by Kristy Tate
He gazed at the large painting on the wall opposite the window. It was a picture of a farmhouse surrounded by pastures full of fluffy white sheep. A pastoral, his mom would call it. It seemed off somehow. Not quite centered on the wall and slightly askew. He stood to straighten it, and it fell into his hands, revealing a recessed bookshelf built into the wall. Here were the books he needed. The History of Monsters and Their Mayhem, Shape Shifters—Heroes or Demons?, The Truth about Wolves, Summoning Shifters, Vampire Realities, From the Shadows: True Tales of Dark Creatures, Taming the Monster Within, Immortal Magic.
Feeling slightly sick, Declan propped the painting against the wall and went in search of a box to carry his find.
THEY TOOK A BREAK AT noon and opened the lunch Daugherty had prepared for them.
“Want to take it outside?” Declan asked.
“Sure. Let me get a quilt.” With the basket of food in one hand and a blanket tucked under her arm, she led Declan through the back door. “There’s a killer view at the top of the hill.”
It made her sad to walk past her mom’s neglected vegetable garden. The berries had taken over, creating a tangle of sticker brambles, although a few pumpkin vines had managed to survive.
Declan took the blanket, spread it out, and settled onto it. Lizbet sat beside him with her legs crossed. While they ate, they talked about the books they’d found. Lizbet’s biggest prize was a collection of cookbooks that looked more like spells than recipes.
“Want to try them?” Lizbet asked, sliding onto his lap.
“Yeah, but...” Indecision flared in Declan’s eyes.
“Is something wrong?” She kissed the side of his jaw and trailed her lips down his neck.
“You’re talking about the recipes, right?” He audibly swallowed.
“Partly.” She pulled away from him so she could look in his eyes. “Why? What did you think I was asking about?” She grinned and ran her hands over his chest.
He audibly swallowed again. “Lizbet...”
“We’re completely alone here. No one can interrupt us.”
Declan gently lifted her off his lap and climbed to his feet.
Lizbet stared at him, upset and confused. “It’s too soon?”
Declan ran his fingers through his hair and stared out at the water.
“It’s okay... I’m sorry.” Lizbet jumped up and shook out the blanket, trying to look busy so he couldn’t see how much his rejection hurt.
“Lizbet.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his chest. “I would love...you don’t even know how much, but I...”
“What’s wrong?” She laced her fingers through his. “I thought you wanted this...”
“I do, but—” He groaned. “What if I’m a werewolf?” The words tumbled out in a rush.
“What?” She stepped away from him.
“I’ve had these crazy...dreams.”
“Dreams?” She studied his face. She knew the shape of his cheeks, the angle of his jaw, but she didn’t recognize the uneasiness in his eyes.
“Okay. They seem like they’re more than dreams. And they coincide with the full moon.”
“How many dreams?”
“Two. One last month and then another last night.”
“But dreams are just dreams. They could mean anything, right?” She waved her hand around. “Dreams are craziness.”
“But when I wake up—outside—my clothes are shredded. And I’m naked. In the woods. It’s super awkward...and creepy.”
Lizbet blinked. “You can’t be a werewolf. You’re too nice. Only—”
“We don’t know how it works.”
“No, we don’t.” She pushed against him. “What does that have to do with...you know?” She slid her hand under his shirt, liking the warmth of his skin, enjoying that she made him shiver.
He stepped away from her. “What if it’s hereditary? Some of my reading suggests that it is.”
She edged toward him as if he were a frightened animal that she had to sneak up on. “You’ve been reading legends? Those aren’t real!”
“How do we know what’s real and what’s not? What if it’s spread like AIDS?” He held up his hands to ward her off.
“Are you going to tell me that we can’t even kiss?” She took two steps away from him. “Do you honestly intend to remain celibate your entire life?”
“My entire life?” His eyes sought hers. “No. But until I understand what’s happening to me, yes.”
“What if Godwin’s my father?”
“Don’t even think that.”
“Well, he could be, right? We know—or at least suspect—that Rose was hiding from her abusive husband. If Godwin was Rose’s ex, that means he was probably my father.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“And that would make me half werewolf.”
“No.”
They stared at each other. After a moment, Lizbet came to peace with his decision. She leaned into him and laid her head against his chest and listened to his heart beating. “You’re not a werewolf. I’m sure of it.” She glanced at the sky and spotted the silvery edge of daylight moon hiding behind a shroud of dark clouds. “And neither am I.”
DECLAN GLANCED THROUGH the basement window. A few stars pin-pricked the purpling sky and the sun skimmed the tops of the trees. Soon the moon would rise. He stretched out on a sleeping bag with his cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. Beside him lay the stack of books that he’d taken from Blackstone Island.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Lizbet’s voice floated through the phone.
“The farther away you are the safer you are.” He’d already dead-bolted the door.
“I’m not worried about my safety.”
“You should be.” Declan frowned at the sky again. He’d told his mom he was staying at his dad’s and his dad he was staying at his mom’s, when in actuality he was spending the night locked in the basement of his stepfather’s deserted house. A mean wind moaned through the windows and occasionally the house creaked like an old man with achy bones.
“It’s craziness,” Lizbet said.
“It’s an experiment. There’s surveillance cameras all over this place, and a deadbolt on the door. I’m seven miles from town and two acres away from the closest neighbor.”
He was completely alone. Except for the mouse. Declan watched the tiny creature sit back on its haunches and peer at him with pink eyes. “Did you send a mouse to spy on me?” he asked Lizbet.
Her silence answered his question.
“What’s he going to do? He’s a mouse!”
“He’s well connected.”
“Meaning he’s going to rat me out to his animal friends who will make sure I behave?”
“I’m not sure Rapscallion has many friends.”
“Rapscallion? He has a name?”
“Of course he has a name!”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Her voice softened. “Be safe.”
“I’m not worried about my safety,” he said again before saying goodbye and ending the call.
Declan tried to ignore Rapscallion as he fluffed his pillow and settled down with a book entitled The History of Monsters and Their Mayhem. He flipped it open and turned to the chapter on werewolves.
Werewolves are shape-shifting creatures that have both fascinated and terrified man since the beginning of time. The werewolf legend covers the globe with sightings recorded in ancient Greece, China, Iceland, and South America. Where the legend actually began and where and when it may end can only be speculated.
Like the famed witch trials, there are numerous accounts of suspected werewolves being hunted, questioned and executed. Perhaps some were accused because villagers needed a scapegoat to hold accountable for the deaths of their livestock, but many others were charged for far more sinister reasons.
In 1521, Pierre Burgot and Michel Verdun were tried and executed in France for being werewolves. In reality, they were a te
am of serial killers, but their cooperation fed the legend’s flame of wolves working together in a pack with supernatural telepathic abilities. Gilles Garnier, also known as the Werewolf of Dole, was another confessed serial killer.
A German man, Peter Stumpp, was reportedly apprehended by his neighbors in his wolf form. Stumpp confessed to murder, rape, and cannibalism, but refused to demonstrate his use of his “wolf-girdle.” But these are not the first recorded instances of werewolves and their crimes.
Metamorphoses, written in 1 A.D. by Ovid, tells the tale of King Lycaon (the origin of the word lycanthrope) who offended the gods by serving human meat to them at a banquet. Jupiter punished this transgression by transforming Lycaon into a werewolf. In his werewolf form, he could continue his abomination of eating human flesh with less offense. In this early rendition, the werewolves changed shape at will. It’s only in later legends that the moon plays a role in the transformations. Other tales tell of a belt or “wolf-girdle” that would change them.
Religion, too, played a role in the evolving myth. In a Christian community, any shape-shifting was considered witchcraft. It was believed that the wolf-girdle was a satanic tool provided to men by the devil or his minions to tempt men to be their very worst selves.
There are many suppositions for the appearance of the werewolf myth. There was a time when most of the world was overrun with packs of wolves. There is also the possibility that the myth stemmed from rabies.
Just as a rabid animal will appear to go wild, people who develop furious rabies will be hyperactive and excitable and display erratic behavior. Symptoms include insomnia, anxiety, confusion, agitation, hallucinations, and excessive salivation.
Feeling sick, Declan put down the book, stared out the window at the rising moon, and waited.
Thoughts being things, may be planted like seeds in the mind of the child and completely dominate his mental content. Given the favorable soil of the will to believe, whether the seed-thoughts be sound or unsound, whether they be of pure superstition or of realizable truth, they take root and flourish, and make the man what he is mentally.
Walter Evans-Wentz
From Lizbet’s Studies
CHAPTER 4
Birdsong. A sharp wind pricking his skin. Declan’s eyes fluttered open. He knew that he shouldn’t be surprised to find himself buck-naked in the woods—he had prepared for this possibility—but still, he was surprised. He didn’t think he could ever get used to waking in the woods naked. It could be worse...maybe one morning he’d find himself on a city sidewalk, or in the fast lane of the interstate, or on the steps of the city courthouse. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he rolled his shoulders and sought landmarks in the forest—anything that might tell him where he was, and how far he was from where he’d stashed his clothes.
He was lying in a bed of ferns that kept him marginally modest as long as he was sitting. Standing would be another story. He thought of Adam and Eve and their strategically placed grape leaves. He glanced around at the ferns, pines and cedars. Where was a maple leaf when he needed it?
The wind ruffled his hair and a chill passed over his skin. He wanted to tell the birds to be quiet so he could hear the noises that had woken him. Staying low, he edged behind a large blackberry bush, being careful to not stand too close so as not to be pricked. Never had a blackberry bush seemed so dangerous. As he drew near the clearing, he saw red and blue lights flashing in the predawn murky air.
An ambulance was parked on the street in front of a craftsman-style home. The front door opened and a pair of EMTs rolled a gurney out the front door. A body lay beneath a blood-soaked white sheet.
Adrenaline coursed through Declan. No longer concerned for his modesty, he dashed through the forest to find his clothes. His sense of smell guided him to where he’d stashed his sneakers, T-shirt, boxers and jeans. He threw them on, but ditched his shoes when he heard the ambulance rumble to life. He sprinted after the ambulance, but took care to stay in the shelter of the trees. The thought that he should be wary of where he stepped came to him, but it didn’t slow him down. Trees and bushes whipped past as he matched the pace of the ambulance with ease.
He had to know who lay inside on the gurney. The fear that he had killed someone clutched his throat, making his breath ragged and labored.
LIZBET CLIMBED ON HER motorbike and sped to Godwin’s house as soon as the sun rose in the east. She propped her bike up against the stone pillars and scaled the wrought-iron gate. After landing hard on her feet, she ran for the side of the house. She peered in all the basement windows, and while she saw Declan’s crumpled sleeping bag and smashed pillow, she could not see him, so she tried knocking on the doors and windows, calling his name.
“Lizbet.” He appeared behind her, bare-chested, wearing only a pair of low-slung jeans. His hair was wild and a streak of blood smeared his arm.
“Oh Declan!” She flung herself against him. “Are you all right?” She ran her hand across the streak of blood, but couldn’t see or feel a corresponding wound “Where’d this come from?”
He gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head. “I don’t know.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“At least you’re dressed.”
“Sort of. I planted these pants at the edge of the woods.”
“So there’s a pile of shredded clothes in the forest?”
“No. I slept naked.”
“Oh.” She grinned, although she knew he wouldn’t find any of this in any way amusing. “That was smart.”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to have to restock my closet every month.” He edged her toward the house. “Come on, let’s go inside. I’m starving.”
“That’s probably good, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re starving...that means you haven’t eaten.”
He shook his head again. “I don’t know what it means.” He led her up the steps to the back porch. After retrieving a key hidden on top of the doorframe and twisting it in the lock, he pulled open the Dutch door.
“Did you...” she started.
“Did I what?” he asked when she didn’t finish her question. He paused in the mudroom and tried to wipe off the dirt and blades of grass clinging to his bare feet.
She swallowed and slipped off her shoes. “I’m sure this had nothing to do with...what just happened to you.”
“What?” he pressed.
She followed him into the kitchen and watched as he pulled a frying pan from the cupboard and fetched some eggs from the fridge. He frowned at the carton. “Do eggs go bad? These have to be weeks old.”
“I don’t know. Can you look it up on your phone?”
“My phone is in the basement.” Setting down the eggs and spatula, he headed for the basement.
He’d be back any minute. He’d turn on his phone and see the news. Or would he? Lizbet shuddered with a deep sigh and sat down at the table. She couldn’t hide this from him, but she also couldn’t let him believe that he would have had anything to do with this...because that was exactly what he would think. But she knew he would never kill anyone. Even if he was a wolf.
“You don’t remember anything that happened last night?” she asked when he reappeared.
“No.” He cracked all the eggs in the frying pan.
“That must be strange.”
“Not really, if you think about it.” He pointed his spatula at her. “It’s not as if you can remember what you’re doing when you’re asleep.”
“So, it’s like being asleep?”
He nodded and stirred his eggs.
“You’re going to eat eight eggs?”
His hand froze above the pan. “You don’t want any?”
“I might want one or two, max. Definitely not five.”
“I might as well eat them. According to the internet, they shouldn’t last more than five weeks.”
“And the bacon? How long will it last?”
>
He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m going to eat it as soon as it’s fried.” He poised the spatula over the frying pan. “Jason Norbit is dead,” he said without looking at her.
She nodded. “I know. But I also know it wasn’t you.”
“You. Don’t. Know. That.” He spoke slowly. “I heard the EMTs say he was attacked by what appears to have been a large dog.” He placed his hand on his chest. “I’m a large dog.”
“No. You’re not.”
“I absolutely am. You can watch the surveillance videos to prove it, if you wish. I already did.”
She jumped to her feet. “Declan, you have to get rid of the videos! What if your mom or the police find them?”
He hung his head. “I know. I wanted to show you...to prove to you that I’m not safe.”
She crossed the room in two steps, wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his back. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
“You need to destroy those videos. They aren’t going to tell us anything about Jason.”
“How do you know that?”
She opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words to make a solid argument. She held up a finger. “Wait a minute. Rapscallion!”
Declan looked at her as if she were the crazy one. He frowned when a fat little mouse crawled out of the cupboard and jumped onto the counter.
Lizbet fished in her pocket and pulled out a square of cheese. “Gouda,” she told the mouse. “Good stuff from the Netherlands.”
The mouse’s whiskers twitched with anticipation.
“Did you do as I asked?”
Rapscallion nodded and cast Declan a frightened glance.
“And what happened?”
“Squee! He turned into a wolf.”
“What did he say?” Declan asked.
“You’re a wolf,” she told him.
Declan didn’t look surprised, but his shoulders still sagged. “I can’t live as a wolf!”
“You’re only a wolf three nights out of every month!”
“What if I killed Jason?” He put down his spatula and met her gaze. “Lizbet—you hated me when you thought I could exterminate him.” He waved at the mouse. “How are you going to feel about me when you learn I killed a man? I can’t stomach it...”
