by R. L. Stine
She didn’t answer. But I knew this was my only chance. My chance to learn the truth about me and why I’ve been plagued with these crazy wolf dreams.
I gripped her wrist again. “Marta,” I said, my voice still choked with sleep. “Marta, tell me. Please. Do I have these dreams because of the dog? The dog that bit me in your village when I was five?”
To my surprise, Marta gasped. Her eyes went wide. “Dog?” she said. “Is that what your mother told you? That you were bitten by a dog?”
I nodded. “Yes. She said a dog ran out of the woods and bit me. And I’ve been having these dreams.…”
I glanced over at Sophie’s bed. She was sleeping on her side, eyes closed. Was she really sleeping through this conversation? Or was she pretending to be asleep and eavesdropping on us?
“Your mother never wanted you to know the truth, Emmy,” Marta said, leaning close, her hot breath brushing my face. “She was afraid, Emmy. So she told you a lie.”
I swallowed. My throat was suddenly so dry. “A lie?”
Marta’s eyes flashed. “You were bitten by a wolf, Emmy.”
“Huh?” I gasped. “Not a dog?”
“And it wasn’t an ordinary wolf,” Marta said, lowering her voice to a whisper, leaning even closer so that her cheek was nearly touching mine. “It was an immortal,” she said. “It was—”
“Wait a minute,” I said, grabbing her bonelike wrist again. “Wait a minute. What are you saying?”
“Listen to me. I’ve traveled very far so that you will know the truth. The wolf that bit you was an immortal. A wolf creature most people no longer believe in. But it exists. It exists to all of us who live in the Old Country and know the truth of the world old and new.”
I stared at her, stared at her glowing eyes so deep in their sockets, so dark, unblinking eyes. “Marta … you mean a werewolf?” The words spilled from my mouth. They didn’t seem real. I didn’t even know I was saying them.
Marta nodded. “There are many names.” She slid her hand over mine. Her hand was hard and warm. Mine felt wet and cold. “I don’t blame you for being shocked, dear. You’ve never been told the truth. But don’t blame your mother.”
“I … I don’t understand,” I murmured. “What does this mean?”
Marta shut her eyes. “You are wolfen, Emmy. Listen to my words. You are wolfen.”
I stared at her face in the shadowy light. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. Her words repeated and repeated in my mind.
And in that instant—the most horrifying moment of my life—I realized that I killed Riley.
PART FOUR
28.
After a few silent seconds, Aunt Marta left me sitting up in my bed, paralyzed by my horrifying thoughts. I heard the floorboards in the hall creak as she made her way up the stairs to the guest room. I heard her door close. I heard the wind rush against my bedroom window. I heard the fridge hum in the kitchen downstairs. I heard Sophie’s soft breathing. I heard my heart thumping in my chest.
It was as if every cell in my body had gone on alert. My brain was frozen in the horror of my thoughts, but my whole body throbbed as if an electric current was shooting through me.
I’m an animal. I killed someone. I killed Riley.
Will I kill again?
I can’t control my dreams. Is there any way to control what I do in real life?
The questions were too frightening to think about alone.
I pictured Riley’s shredded body. The glistening red meat underneath the skin that had been shredded in strips like bacon.
I did that. I became an animal and I clawed Riley to pieces.
Suddenly, I was on my feet. I lurched across the room. I grabbed Sophie by the shoulders and shook her. I didn’t mean to be so violent but I was out of my mind.
“Sophie! Sophie!” I screamed her name so loud my throat ached.
Sophie awoke with a startled cry. I felt her back muscles tighten. She whipped around, raised her head, gaped at me with her mouth hanging open. “Emmy? What’s wrong? You scared me to death.”
“Sorry. Oh. Oh no. Sorry,” I said. I took a stumbling step back. “Sophie, you have to listen to me. We have to talk.”
“Huh? It’s the middle of the night, isn’t it?” She squinted at the clock on her bedside table.
“You have to talk to me!” I cried, my voice high and trembling. I dove to the bedroom door and pushed it shut. I made sure it clicked. “Sophie, please—” I said. “I really need you now.”
Those words got through to her. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. She kicked the bedsheet away and stood. “Can we turn on the light? Do we have to talk in the dark?”
“Leave it off,” I said. “I really don’t want to see anything. I want this to be a dark dream, just a dream, and I want to wake up from it and find that everything is normal, and I am normal, and the world is a happy, normal place, and—”
Sophie grabbed me by the shoulders. “Emmy, stop. You’re talking like a crazy person.” Her eyes burned into mine. “Tell me. What is it? What is making you act so weird?”
“M-my dreams, Sophie,” I stammered. “All those dreams. And my weird feelings. I knew … I knew somehow I was different … but … but…”
“Emmy? What’s wrong? What are you trying to say?”
I shook my head. “This is too frightening. It’s so hard.…”
Sophie kept her gaze on me, waiting for me to continue.
I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Marta just told me that I’m a wolf creature,” I choked out. “A wolf creature, Sophie. Do you believe that? Marta said it’s because of the bite I got.”
“You mean when we were kids visiting her village?”
I nodded. “Yes. She said I was bitten by a wolf … not by a dog. So I’m wolfen. Because of the wolf bite. Don’t you see what that means?”
Sophie blinked a few times. Her face was twisted in confusion. “No. I—I’m having trouble with this, Emmy. It’s too much … Too hard to understand. What are you trying to say? What does it mean?”
I took another deep breath. “It means I am the one, the one who ripped Riley apart.” Those are the words that I was about to say.
But I couldn’t bring myself to say them. I didn’t want to believe them. And somehow, I guess I thought, if I didn’t say it to anyone, maybe it wouldn’t be true.
Sophie squeezed my shoulder tenderly. “Emmy? You don’t believe Marta, do you? She’s a crazy old lady filled with fairy tales and old stories. She—”
“I-I think what she said might be true,” I stammered.
Sophie shook her head. “You’re my sister. You’re not a wolf creature. How can you even think it?”
She was trying to calm me down, trying to make me feel better. But in my heart, I knew Marta was right. Marta was telling the truth. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it.
“Sophie,” I whispered, my skin tingling from the cold sweat that covered my body, “you were there with me in Riley’s front yard. We haven’t wanted to talk about it. But you were there with me. Please help me. What did you see? Did you see Riley’s killer?”
Sophie hesitated. She shifted her weight on the bed. “I wasn’t there, Emmy. Don’t you remember?”
“You weren’t there?”
She shook her head. “Don’t you remember? I dropped you off. You said you didn’t want me there. So I dropped you off at the bottom of Riley’s driveway.”
I squinted at her. My mind was spinning. I didn’t remember any of this. I had blanked out or gone into a trance or something.
“Y-you left me there?” I stammered. “And where did you go?”
“I started to drive home,” Sophie said. She shrugged. “I didn’t know what to do. I was totally confused. First, you told me to come with you. Then you said you didn’t want me. I … I was halfway home and then I turned around.”
She straightened the front of her nightshirt. “I decided I couldn’t leave you there. I knew there could be trouble. I knew that Danny and Eddie w
ere going to confront Riley.”
“So you came back?” I asked. I was struggling to make sense of this, struggling to remember any detail of it. But I couldn’t.
“I drove back,” Sophie said. “And when I pulled up to Riley’s house, I saw the flashing red-and-blue lights in the driveway. The Shadyside police. They were already there.”
She sighed. “I ran up the driveway. Riley was dead, and one of the cops was heaving up his guts at the side of the house, and everyone was going crazy, and it was horrible.” Her whole body shuddered.
“Yes. Horrible,” I murmured. You don’t know how horrible, Sophie. You don’t know that your sister is the animal that killed Riley.
And that I can’t help myself. I may kill again.
“I … saw you just standing there, staring at Riley’s body on the hedge,” Sophie said. “I could see you were in shock. I knew I had to take care of you.”
“I see,” I murmured, my mind spinning.
“I forced you to walk away,” Sophie continued. “I had to pull you away. It’s like your brain had shut down. I … I pulled you onto the front stoop. I made you sit down. The police said they wanted to talk to you. So I waited with you there. You … wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t say a word.”
I nodded, swallowing hard. “I don’t really remember,” I muttered.
“You were the first to find the body,” Sophie said. “It had to be a horrible shock.”
“Horrible,” I repeated.
* * *
I couldn’t get back to sleep. How could I, with Marta’s hoarse voice repeating in my ear. “You are wolfen. You are wolfen.” And Sophie’s story of how she found me alone with Riley’s mangled body. Alone in the front yard in some kind of trance.
How could I ever sleep again?
I heard Sophie’s soft breaths across the room. I raised myself and saw that she had the pillow pulled over her head, both arms wrapped around it. Before I realized it, I was on my feet. My bare feet were hot against the cool floorboards.
I stepped into the silver moonlight, washing in through the open window. I was drawn to the moonlight, to the glimmering silver, to its cool beauty. Drawn to its cold light. And without thinking, I was out the window, my bare feet tickled by the dew-wet grass.
And I was running across the backyard, the night wind brushing my face, rustling my hair, fluttering my nightshirt. And then the next yard and the next, my bare feet wet now and covered in grass. I was running toward the moon, hovering so low in the purple night sky, so close … so close … just overhead, just out of reach.
Not a dream. I knew this was real. The wet grass under my feet … the cold night air against my face … all real.
I gasped as something bumped my side.
I heard the thump of running footsteps. And felt another bump. And lowering my eyes from the moon, I saw the dog. Tall and scrawny and gray. It bumped up against me again, then took off, running in zigzags in front of me. A wild-eyed, tailless creature, tongue hanging nearly to the ground from its gaping snout.
I turned and ran toward a thick clump of trees—and saw a second dog. Nearly a twin to the first. Nearly furless, so scrawny I could see its ribs, with the same crazy yellow eyes. Head hung low as it ran beside me, but watching me … watching me.
The two dogs crisscrossed in front of me as I ran along a twisting path under the trees. Darkness then silvery moonlight. And the dogs stayed with me. And suddenly there were four or five of them. A tall black Lab and a dark-furred giant of a dog. Barking now. They were all yipping and barking with the excitement of our run.
“Go away! Go home! Go home!” My voice came out in shrill shudders of fright. “Bad dogs! Go home!”
My cries made them stop. They turned to face me. Their big eyes glowed darkly under the pale moonlight. Their chests heaved as they panted, all staring at me now.
Why were they there? Why were they following me? Because I was one of them?
Yes. They knew it. They knew my secret. They knew I belonged with them. We were a pack. A pack of wild animals, running through the woods.
They formed a circle, bodies arched tightly, heads lowered, tails stiff behind them. The circle grew tighter as they closed in on me. I heard a growl. Then another. They bared their teeth, eyes glowing brighter as if anticipating their attack.
“No—please…” I uttered a sharp cry.
I started to back up. “Please … go away … go home.…”
And then something grabbed my shoulder roughly from behind. I stumbled back. My hands shot into the air, and I let out a scream that shook the trees.
29.
“Sophie … Sophie…” I gasped, my chest heaving, the words escaping in a choked whisper.
She threw one arm around my shoulders and motioned to the dogs with her other hand. “Shoo! Shoo! Go home! Shoo! Bad dogs! Go home!”
They hesitated, gaping at us open-jawed, panting noisily. Then, to my surprise, they turned, turned away from us, broke the circle, and took off into the trees. Heads lowered, they trotted away. They didn’t look back.
“Sophie…” I repeated.
“I followed you,” she said, her arm still around my trembling shoulders. “I followed you, Emmy. I was so … scared.”
I shook my head. I wanted to speak. I wanted to thank her. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Don’t worry, Emmy.” She brought her face close to mine. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret. I promise.”
* * *
I didn’t go to school the next morning. I pretended to have a stomach ache. I needed time alone, time to think. But, of course, there was nothing to think about but how frightened I was.
Dad poked his head in my room and asked if I wanted to see Dr. Harvey. I said no. I had a brief moment where I felt like a little girl. I wanted to rush into Dad’s arms and tell him everything.
Luckily, that impulse didn’t last long. No way he’d believe a crazy story like that. And he wouldn’t be taking me to our family doctor. He’d be rushing me to a psychiatrist’s office.
Maybe I needed one.
I heard footsteps and the clunk of a suitcase down the stairs, and I remembered that Aunt Marta was leaving. Leaving after only two days. Dad was driving her to the airport.
Still in my pajamas, I rushed out of my room and down the hall and wrapped Marta in a hug. She looked surprised to see me still home. Her eyes locked on mine. “Luck be with you, my dear,” she whispered.
Dad carried her bag to the car. I saw him in the driveway, loading it into the trunk.
“Marta,” I whispered. “Please. Tell me. Is there a cure?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Please. Is there? Is there a cure?”
She shook her head no and walked out the door.
30.
After stripping Aunt Marta’s bedsheets and putting them in the wash, Mom went to a meeting at her college. The house was empty. I stayed in bed. Downstairs, the washer whirred quietly through its cycles, the only sound now.
I sat sideways in bed and leaned my back against the wall. Morning sunlight washed over me from the open bedroom window. I hugged myself tightly. I was sitting in the warm shaft of sunlight, but I felt chilled, chilled to the bone.
“I’m wolfen. A wolf creature. A murderer. Can I ever trust myself to leave this room again?”
I asked the question out loud. I bit my bottom lip. Hard. To punish myself? To snap me out of my terrifying thoughts? I don’t know why. I felt the sour, metallic taste of blood on my lips.
Blood. I’m the kind of creature who craves blood.
Maybe I should have gone to school this morning. Maybe I should have risked it. Here alone in my room, I realized I’d soon go totally insane. I’d be jabbering and talking to myself and chewing my fingernails off and biting my lips raw.
I crossed the room to my laptop and went online. I did a Google search for werewolf. I started at Wikipedia, where else? I learned that another word for werewolf is lycanthrope.
/> My hands trembled over the keyboard. “I’m a lycanthrope.”
My heart started to pound. I scrolled through several articles. They all said the lycanthrope was a figure of folklore. A mythical figure. I knew better. This wasn’t cheering me up. I slammed the laptop shut.
My phone rang, startling me. I grabbed it and gazed at the screen. Eddie. Probably worried about me, wondering why I’m not in school. In all my horror, I had forgotten about Eddie. And the briefcase of money. It seemed so unimportant now.
I let it ring. I couldn’t talk to Eddie now. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to see anyone.
I really cared about Eddie. Cared enough about him to worry that I might go out of control again. What if my wolfen powers returned when he was with me? Would I kill Eddie the way I killed Riley, and not remember it at all?
Ohmigod.
All the horror movies Sophie and I had watched together since we were little … Why did I enjoy them so much? Was I drawn to them because I am a creature from a horror movie?
I skipped lunch and took a long nap for most of the afternoon. My sleep was dreamless, as far as I could remember. Sophie had track practice after school, so I had the house to myself till Mom and Dad came home.
Dinner was a blur. I was there at the table with them and I wasn’t there with them. I made an excuse for my silence and my lack of appetite. I said I still wasn’t feeling like myself. A stomach thing, I told them.
Mom felt my forehead for a fever the way she always does. If you tell Mom you hurt your leg, she’ll feel your forehead. It’s her only kind of doctoring.
Mom and Dad discussed what a character Aunt Marta is. They laughed about her weird superstitions and Old World ideas. And how she came all this way for only two days. Crazy. I couldn’t laugh. I knew the old woman wasn’t funny. She had to bring me horrifying news. Not laughs.
I excused myself before everyone was finished. Mom tried to stop me. “I made strawberry shortcake—your favorite.”
“Maybe I’ll have it for breakfast,” I muttered.
I started down the hall to my room when the front doorbell rang. Since I was nearest to the door, I pulled it open. Eddie. His features tight with worry. “How are you feeling? Are you sick? I tried to call.”