Full Moon Over Fellsway
Page 6
Amy said.
She helped Christian to his feet, and they locked arms-over-shoulders, each supporting the other. It dimly occurred to the teenage boy that this was the closest he had been to a woman outside of his mother. Sadly, it wasn't a moment to savor. Christian scanned the area, placing them on top of a large stony hill. Then, about a half-mile away, he saw it. Good old South Border Road. The road that divided his front yard from the Fellsway.
The far-away glow of passing headlights confirmed it - civilization was a stone's throw away. "That way," he said to Amy. She nodded, and they headed down the hill, legs moving in tandem.
As they made their way frantically through the last patch of forest, the howl came from behind, letting them know the wolf was on the hunt. Christian's lungs ached and his leg burned, but he pushed through the pain, keeping his eyes forward. Stumbling down an incline, they at last came to the road. There, across the street and no more than a hundred yards to the north, was his home.
Christian allowed himself a sigh of relief. There's no way that B-movie reject could touch him here, within spitting distance of his father. His beacon of sanity. But then he remembered the story of Gram's visitation, and sanity didn't seem a rock-solid guarantee. "Over there," he said to Amy. "That's my house. We'll be safe there."
They carried each other the distance, traveling along the road's low shoulder, the woods to their right. Christian was about to set out across the road when something stepped out of the trees to block them.
Tippy the Hobo Werewolf.
Christian felt the bottom drop out of this stomach. The beast moved towards them, claws flexing, mouth curled up into something that could only be called a smile. Tippy was in there, under the fur and fangs, looking ready to relish ripping them apart. And maybe, after he was done, he'd head across the street and kill Dad too. Why not? Christian had led the monster right to him.
No. This would end right here, somehow. Christian unhooked Amy's arms from his shoulders. "Run," he said to her. "Get to my house. I'll hold him off." He drew the knife from his pocket, kept the beast's eyes fixed upon it.
Amy looked at him like he was crazy. "GO!" Christian yelled.
She tore across the street. The werewolf watched her go, but Christian flashed the blade, gleaming moonlight across its unsettlingly human eyes. "Over here Tippy," Christian taunted. "Eyes on me, dickwad. I'm the one you want."
The beast snarled, slathering a string of drool from his under-bite. Tippy moved in for the kill, and Christian could see the humanity and hatred roiling under his lupine snout. That was the most terrifying part. The thing that would kill him moments from now wasn't killing as an animal would, with only thought to its survival. This was a man killing for pleasure. All Christian could do was hope Tippy showed human mercy and that death would come quick.
A bark sounded from the road. Then a growl. The wolf-man whipped around, and there, standing on the median strip, was Barney. Christian smiled. Always the survivor, the scrappy beagle had somehow escaped the encounter in the cave. Barney barked again, and accepting the challenge, the beast lunged towards him. Barney reared back on his haunches and the werewolf leaped, claws raised high, readying to plunge -
Barney darted out of the way. Tippy face-planted on the pavement with a yelp. Around him, the air lit with the glare of headlights. The wolf-man looked up, and the blare of an eighteen-wheeler's horn sounded. Then came the screeching of tires and a final yelp before impact.
Christian watched incredulously as the truck skidded past him, taking the pulped werewolf with it, plastered to its mighty chrome grill. The adrenaline seeped out of him and he fell to his knees, dropping the knife to the road. Barney trotted over, nails clicking on asphalt, and licked his master's dirt-streaked face.
Hey boy," Christian said to his dog. "Am I ever glad to see you."
--
One month later, Christian stood in the Fellsway, at the mouth of the cave. It had been a long month. Mom was back to town, having rented an apartment so her son could live with her and not have to transfer to a new school. Dad pulled out of his funk, and it was agreed that Christian would stay with him over the weekends. It was awkward at first, but adjustments were made, and things started to take on the semblance of normalcy. Mostly Christian was just happy to see his Dad acting like his boring, dependable self again.
As for Tippy Dewey - no werewolf was found on the grill of that truck; only a man. Or what was left of one, anyway. The poor truck driver was quite shaken, but Amy told him they were being hunted by a serial killer, probably a Satanist, and he had inadvertently saved the day. The police came, as well as local reporters. For a week or so Christian was celebrated as a hero, which was pretty cool. He never told Dad or Mom the truth of the story, but there was something in Dad's face that told Christian that he might have some inkling. Maybe Gram visited him again and spilled the beans. Anything seemed possible at this point.
Needless to say, the Fellsway was off limits for a while. But the passage of time softened the parental worry, and when Christian informed Dad that the dog needed a walk that Saturday afternoon, Doug Marks nodded permissively. But it wasn't Barney who was feeling the call of the forest. There was a longing that burned in Christian now, no mere byproduct of burgeoning adolescent hormones. It was a longing much deeper, more primal, and as the day edged closer to night, Christian knew there was no way to resist the call.
Now, standing at the cave, watching the sun dip under the rocky hill, he felt it coming. Rising in him hot, radiating from the bite in his leg, long-since healed. Christian looked down at his dog, already starting to tense, tail standing tall and rigid. "Go on home, boy," he asked of his loyal friend. "I don't want you to see this."
Barney raised his head and howled at the faint promise of a full and rising moon.