Night of the Werewolf

by Franklin W. Dixon

  “What happened to the last one?” Joe asked.

  “His name was Jan Tabor. The story goes that he was shot in the leg by a huntsman with a silver bullet one night while he was prowling about in the form of a wolf. The next morning he turned into a human again, but the huntsman spotted him because he was limping from the bullet. So his vengeful neighbors dragged-him off to the town square to be tried as a werewolf.”

  “Wowl” Chet shuddered. “That kind of stuff gives me the creeps!”

  “In those days,” Quorn continued, “it was dangerous to be thought different from other people, or to get your neighbors mad at you.”

  “You mentioned there were two times recently when you had occasion to look up your files on the Tabors,” Frank said.

  Desmond Quorn nodded. “Yes, another reader called three or four months ago to inquire about them, when my book first came out. I don’t think he gave me any name, or if he did, I don’t remember.”

  After thanking their host for the pleasant lunch, the Hardys and Chet continued their journey. All three were thrilled by the magnificent scenery of the Adirondack region, a land of rugged mountains, swift rivers, sweet-smelling deep green forests and still blue lakes.

  They telephoned Alena Tabor before reaching Hawk River and found her waiting for them when they arrived later that afternoon. The cottage, built of hewn logs, stood on a bank of the river. Alena came out to greet them as they pulled up in front.

  “I’m so glad you could make it,” she said after the Hardys had introduced Chet. “You’re just in time for a party!”

  “Sounds great.” Joe grinned. “What sort of party?”

  “A barbecue at our house. It starts at seven o‘clock this evening.” She gave the boys directions for getting there and added, “You’ll have a chance to meet my father and brother, too.”

  “You said your brother’s name was John, didn’t you?” Frank asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Which would be the same as the Czech name, Jan, wouldn’t it?”

  Alena nodded, her expression immediately turning serious. “Yes, and by a strange coincidence, that was the name of the last alleged werewolf in the Tabor family. Jan Tabor was the father of the Hessian mer cenary who came to America.”

  She told the boys that her mother had died several years ago, and that the woman who now kept house for the Tabors was half Mohawk Indian.

  “We call her Pocahontas, or just Pokey.” Alena smiled. “She looks a bit stern and overpowering, but don’t let her bulldoze you when you meet her. Incidentally, I’ll introduce you as chums of my girlfriend in Oakville. You can pretend you’re renting the cottage. That way, neither my brother nor anyone else will be suspicious of you.”

  “Suits us,” Joe said.

  The cottage was comfortably furnished with dishes and bedding, and even had a telephone. But Chet paid no attention to any of it. Instead, he looked out the window as Alena drove off in her car.

  “Wow! What a knockout!” he murmured. Judging by the bashful admiration he had bestowed on her when introduced, it was apparent to the Hardys that Chet had fallen hard for the rosy-cheeked girl.

  “It’s her plumpness he likes,” Joe whispered loudly behind his hand to Frank.

  “What do you mean, plumpness?” Chet retorted. “Her dimensions are perfect!”

  A red sunset was blazing behind the tall pine trees and an appetizing smell of steak was wafting from the barbecue pit when the three Bayporters arrived at the Tabor home. It was a handsome house of gray field-stone that seemed to fit perfectly in its wilderness setting. Adjoining the house was a patio and enclosed swimming pool on one side, and a hangar for Karel Tabor’s private helicopter on the other.

  “What a beautiful home you have!” Frank told Alena after she had shown them around.

  “My father designed it himself,” she said proudly.

  Mr. Tabor was a broad-shouldered man of about fifty. The boys could see that his daughter took after him in features, but unlike her, he looked rather pale and gaunt. At the moment, he was welcoming guests and keeping an eye on the sizzling beef, but as soon as everyone was served, he made it a point to draw up a camp chair near the Hardys, Alena, and Chet.

  “Your father came to my office in New York not long ago, in connection with an insurance investigation,” Karel Tabor told Frank and Joe, “and from all I hear, you two seem to have inherited his knack for detection.”

  “We’ve learned a lot from watching Dad and working with him,” said Frank.

  “Well, I certainly hope you can shed some light on this mystery that‘s—,” the architect broke off and his expression changed to a somewhat forced smile as a slender, wiry-looking young man in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans approached. “This is my son, John,” Mr. Tabor said to the Hardys and Chet.

  John had the same curly brown hair and features as his father and sister, but also a tense, nervous manner. He barely seemed to register the boys’ names as they were introduced and shook hands.

  “You fellows must be new in these parts,” he said, obviously trying to make polite conversation.

  “They’re friends of Magda’s down in Oakville,” Alena put in hastily. “They’re renting our river cottage for a week or so.”

  “Hope you enjoy yourselves,” John commented, his glance roving over the other guests and the flickering flames from the barbecue pit.

  Alena urged her brother to try some of the steak and barbecue sauce. But he shrugged her suggestion aside, saying he was not hungry, and soon excused himself to wander off restlessly.

  Mr. Tabor sighed and shook his head. “I wish we knew what was troubling him,” he murmured as soon as John was out of earshot.

  “Alena tells us he’s an architect, too,” Frank remarked.

  The elder Tabor nodded. “Yes, and a highly gifted one, if I do say so. At any rate, he’s done some apprentice work for our company during his last two years of study, and it certainly shows great promise, not to mention the prizes he’s won.”

  “What’s the name of your firm?” Joe asked.

  “Chelsea Builders. It’s actually a corporation with stockholders and a board of directors. I’m just the president. I didn’t mean to imply that I own the firm.”

  “How did your son’s trouble start?” said Frank.

  “When he was studying for his licensing exam,” Mr. Tabor replied, “he worked too hard. I’m afraid that brought on his breakdown. After a while he began to show signs of nervous exhaustion. That’s when he began harking back to this old family legend about werewolves. So I persuaded him to go to a mental sanatorium for treatment, the Pine Manor Rest Home in the Catskills.”

  “Did that help?”

  Mr. Tabor shook his head. “Frankly, no. He left the sanatorium on his own accord, and I made no objection since he showed no sign of improvement. In fact, in some ways he seemed worse. By then the fear seemed to be preying on him that he himself might be turning into a werewolf. I thought it might be better to keep his mind occupied, so I agreed that he should come home and resume his studies.”

  “How about the local werewolf scare, around Hawk River?” Joe put in. “When did all that start?”

  “About the same time John returned. And to make matters worse, he’s developed a habit of slipping out of the house at night during the full moon—at least he did during the last full-moon period. Then, when he shows up again, he can’t remember where he’s been or what he’s been doing.”

  As if by common impulse, both Hardys found their glances straying upward. Darkness had fallen, and the moon shone in the black-blue sky like a round copper coin.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and that’s exactly what I’m afraid of too—that John may start acting strangely again,” Mr. Tabor said gloomily. “But I’m also afraid of saying anything or mentioning these local werewolf stories for fear of upsetting him or maybe making his delusions worse.”

  “But why should John expect the curse to fall on him?” Frank inqu
ired. “There must be lots of other members of the Tabor family still in Europe.”

  “No, actually there aren‘t,” said the architect. “The last alleged werewolf, Jan Tabor, had only one other son besides my ancestor who came to this country. Most of his descendants in the old country were wiped out during World War II. So far as I know, our only relative who still bears the family name is a distant cousin. He escaped from behind the Iron Curtain just before Czechoslovakia fell under Communist rule after the war.”

  The conversation seemed to have left Mr. Tabor looking rather haggard and depressed. He plucked a bottle of pills from his pocket and excused himself to get a glass of water.

  “Dad has a weak heart,” Alena explained to the boys in a low, concerned voice. “This worry about John is an added strain on him.”

  She looked up nervously as a series of weird, comical howls split the darkness.

  Arrooo-o-o-Arrooo-o-o!

  “What on earth was that?” Alena exclaimed.

  A figure wearing a rubber Halloween wolfman mask over his head emerged from among the trees into the circle of firelight and the glow of the patio lamps. He hobbled rapidly across the lawn and disappeared into the woods on the other side of the house.

  The weird-looking intruder touched off a wave of nervous laughter among the guests, while Frank and Joe darted off in pursuit.

  “Which way did he go? Can you see him?” Joe called out to his brother as they probed about in the darkness.

  “Nope, not a glimpse. We should’ve brought flashlights. I guess we’re out of luck.”

  As the Hardys returned to the barbecue party, Chet came to meet them, looking surprised. “What did you two get so excited about? That goofy wolfman act was just a joke.”

  “Like fun it was,” Frank retorted. “That was an intentional dirty trick, and whoever pulled it knew all about the Tabor werewolf legend.”

  5

  A Frightening Phantom

  “What do you mean?” Chet asked with a puzzled frown.

  “Didn’t you notice the way the guy was limping?” said Frank.

  “Not only that, he had a big reddish stain on his trouser leg,” Joe put in, “as if he might have been bleeding from a gunshot wound, just like the last accused werewolf, Jan Tabor, in the 1700s!”

  Chet stared at the Hardys uneasily for a moment. Then he flashed a nervous grin and tried to scoff the matter aside. “Aw, don’t tell me you take that stuff seriously?”

  “Of course not,” Frank said. “Jan Tabor was probably just an innocent victim of hysteria, same as those poor women who were condemned in the Salem witchcraft trials in colonial days. The point is, Alena told us no one around here knew about that old legend and their family curse. But that wise guy in the wolfman mask sure did, and he was deliberately trying to upset the Tabors!”

  The boys glanced at Alena and her father, who were both shaken by the unpleasant prank.

  “Where’s John?” muttered Joe.

  “Over there,” Chet said, pointing discreetly to the refreshment table. From the expression on young Tabor’s face, he seemed more nervous and keyed-up than ever.

  Frank and Joe could overhear other guests nearby chattering about what had happened.

  “I wish I could believe that thing that was prowling around Hawk River last month was just some joker in a rubber mask!” said one voice.

  “Whatever it was that scared our dog and broke into the Barnett’s henhouse had more than rubber fangs!” said another.

  “And just think, it may show up again tonight! There’s another full moon out!”

  “How soon do you start back to school?” Joe asked Alena loudly to distract her from paying any attention to the remarks.

  “Right after Labor Day,” she replied.

  “What school do you attend?” Chet inquired.

  “A boarding school in eastern New York.”

  “Hi you! John!” shouted a bellowing but evidently female voice suddenly. “Phone call!”

  The boys were startled, as much by the sight of the speaker as by the sheer booming volume of her voice. She was a huge woman, with black braids hanging down on each side of her coppery-skinned face, and was clad in a shapeless brown sweater pulled over a bright red-and-yellow gingham housedress.

  “That’s Pocahontas.” Alena giggled, seeing the Hardys’ and Chet’s stunned expressions. “She’s our cook and housekeeper, not to say general boss lady of the establishment; at least she would be if we gave her half a chance!”

  John Tabor followed her meekly into the house. When he came out again a few minutes later, Frank and Joe noticed that he seemed strangely silent and withdrawn. He did not even reply when one of the guests spoke to him.

  The party broke up around ten o‘clock.

  “Did you see how John was acting after he got that phone call?” Frank remarked to his brother as the boys drove back to the cottage.

  “I’ll say I did! He was walking around like a zombie.”

  Chet was ready to change into pajamas and flop down on his bunk, to recuperate from their exhausting trip from Bayport, followed by the open-air barbecue.

  But Joe stopped him. “Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To bed, where else?”

  “Guess again, pal. Our evening hasn’t even started yet.”

  Chet stared in heavy-lidded, open-mouthed dismay. “What do you mean, it hasn’t even started? I’m ready to hit the hay. Aren’t you?”

  “Tell him, Frank.”

  The older Hardy slapped Chet on the shoulder. “We could use some shut-eye, all right. But we’ve got other plans and we need your help.”

  “How?”

  “You saw that full moon,” Frank replied. “Which means the werewolf could be out again tonight. Joe and I’ll scout around the village, but we’d like you to keep watch outside the Tabors’ house. If John doesn’t come out, but the werewolf still appears, it proves John isn’t the nut who’s terrorizing Hawk River.”

  Chet’s face fell, but with his usual good nature and stout-hearted gumption he agreed to the Hardys’ plan.

  Just then a weird, wailing sound was heard.

  Chet gulped. “What was that?”

  The sound came again faintly.

  “Seemed like a wolf howl!” exclaimed Joe.

  He and Frank dashed out of the cabin, followed less enthusiastically by Chet, but the boys could see nothing in the moonlit darkness. Nor was the sound repeated.

  “Maybe it was just the wind,” Frank concluded.

  Shortly before eleven o‘clock, the boys put on warm lumberjackets and climbed into the Hardys’ car. With Joe at the wheel, they took the river road and headed toward the Tabor estate.

  Parking their car in a grove of trees some distance from the drive, they approached the house on foot. The windows were not yet dark, and from time to time they could glimpse moving figures inside, one of whom was recognizable as John Tabor.

  “Good. So we know he’s home,” Frank murmured. One by one the lights went out, and presently the whole household seemed to be wrapped in slumbering darkness.

  “Okay, get settled, you brawny North Woodsman!” Joe said to Chet.

  The Hardys lent their shoulders and hands to their stout chum to help him clamber up into the crotch of a tree, where he managed to prop himself firmly against the trunk. From this point he had a full view of the house.

  “If John Tabor sticks his nose out, you follow him,” Frank instructed Chet.

  “Right. Leave him to me, fellows! If he thinks he’s going to flash his fangs around Hawk River tonight without being spotted, he has another thing coming!”

  Waving good-by to their friend, the Hardys started out toward the village on foot, leaving their car where it was. A breeze had sprung up, bringing a chilly hint of the crisp fall weather to come. The boys were glad they had their lumberjackets and caps as they trudged along. The mountain scenery loomed all around them, looking more magnificent than ever in the daylight.

&nbs
p; The village of Hawk River consisted of one main business street, which ran parallel to the water, with several side streets and unpaved dirt lanes crossing it. Beyond them the houses straggled off toward outlying farms and orchards.

  Frank and Joe roved about quietly, seeing no one. They had brought flashlights, but had little need of them due to the bright full moon. Soon they heard the town-hall clock chime midnight.

  “The witching hour!” Joe chuckled.

  They reached the end of one of the side streets and decided to continue into more open country. Minutes later both boys stiffened as a distant howl echoed through the night, then another!

  “Come on!” cried Frank. “That must be the real thing!”

  They ran in the direction of the sounds and presently saw a figure dashing toward them out of the darkness. It proved to be a boy their own age, obviously scared out of his wits!

  “What’s the matter?” Frank called out as the youth came closer.

  “I just saw a wolf back there!” the boy panted. “It came right at me, and the thing glowed in the dark!”

  6

  The Missing Suspect

  Having seen such a beast themselves, the Hardys were not inclined to laugh at the youth’s fantastic story. He was so terrified that he would have kept on running had they not each taken him by an arm and calmed him.

  “Look, no werewolf’s going to get you,” Joe assured him. “Not if we stick together. Whatever the thing is, it’ll think twice before tackling all of us!”

  To back up his promise, he broke off some thick branches from a windfallen tree nearby. Keeping one as a club to protect himself, he passed out the other two to his brother and the frightened teenager, who said his name was Bob Renaud.

  When no wolf creature appeared, Bob plucked up his courage and accompanied the Hardys in search of the glowing phantom. But the boys found no sign of the beast.

  “It must have gone that way,” Bob surmised, pointing to a fork in the road. “I dodged through the trees when I got this far, trying to shake it off, so it may have missed my trail.”

  “Tell us how you first sighted it,” Frank asked.