Night of the Werecat

by R. L. Stine

  Mrs. Bast’s eyes returned to the cat. “Stop that,” she ordered.

  The cat broke free. It leaped from the table, scattering bottles and jars. Wendy’s hands reached out to keep the bottles from smashing to the ground.

  “Shalimar!” Tina cried. “No!” Tina and Mrs. Bast grabbed for the cat at the same time. It ducked out of reach, then bounded to the top of a tall bookcase.

  Wendy glanced up. The cat gazed down at them, then began to wash its face.

  “Wendy!” Tina exclaimed. “It’s not Shalimar. Look—it has one brown eye. Shal’s eyes are both blue.”

  Wendy peered at the cat. Tina was right. The cat looked exactly like Shal except for its eyes.

  “Look what you’ve done,” Mrs. Bast scolded. “Look at this mess.” She began to pick up the bottles and jars that had fallen. Wendy tried to help, but Mrs. Bast stopped her. “Haven’t you done enough already?” she scolded. “I know who you are. You’re the girl who stole the werecat charm.”

  Wendy’s face flushed with embarrassment. Mrs. Bast was right to be angry with her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But I did pay for it. I didn’t really steal it.”

  “Hmmmph,” Mrs. Bast grunted.

  “And I’m here to return it,” Wendy continued. Now, finally, she’d be able to get rid of the necklace. “But I can’t get the clasp open.”

  Mrs. Bast gazed at Wendy for a long moment. Wendy wondered what the old woman was thinking.

  Mrs. Bast shook her head. “Sorry. But you’ll never get that charm off. Never.”

  17

  Wendy stared at Mrs. Bast, horrified. “Did you say—did you say I’ll never get this charm off?” she repeated. Her voice shook.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Bast said firmly. “It will never open.” She paused, then leaned very close to Wendy. “Unless you find the secret clasp.”

  Wendy blinked. “The secret . . .” Wendy wasn’t sure she had heard correctly.

  “It’s very cleverly hidden,” Mrs. Bast explained. “Come over to the mirror. I’ll show you.”

  Dazed, Wendy followed the old woman to a large dusty mirror hanging on the wall. She stood silently as Mrs. Bast pulled the clasp to the front. “Now, you see this?” Mrs. Bast asked. Wendy nodded. “It looks like a regular clasp. It looks like all you have to do is unhook it. But . . .” Mrs. Bast’s eyes twinkled. “Instead you have to turn it clockwise, then pull it through the cat charm. Like this.”

  With nimble fingers Mrs. Bast released the catch. The necklace opened. Wendy was free!

  “No wonder we couldn’t get it off,” Tina said.

  A wave of relief swept over Wendy. It was over. The charm was off. She would never be a werecat again!

  “Oh, Mrs. Bast, thank you! Thank you so much!” she cried.

  “You shouldn’t have taken the necklace,” Mrs. Bast said sternly.

  “I know.” Wendy hung her head, ashamed. “I know I should never have done it. But I wanted it so badly. It was as if I couldn’t help myself.”

  Mrs. Bast nodded. “I feel the same way about the charm. I never meant to sell it. It’s from my personal collection. I don’t even know how it wound up in the five-dollar tray.”

  “Please, take it back!” Wendy said. “And keep the five dollars, too.”

  Mrs. Bast smiled, then slipped the charm into her pocket. Wendy wondered if the old woman knew about the power the charm had. Well, she figured, if Mrs. Bast really is a witch, maybe she doesn’t mind turning into a werecat every night.

  Three nights had been enough for Wendy!

  “Now, explain yourselves,” Mrs. Bast demanded. “Why were you two girls following me?”

  “We thought you had my cat, Shalimar,” Tina explained. “We saw you pick him up in the alley.”

  “Or we thought we did,” Wendy added.

  “Don’t you know all Siamese cats resemble one another?” Mrs. Bast said. She glanced up at the cat still perched on top of the bookcase. “Meet Magnolia,” she told the girls, waving at the cat. “One of my regular clients.”

  “One of your . . . whats?” Wendy asked. What was Mrs. Bast talking about?

  “Clients,” Mrs. Bast repeated. “I’m a cat groomer. Didn’t you know?”

  “How would we know?” Tina asked.

  “I just assumed girls who are so interested in cats would have heard of me,” Mrs. Bast said indignantly. “I use my house as a grooming parlor.”

  Wendy tried to understand what Mrs. Bast was saying. Could it be true? Could Mrs. Bast be an ordinary woman, and not a witch after all?

  “Why were you sprinkling powder on the cat?” Wendy asked.

  “Why, to clean her coat,” Mrs. Bast replied. “If you sprinkle a little cornstarch on a cat, it will absorb dirt. A free grooming tip.” She winked at Wendy.

  Wendy almost laughed out loud. She’d been so silly! Thinking Mrs. Bast was a witch! It was because of that stupid charm. But the werecat nightmare was over.

  “Thanks again, Mrs. Bast,” she said cheerfully. “And we’ll tell all our friends what a great cat groomer you are!”

  Wendy skipped out of Mrs. Bast’s yard. Tina followed slowly. She stared down at the ground.

  “Tina, what’s wrong?” Wendy asked. Then she realized—Shalimar! Wendy was so thrilled about getting rid of the werecat charm that she had forgotten about the missing cat. Tina must feel terrible, Wendy thought. They still hadn’t found Shalimar, and they had lost his trail completely.

  “Come on,” Wendy declared. “Let’s keep looking.”

  They retraced their steps back to Tina’s house, calling his name, searching the alleys. No luck.

  When they entered Tina’s backyard, Wendy could see Tina fighting back tears. “What if we never find him?” Tina asked sadly.

  But Wendy was too relieved and happy to believe anything bad could happen to Shalimar. “Don’t even think that!” she scolded her friend. “We’ll put up posters, we’ll call the animal shelter, we’ll—”

  Tina interrupted her. “Look!” she cried. She pointed to her back steps.

  There he was. Sleeping peacefully.

  “Shal!” Tina raced over to her pet. “Oh, Shal, are you all right?” She hugged him tightly to her. He gave a little mew and a sleepy yawn.

  “Okay, Shal, into the house,” Wendy called. She opened the kitchen door. At the sound of Wendy’s voice, the Siamese wriggled out of Tina’s arms and streaked into the house. He raced down into the basement.

  “Whoa!” Tina exclaimed. “I never saw him go into the basement on purpose before.”

  “He’s never been outside before,” Wendy reminded her. “He’s probably still scared.”

  And I know just how he feels, Wendy thought. It can be scary being a cat!

  She smiled. That was all behind her now.

  * * *

  That night Wendy sat at her desk working on her homework. But her mind wandered, thinking over the strange events of the past week.

  So werecats really exist, she thought. It wasn’t just a story.

  Now that it was over, she could admit how much she enjoyed being a cat. There were many scary things about life as a werecat, but she was glad it happened.

  She loved being able to see in the dark. Her cat senses made everything exciting. The prowling, the roaming—it was all thrilling. She especially loved her cat confidence.

  But she hated feeling out of control. Each time she transformed she became wilder.

  And the black werecat! It almost killed her. It probably would have, the next time.

  But there wasn’t going to be a next time.

  Wendy got up and gazed out the window. The full moon was rising high above the old tree in her yard.

  Full moon. Mrs. Bast said the werecat was wildest at the full moon. And, Wendy remembered, once the werecat experienced the first full moon, the human and the werecat are completely blended. There is nothing human in the werecat, and the werecat’s instincts come out even during the day.

  Wendy shudd
ered. She was so glad she wouldn’t transform tonight.

  Wendy glanced into the yard. It was a perfect night to prowl. She could almost feel the soft grass beneath her paws, sense the mice scurrying in the bushes . . . .

  No! she ordered herself. Stop thinking like that. It’s over! She sat back at her desk and finished her homework.

  Finally Wendy shut the book. She yawned and stretched. These last few days had been exhausting. She would go to bed early tonight.

  She put on her nightgown, then opened the window to let in the fresh night air. Then she lay down and was soon fast asleep.

  It seemed like only moments later that Wendy awoke. The full moon was high in the sky. Its light streamed in, illuminating the room almost like daylight.

  Why is it so bright? Wendy wondered. She remembered how bright the moon seemed when she had been a werecat. Panic rose in her chest.

  It’s just because the moon is full, she told herself. You aren’t wearing the charm. You won’t transform again.

  She punched her pillow and cradled her head in it. She turned and twisted, trying to find a comfortable position. She couldn’t relax.

  Why am I so restless? Her whole body felt tense, alert. Her arms and legs tingled.

  “No,” she whispered. “It can’t be.”

  Her teeth and hands began to ache. Her skin started to itch.

  “No,” she moaned. “I’m imagining it.”

  She sat up in bed. “I’m not . . .” she whimpered. “I can’t . . . ”

  Shuddering, she stared down at her hands.

  Her fingernails looked unusually long. And curved.

  Wendy couldn’t tear her eyes away. She watched the tawny hair sprout from her hands.

  She wasn’t imagining things.

  And it wasn’t over.

  She was turning into a werecat again.

  18

  “No!” Wendy cried “I won’t let it happen!”

  But the thick fur kept growing.

  I’m dreaming! she thought desperately. I must be. The charm is gone. I’m a normal human girl.

  She leaped off the bed and rushed to the mirror.

  Her eyes turned green. Her ears moved to the top of her head.

  She backed away from the mirror, then raced to the window. She slammed it shut. It’s the moon, she thought. I have to hide from the moonlight. She ducked into her closet, pulling it closed behind her.

  In the tiny space her harsh breathing sounded loud and ragged. She felt her heart hammering. And she felt the transformation taking place.

  There was no way to stop it.

  A moment later Wendy bounded out of the closet. As a werecat.

  She leaped up onto her dresser. Trembling with fear, she once again faced her reflection in the mirror.

  A fierce animal gazed back. A tawny-colored cat with a white star on its forehead.

  NO! NO! NO! screamed in her brain. It wasn’t the charm, Wendy realized. It was her. She was truly a werecat.

  She was terrified of what might happen. What she might do as a werecat. She had so little control. She had destroyed Tina’s couch. She got Shalimar in trouble. She hurt Nancy. She hurt herself.

  And she knew that the black werecat was out there.

  Waiting for her.

  Then I won’t go out! Wendy decided. I will fight my werecat instincts. I will stay safe inside.

  She glanced at the window. It was shut tight. Good, she thought with satisfaction. There was no way she could get out.

  Wendy jumped off the dresser and leaped onto her bed. She curled into a ball on the pillow. She was determined to go to sleep. When I wake up, I’ll be a normal girl again, she told herself. Human.

  But as hard as Wendy tried to keep her eyes shut, she couldn’t. The pull to go out was too strong. Images filled her mind, insects and animals, wonderful scents and places to explore.

  Fight it, she commanded silently.

  She had never felt so restless in her life. Her body actually began to twitch.

  She rose from the pillow and paced the room. She jumped to the floor, up to the dresser, back to the floor. Over and over.

  And with every step the desire to go outside became stronger.

  I’ll just peek out, she thought. That will be enough. I just want to see what’s out there.

  Wendy landed lightly on the windowsill. She peered through the glass.

  The oak tree swayed in the wind. Even though the window was shut, Wendy’s senses were aware of scents on the breeze. She could see insects flitting in the bright light of the full moon.

  Wendy ached to be outside. But she knew she wouldn’t be safe.

  Suddenly her body tensed. A movement caught her attention.

  It was a dark shadow, creeping along the large branch just outside her window.

  A moment later the shadow filled the entire window.

  In the center of the shadow were two glittering yellow eyes.

  19

  The yellow eyes vanished.

  And so did all of the human girl in Wendy.

  Furiously she swiped at the closed window. How dare that werecat come here? To my house!

  It knew she was inside. It had been stalking her.

  Now it was waiting. Waiting for her to come out.

  There was a tiny part of Wendy that knew the black werecat was much stronger than she, much more powerful.

  She didn’t care.

  She was in the grip of the full moon, the wildest time for the werecat. Her tail twitched, the tip flicking back and forth.

  I must get out! I have to protect my territory from the black cat!

  Wendy paced along the windowsill. She nudged her nose along the bottom of the window, searching for a crack, a way out.

  Frustrated, she leaped to the floor. A movement across the room caught her eye. A gnat! She bounded across the floor in pursuit of the insect. But her leap was too wild. She crashed into the dresser.

  She landed, shook herself, and gazed around the room, searching for the gnat. She sensed it above her. Wendy jumped up onto the dresser. She glanced around—and saw another cat!

  Wendy’s fur puffed out. Her back arched. The cat had sandy-colored fur like her. And had a white star on its forehead. Wendy hissed and spit at the strange cat.

  The other cat arched and hissed back.

  How did the cat get into her room? Wendy had to fight it. Drive it away. She lunged at it, her claws and fangs ready to rip it apart.

  SKRREEEKKK!

  Her claws scraped against something hard and smooth.

  Wendy stepped back.

  The brown cat retreated.

  Wendy opened her mouth in a challenging cry.

  The other cat’s mouth opened, too.

  Wendy stared at the intruder. Then she sat down and curled her tail around her legs. The other cat did the same. And now she realized that the other cat wasn’t real. It was her reflection, gazing back at her from the mirror.

  She was shocked by how wild she had become.

  The full moon. The challenging black werecat. Even her own reflection. They all made her werecat instincts stronger.

  She wanted to roam, to stalk, to—

  “Moooowwwrrr!” A distant cry from outside pricked Wendy’s ears. She recognized the voice of the black werecat. It was calling her. Calling her to battle.

  She had no choice.

  Trembling all over, Wendy leaped onto her bed. She crouched, getting ready. With a piercing yowl, she sprang into the air.

  Straight toward the window.

  The closed window.

  20

  CRAASSHHH!

  Wendy’s body flew through the air. The window shattered. Glass flew everywhere, sparkling in the moonlight.

  Wendy easily twisted in the air.

  WHUMP! She landed on her feet on the grass below the tree. She shook herself to get rid of the shards of glass. Then she licked her shiny fur.

  She was fine. Not a scratch on her.

  And she was out! />
  But where was the black werecat? It had been calling to her. Calling her to fight.

  Now there was no sign of it.

  Maybe it had been scared away when she crashed through the window.

  Good, Wendy thought with satisfaction. This is my yard. My territory. She flattened her ears against her head and yowled. Mine!

  It was already late. The moon was nearly setting.

  But there was still plenty of time to prowl. Time to hunt. Time to find the black werecat.

  She had to settle things with the other werecat. Had to show it whose territory this was.

  Wendy sniffed the ground, searching for the scent of the other cat. Even though the moon was low, her sharp eyes revealed everything in the yard. Insects crawled through the grass. A moth fluttered against the porch. A gopher snake hunted beneath the white rosebush. But nothing would distract her from her mission.

  To find the black werecat.

  Wendy jumped onto the back wall. She stalked from one end to the other, searching, searching.

  But there was no sign of her prey.

  Had the black cat run away? Was it afraid of her?

  Wendy puffed out in pride. She would teach the werecat a lesson. She would find it and teach it to stay away from her home.

  Wendy lifted her nose into the breeze.

  There it was. The faint, familiar scent.

  Wendy’s fur bristled. She leaped down into the alley. Crouching low to the ground, she streaked along, moving quickly, stealthily toward the scent.

  As the scent became stronger, Wendy knew she was getting closer. She noticed something strange about the scent, something different. It was definitely the black werecat. But it somehow smelled . . . bigger? Stronger.

  How could that be? Wendy wondered. But she couldn’t think about that. All that mattered was challenging the black cat.

  Wendy continued to follow the scent. It led her down to the end of the alley.

  The scent was much stronger here. The scent of the black werecat and . . . something else.

  But what?

  Wendy held perfectly still, sniffing, listening. She picked up the sound of movement just around the corner.