Nicholas Pekearo

Ghoul evening, ladies and gents. I’d like to kick off my month of horrifying horror-themed posts by reviewing a novel; a werewolf novel, naturally, Nicholas Pekearo’s The Wolfman (published 2008 by Tor Books,

Set in 1993, it tells the tale of Marlowe Higgins, a Vietnam veteran who turns into a furry killing machine every full moon because of a family curse. (Why, then, somewhere along the line, one of his ancestors didn’t decide to, I don’t know, not have sex is beyond me. Ah, love.) Marlowe isn’t the typical tortured victim of lycanthropy; he’s crude, foul-mouthed, and vain of his long hair. He travels frequently, rarely staying in one area for long. He’s aware of what he becomes every month, and has learned that he can sic his bestial half on those who deserve to be torn limb from limb: murderers, rapists, et cetera. He spends his days tracking down potential victims so that, come the full moon, he doesn’t kill innocent people.

So when a serial killer turns up in his little temporary home, he targets the guy as his next victim and finds out everything he can about his werewolf’s next meal. Things don’t go as planned, though, and his werewolf kills an innocent, leaving Marlowe to figure out what went wrong, and how to make it right.

This would’ve made a great ongoing series; vagabond werewolf going from town to town, killing killers. Dexter meets The Incredible Hulk. Or, more accurately, Dexter meets Werewolf, the TV show with Chuck Connors that ran on Fox from 1987 to 1988. (

Tragically, Nicholas Pekearo died before The Wolfman was published. He was a volunteer, unarmed police officer with the auxiliary NYPD, and on March 14, 2007, he was killed in the line of duty in Greenwich Village.

And that truly sucks, because The Wolfman is a great book.

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