by Rick Hautala
“It’s a full moon tonight, isn’t it?”
Bob felt a rush of fear but tried to remain outwardly cool. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to think about full moons and werewolves?” he asked. His voice registered disdain, but he searched Lisa’s face for a reaction.
“I, I don’t know,” Lisa said with tears welling up in her green eyes. “I just don’t know. I, I—”
“Lisa,” Bob said calmly, feeling the back of his neck prickling with heat, “you don’t really think I still think that, do you?”
Lisa raised her eyebrows.
“That I think there’s a werewolf in Cooper Falls?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was hushed, as though she was afraid to hear herself speak. She ran her fingers through her hair and then slipped her hands back between her knees. “But tonight, late, around midnight, I heard a, a howling.”
“Uh-huh,” Bob said. He glanced out the window at the street three stories below.
“Oh, Bob, it scared the daylights out of me!” Her face twisted with remembered pain. “It sounded just like a wolf!”
“There are a lot of dogs around town. I’m sure, if you were upset, you could make it sound like a wolf, after what I said.”
“It wasn’t a dog!” Lisa shouted. She punched the couch beside her with frustration. “I know it wasn’t!”
“How can you be so sure?” Bob asked calmly.
“It was so, so unearthly, deep and hollow, almost like an echo or something. I almost thought it was in my head, that I might be hallucinating or something.”
“Probably just your imagination,” Bob said. “From the things I said on the phone that day.”
“I know it was more than just a dog,” Lisa said. Tears welled up in her eyes and overflowed. “Bob, I’m really scared!”
“Lisa,” Bob began. He looked at her and felt a wave of pity. He wanted to hold and comfort her, but something made him hold back. “Can I ask you a question? It’s going to sound crazy, maybe, but do you have a cross or any kind of religious medal?”
“Yeah,” she replied, and snorted loudly, “I have a silver cross I got way back in high school, for confirmation. Why? What are you getting at?”
Bob twisted his hands and looked at her earnestly. “I, I want you to promise me that you’ll wear it. All the time!” He reached into his shirt and pulled out a chain. At its end, a small gold cross dangled, reflecting light around the room. “Now I’m not ready to get locked away. Not yet, anyway. But I don’t think it would hurt to have some, some protection.” He dropped the cross back into his shirt.
“Some protection! Protection from what?” Lisa asked anxiously. “Bob, do you know what you sound like?”
“Yeah, I do.” He looked out the window, straining to see the dark sky. “But you mentioned the full moon. I didn’t. Lisa, I have to tell you. I haven’t stopped thinking along the lines that there might be something supernatural involved here. I checked back to the nights that Wendy, Frank Simmons, and Alan Tate were killed. All three were either nights of the full moon or one night on either side of the full moon.”
“Coincidence?” Lisa asked, hopefully.
“Who the hell knows!” Bob said, slapping his fist into his hand. “Sure it could be coincidence. I could be a border-line paranoid who has finally taken the plunge. Is that what you think?”
“No.” She didn’t dare to meet his eyes.
“I don’t feel crazy. I don’t think I’m any different. But these three deaths were on full-moon nights!”
“Or one day away,” Lisa said. “If it’s a, a werewolf, I thought they were only on full-moon nights. Doesn’t that blow a hole in your theory right there?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Bob said seriously. “I have been doing some reading on the topic, and the time of a werewolf’s transformation, at least in some traditions, can be on nights on either side of full. According to some legends, werewolf activity occurs throughout the month of February. It’s all tied in with the Roman Lupercalia and with the severe winters that probably drove hungry wolf-packs closer to towns in the old days.”
“I can’t believe it!” Lisa said, shaking her head. “I just can’t believe that we’re two adults sitting here talking like this. It’s insane!”
“No it isn’t, Lisa. It may be the only explanation that fits what’s been happening around town. It scares me. The possibilities are frightening!”
“So who’s the werewolf?” Lisa asked. Her voice had an almost mocking note of humor, but her eyes were grim.
“I think Julie Sikes is doing it. She’s pretty heavily into magic and occult things.” Bob faced Lisa intently. “You want it straight? I think Julie’s doing it—to Ned Simmons.”
Lisa gasped.
“Think about it! He’s a perfect target, with all the pent-up hostility. Just as an image, it fits. I’m convinced that the image, the legends, are real, they’re working!”
“I’ve always felt sort of funny around Julie,” Lisa said seriously. “I’ve never liked her.”
“It doesn’t have to be her. It could be anyone. For all I know, if I wanted to get really paranoid, it could be you who’s doing it.” Bob began pacing again.
“You do sound crazy,” Lisa said, her voice registering concern.
“I know I do. And if you hadn’t dragged me over here at two a.m., telling me you’re worried because Jeff’s not home yet, and it’s a full moon tonight, and that you heard something howling, I wouldn’t have said all this. I would have kept it to myself and let it drive me slowly mad.”
That said, Bob appeared to calm down. He came over and sat beside Lisa on the couch.
“You want a cup of coffee?” Lisa asked after a long silence.
“No.” Bob yawned and stretched. “I have one day of school left before Christmas vacation, and the day after tomorrow I’m driving down to Springfield for Amy’s wedding.”
“You’re going?” Lisa was astounded. “You didn’t tell me.”
“You never asked. I’m going mostly so I can see Jamie. I miss that kid. I haven’t seen her since summer. So, look, if Jeff isn’t home soon, give Granger a call, send someone out looking for him.”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea where they should start looking: at Julie Sikes,” Lisa said morosely.
“I’ll wait if you want me to.”
“No,” Lisa said, getting up from the couch. “We’re both getting ourselves too worked up. You were probably right. He’s got a flat tire or has run out of gas. He’ll come staggering on in around dawn.”
“I’m sure he’s OK,” Bob said, hoping his lie didn’t show. The coincidence of all those occurrences on nights of full moons was too much to be dismissed. His gut feeling was that something terrible had happened.
Bob stood up and got his coat on. He started for the door, but before leaving, turned to Lisa and said, “Remember your promise. Wear that silver cross all the time!”
Chapter Twelve
.I.
Friday, December 19
Bob was about hour out of Boston, heading west on the Massachusetts Turnpike, when he heard something on the radio that made his stomach clench. He stiffened in his car seat as he listened.
“Late Thursday night, the body of Mr. Jeff Carter of Cooper Falls, New Hampshire was found by the neighbors who were snowmobiling. Earlier in the day, Mr. Carter’s car had been found abandoned off a minor road. A resident had noticed tire tracks leaving the road. The accident occurred late Wednesday night.”
Bob’s breathing came in sharp hitches as he adjusted the dial, trying to pull the station in clearer.
“Chief of Police Roy Granger was notified immediately. Mrs. Carter, the town librarian, had reported her husband missing earlier in the day.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Bob said, looking in the rearview mirror at his pale face. His hands shook as he lit a cigarette.
“The victim apparently died of exposure when he tried to walk the four miles back to town following the accident. There was no evidence of foul play
, sources said.”
“Bullshit,” Bob muttered as he puffed angrily.
“In North Conway today, workers at the—”
Bob snapped the radio off and drove silently. His mind was whirring with thoughts.
To an English teacher, the newscaster’s choice of words seemed strange. Why, Bob thought, if there was no evidence of foul play, did he refer to Jeff as a victim? Was that a newscaster’s habit, after years of reporting tragedies, or was there something else lurking behind the story?
Up ahead, he saw the exit sign for Old Sturbridge Village. Bob dug out his wallet and pulled out a bill. Then he put on his turn signal and began downshifting.
“Sorry I can’t make it, Amy,” he whispered as he approached the toll booth. He smiled tightly as he paid the booth attendant, then did a U-turn and took a ticket and started driving east. It would be an hour to Boston, and then another two hours or so to Cooper Falls. He checked his watch. He should get there sometime in the early afternoon. He thought of calling Lisa to let her know he had heard but decided not to lose the time on the road.
.II.
Thurston held the phone to his ear, braced by his shoulder, and took a quick sip of coffee. He hated being put on hold but he was glad he finally got through to agent Hatch before the weekend. He took another sip and then put the cup down as the F.B.I. agent came back on the line.
“Thanks for holding, Deputy,” Hatch said. He had a clipped, efficient-sounding voice.
“That’s OK,” Thurston replied. “So, have you found out anything on this man, Wentworth?”
“Deputy Thurston, we have absolutely nothing in our files about this man. You got those photocopies of the newspaper articles?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that incident with the rape charges checks out. From several contacts we spoke with, we determined that it was a weak case. There was no reason to pursue it further.”
“You mean he was innocent?” Thurston asked sharply.
“No. I don’t. I mean that the case was never brought to trial, so we don’t have an official ruling. But from the rest of this guy’s background, he seems to be pretty level. Married and divorced, one kid, went right into teaching after college. Pretty straight guy.”
“Ahh, when did Wentworth get divorced? I had heard something, but I don’t have the hard facts.”
“One source we interviewed suggested that the divorce resulted from the attendant publicity and pressure from the Landry girl’s charges.”
“So in your statement,” Thurston said, “Would you say that this incident put Mr. Wentworth under a great deal of strain?”
“It could have,” Hatch replied. “I have no way of evaluating that at this point. My advice to you, Deputy, would be to keep your eye on this guy if he bothers you. Officially, he’s as clean as a whistle, but that’s no guarantee he couldn’t be involved with these murders. If your superior requests it, we could send up an agent to assist the investigation.”
“I don’t think so,” Thurston replied, slightly flustered. “Not at the moment, anyway. You know how these hick cops are,” he added snidely, “they think they can handle it themselves. I’ll be in touch if we need any assistance.”
“Whatever you say,” Hatch said stiffly.
“If you say this guy Wentworth is clean, he’s clean. But that doesn’t remove my, uhh, my basic distrust of this guy. It’s these quiet ones who can snap just like that! I—”
Thurston quickly jumped to his feet when he heard footsteps outside the office door. The door banged open, and in walked Granger, followed by Seavey.
“Howdy,” Granger said, nodding. The sun had set, so Granger snapped on the office lights.
“Yeah, well, thank you for your call,” Thurston said into the phone. “I appreciate your help with this. I’ll get back to you if there’s anything else you can do.” He hung up quickly, snatched up his coffee cup, and walked over to the coffee pot to refill it.
“I’ll take one of those if you’re pouring,” Granger said as he hefted off his heavy winter coat and hung it on the back of his chair. “How ’bout you, Ted?”
“Sure.” Seavey walked over and took the chair beside the gun rack.
Thurston reached down two more cups and began pouring. “How’d it go today?” he asked, not looking up. “You guys have been out pretty late.”
“The usual,” Granger said angrily. “Nobody saw nothin’, nowhere! Anything happen here?”
Thurston walked over and handed Granger his cup. “Naw.”
“Who were you talking to?” Granger asked, sounding uninterested.
“No one special,” Thurston answered, handing Seavey his cup. “Just an old friend.”
Granger put his cup down on the desk before going over and replacing his rifle on the wall rack. He didn’t bother to run the chain through the trigger guard, although it was standard office policy. He came back to his desk and sat down with a huff. “Of course, that didn’t stop half of the guys from shooting whatever in the hell they thought they saw.”
Seavey offered a half-chuckle that was lost in a noisy slurp from his coffee cup.
“Christ, I’m beat,” Granger said as he stretched and yawned.
Thurston frowned. “Well it’s been deader ’n a doornail around here: no calls, no complaints, and no nothing. You should stay around here and catch up on your sleep.”
Granger snuffed. “Yeah, well, we pretty much covered everything from the town down over to Lyon Hill. If there’s anything out there, it—”
“We know it’s out there,” Seavey said quietly.
Granger nodded and said, “Yeah. The damn problem is finding it. Hell, we can’t even get a decent trail. I’m still convinced we should get some help from the state.”
“What more could they do?” Thurston asked sharply.
“Increase our manpower,” Granger replied.
Thurston looked over at Seavey, whose expression revealed nothing of what he was thinking. “Did anyone go out on the mine road, toward the falls? It hasn’t snowed since Jeff was found. There must be tracks out there.”
“We were out there,” Seavey said.
“Saw plenty of tracks, too. Problem is, they were all Jeff’s, ours, and snowmobile tracks. If there was a good trail, it’s long gone now.”
“So we just have to keep at it,” Thurston said soberly.
Granger looked over his shoulder, out into the darkened street. “You haven’t seen Ralph and Gene, have you?” he asked.
Thurston shook his head.
“Hmmm. They should have been in by now. I told ’em not to stay out past dark.”
The distant sound of a snowmobile made all three men glance out the window. The wasplike buzzing grew louder as it came down Main Street. “Ahh, this is probably them now,” Granger said, getting up and going to the window.
A single headlight swept down the street and then, just outside, the buzzing machine was cut off. Hurried footsteps sounded on the steps, and then the door flew open. Ralph Hamlin burst in.
“Roy! You gotta come quick!” His face was pasty gray, and the fear in his eyes alerted all three men in the office.
“Sure,” Granger said, snatching his rifle from the wall rack. “What is it?”
“It’s Chuck Doyle. It got him!”
“Is he dead?” Granger barked, pulling on his coat and gloves. Seavey was already set to go.
“Oh Jesus, yes. Yes!” Ralph covered his mouth with his mittened hands. The man looked as though he was about to vomit.
“It must’ve happened last night! Oh Jesus! He’s, he’s—” He suddenly turned and ran outside. The sound of his retching made a bad taste flood Thurston’s mouth. Granger and Seavey raced outside and got into the cruiser. The blue strobes started flashing as they pulled away from the curb and sped down Main Street toward Chuck Doyle’s place.
Thurston watched from the window as the cruiser disappeared. “And I get to sit around on my ass and hold down the fort,” he muttered, his breath f
ogging the glass. After a moment, he went outside and asked Ralph if he wanted to come in and clean himself up.
While Ralph was in the bathroom washing up, Thurston sat down in Granger’s chair and idly skimmed the two photocopied newspaper clippings.
.III.
Ned watched from the bordering woods as Julie came slowly up the path to her front door. He heard the steady crunching of the snow beneath her boots. In the light of the moon, just past full, her face was washed of color. Ned tensed as he listened to her work the door lock, and as the door swung open, he stepped out of his hiding place and raced toward the door.
Julie had stepped inside and was swinging the door shut when Ned shouldered his way into the doorway. Julie screamed and tried to hold the door shut, but Ned pushed her, and finally she stepped back to let him in.
“What the hall are you doing?” she said harshly. She backed her way across the kitchen floor until she stood with her back against the refrigerator.
Ned eased the door shut, stamped his feet on the floor, and then turned to face her. He smiled and said, “I was out for a little walk tonight and I just thought I’d drop by to talk, you know?” His smile widened.
Julie eyed him suspiciously as she slowly unbuttoned her coat and hung it on the back of a chair. “We’ve got nothing to talk about,” she said firmly.
Ned opened up his coat and took a few steps forward. “Oh, I think we do. Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”
Julie shook her head and said, “Please, do. Come in.”
Ned nodded and walked over to the table, where he took a seat. He slid his coat off and draped it over the back of the chair. He stared at her intently, glad to see that his sudden appearance had put her off her guard. He knew he would have to keep that advantage.
“I think we have a lot to talk about,” he said again, fixing her with a harsh glance. “I have some questions I think only you can answer.”
Julie was still standing with her back against the refrigerator. She was scratching her hand with her fingernails, leaving long red lines on the skin. “Would, would you care for some coffee or tea?” she asked.
