Let Me Put U On: Why I fell in love with werewolves and how it became a lifelong obsession

It was “An American Werewolf in London.” I was 4 years old, the youngest of five children by at least seven years. My older siblings — all products of my parents’ first marriages — loved their Nintendo, sports, music and horror movies.

They also reveled in any opportunity to frighten the baby half brother, who they dubbed “Headquarters.”

My intro to R-rated content came early and often. One night they made me watch the John Landis classic. The 1981 release is widely considered the best werewolf film of all time, and a horror staple.

Everything about it terrified and fascinated me: gore, nudity, humor, Rick Baker’s Oscar-winning makeup and the transformation scene.

I’m still shaken by that howl. It is the most haunting sound you’ll hear in any werewolf film. The fact that in real life it’s an audio mix of nine spooky clips that include a wolf, lion, panther and train makes it creepier.

Bad dreams, followed by midnight runs to mom and dad’s room, persisted for months.

Eventually, my fear turned to respect, which became an infatuation with not just lycanthropes (nerd speak for werewolves), but wolves in general. That’s still true today. Whether it’s film, television, books, art, music or fashion, if there’s a wolf involved (preferably of a supernatural kind), I’m there.

But why? Let me explain.

I was born with a congenital heart defect called a coarctation of the aortic valve. I wasn’t allowed to do heavy lifting. I was always running out of breath before my Little League teammates. I was shorter than most kids. The latter is DNA’s fault. The heart defect — bad luck.

Growing up, I felt physically limited compared to other kids. My mama was always there to remind me.

This drew me to superheroes and the supernatural.

I didn’t want to hear about what I couldn’t do. The idea that a man could fly or transform into something greater than his human form resonated.

Most kids asked their parents for bedtime stories. I begged for repeat readings of “Little Red Riding Hood” and its Chinese counterpart “Lon Po Po.”

My brothers and sisters fed my hunger for werewolf cinema with “The Wolf Man,” “The Howling,” “Wolfen,” “The Company of Wolves” and “Teen Wolf.”

They also kept MTV on, so watching Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” video for the first time was a major werewolf inflection point in my life.

As the story goes, MJ, too, was a fan of “An American Werewolf in London,” so he recruited Landis and Baker for his video. All I kept thinking was, “that dude who can moonwalk is also a werewolf? I want to be him.”

The same went for Michael J. Fox’s Scott Howard in “Teen Wolf.” If little Scott could turn into a werewolf who dunks on his bullies, then there was hope for me.

In middle school, I stumbled upon, in my opinion, the Blackest werewolf movie ever made: “The Beast Must Die.”

Dropped in 1974 during the height of America’s Blaxploitation era, it’s a British production that stars Bahamian actor Calvin Lockhart and horror legend Peter Cushing. Lockhart plays a millionaire hunter who invites seven guests — all white — to his estate. One of them is a werewolf whom he plans to kill. There’s even a “werewolf break” to let audiences guess the monster.

A year later, Lockhart would feature in Sidney Poitier’s “Let’s Do It Again.” In the partially Atlanta-shot film, he plays a character named Biggie Smalls, which is where my favorite rapper Notorious B.I.G. got his second moniker.

Into my teens, 20s and 30s, I sought out more wolfy ephemera.

I blitzed through books like Stephen King’s “Cycle of the Werewolf,” got a werewolf tattoo and bought an original wolf painting from Atlanta-based artist and poet Sean Fahie.

I used to think my fixation on narratives and art inspired by lycanthropic lore was odd. I didn’t know too many Black folks, or really anyone, who shared my enthusiasm.

Then I met actor and screenwriter Kevin Grevioux.

It was 2009, and I was working for a Black-led publication in Chicago. Grevioux was in his hometown on a press tour for “Underworld: Rise of the Lycans.” The Howard University graduate cocreated the “Underworld” film series, which has grossed more than half a billion dollars worldwide over five films.

Grevioux, 6-foot-2, 200-plus pounds, plays the hulking werewolf Raze in the original film and aforementioned prequel. He told me about growing up as a Black kid obsessed with science and comic books. He had an idea to create a story inspired by experiences dating outside his race.

On paper, the series’ premise of a centuries-old battle between vampires and werewolves is as old as beefs between Montagues and Capulets. So, what made “Underworld” a success?

“I think ‘Underworld’ became a hit because we were dealing with contemporary things — race relations, interracial couples, wars and the differences [between] people,” he said.

That conversation with Grevioux inspired me to pen a Black-centric werewolf story. It’s still a work in progress. As am I.

These days, I have a mechanical aortic valve. It literally drives my love for hunting down the next “An American Werewolf in London.”

Each year, I’m disappointed.

I even watched all the “Twilight” flicks and their awful werewolf CGI because I’m just that committed to the bit at this point. Can’t quit my wolves, even if Bella Swan chose the vamps. #teamjacob

My werewolf obsession led to a love of the horror genre.

Every October for almost a decade, I’ve tasked myself with watching 13 scary movies I’ve never seen before. At 42, I’m still a kid who loves to sit in the dark for creature features and slasher flicks.