Night of the Werecat

by R. L. Stine

  You can do it.

  Wendy forced her hands to relax their grip on the branch. Then slowly, cautiously, she moved first one hand, then the other to the tree trunk.

  Then she eased her body off the branch, slid her feet down, and lowered herself to the branch below.

  This next branch was sturdier, thicker. She felt a tiny bit safer holding on to it.

  But she was still far above the ground. She had to keep going. She couldn’t let herself relax.

  She had more climbing to do.

  Again, she held tightly to the tree trunk and eased down to the next lower branch, and then the one below that. She stopped and took a deep breath.

  She reached out with her legs for the next branch.

  And felt only air.

  Her grip on the tree started to slip.

  Her legs kicked back and forth in panic. Needles pulled at her nightgown. The dizziness returned.

  Her sense of balance and strength vanished.

  “No!” Wendy cried.

  And then her foot struck something solid. Another branch. Carefully, she put her weight on it.

  She leaned into the tree trunk to steady herself. She waited for her heart to go back to beating normally. But she knew she had to continue her descent.

  Branch by branch.

  It was getting easier. The farther down she went, the thicker and stronger the branches. The easier to hold on.

  Wendy glanced down again. The ground was still far away. But she wasn’t dizzy. She wasn’t afraid.

  Wendy stopped to untangle her nightgown from a cluster of needles. I’ll just rest a minute, she thought. Her efforts had exhausted her.

  She leaned against the trunk, pleased with her progress. And thrilled that her fear was gone.

  Then she heard it.

  The sound of wood splitting.

  “No!” Wendy whispered.

  With a loud CRACK! the branch Wendy was perched on split off from the tree.

  “Nooo!” Wendy shrieked again. She scrambled toward the tree trunk and tried to grab on. She wanted to sink her claws into the tree, to keep from falling.

  Her hands scraped on the rough bark. She couldn’t hold on.

  Screaming, Wendy fell.

  14

  Thud! A moment later she landed in the thick grass at the base of the tree.

  Stunned, Wendy lay on the ground. Nothing seemed to be broken. Carefully she sat up. She was scratched, bruised, and sore, but not really hurt. Wendy blinked a few times and shook her head to clear it. No serious damage.

  Wendy stood, shivering in the early dawn. She brushed herself off. Her nightgown was grass-stained and torn.

  Her nightgown?

  Yikes! What if someone sees me? Wendy thought. I have to get home—fast!

  Wendy scurried out of the yard and into the alley. She tried to remember all the twists and turns she had taken when she was running from the black werecat. Luckily, it was very early Sunday morning. She didn’t see another person all the way home. Finally she reached her house. She found the spare key under the flowerpot on the back porch, then quietly unlocked the kitchen door.

  Good! No sign of her parents or Brad. They usually slept late on Sundays.

  She tiptoed upstairs. Her arms and legs were covered with scratches. There was a larger gash on her forearm, where the black werecat had clawed her. After showering, Wendy smeared first-aid cream on her cuts. “I should have taken a bath in this stuff,” she muttered.

  She didn’t know what to do with her torn and grass-stained nightgown, so she hid it in the back of her closet. Then she pulled on her jeans and a black sweatshirt. One of her few outfits that didn’t have a cat on it.

  This is it! Wendy thought. Being a werecat almost killed me! I have to stop it. Somehow!

  She gazed at her reflection in her dresser mirror, glaring at the werecat charm. She tried to open the clasp. Of course, it was still stuck.

  Wendy snuck down to the basement, where her father kept his tool kit. She found a pair of wire clippers. Holding them very carefully, she tried to cut through the chain.

  It didn’t work.

  Wendy flung the wire clippers to the floor, fighting back tears of frustration.

  I need help, she thought. I can’t do it alone.

  But who could help her?

  Tina! Of course. Tina would help her.

  Tina was her best friend. They always told each other everything. And Wendy felt terrible keeping such a big secret from her.

  But would Tina believe her? I’ll find a way to convince her, Wendy decided. Between the two of them, Wendy was sure they would find a solution.

  Wendy felt better just knowing she was finally going to share her problem with Tina. After leaving a note for her parents, Wendy hopped on her bike and pedaled over to Tina’s house. Tina’s mom was already out in the garden, weeding the flower bed. Tina sat on the back porch, glumly staring into space.

  “Hi,” Wendy called. She left the bike in the yard and joined Tina on the porch. “You look upset. What’s wrong?”

  “My parents are still mad at poor Shalimar,” Tina explained. “He’s still locked in the basement.”

  “Because of the ripped couch?” Wendy asked.

  “Yes.” Tina sighed. “I told them he never came into the TV room that night.” She shrugged. “But maybe he did. Maybe he sneaked in while I wasn’t looking.”

  Go ahead, Wendy told herself. Tell Tina who really ripped the couch.

  Wendy fought back her nervousness. “Uh, Tina? Shalimar definitely didn’t rip the couch.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Wendy took a deep breath. Here goes. “Because it was me.”

  Tina stared at Wendy, then burst out laughing. “Anything to get Shal off the hook, right?”

  “I’m serious,” Wendy insisted. She glanced over at Tina’s mom in the nearby flower bed. “Let’s go inside. I have something important to tell you.”

  Still giggling, Tina followed Wendy into the house. “Okay, Wendy,” she said as soon as they were inside. “What’s up? Why are you acting so weird?”

  Wendy wasn’t sure what to say. She pulled the werecat charm out from under her shirt. “I think I know why Mrs. Bast wouldn’t sell this charm to me.”

  “Because she’s a wacko?” Tina joked.

  “Because it’s not just a necklace. It has special powers. And I think Mrs. Bast knew.” She could see Tina was about to say something, but Wendy wouldn’t let her. “Ever since I started to wear this charm,” she continued, “I’ve been turning into a werecat.”

  Wendy took a deep breath. There. She said it. She gazed at Tina, wondering how her best friend would react.

  Tina stared at her without saying a word. Then she exploded in a fit of giggles. “I knew there was something different about you lately,” she gasped between guffaws.

  “Tina!” Wendy cried. “I’m serious. I turn into a werecat at night. I—I’m covered with fur! I prowl the alleys! I—”

  Tina was laughing so hard, she actually doubled over. “Stop it, Wendy! Let me catch my breath.”

  Wendy’s mind raced. She had to make Tina believe her! What could she say to convince her? But Wendy was having trouble concentrating. A noise in the dining room tugged at her attention.

  It was a soft noise, a rustling noise. Wendy recognized it as a bird in a cage. It must be Merribel, the Barnes’s pet bird. Wendy knew the birdcage was in the dining room by the window.

  On the other side of the wall.

  Wendy heard the soft fluttering of the bird’s feathers as it groomed itself. How can I hear that through the wall? she wondered.

  “You nut!” Tina exclaimed, shaking her head. “Wendy the werecat! That’s a good one!”

  “Right,” Wendy murmured. She was barely listening. Her mind was filled with the image of the canary. She began to move toward the dining room.

  The bird continued grooming. The sound of its beak stroking its feathers rang in Wendy’s ears. I have t
o get to the bird, Wendy thought. As if she were controlled by an unseen force, Wendy found herself in the dining room in front of the birdcage.

  The canary sat on a perch. Its beak moved swiftly across its feathers. Wendy carefully opened the cage door. The bird continued to groom.

  It looks so soft, she thought. I’ll just touch it.

  The canary raised its head and gazed at Wendy. Slowly, as slowly as a stalking cat, Wendy slipped her hand into the cage. Her fingers closed around the tiny bird. She brought the bird out of the cage and held it up to her face.

  The bird’s warm scent filled her nostrils. Mmmmmmmmm. Delicious, Wendy thought. Just a taste, she told herself. Just a tiny little taste.

  Wendy opened her mouth.

  Then she stuck out her tongue and gently licked the bird.

  “Wendy!” Tina’s voice shrieked behind her. “What are you doing?”

  15

  Wendy whirled around. Tina stood in the dining room doorway, her eyes wide with shock. “I—I—nothing,” Wendy stammered. “I’m not doing anything!” She glanced down at the canary in her hand. Its tiny heart pounded with terror. It struggled against her grip.

  Tina began laughing again. “Sorry, Wen. Chomping Merribel still won’t convince me that you’re a werecat.” Tina took the terrified bird from Wendy and locked it back in the cage. “Good try, though.”

  Wendy couldn’t say anything. She was too stunned. I was actually going to eat the canary, she realized. Her werecat nature was getting stronger. It was beginning to control her, even during the day. Even in her human form.

  Tina turned and smiled at Wendy. “If werecats really existed,” she said, “you would be a great one. No one loves cats more than you.”

  Wendy sighed. Tina was not going to believe her. Tina wouldn’t be able to help her. Face it, Wendy, she thought sadly. You’re alone. All alone.

  “I can always count on you to be a goof. Thanks for trying to cheer me up,” Tina said. “I feel so bad about Shalimar. Hey, I have an idea,” she continued. “Let’s hang out with Shal in the basement. He’s so lonesome down there.”

  Wendy felt even worse. That’s my fault, too. Shal is being punished because of something I did.

  She gave Tina a weak smile and then followed her down the basement steps.

  “Shalimar!” Tina called. “Here, Shal!” She stopped on the bottom step. “That’s weird,” she said. “Usually I have to stop him from flying out of the basement the second I open the door.”

  Wendy glanced around the room. There was no sign of the Siamese cat. “Here, Shal,” Wendy crooned. “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.”

  “I guess he’s hiding,” Tina figured. “Something must have scared him.”

  The girls poked around the basement, searching behind boxes and under furniture.

  Wendy spotted something beneath an old easy chair. She lay flat on her stomach. “Found him,” Wendy announced. She reached for the cat. “Come on, boy,” she urged.

  Shalimar’s blue eyes glittered at her. He wasn’t moving. “Come on,” she repeated. She stretched her hand toward him.

  Suddenly Shalimar hissed and clawed at her. Wendy recoiled. “He scratched me!” she cried. Shalimar streaked across the basement and bounded up the stairs.

  “He’ll get out!” Tina shouted. “I left the kitchen door open!”

  Forgetting about her scratched hand, Wendy scrambled up the stairs after Tina. Shalimar was a house cat. He never went outside.

  When Wendy rushed into the kitchen, Tina had already cornered Shalimar by the sink. “It’s okay,” Tina said soothingly. The frightened animal’s eyes darted back and forth.

  Then they locked onto Wendy. Instantly he arched his back and hissed again. With a burst of energy he bounded out the kitchen door.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Tina wailed.

  But Wendy was afraid she might know. Mrs. Bast’s words echoed in her head: “Werecats and ordinary cats are mortal enemies.” Shalimar used to love her. But now that Wendy was a werecat, he was terrified of her.

  “Come on!” Tina shouted. “We have to get him back!” The girls raced out of the house. They searched the backyard.

  “There he is!” Wendy cried. Shalimar was perched on top of the backyard fence. As soon as he spotted Wendy, he leaped into the neighboring yard. Tina and Wendy rushed through the gate, calling to the cat. But Shalimar continued to run. He darted across Hill Street and through a large corner yard.

  “He’s headed for Fear Street,” Wendy realized.

  “If we don’t catch him, he’ll get run over!” Tina wailed.

  Shalimar kept running. Wendy and Tina raced after the cat. When Shalimar reached Old Mill, he turned and streaked into another alley. Wendy, out of breath, arrived a moment later.

  But the alley was empty.

  “Where is he?” Tina wailed.

  “Maybe he went into one of the yards,” Wendy suggested. She glanced around the alley, trying to decide which way the cat might have gone. Then she spotted him.

  “Tina,” she whispered, “there he is.” She pointed down the alley. Shalimar perched on top of a garbage can at the far end of the alley. He was licking his right paw.

  “Oh!” Tina exclaimed. “He’s hurt!”

  “Shhh!” Wendy held a finger to her mouth. “We don’t want him to take off again.”

  “Right,” Tina agreed. They nodded at each other, then very slowly, very quietly, crept toward the cat.

  Shalimar continued licking his paw. Tina and Wendy were halfway down the alley when a gate opened. An old woman wearing a dress with a cat on the front tottered into the alley.

  “Look!” Wendy cried in surprise.

  At the same moment Tina said, “It’s Mrs. Bast!”

  The old woman didn’t seem to notice the girls. She strode quickly toward Shalimar. In one swift move she grabbed the cat and thrust him into the basket she was carrying. Then she disappeared around the corner.

  “NO!” Tina shrieked. “She has Shalimar!” The girls sped to the end of the alley. They peered around the corner.

  But Mrs. Bast was gone.

  Tina slumped against Wendy’s shoulder. She looked as if she were about to cry. “She stole him. Shalimar is gone forever.”

  “Don’t worry,” Wendy comforted her friend. “Mrs. Bast can’t have gotten far. We’ll find them. I promise.”

  Tina nodded. She took a shaky breath. “Okay. Which way?”

  “You go that way,” Wendy instructed, “and I’ll go down the other block. We should be able to spot her.” Tina nodded and began to jog down the street.

  Wendy raced to the end of the block. She glanced all around. Bingo! “I found her!” she shouted to Tina. She took off after Mrs. Bast. A moment later Tina caught up with her.

  “What if she won’t give him back?” Tina asked, worried.

  “Let’s follow her. We’ll think of something,” Wendy reassured her.

  And I’ll think of a way to get Mrs. Bast to help me, Wendy thought.

  Wendy felt Tina tug at her sleeve. “What is it?” Wendy asked.

  Tina pointed to a street sign. “Uh, Wendy,” she said nervously. “Look where we are.”

  Wendy glanced up. Fear Street. They were now following Mrs. Bast down Fear Street.

  Fear Street wasn’t like the other streets in Shadyside. It always seemed colder, darker. Enormous trees lined both sides of the street. Wendy shuddered. Those branches look ready to grab us, she thought. Strange shadows danced along the ground.

  Figures, she thought. Of course this is where Mrs. Bast would lead them. Nothing had been normal since Wendy met the old woman.

  “She lives here,” Tina whispered. Wendy watched Mrs. Bast disappear inside a small shabby house.

  Still carrying the cat in the basket.

  “Come on,” Wendy said. “Let’s find out what she’s up to.” She gestured for Tina to follow her.

  Wendy tried to quiet her pounding heart as she sneaked up to the house. She craw
led across the porch and crouched below the window. Tina knelt beside her. Keeping her head low, Wendy peered through the dirty panes.

  The room was dark and gloomy. Wendy spied an old purple sofa with the stuffing falling out and a large dining room table. As the girls watched, Mrs. Bast placed the basket in the center of the table.

  “What’s she going to do to Shalimar?” Tina wondered, her voice shaking.

  “Don’t worry,” Wendy assured her. “We won’t let anything bad happen to him.”

  Wendy gazed through the glass. Mrs. Bast stood over the basket. Wendy could see that Mrs. Bast was talking to herself but couldn’t hear the words. The basket began to shake.

  Mrs. Bast reached into a box on the table and pulled out jars and bottles. She lined them up by the basket, continuing to mutter. Then she lifted the lid of the basket, pulled Shalimar out, and set him on the table.

  Holding the cat with one hand, Mrs. Bast picked up a large bottle with the other. She sprinkled white powder on the cat. Her lips moved rapidly the whole time.

  Wendy sank back on her heels. A chill ran down her spine. Of course! It all makes sense, she realized with horror. Mrs. Bast is a witch!

  The pieces fit together. The werecat charm. Wendy’s transformation. The house on Fear Street.

  The bottles must be filled with potions. Mrs. Bast must be putting a spell on Shalimar!

  A loud yowl from inside the house interrupted Wendy’s thoughts.

  “She’s torturing him!” Tina cried.

  “We’ve got to stop her!” Wendy yelled.

  The girls scrambled to their feet. Wendy yanked the door open and rushed inside. She had to save Shalimar!

  “You let go of him!” she shouted at Mrs. Bast.

  “Shalimar!” Tina called.

  Mrs. Bast glanced up from the table. Her eyes were wide with surprise. Then they narrowed. She raised a long bony finger and pointed straight at Wendy.

  “You!” Mrs. Bast growled.

  16

  “You!” Mrs. Bast repeated. “It’s you!”

  “Mrs. Bast,” Wendy began. But she didn’t know what to say.

  Shalimar howled even louder. He struggled in Mrs. Bast’s grip, twisting his body in an effort to escape.