Something I watched recently reminded me of a book that I loved when I was in grade school. Possibly it was Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. (I mean possibly that movie was the thing I watched, not that I loved the Booker-Prize-winning novelization. Though obviously I did.) The book was about werewolves. Nonfiction. A sort of guide, as if werewolves were an actual rare species worthy of study, like secretary birds or Kardashians. This was a book for children. In particular I remembered a section with detailed instructions about turning oneself into a werewolf. Oneself being a child. And I'd found this book in my elementary school's library.
Remembering that, it struck me as beyond belief that a school library in the early Eighties would've happily loaned a fourth-grader a step-by-step guide to the black arts. Nowadays such a scandal would likely result in the firing of all the teachers and administrators, the closing of the building, filling it with burning sage, and then reopening it as a charter school based on the educational power of complimentary pamphlets. But I was certain I'd read the book, and I even had a vague recollection of the ceremony it contained. Had it been snuck onto the library shelves by some miscreant, Helloween-listening teens? If so, why'd it have a circulation card? It seemed like the book had to have been an honest-to-goodness, corporately published library holding. So I set out to figure out what it was and track down a copy, preferably one bound in human flesh.