by R A Watt
“Let me out!” I screamed as I battered the wood with my fists.
Jermaine, Kevin, and Sybil. They were in danger; they couldn't be near Bruno while he was in this state.
“Open it now!” I howled again, kicking at the door. I could be there in minutes. Save them.
The power I had brought a smirk to my face as I flexed my arms and hind legs, feeling like I could easily leap up onto the roof of a house.
Hunger stung me deep inside.
I needed food. Meat.
Another change was coming—the next wave. It felt good. It felt natural.
But somewhere deep within, a voice told me to control it, to stay. Shaking my head, I walked around the room, trying to think, to remain thinking. Remember Suzanne, I thought.
“Suze?” I called out. I wasn’t convinced my voice was working; it didn’t sound right.
It was quiet.
Hunger pangs struck again, then anger at how much it hurt. Why was there no food here?
I ran to the door and slammed it with my shoulder. It shook but held.
Another wave of spasms began. That familiar blackness was coming from the core of my being, making its way outward, and I fell to the ground and let it have its way for round two.
Pain flooded my body once more, and I could hear the internal cracks and crunches of bones shifting as my body thrashed on the floor.
Finally, it stopped. My eyes opened as I leapt to my feet, but on all fours this time. The smell of another was here, in this room. Running around frantically, I sniffed the corners and found it all over. Concealed, but there. The smell of another, similar to me. Belonging to me. Or rather, I belonged to it.
The smell’s source was close, like it was floating up near me, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. Then it hit me.
Grandpa.
He had been here. The scent was old, but I knew it to be him. These thoughts brought peace to my muddled mind, closer to the light, and away from the calling darkness as I continued sniffing every inch of the room, my four feet effortlessly trotting around. The full wolf form had taken over.
Suzanne? I could smell her. She was close, but not in here. She was near the door, right on the other side, her presence overwhelming. Her fear—it was radiating through the door. What was happening to her? Why was she afraid? I growled in anger, but couldn’t form the words let me out.
Darkness called again, primal needs and hungers pulling at me. Like treading water in a whirlpool when you know that peace is just letting go and ceasing the struggle.
A voice inside said not to let go; but it was more natural to give in. I finally did.
And to be honest, it felt so good.
Chapter 31
There was knocking in the distance. Far away.
It was persistent. And either it was getting louder or I was getting closer to the source. Doing my best to focus on the sound, I followed it in my darkness, and eventually opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor of the safe room, and someone was knocking on the door, calling out my name.
I grabbed my ripped up shorts and put them on as best I could for modesty. “Hello?”
My body was sweating, and my need for food overwhelming. I called out again, “Suze? Mrs. Leclair?” Scraps of sleeping bag and pillow were strewn all over the room, white fluff everywhere.
Latches were clanking behind the door, and then it slowly opened up. Mrs. Leclair’s head peeked around the door until our eyes met. She smiled. “Good morning.”
“Err, hi,” I said, momentarily confused, my mind zeroing in on the smell of bacon, eggs, and chocolate croissants wafting through the open door. “Do you have food?”
She came in farther, and waved me out the door and upstairs. The most delicious scents were flooding my senses, and I realized I was beyond shaky-hungry. There were so many questions about last night, but food was my most immediate concern.
Suzanne stood at the top of the stairs and eyed me as I skipped up. She was quiet then looked away.
“Hey,” I said, reaching the top step. “How . . . how did it go last night? Where are the other three?”
Her lips pursed, then she whispered, “They’re sleeping in the living room.”
Brushing past Suzanne, I sat down at the kitchen table, feeling relieved, and happier to see a big breakfast prepared than I’d ever been before. “May I?” I asked, looking at Mrs. Leclair who was just reaching the top of the stairs.
She nodded. “Of course, dear.”
Grabbing the tongs, I heaped what seemed like a pound of greasy bacon onto my plate, then stuffed a wad of it in my mouth as I pushed a pile of eggs beside the bacon. Croissants, fruit, and about a gallon of water as well. My body craved the water like I was a parched desert.
Suzanne sat opposite, watching as I ate with a strange, almost nervous look in her eye.
“What?” I asked through a mouthful of egg.
She shrugged, and checked her phone unnecessarily.
Mrs. Leclair shuffled about, putting more eggs on the skillet. The clock on the wall read seven fifteen in the morning.
“So? What happened?” I finally had enough air to ask; the food satiated my hunger.
“What do you remember?” Suzanne asked.
I recounted the pain of the change. Then being scared for Jermaine, Kevin, and Sybil. Wanting to be let out, but nobody would listen. Then me changing again—further. Smelling things . . . smelling Grandpa. Smelling Suzanne. Then things went fuzzy.
Suzanne was quiet and listening intently. Mrs. Leclair turned around. “When you did the second change, were you able to hold on? Hold on to being you, once on all fours?”
I couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know; maybe not. I remember trying to, running around, the room was rich in scents. But then it was hard to keep control, to keep present. I think I let go or gave in pretty quickly at that point.”
Mrs. Leclair coughed lightly into the arm of her dress. “I see. Well, it takes practice, but it is good you had the presence of mind to remember to at least try.”
I grinned involuntarily. “Grandpa . . . I could smell him. I knew it was him. It was so clear! Such a strange thing, his scent brought me back so quickly to memories of him.”
Mrs. Leclair smiled. “I’m glad, dear, for your sake. That room has been sanitized—with bleach. I guess it doesn’t totally get erased.”
Suzanne was still quiet. I leaned over and grabbed her cool hand in my warm palm, not something I normally did. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. It was, just a little more than I expected. Everything. I feel a little uneasy, I guess.”
“Everything?” I asked.
She grimaced and looked away, unable to meet my eye. “You, your change. It was . . . scary. Not natural. You sounded like a caged grizzly trying to escape. I was afraid the door would come off. Then the other three came back, and . . . they had a similar story. It was a lot to digest in one night.”
“Really?”
Suzanne pulled out her phone and showed it to me. I pressed the play button on the screen, and a video started. In Mrs. Leclair’s basement, the phone faced the stairs but then swung around and focused on the heavy door of the safe room. The door kept shaking in its hinges, the whole wall almost trembling. A guttural but muffled roar came from the other side. The sound of Suzanne’s cries could be heard as the phone dropped to the floor and the video stopped.
I flicked sideways in her camera roll but there were no more videos. “Was that . . . me?”
They both nodded. Suzanne put her head down. “It was so scary. It . . . it wasn’t you. There was this anger, this raw animal fierceness. I was tempted to open the door, thinking it couldn’t be you, that you were in danger from whatever was inside,” she looked up, tears welling.
“But deep down, I knew it was you. I couldn’t listen anymore, and I ran upstairs and sat outside. Even from out there, I could hear the distant growls. It was horrible,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
I reached out to
grab her hand again, but she pulled back and put them under the table.
“I’m sorry, Suze.”
Peripheral movement caught my eye. Sybil was standing at the doorway to the living room. Her hair was all wild and disheveled. Behind her, Jermaine and Kevin peeked around, looking uncomfortable as they made their way into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Wolfie,” Sybil said with a chuckle as she slapped my back.
I smiled, happy to have the mood lifted a little. “Hey guys. How did it go on your end?”
Kevin sat down beside Suzanne at the round kitchen table, and Jermaine sat next to me. Kevin reached out for some orange juice. “Not good, bro. Not good. That guy is full on werewolf. Unstoppable.”
Deep down, I already knew it. “Everything okay though?” I asked.
Jermaine picked at some bacon on his plate. “Well, define ‘okay’.”
“Like, did you guys get the video?”
They all nodded.
“Can I see it?”
They shook their heads.
Sybil clasped her hands in front of her, elbows on the table. “So, we got there. His parents were in the house, and Bruno was out in that guest house-cabin thing. We snuck up and saw him in the window. He was doing something on his phone. It was quiet for a while. We were almost ready to give up, quit the wild goose chase. Then Bruno . . . he arched his back, like he was in pain all of a sudden. He let out a moaning cry, then jumped up on a chair between spasms and put his phone in the rafters for some reason.
“After it seemed to subside, he opened the door to the cabin, but went back to the center of the room.” Sybil shook her head, then mimicked throwing up. “There are multiple images I never want to remember about last night, and the next is one of them. Bruno stripped naked and threw his clothes in the corner. I had my phone ready, and even though that was not something I’d ever want on video, I started to record anyway. After that, things got very ugly.”
Jermaine had a grave look on his face as he nodded in agreement.
“Bruno fell to the floor,” she continued. “And he started to change. Hair sprouting everywhere, legs bending at unnatural angles, feet expanding. His skull . . . it reshaped itself, so his jaw was sticking out. It was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. A hundred times worse than any horror movie.” For the first time since I’d known her, Sybil actually looked shaken. Her ivory skin got even whiter at the memory.
“I . . . I was still holding the phone up, and Jermaine remembered to get his phone for some still photos. We thought one or two with his, and my video, and then we’d run. Only when Jermaine took a picture, the auto-flash was on and reflected brightly in the window. The Bruno-wolf thing’s head snapped up and looked out. He growled something guttural, but he was still twisting on the floor.”
Sybil looked at Jermaine, her eyes squinted in anger.
Jermaine shrugged knowingly. “I said I was sorry.”
“What happened?” I asked, eager to hear the next part.
“Well, Twinkle Toes here spun around in fear of being spotted and knocked the phone out of my hands. It flew into the dark and both of these guys ran like a couple of gazelles and left me by myself. The phone was missing—I couldn’t see it anywhere in the dark—and Bruno was howling by then. So I gave up looking and ran after them,” Sybil said.
Kevin held his hands up. “Teavan. You gotta understand,” he said, looking at me. “He was coming for us, like, for real. We had to go. It was going down.”
I had no doubt he would have come for them with no mercy or control.
“We ran,” Sybil continued. “And they shrieked so loud I knew Bruno would have no trouble tracking us. But it turned out to be a good thing, I guess. Bruno came out maybe thirty seconds later, and we could hear him running . . . fast. He was barking and growling, and we ran past the main house toward the road where our bikes were stashed. So much for him taking twenty minutes to transform. It was closer to two minutes. Maybe one.”
They all shuddered at the memory and shifted in their seats.
“Anyway, Sheriff Vincent must have heard all the screaming and ran outside. He came out with a gun and fired off a few shots, but we didn’t know if it was at us or at Bruno,” Sybil said. “We just kept running. He hollered for us to stop, that it was safe now. When we looked back the Bruno-wolf had changed direction and gone the opposite way after the gun shots. We didn’t take the chance and were on our bikes and gone in seconds. We saw the sheriff’s squad car a few minutes later driving up and down the roads, but we stayed well hidden until he was gone. Then we high-tailed it back here.”
Mrs. Leclair was shaking her head in disapproval, though it seemed she’d already heard the story from the look on her face.
“What about the gun? The silver bullets?” I asked.
Sybil shook her head. “Still in my backpack. It all happened so fast . . .”
“What about the picture, can I see it?” I asked.
Jermaine shook his head. “It’s just a bright light in a window.”
“And the video?”
“On my phone,” Sybil said with a grunt. “Somewhere near his cabin.”
This time it was my turn to grimace as I took in a deep breath, thinking of the implications. He’d seen them, and Sybil’s phone was there for either Bruno or his dad to find. Neither was good.
We had no video. No pictures. And now Bruno knew that they knew. He’d be forced to clean up loose ends.
And quickly.
Chapter 32
It was next to impossible to concentrate in class that day. Of course, going to school seemed like the dumbest idea of all time, but we’d promised our parents that a Thursday sleepover would not affect Friday classes.
I sat there, oblivious to what the teacher was telling us about the constitution, and went over the previous evening’s events in my mind. What we had to do. What outcomes were possible.
Glancing around, I noticed people whispering about whatever the latest gossip was, something that I wasn’t in the know about. The secrets being passed around about who liked who seemed so ridiculously trivial. Who freakin’ cares.
Later that morning, Sybil was heading outside for break instead of toward the lunch room. I reached out to her shoulder. “Where you going?”
She jumped a little at my touch. “To see Rachel.”
“Can I come?”
She bit on her cheek. “It’s probably best if you don’t. She’s not awake, anyway.”
“Please? Just let me tag along. She’s in this because of me,” I pleaded.
Sybil shrugged. “Suit yourself. But her parents won’t let you see her.”
The community medical center wasn’t far, so we walked. The sky was cloudy, and the air was breezy and cool. I broke the silence. “So were you born here? In the Iz?”
She shook her head. “No. I was born down in L.A., but I moved here when I was seven.”
“To be closer to your family?”
“Sort of. My mom . . . she died. She had cancer. And my dad, well, he hadn’t been around that much up to the point when my mom got sick, so he didn’t really know what to do with me. My mom’s sister and the rest of the family lived here. My dad thought if we moved, at least I would be close to family, and maybe he’d have some help raising me.”
I felt kinda bad and didn’t know what to say. “Oh, sorry to hear that.”
She continued, “So, my aunt and the family spent a lot of time with me, and I was over there a lot. Rachel and I got real close, like sisters, I guess. And her mom became like a mom to me.”
“That sucks about your mom,” I said, looking down at the sidewalk as we strolled along.
“Yeah, that’s my heartbreaking story. Now the person I’m closest with is in a coma-like state,” she said.
Walking slowly as we approached the medical center, I kicked a pebble off the sidewalk onto the street. “I’m not sure what’s worse, having your mom die or having your mom leave you.”
“Is that what happe
ned to yours?”
I nodded. “Yeah, she was depressed or something, I guess; she was always moody. She just up and left one day, almost ten years ago. She was weak,” I said, feeling snarky, still angry at her for abandoning us. “What kind of mother leaves her husband and children?”
It was Sybil’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe she had her reasons.”
“Maybe, though what I can’t imagine,” I said. “My dad is weird most of the time, but he’s done his best.”
As we walked up the front steps, Sheriff Vincent came out through the automatic doors, and he tipped his hat to us. “Mr. Laurent, Ms. Hughes. Shouldn’t you be in class?”
Sybil mumbled under her breath, “None of your business.”
“Excuse me?” he turned around, holding his ear out.
“Just on lunch break, sir,” I answered, covering up her comment.
He smiled, looking at me. “You are looking much better today. I hope you are staying out of trouble and have learned a lesson in all of this. I understand Rachel is still unresponsive?”
We both nodded.
The sheriff stood there, looking back and forth at us both. “I don’t suppose either of you knows anything about kids running around my house last night? Or a dog?”
This time we both shook our heads quickly in unison.
“Be sure and let me know if you hear anything at school, please? Someone was sneaking around, but no damage was done,” he said, as we started into the medical center.
“Yes, sir,” I answered. “We will keep an ear out.”
“You do that, Mr. Laurent,” he said as he turned and walked down the steps.
I wasn’t sure about Sybil, but my heart was beating fast. Did he think it was us? Did he know?
I hated hospitals. And the smells inside seemed extra strong now with my newer . . . senses. And that eerie quietness. It was never like it was in the movies, the halls bustling with people and action. At least this one wasn’t. It smelled like death and old people.
Mrs. Denning was inside Rachel’s room, reading a book, when Sybil knocked and opened the door. Mrs. Denning smiled when she saw Sybil, but it turned to a scowl when she saw me behind her. “What’s he doing here?”