“What’s Fenwick Hall?”
“No one lives there now. It was a stately home, but was taken over by the county during WWII to house children from the cities. After that it was a special school. It’s been closed for about five years. No one really uses it now, except for…oh no.”
“What?”
“The boy scouts. They sometimes use the grounds for camping trips during the summer. If they're there this weekend, and that’s where it’s heading…”
Carl’s face turned white. “It’ll be a massacre. How far out are we?”
“It’s clear across town. It’ll take us at least ten minutes to get there.”
The CB crackled and Steven realised that he’d been holding the handset in a white-knuckled grip with the talk button pressed.
“Sarge,” said Constable Phillips, “I can be there in five minutes. I’ll check it out and make sure that everything is alright.”
“No, meet us on the road outside the hall, Constable. Don’t go in there by yourself. Do you read me?”
Static answered Steven. Cursing, he turned on the siren and pushed his foot down hard on the accelerator.
***
23rd May 1986. Fenwick Hall, High Moor. 23:47.
A long shrieking howl echoed around the clearing.
Lester Berryman sat upright in his sleeping bag and turned on his torch.
“What was that?”
Dylan Smith put his head under his pillow in an attempt to block out the light. “It’s just someone’s dog. Go to sleep fat boy, and turn that bloody torch off.”
“That didn’t sound like a dog.”
“That’s because it’s the Fenwick Hall Werewolf,” said Brian Morris. “It comes out on the full moon and eats fat cry babies like you.”
“Piss off, Brian, there’s no such thing as werewolves.”
“No, it’s true. It comes in the middle of the night and drags the fattest kid it can find out to the forest and then it eats him. That would be you.”
Lester clutched his torch tighter and huddled down in his sleeping bag. When he spoke, his voice wavered. “There’s no such thing. Now stop going on about it or I’m going to tell Mr Wilson.”
“You better not piss yourself, Lester. I don’t want to wake up floating in a lake,” said Dylan.
“Maybe we’d better make him sleep outside, just in case. Grab his sleeping bag.”
Lester kicked out at Brian as he leaned across and dragged the sleeping bag down.
“Have you seen his pyjamas, Dylan? They’ve got fucking bunny rabbits on them.”
“Get off, you bastards. I’m telling Mr Wilson, and I’m telling…”
A dark shadow passed over the tent, and they heard heavy breathing outside. Lester’s eyes widened in terror.
“It’s come for you, Lester. It’s going to get you,” said Brian.
The dark shadow rose up and the canvas bowed as something pushed against it. Guy ropes snapped. The tent poles creaked.
“John, Michael, go fuck yourselves. You’re not fooling anyone,” said Dylan.
The only response was a deep, drawn-out snarl. Five huge claws punctured the heavy canvas sheet and slid down, slicing through the fabric with a terrible ripping sound. Lester pointed the torch at the gaping hole in the tent and screamed.
***
Andrea Hicks was less than impressed as she lay in the scout leader’s tent, waiting for him to return. She had been seeing Colin Wilson for almost three years now and had even taken the assistant scout leader’s job so that they could spend time together, away from his wizened shrew of a wife.
These camping trips were the closest thing that they had to spending a weekend away. Unfortunately, they had to share that time with twenty-five screaming brats who delighted in making her life as difficult as possible. Then, to top it all off, as soon as she'd crept into his tent, the stupid old bugger had gotten an attack of the shits and disappeared into the forest.
“Way to go and spoil the mood, Colin,” she muttered, and pulled her jeans back on. The daft old sod could spend the night on his own.
A howl came from outside, so close that it seemed to be right outside of her tent. Then the screaming started.
She flung open the canvas door, ready to give the little bastards a good telling off.
A huge, white, muscular shape leaned into a tent and thrashed around inside. One of the poles had already collapsed, and the canvas rested over the rest of the creature as it fed. Dark stains spread across the fabric. Black viscous liquid dripped from the doorway and pooled on the ground outside.
A surge of adrenaline shot through her; her heart lurched as she took in the terrible scene.
Oh God! The boys. That thing's eating the boys.
She grabbed a hand axe and ran across the clearing, screaming Lester, Dylan and Brian’s names, praying for one of them to answer. All she could hear was her own voice and wet tearing sounds from inside the tent.
She swung the axe at the white shape, and the blade bit deep into the monster’s flank. It roared in pain and tore itself free of the tent to face its attacker.
The beast stood over seven feet tall. Ears lay flat against its head. White fur stained black with gore. Wet, glistening pieces of meat hung from four-inch talons. A tattered fragment of fabric, decorated with blood-soaked bunny rabbits was caught in its teeth.
“No,” she screamed, and lunged forward with the axe, burying the blade deep in the monster’s chest. It snarled in pain and swiped at her with a huge, blood-soaked paw.
***
The campsite was in pandemonium. Boys dressed in pyjamas ran screaming into the woods while others cowered in their tents, weeping in terror. John and Michael burst from their tent, fully dressed, in time to see Miss Hick’s head sail free from her neck and land in the embers of the campfire. Hair ignited, and the head burst into flames, the skin melting like wax.
Michael pulled a firework from his bag, lit the fuse, and pointed it at the creature.
“You killed my brother, you fucking cocksucker,” he screamed, as an incandescent ball of fire shot from the end of the firework and hit the werewolf square in the chest. It exploded with a thunderclap, and the monster fell back in shock. Michael reached for another firework. John grabbed his arm.
“For fuck’s sake, Mike. You're just pissing it off. We’ve gotta go. Now.”
The boys ran back along the trail toward the main road. The werewolf shook its head and, identifying its attacker, dropped to all fours and bounded across the clearing in pursuit.
“It’s coming. Run, for God’s sake, run.”
***
Constable Phillips turned into the Fenwick Hall estate and turned on the strobe light. Blue flashes illuminated the dark woods to either side of the vehicle as he drove along the gravel path to where the scouts camped.
He saw shapes on the road ahead. Two boys, sprinting towards him, their faces tear stained, contorted in terror and exhaustion. Behind them, something bigger--much bigger--was closing the distance with ease.
“Oh fuck…”
He slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded to a halt. He threw open his door as the boys raced past him, drew his pistol, and pointed it at the approaching monster.
OK, remember the training. Aim, breathe, squeeze.
He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, bloody safety catch.”
Then it was on him. Claws like kitchen knives tore through his abdomen, spilling entrails into the dirt. Blood sprayed across the side of the car. The werewolf thrust its head into the gaping wound and bit down, snapping ribs like dry twigs, and emerged with the unfortunate police officer’s heart in its fangs.
***
“The graves. Get to the graves,” said John, panting with exertion and sheer terror.
Michael nodded and urged his leaden limbs to give him more speed. He risked a glance behind and saw the werewolf drop the dead police officer to the ground and resume the chase.
; John reached the mausoleum first and squeezed through the iron bars, flattening himself against the cold granite tomb. Michael was halfway through when the werewolf caught up.
Michael screamed as he was dragged back through the railings. John grabbed his arm and pulled with all his strength, but he might as well have been trying to resist the pull of a truck. The werewolf plunged its head forward and closed its jaws around Michael’s side. Ribs snapped and blood sprayed out from the wound. His scream turned into a wet gurgle as the fangs ruptured his internal organs.
“Get off my friend, you fucker,” screamed John and thrust a lit firework into the creature’s eyes. A shower of green sparks cascaded across the beast and ignited fur. It howled in agony and slashed out with its claws, slicing through the skin on John’s arm, but releasing Michael. Ignoring the pain, John dragged his unconscious friend through the railings to the relative safety of the old mausoleum.
The werewolf recovered in seconds, and threw itself against the metal cage. The iron creaked and started to bend. The monster swung its arm through the gap between the bars, slashing at empty air as it strained to reach the two children. John pulled another firework from the bag and then realised that he'd dropped the lighter. It lay outside, barely five feet away. It might as well have been on the moon for all the good it would do them now.
The bars creaked in protest as the werewolf threw itself against them again, bending slightly to extend the monster’s reach by another inch.
***
Steven was doing eighty miles an hour as he reached the entrance to the estate. He'd driven like a man possessed through the streets of High Moor, siren blaring. Drunks had staggered out of his path, yelling curses at the police car as it sped away.
Carl spoke into the CB handset. “Constable Phillips, respond. Pick up the goddamn radio.”
Static.
Steven’s face was locked in a grim mask as he hit the brakes and slid the car sideways through the gates into the estate. He saw flashing blue lights further down the road.
“Steve, over there. Stop the fucking car.”
Steven's legs turned to rubber as he looked through the woods to where Carl pointed. The strobe lights illuminated the mausoleum and the beast hurling itself against the bars in what appeared to be slow motion. Two boys huddled against a granite tomb, while the werewolf thrashed against the iron railings, its talons mere inches from the children.
The car ground to a halt, and Carl leaped from the passenger seat, pistol in hand. He rested his arms against the top of the police car, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
***
A shot rang out. The werewolf stopped and stood up with what could have been a puzzled expression on its blood-drenched face. Another bullet slammed into it, throwing the creature back against the metal cage; then two more in rapid succession. The werewolf slumped forward onto the earth, a glistening black pool forming beneath its prone body. Two more bullets slammed into it. White hair withdrew into the body. Bones twisted and snapped. Within seconds, the monster was gone and the naked body of an old woman lay on the ground.
John watched two men walk forward, weapons pointed at the naked corpse.
“Is it dead, Carl? Did we kill it?”
“I think so, Steve. Otherwise it just had the mother of all bikini waxes.”
Steven shot the old woman in the face. Carl looked at him. Steven shrugged. “No harm in making sure.”
Steven ran over to the mausoleum. John sat with his back to the granite tomb, with Michael in his arms.
“Son, are you hurt? Can you move?”
John stared at the old woman’s corpse. The adrenaline that had fuelled him was spent, and he could feel the hot blood of his best friend soaking through his clothes onto his shaking body.
“Son, can you hear me?”
John looked away from the corpse and into Steven’s face. His voice cracked as he spoke.
“My arm’s sore, but my friend’s hurt. He’s hurt really bad.”
“What’s your name?”
“John Simpson. My friend is Michael Williams. Is it dead? Did you kill it?”
Carl stood by the corpse and rolled the old woman onto her back. Black, dead eyes stared up at the full moon.
“Yes, we killed it. You’re safe now.”
***
Carl leaned over the body. His brow furrowed. There was something familiar about the dead woman. As if he had seen her before. A memory flashed into his mind. A dark-haired, young woman, sleeping next to him, her face peaceful.
“Oh God, Mirela.”
“So you recognise her then, Mr Schneider?” said Joseph, as he walked out from behind a tree, his arms raised. He was completely naked.
Steven raised his pistol. “Get on the ground, right fucking now.”
“How do you know me?” said Carl.
“My mother spoke of you often. She never blamed you for what you did. After all, she had already taken what she needed from you.”
“Taken from me? You mean…?”
“Why do you think you were spared? A closed community like the Pack occasionally needs some…fresh blood.”
“So…does that mean?”
Joseph ignored him and turned to Steven.
“I have come to claim my mother’s body so that I can bury her properly. I will leave here with her, and you will never see me again. You have my word.”
“Bullshit. Your mother was a monster, and she’s evidence. The body’s not going anywhere.”
“Are you sure about that, Sergeant?”
Carl lowered his weapon and put his hand on Steven’s arm. “Steve, do as he says. Put the gun down. Slowly.”
“Like fuck I will. The body’s going in a meat wagon, and this fucker is coming down the station to answer some burning questions I have.”
Carl nodded his head at the tree line. Over a dozen of pairs of reflective green disks stared back at them. “Seriously, Steve. Put the fucking gun down or I’ll shoot you myself. We can’t win here.”
Steven’s shoulders sagged, and he lowered the pistol. Two more naked men walked from the forest and gathered up Mirela’s body then vanished into the undergrowth. Joseph looked at the mausoleum and the two boys within.
He pointed to the boys. “You have a problem, gentlemen. That one will not survive, his wounds are too great. The other one however, will live. He is the problem. It would be for the best if you let him come with us, where we can help him manage his condition.”
“Like you managed your mother?”
“Mirela was old, and she could not control herself anymore. If the child is left as he is, then he will end up like her. Caught halfway between man and beast. I can help him.”
“Excuse me for not handing an injured, traumatised boy over to a naked gypsy in the middle of the bloody night. The boy stays. Now I suggest you piss off before I lose my patience.”
Joseph shrugged. “It’s your decision, of course. Good luck, gentlemen. I would suggest that you don’t try to find us. I am unlikely to be as civil if I feel I am being hunted.”
He stepped back, melting into the shadows cast by the trees, until all that was visible were a pair of shining green eyes. Then he was gone.
Steven turned to Carl, his face ashen. “Is that it? Is it over?”
Carl looked at the two boys and shook his head. “No, Steve. It’s not. Not by a long shot.”
End of Part 1
Part 2
Chapter 13
24th May 1986. Fenwick Hall, High Moor. 00:30.
The woods were filled with light and movement. Blue strobes from the ambulances and squad cars flashed across the trees, the staccato effect diminished by the white headlights of the vehicles. Torch light danced through the undergrowth as police officers tried to locate the boys that fled the onslaught. Distorted voices and crackling static from the radios filled the air, the nervous calls of the search party members and barked instructions from the paramedics tending to Michael.
Steven leaned agains
t his squad car and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Carl, who shook his head, but then took one anyway. He inhaled half of the cigarette in a single drag and coughed into his hand.
“Dirty fucking things. They’ll be the death of me, I swear. Five years on the wagon, and now I’m letting them get their claws into me again.”
“There are worse ways to die,” said Steven, and nodded his head at the tarpaulin that covered what was left of Constable Phillips.
“You know we should have let it finish them, don’t you? We didn’t win here tonight. We made things worse.”
“Could you have sat back and watched that fucking thing tear those two boys apart? Really?”
“No, Steve. I couldn’t. Doesn’t change the situation. Were there any others injured?”
Steven shook his head. “No, there were three dead boys in the tent, plus the two scout leaders. It looks like these two got its attention before anyone else was hurt. Did you know the younger one is the brother of the first victim? I don’t envy the poor bastard that has to break the news to the family.”
“The news that their kid is in the hospital, or the news that he’s going to grow hair and fangs at the next full moon and kill everyone in the house?”
“Did you see the state of the poor little bugger? He’ll be lucky to live till the morning, let alone until the next full moon.”
“And if he does? What then, Steve? And what about the other one?”
Steven lit another cigarette. “Christ only knows. Are you sure that he’s going to change? That he’ll be like the woman was?”
“Hell, I don’t know. That naked gypsy seemed pretty damn sure, but those boys are the only ones I’ve come across that ever survived an attack. They could be fine, or…”
“Grow hair, fangs and kill everyone near them. I get it. What I don’t get is what the hell we do about it.”
“Not many options, I’ll grant you. We could talk to the parents, but they wouldn’t believe a word we said until it was too late. We could hang around outside the house on the full moon, but that wouldn’t save the families inside, and there might be a few questions asked if we shot two young kids full of holes. We could walk away and leave things in the hands of God, but I don’t think either of us could live with that. You got any bright ideas?”
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