have no way of getting Margie to prom except for my buggy! And damn it, Margie is allergic to horses! I’ve asked Dad if I can go on Rumspringa a bit early, you know, the time when Amish werewolves are allowed to go nuts and “find themselves” but I’m not sure if Dad will let me rent a limo or a Vespa or whatever.

Maybe I can get a doctor to prescribe Margie some Allegra, so she won’t sneeze when she’s around my horsies.

I’m allergic to my life.


Chapter 2 (lewis)

i’ve been wearing

this same pair of skinny jeans


two weeks klaus

brushed past me


the hall at


smelling of horses

and leather

and i haven’t taken

them off

i’ve even


them in

the shower he

doesn’t know

i exist




Chapter 3 (Klaus)


I’m drinking water at the water fountain. The fountain’s right across the hall from Margie’s locker, and from this angle, I can see her butt on full display. I have this dream of walking up to her and saying, “There’s something wrong with your butt.”

She’d get all mad and blurt, “What’s wrong with it?”
And I’d reply, “My hands aren’t all up on it.”

But they will be up on it at the Hampton Inn in two weeks. I’ve spoken to Principal Johnson and he said it’ll be no problem to move prom to the night before the full moon. I may have used my special werewolf brainwashing technique to get him to change his mind. Elder Paulson will be so angry when he hears I’ve used my werewolf paranormal abilities for sexual purposes.

Anyway, back to Margie’s ass. I want to stick my –

What the hell? My view of her butt has been replaced with a pair of skinny jeans with a skinny boy in them. The skinny jeans smell mildewy, but I don’t care. I smell like horsie most of the time because I have to drive the damned wagon to school.

All I want in life is a Vespa. And to stick my –

“Excuse me,” Smelly-Jeans Boy says. “Can we talk?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“In private?”

I shrug and follow Smelly-Jeans Boy into the woodworking classroom, where I lean up against a workbench and try to look sexy in case Margie decides to come in here. If there’s one thing I know in life, it’s that you must always look sexy JUST IN CASE. This one time, I was sitting at home with Ma, watching her quilt. I was handing her pieces of fabric and watching as she sewed. But then my cousin Delilah (who is the hottest piece ever put on this Earth) walked in all sexily and caught me quilting! Quilting is uber not sexy, yo. Why couldn’t she have caught me churning butter with my shirt off or herding cattle with my shirt off or dousing myself with cool water after working the horses with my shirt off? Damn!

Truth be told, I’d rather be enjoying the continental breakfast with Delilah, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.

Anyway, back to Smelly-Jeans Boy. He cracks his knuckles, then wipes the sweat from his upper lip. “I have a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” I ask, continuing to stand sexily against the workbench.

“I’m an actor, you see, and I’ve been offered the role of an extra in an upcoming episode of Game of Thrones.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a show on HBO.”

“What’s HBO?”

“It’s a TV channel.”

“What’s a TV?”

“A television?”

“Oh. We Amish werewolves don’t use TVs.”

“I’m Lewis,” the boy says, stretching out a hand.

“Klaus.” I give him a firm handshake, then put my hands in my pockets and stand sexily. “So why do you need my help with this HBO thingy?”

“In order to be an extra, I need to know how to ride a horse. Will you teach me?”

“What’s in it for me?”

Lewis wipes more sweat from his lip and paces past a display of poorly-constructed wooden birdhouses. “What do you want?”

I want to do Margie Cartwright, I think. I need to get her out to the Hampton Inn by the interstate. I need to enjoy that continental breakfast with her. I have a serious hard-on for some biscuits and gravy, yo.

“Do you have a car? Or a Vespa?” I ask Lewis.

He gives me a grin. “I can do you one better. I gots me a monster truck!”



Chapter 4 (lewis)


game of thrones

a monster


why did i


stupid stupid


but i see something

in him

klaus klaus klaus

and that was

what came out

when i

looked in his green


amish simple gentle

he thinks

he wants margie

but perhaps perhaps





me i

must now

sell my soul to

the devil

(dylan patrick same thing)


borrow his

monster truck



Chapter 5 (Klaus)


My first thought is that a monster truck probably has enough room for sex. I might be able to cancel my reservation at the Hampton Inn and save $79! I bet Margie wouldn’t mind doing it in the back of a monster truck.

But what about the free continental breakfast? I guess I could take her to Waffle House instead.

“It’s a deal,” I tell Lewis, and stick out my hand to shake his. He shakes my hand long and hard. I’m surprised Lewis is so strong. He’s skinny, with spiky blonde hair and an acne-free angelic face.

“So when do we get started?” I ask. “I mean, with the horsies?”

Lewis coughs. “Maybe after school?”

“Do you ride bareback?”

His mouth falls open. “I always use protection.”

“No, no. I mean, do you use a saddle? Or does HBO want you to ride bareback?”

“I think they prefer bareback.”

I put my hands on my hips. “This is gonna be harder than I thought. Well make sure you wear a good pair of pants so you don’t chafe!”

“Chafing is not fun,” Lewis admits.

“You’re telling me!” I shake my head. “This one time – “

That’s when Margie enters the room and looks from me to Lewis and back to me again.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Lewis here wants to learn how to ride bareback. I told him I’d teach him all about it.”

She grins this lopsided wicked grin and I’m tempted to ask if she’d rather lose it in the woodshop classroom instead of the Hampton Inn out by the interstate.

She says, “I want to learn how to ride bareback too.”


Chapter 6 (lewis)


no no no no


no no


klaus touched my

hand (bareback) i

could hardly





announced she

wanted to



and klaus

(i looked)


straining in

his jeans



sounds good, i said

then went off

to find dylan the


who stuck

my head in the

toilet in

third grade

leaving klaus



with her



Chapter 7 (Klaus)

Lewis disappears.

It’s just me and Margie and I’m getting major wood in the woodshop.

“I didn’t know that about you,” Margie says.

“Know what? That I ride bareback?”

She bites her lip and stares at the floor. “Yes,” she whispers.

“I’ve been doing it my whole life. It’s no big deal.” My favorite horsie, Geronimo, loves going without a saddle. I think he feels less confined that way.

“But you’ve never told me,” she whines. “I mean, what if I wanted to join in or something? And you’ve kept it from me all this time.”

“I could give you lessons anytime. Dad wouldn’t mind. I just have to let him know ahead of time if we’re going to be using the stables.”

She gives me a wicked gleaming grin. She walks over and kisses me, full and deep. “And what about that boy? Lewis? The one with the smelly jeans? Will he be joining us?”

“I guess it’ll be easier to give you both lessons at the same time. So, sure. He’ll be there.”



Chapter 8 (lewis)


dylan is



when i

find him not

with his

posse of


(doesn’t mean this

will be easy)

i stutter

h-hey, dylan

he laughs and

stutters back


what do you

want h-h-h-homo?

(i don’t think he

really knows

he just

calls anyone

who wears skinny jeans


the deal goes


surprisingly quick

and dirty

(like a politician

in a rest stop)

i get the truck he

gets his

all his homework

done by me i

think klaus


is worth


i hope



Chapter 9 (Klaus)


“Here’s the keys,” Lewis says. The keychain has a little troll doll with pink hair.

“Thanks,” I say, pocketing them. “This is my horsie, Broomhilda. Broomhilda, meet Lewis. He’s going to be a big famous TV star on an HBO show.”

Broomhilda neighs and whines.

“She’s beautiful,” Lewis says, stroking her mane.

“Sometimes I think she’s my soul mate. If only I’d been born a horsie or Broomhilda had been born a girl. But it was written in the stars.”

Lewis nods sagely. “I know what you mean. Sometimes our soul mate isn’t who we think it’ll be.”

I avert my eyes, thinking of Delilah. She says we can’t be together because we’re kin, because we’re cousins. At least I’ve got Margie, and now I’ve got the keys to Lewis’s monster truck, so I’m one step closer to being able to forget about Delilah.

“Say, how come I haven’t seen you around school before?” I ask Lewis.

“This is my first year at Lancaster High. I’m originally from Queens.”

“Like New York City?” I ask, wide-eyed. NYC is totally where I’m gonna do my Rumspringa. I don’t think people would even notice a werewolf in NYC. They’d think I was an overgrown rat or a stray dog. No one would try to kill me with a pitchfork or anything. When I phase in Pennsylvania, Dad locks me up in a cattle car for a few days and gives me raw steaks to eat. It’s totally delish.

“Yeah,” Lewis says with a sigh. “My parents thought I was running with too many gangs in New York, so they wanted me to get some fresh air and come live in the country for a while. Get back in touch with nature, you know?”

“I’ve always wanted to see New York City. Maybe see a show?” And maybe go to this club called Flashdancers, where you can put dollar bills in ladies underpants and they show do little dances for you. My cousin, Charles, went on his Rumspringa to NYC and deposited every cent he had into women’s underpants.

“I’ve seen plenty of shows!” Lewis exclaims. “I’m a Broadway fanatic. I could always take you to a show sometime.”

“Really?” I ask. I pet Broomhilda’s mane and accidentally brush Lewis’ hand. He jumps back, as if I just branded him with scalding hot metal.

“Maybe we could go this summer?” Lewis asks. “I mean, after I’m done filming my scenes for Game of Thrones on HBO.”

Rumspringa on Broadway. “Count me in,” I say, then proceed to help Lewis get up on Broomhilda. Bareback.



Post to Twitter

Comments (2)

2 Responses to “Amish Werewolf Goes to Prom, by Miranda Kenneally and Trish Doller”

  1. Petra says:

    Looking forward to the continuation 🙂

  2. Sarvenaz says:

    O.M.G. This is hilarious! MORE!!!

Place your comment

Please fill your data and comment below.
Name  (Required)
Email  (Required)
Website  (Optional)
Your comment