by Howe, A. E.
“Monster? What type of monster?”
“A month before the killings in the village started, a band of gypsies had made camp between the village and the town of Capataneni. Items went missing. A ring, a chicken, a couple of knives. The villagers were quick to blame the gypsies and chase them out of the valley. That’s when the killings began. The first to die were the ones who had been the most aggressive in chasing the gypsies away.”
“But the villagers blamed you,” Josephine said, remembering the words in her grandfather’s diary.
“Some did. After the first death, I spent my nights hunting the beast. Several times I was sighted near where the deaths had occurred. To many of the villagers I was just a legend, having given up most of my duties and retreated to my castle decades before. So when villagers were killed, and I was seen nearby, they came to the conclusion that I was responsible.”
“Why did you let me believe it?”
“How could you really think I was guilty?” Blasko said, looking offended. Josephine wanted to point out that he was a vampire and had tried to kill her the first time they’d met, but if he didn’t see the irony in his question then she could only shake her head.
“So what did attack the village? A gypsy?” She couldn’t keep the doubt out of her voice.
“A werewolf!” he said with unnecessary dramatic flair.
“What? Oh, come on.” Now she didn’t even try to hide her skepticism. “I read a book last year called A Werewolf in Paris. It was… fanciful. You seriously think that’s what was stalking my grandfather’s village?”
“I saw it! You forget who I am,” he said, then added with less pride, “What I am.”
“You have a point.” She paused, trying to decide if she was being pulled into some delusion of Blasko’s. But thinking back over everything she’d seen and experienced during the last year, she had to conclude that a werewolf running loose in Semmes County no longer seemed improbable.
“This… thing ripped men, women and children apart. At the time, I was helpless to stop it. If the creature had appeared a hundred years earlier, I would have had a thousand men at my command. Nothing would have stopped me from destroying it. But by the time the attacks started, I was alone.”
“You could have told me all of this earlier.”
“You wouldn’t have believed me. You had already made up your mind.”
“I’ll admit to being a bit hasty in my judgment. I’m hundreds of years younger, but I’ll be the mature one and apologize.”
“None of that matters now, but we have to catch the monster this time.” Blasko looked thoughtful. “This medium you went to visit… What do you know about him?”
“Just what I’ve told you,” she said, seeing where he was going. “How fair would it be to cast François, the stranger in town, as the villain? Isn’t that the same position you were in not long ago?” she reasoned. “Wait. When did you say the boy was killed?”
“Last night.”
“Everyone said François was conducting a séance last night.”
“It could have been very early in the morning.”
“Maybe. But if he has an alibi, then he can be eliminated as a suspect,” Josephine said firmly, trying to back Blasko down from whatever direct action he’d been planning.
“We must pursue this with great haste. If this animal is anything like the beast I knew then, there will be more killings… soon.”
“If François is the man you’re after, he’s not stupid. He spent most of tonight ingratiating himself with the people at the séance. He’s been performing séances in town for almost two weeks now. Whether you or I believe it’s possible to talk to the dead, he’s making believers out of a lot of people,” Josephine said.
“Where is he staying?”
“The Magnolia Hotel.”
Blasko nodded.
“Look, let me check into his alibi. Maybe Bobby will have a better idea of the boy’s time of death after Dr. McGuire has looked at the body. And I can talk to the people who were at the séance last night. If his alibi holds up, then you’ll have to admit he’s not your man… or monster.” Josephine’s voice was slow and firm. She didn’t want Blasko doing anything rash.
“I’m not focused solely on the medium. He just seems a likely suspect,” Blasko said begrudgingly in his best Sherlock Holmes impression. “Check and double check his alibi,” he added.
“A werewolf. I can’t see how that’s possible,” Josephine said as all the implications of what Blasko was suggesting sunk in. “Though I have heard that Native Americans believe in shapeshifters. The Seminoles have a legend about an owl man. I can’t remember all of the details, but it eats the hearts of its victims.”
“I don’t think a giant owl did this,” Blasko said dismissively.
“Of course not, but some of the other tribes, particularly those out west, have legends of shamans who could shift into other creatures.”
“I need you to send a telegram for me tomorrow. There is a manuscript in my castle that might be helpful.” Blasko didn’t add that he planned on requesting that a large sum of gold coins be included in the shipment. He tried not to dwell on the fact that he would be relying on a group of bandits to pack the gold into a crate and send it to him. They had been willing to work with him and had been loyal when he was in residence, but with him gone he wasn’t sure they would continue to do what he asked.
“I’ll send it first thing,” she agreed. “Then I’ll talk to Bobby.”
“Be careful,” Blasko said, taking her hands in his. He leaned forward and lightly kissed her cheek. “Don’t take any risks,” he whispered affectionately.
Josephine looked into his eyes and smiled. “I almost think you care about me.”
“You know there is a blood bond between us.”
“If you want to believe that’s all there is, then go ahead. I’m hundreds of years younger than you and I know better.” She reached up and stroked his cheek. For a moment he leaned into her hand before standing up abruptly.
“I’ll leave the telegram in an envelope outside my door,” he said and walked out of the room without another word.
Josephine shook her head. She was having a hard time understanding what she felt for Blasko. At times it seemed to cross the boundary into love, while at other times it was more like what she would feel for a very old and dear friend. And sometimes she just found him incredibly irritating. As for how he really felt about her, she had no idea.
She remembered the reason she’d come to the library in the first place and looked down at the letter, still sticking out of the collected works of Edgar Allan Poe. She hadn’t read past the salutation when Blasko had shown up. She picked up the note and unfolded it.
My dear brother,
I wish I could hand you this letter in person or, better yet, speak these words to you. We both know I’m no good when it comes to dealing with the things that really matter in life.
I’ll start out by saying that I’m sorry. Sorry for what I put you and the rest of our family through. I’ve never been the man I wanted to be. What a sad statement. I’m going to make one last effort to redeem myself. If I’m successful, then I will be providing a small legacy to you and my niece. I know that you will think I’m being ridiculous. You have been successful while all I’ve been to our family is a great sinkhole for money, time and effort.
I want to feel like a success just once in my life. And yes, I want to have something tangible to show that I am worthy of the affection and trust you all have repeatedly given me.
Okay, enough wallowing in self pity. If you’ve found this note, then it means I was never able to return to your house. I can only assume that I’m dead. If I’m dead, does that mean I have failed in my endeavor? I’ve planned on the possibility that I won’t survive. See, your old brother isn’t so stupid. I will leave another note for you at the post office on Cedar Island.
I hope you will never read this letter. Please remember that I always meant to d
o the right thing by my family. I just found myself wanting.
Your loving brother,
Petey
Josephine looked at the date at the top of the letter. It had been written twenty years ago. She tried to remember the details of her uncle’s death. All she had were vague memories that he had drowned. Why had he placed this note in the collected works of Poe? It was all very odd. How much did this validate François?
I’ve stepped into one of those gothic novels I read as a girl, Josephine thought. She turned off the lights and headed upstairs. She spent a restless night divided between periods of nightmares and dreams, and longer periods of wakefulness as she tried to understand everything that François and Blasko had told her.
Chapter Five
Blasko went down to his apartment, intending to read for a while and not dwell on his suspicions about what was lurking in the woods. But after sitting down with Ellery Queen’s The Roman Hat Mystery, he couldn’t get past the second chapter.
“I need to take a walk,” he told Vasile. The bat was lapping up water from a small bowl that Blasko had placed on a high shelf.
Once outside, Blasko considered his destination. As always, the first thought that came into his head was the need for fresh blood. The vacuous stuff Josephine provided for him was old and didn’t contain the nutrition his body craved. He’d gone around and around with Josephine about his needs, but she still demanded that he not use the citizens of Semmes County as his personal blood donors. Even the bad ones. She had lifted the prohibition a few times when it had been absolutely necessary, even going so far as to let him drink from her. But the best she’d been able to offer as a long-term solution had been to find a medical supply company closer than the one she’d been using in Atlanta, so the blood was now marginally less stale.
Blasko sighed and turned toward the local boarding house. He would ignore his body’s desire for the moment. Instead he would talk to Matthew.
Matthew Hodge was a veteran of the Great War who had sunk into depression and alcoholism when he came back from overseas. Blasko had used his powers to hypnotize Matthew in an effort to cure him of his desire for drink. In exchange, Blasko had used Matthew as his eyes and ears in the community. But their relationship had been strained since November when the events Matthew had witnessed had left him in a state not much different than when he’d returned from the war.
Blasko saw the red glow of a cigarette on the porch of the boarding house. “I assumed it was you,” he said once he was standing on the porch. Matthew hadn’t said a word or given Blasko more than a glance.
“And I assumed you were lurking somewhere in the dark shadows,” he finally said, stubbing out the cigarette and dropping it into an old coffee can beside his chair.
“Are you doing better?” Blasko asked awkwardly.
“Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“We talked after the… affair out at Mrs. Rosehill’s.”
“Yeah, great talk.”
“You were still recovering.”
“Yeah, crazy me needing to recover after being abducted and forced to watch… that crazy stuff.” Matthew searched his pockets for another cigarette. “I wanted to help.” He found a half-smoked cigarette and lit it. “But just watching… I thought the stuff I saw in the war was bad. This was the same in some ways. Feeling like I and everyone else were just pawns at fate’s mercy.”
“Battle strips away the veneer that allows us to feel like we are in control. Once you accept that you are never fully in control, you can go into battle with clear eyes,” Blasko told him.
“I went into this last battle tied to a chair. And thanks to you, I can’t get drunk.”
“I’ve heard people claim that they drink to forget. That’s a lie. When you constantly get drunk, you mire yourself down. Your life never moves on. You can’t recover.”
“Thanks for the pep talk. Glad you came by. Oh, wait, I bet you got something you want me to do. Right?” Matthew said with bitterness.
Blasko moved forward suddenly and grabbed Matthew by the collar, pulling him up out of the chair.
“What the…” Matthew flailed his arms, hitting at Blasko ineffectively. “Let go of me!”
Blasko released him. Matthew just managed to keep from going all the way down on his knees. Lights came on inside the house.
“Now you’ve done it,” Matthew said.
“You are a stupid man. You have greatness in you, but you squander it.”
The door flew open before Matthew could respond.
“What the hell is going on out here? It’s the middle of the night!” Paul Kowalski, the manager of the boarding house, yelled. “I ought to kick you out,” he said, looking at Matthew and then at Blasko. “And you. What kind of freak are you, wandering around town at all hours of the morning?” He turned back to Matthew. “I let you have a key and this is how you treat the privilege?”
“I’m sorry. He’s just leaving,” Matthew answered.
“We’re leaving,” Blasko corrected him.
Matthew looked at him and, for a moment, they all thought he was going to argue about it. Instead he looked at the old landlord standing in the doorway in his robe and nodded.
“Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“Better not,” Kowalski said. He stood there staring angrily at the men until they’d walked down the porch steps and away from the boarding house.
“What do you want?” Matthew growled.
Blasko stopped walking and turned to him. “Enough. Don’t blame me for your troubles. Fate is the defining force in our lives, but you can control many things. You could have been more vigilant when you were guarding Josephine.”
Matthew bowed his chest angrily. “Don’t think I haven’t blamed myself for letting Josephine be taken by those degenerates. I know I should have been more careful.”
Blasko shook his head. “I’m not blaming you. I’m trying to get you to see that you must take control of everything you can. Fate might still send that bullet with your name on it, but at least you will know you did everything you could before it happens. The same fate that sent you to war guided events so that you would survive and we would meet.”
“Great,” Matthew mumbled.
“At that moment our destinies intermingled. Yes, I need you. I admit it. But look me in the eye and tell me that you didn’t need me when I found you lying in the gutter.”
Matthew stared back at him. “Maybe I did need a slap in the face or a helping hand. I’m not sure I needed you.”
“Yet here I am,” Blasko said.
Oddly, this seemed to get at the heart of the matter. Right or wrong, it was what it was.
“Fine. Just tell me what you want now,” Matthew said, resigned.
“This time it is about protecting this town. Did you hear about the boy who was killed?”
Matthew looked sharply at Blasko. “I heard. The rumor is he was killed by a bear.”
They resumed walking toward Sumter’s town square.
“It wasn’t a bear. I know this animal,” Blasko said gravely.
“I should have known,” Matthew said, but his anger had drained away.
“It is a man, at least partly. He has the ability to change into a monster capable of ripping a person apart.” Blasko watched Matthew, wondering how much he should tell him.
“I heard that it was brutal.”
“The boy was gutted and his limbs torn from his body.”
Matthew suddenly stopped walking. “I saw a monster during the war. It’s strange… What I saw was terrifying, but it blended in so well with all the other grotesque outrages that were taking place around me. It just seemed like one more horror of war.”
Blasko stopped beside him and waited for him to continue.
“I guess I’d blocked the memory until now,” Matthew said softly.
“Tell me what happened.”
“It wasn’t just one monster… We had jumped into a German trench. They were on the run by this time, so
entering the trenches wasn’t as dangerous as it sounds. We found occasional pockets of resistance, not much more. I was on a shotgun squad, so we were the first ones in the trench. My job was to jump in with my buddy and we’d stand back to back, pumping off buckshot in both directions. After we fired three rounds we’d each go our own direction, clearing any dugouts we found until we met up with some of the other squad members.
“I came around the corner in the trench and saw this… thing lifting Stacy Martin above its head. Six foot in the air and then it just pulled him apart. I was stunned and stood there for a second. When it threw Stacy down, the thing turned and looked at me. That’s when I started pumping buckshot from my Winchester into it. Had absolutely no effect. The thing took a step toward me. I knew right then that I was dead when another one of the creatures jumped down on top of it. I turned back and ran in the direction I’d come. Before I got very far, a shell went off and caved in part of the trench. I was knocked out for a few minutes before my buddy found me and pulled me out.”
“What did these creatures look like?”
“Both of them had muzzles like wolves and their hands—hell, paws—were oversized with three-inch-long talons for claws. I might have dreamed it. There was gas still lingering in the lower parts of the trenches and the artillery left me dazed. Fear, adrenaline. I never saw anything like that again, so I just wrote it off. I didn’t go back to that part of the trench, though. When they told me later that Stacy had been killed, I just let it drop. I’d been in the Army long enough to know you didn’t volunteer for trouble.”
“You saw a werewolf. Actually, two werewolves,” Blasko said bluntly.
“What are you talking about?” Matthew asked. He was irritated and confused, both by the return of memories he’d thought were long buried and by the absurd emergence of monsters that he didn’t think existed in the first place.
“You described them,” Blasko said with a shrug. “I just gave them a name.”
