Werewolf Stories to Tell in the Dark

by Anthony Masters

  Somehow Tina managed to get through school, but she seemed so exhausted that one of her teachers said, ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you, Tina. You look as if you’ve been up all night,’ and her closest friend, Liz, simply said, ‘Something wrong at home?’

  She could have replied, ‘No – wrong with me,’ but she couldn’t bring the words out. The only person she could possibly confide in was Ben, her cousin, who was a couple of years older. They were very close, but Tina still hung back from talking to him. Maybe the terrible nightmare would go away.

  It didn’t – and when she experienced the dream again, it had another dimension. Still she pounded over the moor, still the all-consuming hunger for flesh urged her on, but this time her path was blocked in the moonlight by someone she recognized – an elderly Eastern European man who lived alone on the other side of the village. His name was Jureg Kalinsky and he was holding a rifle.

  ‘Silver bullets, my child,’ he said, and took aim. ‘It is the only way.’

  Tina snarled and leapt as Kalinsky fired, and she felt a searing pain in her right paw. But it was not bad enough to bring her down, and it soon faded as she raced on over the moor.

  *

  When she awoke next morning, Tina found dried blood on her duvet cover and a graze on her hand. She stared at it in horror, remembering the searing sensation she had felt. The silver bullet. What had silver to do with it? And why had the old man fired it at her? She had to find out. For a moment she hesitated, then quickly went to the end of her bed. Sure enough, the muddy tracksuit and trainers were there. A shuddering fear and revulsion filled her. What was she going to do? What could she do?

  After school, Tina was so anxious that she decided to summon up the courage to go and see Jureg Kalinsky. His cottage was on the outskirts of the village, on the very edge of the moor, built on rising ground with a dry stone wall surround which gave the building a fortress-like appearance.

  Tina knocked fearfully at the door. Supposing Jureg Kalinsky got his gun out again and shot her dead? She almost turned to run away, but Tina knew that somewhere on the night moor she changed, and she wondered if this elderly man could help her to understand – could even help her find a solution.

  When Mr Kalinsky opened the door, Tina was immediately reassured: he was completely unarmed and his hands were shaking nervously.

  ‘You’ve come at last,’ he said softly.

  ‘I had to see you.’

  ‘And I know why,’ the old man replied.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I won’t harm you.’

  ‘You tried to kill me.’

  His room was small and each wall was lined with shelves on which hundreds of books, mainly in foreign languages, were stacked untidily.

  ‘You are suffering from an affliction,’ he replied slowly. ‘An affliction that is the result of a curse that must be in your family.’

  ‘A curse?’ Tina stared at Jureg Kalinsky in horror.

  ‘You are a werewolf, my dear,’ he said baldly.

  ‘I dream,’ she said numbly, hardly registering what Mr Kalinsky had just said. ‘I dream of running over the moor. I’m so hungry.’

  ‘What are you hungry for? What is it that you crave?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She turned away from him.

  ‘You’re hungry for flesh, aren’t you, Tina?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was wrong to try and kill you,’ admitted Jureg Kalinsky. ‘In my country –’ He paused. ‘But we are not in my country. So I shall try to help you, but 1 warn you – it might not work.’ There was pity in the old man’s face. ‘You know what I would have to do then …’

  ‘Would the silver bullets just kill the wolf in me?’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘They would also kill you,’ Mr Kalinsky replied bleakly.

  A wave of panic swept over Tina, leaving her light-headed. ‘What is this other way?’ she whispered.

  ‘If you bathe in moonlit water – then the hunger might go.’

  ‘Is it worth trying? Have people ever been cured?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘Some,’ he said, and then continued quickly, ‘Do you know the pool at Charlbury Ring?’

  Tina nodded.

  ‘Go there tonight,’ he said. ‘And God be with you.’

  Tina slipped out of her house that night, wishing now that she had first confided in her cousin Ben. He would have helped her, perhaps provided a more practical explanation than Jureg Kalinsky with his silver bullets and recommendations to bathe in moonlit water. But even if she had confided in Ben, how could her cousin, only two years older than she, have any knowledge of this terrifying situation that was now completely out of control?

  Ridiculous though it seemed, Tina knew that she had to test out Mr Kalinsky’s possible cure. After all, she had no other solution.

  Eventually she reached Charlbury Ring and saw the pool glinting in the moonlight. She had her swimming costume on under her tracksuit, and it wasn’t long before Tina was standing on the edge of the freezing cold water, shivering and not wanting to go in. But she knew she had to, knew that this might be her only chance.

  Finally, making a supreme effort, Tina plunged in, gasping as the cold enclosed her, striking out for the opposite side of the pool as fast as she possibly could. Then she swam back, dragging herself out, physically exhausted.

  As Tina ran home, she longed to snuggle down in bed and sleep. Perhaps the terrible dream would never reappear. Could the pool really have cured her? If it had, then she would be eternally grateful to Mr Kalinsky. For the first time, she felt more optimistic.

  When she let herself into the house again, her parents were watching television. She called out goodnight and went upstairs to her room. Once she had undressed and rubbed herself dry, Tina got into bed, closed her eyes and immediately sank into a deep sleep.

  The wolf was close behind her as Tina padded across the moor; her wounded paw was sore and her breathing was ragged with tension. She knew she would have to turn and fight her pursuer eventually, but she was hoping against hope that she might outrun him.

  The pain in her paw was increasing now, so much so that Tina was beginning to weaken, grimly realizing she would soon have to turn at bay. Then she trod on a sharp stone, the graze began to bleed again and she turned snarling to face him.

  The two wolves sprang at each other, rolling, biting and slashing with tooth and claw. They fought until Tina managed to bite her enemy in the leg. With a squeal of pain, he threw her off and loped away, defeated. Now the territory was hers and the hunger began again.

  Tina woke with a surge of raw panic. The bathe in the moonlit pool had been useless. Instead her predicament had been further complicated by the appearance of the other wolf and the fierce battle that had ensued.

  Miserably, apprehensively, Tina turned on the breakfast television news. The dreaded item was not long in coming.

  ‘Last night the Mailsham Monster was seen again. Watching policemen saw it roaming the moors but they soon lost track of the wolf, so great was its pace. The hunt is being stepped up today.’

  Tina buried her face in her pillow while her mother repeatedly called her down to breakfast. She knew she would be late for school but she had to decide what she was going to do. There was no doubt that Jureg Kalinsky’s cure had failed and her dreams had returned, much worse than before.

  Tina knew that the only person she could possibly turn to now was her cousin, Ben. They had always been able to talk so openly, and she had to confide in him.

  Tina had hoped to see Ben at school but she searched for him in the playground without success, finally being told by one of his friends that he was away from school.

  ‘Ben’s ill,’ said his mother guardedly when Tina arrived on the doorstep. ‘He might be infectious.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Tina said reassuringly. ‘I’ve had most things.’

  ‘This isn’t most things,’ Ben’s mother replied acidly. ‘He’s got some kind of fever – that�
�s what the doctor says.’

  ‘Please let me go up and see him,’ pleaded Tina. ‘I won’t stay long.’

  Ben’s mother finally gave in. ‘Don’t get too near.’ She sighed.

  Relieved, Tina hurried up the stairs and paused. Then she opened the bedroom door.

  Ben was asleep, curled up on his side, looking hot and sweaty and emitting little whimpering sounds.

  Tina touched his shoulder and her cousin rolled over on his back, looking up at her, the duvet falling back to reveal his leg. Tina gave an involuntary cry of horror and despair. There was a deep bite mark on Ben’s left calf.

  Ben’s eyes stared into hers and she could read an anguish in them that matched her own. She looked down at her hands and she knew there was no possibility of a mistake: the backs were covered in a light down that was already beginning to resemble fur.

  ‘And were they hunted down?’ asked Terry.

  ‘No,’ said Colin. ‘But the corpses of Tina and Ben were found in the pool at Charlbury Ring. They’d been shot.’

  ‘Was anyone arrested?’

  ‘No,’ said Colin quietly.

  ‘And Jureg Kalinsky? Does he still live in that cottage by the moor?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘Wow!’ Terry was curious. ‘I’d love to go and see him. Find out if he –’

  ‘The trouble with you,’ said Alice, ‘is that you’re too curious. Just like a couple of friends of mine, and I can tell you – they suffered.’

  3

  The Institute

  Danny and Mary Simmons always passed the old building on their way home from school. A dark Victorian structure with some of its windows boarded up and much of its paintwork peeling, the Institute, as it was referred to locally, was four storeys tall and had stone columns that were chipped and covered in graffiti. Nevertheless, the building was still in use, and most evenings they saw people coming and going, walking hurriedly up and down the battered stone steps that led to the front door.

  Danny and Mary were often curious about the Institute, but the brass plaque that might have given them more information was at the top of the long flight of steps and they had never had the courage to climb up and see for themselves.

  No one at school knew anything about the Institute except for Mrs Stevens, the school secretary, who said the place was dedicated to ‘scientific research’. She spoke dismissively: to her the local landmark was clearly boring, because she, like many of the pupils, passed it every day.

  But Danny and Mary had only recently arrived at St Saviour’s Middle School, which was in an area of London that had lost much of its industry. The unemployment rate was high and many shops and factories had closed down and were boarded up. The Institute, however, was obviously still going.

  Danny and Mary sometimes lingered by the building, watching the steady stream of visitors each afternoon. All of them seemed preoccupied and none of them ever smiled. Then, in November, with the twilight stealing over the streets by four in the afternoon, Danny told Mary what he was going to do.

  ‘I‘ll wait until there’s no one about and run up the steps and read the sign.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere without me,’ Mary told him firmly.

  They hung around in the darkening street until the steps of the Institute had been empty for some time. Then they ran up, determinedly gazing straight ahead, their eyes fixed on the brass plaque, knowing that they had no excuse for what they were doing and hoping against hope they wouldn’t be stopped. As the dark doorway loomed up in front of them, Mary was the first to arrive and to stand panting by the plaque, whose polish had been dulled by the town’s polluted air.

  ‘Can you read it?’ gasped Danny.

  ‘Only just.’ She read the three words again and again, not making any sense of them at all. ‘The Lycanthropy Society. Now what does that mean?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Danny looked at the black door and his mind went off at a tangent; it didn’t have a letterbox. Didn’t the Society have any mail?

  Mary tried the handle of the door, which swung silently open, revealing a dark interior. She could distinctly hear the ticking of a clock.

  When their eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the hallway, all they could see was a bare and neglected space with a large carriage clock on a small, dusty table against the panelled wall. A staircase soared upwards but there were no pictures, no ornaments, no evidence of the Society’s work.

  ‘Maybe it all happens on the next floor,’ said Mary.

  ‘Let’s go and see.’ Danny’s curiosity was now so overwhelming that he had forgotten to be afraid.

  ‘We can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘If we meet anyone – they’ll have us for trespassing.’ Mary was wavering, however, for her own curiosity had been aroused.

  ‘We could say we saw – we saw a dog run in here.’ Danny’s powers of invention were never very great. ‘And we thought it had been in an accident – hit by a car or something,’ he added, warming to the theme.

  ‘It’s a feeble excuse,’ Mary replied. ‘But I’ve heard worse.’

  Once inside, the hall smelt of old polish and disinfectant. The clock’s ticking sounded even louder; not only did it seem to fill the space but it also began to beat relentlessly inside their heads. Regretting that they had ever set foot in this forbidding hallway, Danny and Mary cautiously began to climb the stairs until they came to the first-floor landing. A huge lounge with a few bits of worn-out furniture opened off it, but all the other rooms were empty.

  ‘Let’s go back,’ said Danny, rapidly losing his nerve.

  ‘Why do all those people come in and out?’ demanded Mary. ‘We’ve got to find the reason. That’s what we came for,’ she insisted irritably. Danny was usually much braver than this. What was getting to him?

  ‘That clock’s louder,’ he said miserably. ‘It’s as if our time’s running out.’

  They climbed a narrower flight of stairs and arrived on a landing that was in much better condition. This floor had been divided into a series of small rooms, each with a polished nameplate on the door. There must have been about twenty of them. Mr Rumbold. Mr Cranshaw. Ms Matthewson. Ms Peck. Ms Milnes-Smith. Mr Jackson. Ms Canter. And so on.

  ‘Do you think this is a hotel?’ asked Danny.

  ‘It’s not posh enough for that,’ said Mary.

  It certainly wasn’t, thought Danny, the clock still pounding in his ears. Then it chimed six. The chimes were deafening. ‘Maybe it’s an undertaker’s,’ he said. ‘With coffins behind those closed doors.’

  ‘Do you think anyone would come to a dump like this? They wouldn’t get any customers,’ Mary whispered scornfully. ‘Anyway, we’ve never seen a coffin or a hearse.’

  Danny had to agree. But what else could this place be used for? If only he knew what lycanthropy meant. Could it have a link with the Welfare? ‘I suppose it couldn’t be a hostel for the homeless?’ he suggested. ‘Could lycanthropy mean some kind of charity work?’ he added hopefully.

  ‘But all the people we’ve seen going in and out have been well dressed,’ replied Mary, as they both stared at the closed doors indecisively. Then Danny’s courage returned.

  ‘I’m going to try a handle,’ he said.

  ‘Suppose there’s someone inside,’ Mary began, but it was too late. Danny had already gone into action.

  The door of number twelve swung open and they both breathed a sigh of relief as they saw there was no one inside. The tiny room – little more than a cubicle – contained a bed, a mirror and a clothes-hanger. There was nothing else.

  ‘So we’re none the wiser,’ said Mary in disappointment.

  Then she saw something on the pillow and went inside, followed by her brother.

  ‘Phew,’ said Danny. ‘What a stink!’

  ‘It’s like – an animal’s been in here,’ she replied. ‘Something musky.’

  Mary picked up the lock of hair from the pillow. It was black and thick and rou
gh and had the same smell as the room.

  ‘It’s very coarse,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Not like human hair at all.’

  ‘Let’s go up to the top floor.’ Danny was bolder now. ‘Now we’re here, we should check out the whole building.’

  But upstairs there were only empty rooms covered in dust, the ceilings stained with damp. Clearly they hadn’t been used in years.

  ‘There’s nothing up here,’ said Mary. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Danny grabbed her arm as many footsteps began to pound up the stairs to the floor below. Soon they could hear the gentle murmur of voices.

  Why don’t they go into their cubicles, wondered Danny. Minutes later, he heard the clinking of glasses and realized to his dismay that he and his sister could be upstairs for some time.

  Danny and Mary were forced to keep out of sight, growing colder and stiffer every minute, until the glasses stopped clinking and the doors of the cubicles began to open and shut. They waited until there had been absolute silence for a long time and then began to tip-toe down the stairs, knowing their parents must already be terrified by their absence and could well have called the police. But although they both realized they’d been thoroughly irresponsible, the atmosphere was so sinister that the thought of a police search was comforting.

  Suppose the front door’s locked, worried Mary. Suppose we have to stay here all night. Danny was thinking much the same thing.

  There was no one on the landing below and all the doors of the cubicles were closed. Then Danny noticed a card lying on the floor and picked it up, reading the words in the wan moonlight that filtered through the dirty windows. The card simply read: THE LYCANTHROPY SOCIETY. IT’S GOOD TO HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON.