The full moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the small town of Maplewood. It was a night like any other—except for the fact that Greg, a werewolf with a receding hairline and a penchant for microwave burritos, had just won the lottery.
Greg sat in his one-bedroom apartment, staring at the winning numbers on his phone screen. His claws tapped nervously on the table as he reread them for the twentieth time.
“Seven. Twenty-three. Forty-two. Sixteen. Thirty-eight. And… twelve,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking with disbelief.
“Greg!” came a shrill voice from the bathroom. “Did you eat my last burrito again?”
Greg winced. His roommate, Sheila—a vampire with an addiction to reality TV and a questionable collection of scented candles—emerged from the bathroom, her fangs glinting in the dim light.
“I swear, Sheila, I didn’t touch your burrito,” Greg said quickly, though he had, in fact, devoured it at 3 AM while binge-watching *Werewolves of Wall Street*.
Sheila narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously but then noticed his pale face and trembling hands. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I—I won,” Greg stammered.
Sheila raised an eyebrow. “Won what? A lifetime supply of hair gel? Because you could really use some.”
Greg ignored the jab. “No… I won *the lottery*.”
There was a beat of silence before Sheila burst out laughing, her fangs gleaming in the moonlight. “You? The lottery? Oh please! You can’t even win at rock-paper-scissors!”
Greg shoved his phone toward her. “Look for yourself!”
Sheila snatched the phone and squinted at the screen. Her eyes widened as she read the numbers aloud.
“Seven… twenty-three… forty-two… holy crap!” she gasped, her voice rising several octaves. “You actually won!”
“I know!” Greg shouted back, his voice cracking like a teenager’s during puberty.
Sheila blinked rapidly and then did something Greg had never seen her do before—she fainted.
—
When Sheila came to, she was lying on the couch with Greg fanning her face with an old pizza box.
“Are you okay?” he asked nervously.
She sat up slowly, her eyes still wide with shock. “You’re rich now,” she whispered.
“I guess so,” Greg replied, scratching his head awkwardly.
“No,” Sheila said more firmly, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him slightly. “You’re filthy rich! Like… buy-your-own-island rich! Like… never-have-to-eat-microwave-burritos-again rich!”
Greg’s eyes lit up at that last part. “No more microwave burritos?”
Sheila nodded solemnly. “You can afford fresh burritos now.”
Greg leaned back on the couch, letting that sink in. His entire life had been a series of unfortunate events—being bitten by a werewolf during a camping trip gone wrong, losing his job as a dog groomer because he kept accidentally transforming during full moons, and most recently getting banned from his favorite coffee shop for howling at 3 AM.
But now? Now he was rich! He could finally live out all his wildest dreams!
“I’m going to buy a mansion,” Greg declared suddenly.
Sheila rolled her eyes. “Of course you are.”
“And a yacht!” he added excitedly.
“You don’t even know how to swim,” Sheila pointed out dryly.
Greg waved her off dismissively. “Details.”
Just then, there was a loud knock on the door. Both Greg and Sheila froze.
“Who could that be?” Sheila whispered suspiciously.
“I don’t know,” Greg whispered back, inching toward the door cautiously.
He peered through the peephole and immediately recoiled in horror.
“It’s Marv!” he hissed.
Sheila groaned loudly and buried her face in her hands. Marv was their neighbor—a warlock who worked part-time at Home Depot and had an unhealthy obsession with collecting garden gnomes.
“What does *he* want?” Sheila grumbled as Greg reluctantly opened the door.
Marv stood there in all his glory—wearing a bathrobe covered in mystical symbols and holding one of his prized gnomes under his arm like it was some sort of magical talisman.
“Gregory!” Marv boomed dramatically as if they were meeting on some ancient battlefield instead of outside a dingy apartment complex. “I sense great fortune has befallen you this night!”
Greg blinked at him in confusion. “Uh… yeah?”
Marv’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He set his gnome down on their coffee table like it belonged there and turned to face them both with an air of self-importance that only Marv could pull off while wearing fuzzy slippers shaped like dragons.
“You must share your wealth with me!” Marv declared grandly, striking what he clearly thought was an impressive pose but really just looked like he was trying not to trip over his robe.
“What?” Greg sputtered incredulously while Sheila snorted into her hand behind him.
Marv raised one hand dramatically toward the ceiling (which wasn’t very high because they lived in an apartment built for people under six feet tall). “I have foreseen it! The stars have aligned! The gnomes have spoken!”
Greg stared at him blankly before turning to Sheila for help but found her doubled over laughing instead.
“The gnomes?” Greg repeated slowly as if trying to process what was happening.
Marv nodded sagely as if this explained everything perfectly. “*Yes*, Gregory! The gnomes! They have whispered secrets into my ear—secrets about your newfound fortune!”
Greg pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration while Sheila wiped tears from her eyes from laughing so hard.
“Marv,” Greg began carefully, trying not to lose what little patience he had left after dealing with this man for years now, “I don’t think gnomes can talk.”
Marv gasped dramatically as if Greg had just insulted his entire lineage going back centuries (which honestly might not be far off given how old Marv claimed to be).
“*How dare you*!” Marv cried indignantly while clutching his gnome protectively against his chest like it was some kind of sacred relic instead of just another weird lawn ornament from Home Depot’s clearance section last summer sale event (which is where everyone knew Marv got all his gnomes).
Before Greg could respond further—or possibly throw Marv out—there was another knock on the door… followed by another… and another…
“What is going *on* tonight?” Sheila muttered under her breath as she went over to open it this time since Greg seemed too overwhelmed by Marv’s theatrics to function properly anymore (which honestly wasn’t surprising given how often this happened).
When she opened it though—she froze completely still because standing outside wasn’t just anyone—it was *everyone* from their building!
There was Mrs. Henderson from 3B clutching her cat Mr. Whiskers like he might explode any second; there was Dave from 2A who always smelled faintly like garlic no matter what time of day it was; there were even those weird twins from 1C who never spoke but always seemed to know things they shouldn’t know…
And they all looked *very* interested in whatever had just happened inside Apartment 4D tonight…
“Oh no…” Sheila whispered softly before slamming door shut again quickly much to everyone else’s confusion inside including poor confused Gregory who still hadn’t fully processed winning millions yet let alone dealing with half town showing up demanding share