Wtf

by Greg Krojac

  The police car skidded to a halt on her driveway as Arnold galloped off into the distance. Two officers leapt out of the vehicle and sprinted into the house. Immediately one of them sprinted out again and threw up over Adrienne’s prized black rose bush. Once his stomach was empty he joined his partner back at the bedroom.

  “Sorry about that, Sid.”

  Sid had seen it all before.

  “Don’t worry, mate. You did the right thing, not contaminating the crime scene.”

  PC Nick Grobbler was still embarrassed.

  “Should we go in?”

  “Nah. We’ll stay here until the SOCO boys and girls get here. There’s nothing we can do except keep the place secure. I mean, she’s dead. She’s not going anywhere. Other officers will look for the bastard who did this.”

  Nick didn’t want to look at the scene anymore. It looked like a madman had gone crazy with a chainsaw in an abattoir. Blood and guts were strewn about everywhere and Adrienne was hardly recognisable as a human being. Sid took a plastic bag from his pocket and handed it to Nick.

  “Just in case you want to barf again.”

  Nick was grateful for the bag – he wasn’t convinced that he could keep down what was left in his stomach – and was relieved when he saw two figures in Tyvek suits coming up the stairs. The leading figure, a bespectacled man in his early sixties, nodded a greeting to the two police officers.

  “Another animal killing, officers?”

  “Too early to say, Dennis. I mean, it looks like it, yeah, but that’s for you to say, isn’t it?”

  Nick cut in.

  “We did see a big dog, like a wolf, running away from the house.”

  Dennis slipped his hands into a pair of latex powder-free gloves, grateful that he no longer had to dust the gloves first before putting them on. Technology was a wonderful thing. He stepped over the threshold of the doorway.

  “Come on, Miss Winch. We have work to do.”

  Susan followed her mentor into the bedroom, taking care not to disturb anything. A third figure, a forensic photographer followed them. Dennis clasped his hands behind his back.

  “So Miss Winch, tell me what you see.”

  This was going to be a particularly difficult experience for the trainee. She knew whose house she was in. She’d known the victim. Adrienne was her friend.

  “The room is approximately 5 metres by 4 metres, tastefully decorated in a Gothic style, with purple walls and –“

  Dennis held a finger up.

  “Just the relevant facts, Miss Winch.”

  Susan looked down at the floor briefly.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  She tried again.

  “The room is approximately 5 metres by 4 metres, which will be confirmed by a laser measuring tool.”

  “Good. And the perimeter has already been assigned as the boundary of the property. Step two?”

  “Establish security. The tape is already in place and police officers assigned to guard the perimeter.”

  “Step three?”

  “Step three is umm…”

  “Determine the type of crime that has occurred.”

  “Of course, sir. Homicide.”

  Nick, who was still at the door, although looking anywhere but into the room, nudged his partner.

  “You think?”

  Susan continued with her checklist.

  “Identify any threats to the evidence. Inside the house, none. In the garden, yes. The weather. It could rain or even snow. There’s a team processing the exterior as we speak.”

  Adhering rigidly to procedure was probably the best thing for Susan right now. She reported her observations to her superior in a methodical and objective manner although inside she was in turmoil. To Dennis, the victim was a female Caucasian, in her mid-twenties, of average build. Her wounds consisted of numerous bite-marks to the head, neck, and torso, removal of the long intestine, and a severed spinal cord (which would be recorded as the cause of death). To Susan, the victim was a dear friend, a young woman who enjoyed life and knew how to have fun, a young woman who didn’t judge but accepted people for who they were, a young woman who didn’t deserve to have had her life cut short in such a horrible and obscene way.

  Finishing up his evaluation, Dennis handed Adrienne’s mobile phone to the detective who had been assigned control of the case.

  “She took a photo of her killer.”

  Detective Sergeant Nigel Dunstable opened the picture gallery and saw a photo of an emaciated – no, partly decomposed – wolf with different coloured eyes and a ring of industrial staples around one of its legs.

  19

  Trevor and Tracey hadn’t been able to even get close to Adrienne’s house, but the flashing blue lights they saw in the distance told them all that they needed to know. They were too late.

  Tracey slammed the door in Trevor’s face as she stormed into the house, forcing him to use his own keys to get into the building. She’d stonewalled him for the rest of the car journey and was in no mood to speak to him now. But she had to.

  “You know what, Trevor? What I’m really pissed off about is that you kept this big secret from me. You don’t think I deserved to know the truth? You don’t think I deserved to know that my deceased mother-in-law was a werewolf? Imagine if we’d had kids – would they have been vampire-werewolf hybrids? They could’ve been.”

  Trevor tried to say something, but his wife was in full rant mode.

  “And you had this, this abomination living in our house. He could have ripped our throats out at any time.”

  Trevor tried to defend himself.

  “That’s not strictly true, Tracey, he’s only a danger at full moon.”

  “Oh, so because he only transforms at full moon, that’s alright then is it?”

  Trevor tried frantically to think of something that might diffuse the situation.

  “No. Of course not. But it means he’s more manageable.”

  “Manageable? Bloody manageable? That must make Adrienne feel much better, mustn’t it? Oh…wait. Adrienne’s dead isn’t she? Ripped to shreds by your bloody friend!”

  “He’s your friend too.”

  “You bit him. You brought him home. And YOU kept it secret that he wasn’t just a zombie-vampire hybrid.”

  “To be fair. I wasn’t sure.”

  Tracey needed to punch something. She wanted to punch Trevor but she wasn’t finished with him yet.

  “When were you sure then? When local pets were mutilated? When that poor boy, Ronnie Whatsisname was killed? Or now that our friend Adrienne is dead.”

  “I started to think it may be him when Ronnie Williams was killed, yes.”

  Tracey was livid.

  “Why the hell didn’t you say anything then?”

  “I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s been nothing but a perfect guest since he’s been here.”

  “Benefit of the bloody doubt?”

  “Look, Tracey. You know that werewolves can’t control their actions when they transform. They’re like rabid animals. They’re in another world, a world of confusion, where nothing makes sense and reality is suspended.”

  “No, I don’t, Trevor. I’ve never dealt with werewolves before. My mum was normal. I didn’t even think they were a real thing until now. Not like you, whose bloody mother was one.”

  She turned away from her husband.

  “I don’t want anything to do with you right now. I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t even want to see your face. I need space.”

  The couple had never fought like this before. Trevor tried to placate his wife.

  “But –“

  “I said. I don’t want to speak to you. I don’t care where you go, but I don’t want you in this house tonight.”

  Trevor didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. She was right. If he had said something as soon as he suspected, Adrienne would probably still be alive. He closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

  Tracey’s face was etc
hed with tears of both anger and sorrow. She went into Arnold’s room and looked around. She’d expected it to have been in a mess, trashed during Arnold’s transformation into a wolf, but everything was neat and tidy, with his clothes neatly folded on the bed.

  She was alone but spoke out loud.

  “What kind of werewolf folds his clothes before going out on a killing spree?”

  20

  Trevor drove around aimlessly for a while, with no destination in mind. He wanted to go home and sort things out with his wife, but he didn’t see how they could get past this one. Not so soon, anyway.

  The sun was just peeking over the horizon when he realised that he was near Silvestre Woods, where Ronnie Williams’s body had been found. Arnold would soon be turning back into a human – at least a humanlike creature – if he hadn’t already. Maybe he’d gone into the woods.

  Trevor parked his car in the small gravel parking area and made his way through the trees in the direction of the Great Oak. The scene had long since been released back into the public domain and nothing visible remained that could betray the horror that had taken place – just an ambience of foreboding.

  He stood and looked at the tree, silhouetted in the multi-hued sky of sunrise, and heard someone moving on the other side of the tree trunk. He rounded the tree and saw his friend, curled up in a ball, naked as the day he was born. Arnold had been trying to cry. He looked up at Trevor with despair in his eye.

  “I think I’ve done something terrible. I don’t know what – it’s just a feeling – but it’s a feeling that’s very real.”

  Trevor didn’t know what to say. Arnold had done something terrible – he’d killed two people – but how do you tell someone they’re a murderer when they have no recollection of killing anyone? Trevor took off his jacket and handed it to Arnold who put it on and stood up. Luckily Trevor was a good six inches taller than Arnold, so the jacket just about preserved his modesty.

  “What have I done, Trev? I woke up in these woods, covered in blood. And it’s not my blood.”

  Trevor was going to have to tell him. He had no choice. But it wouldn’t be easy.

  “You’d better sit back down, mate. And take a couple of deep breaths – it’s not a pretty story.”

  Arnold sat down again.

  “I don’t breathe, Trev. You know that.”

  Trevor needed to compose himself before delivering the bad news.

  “Arnold. Have you blacked out before?”

  “A couple of times, yes.”

  “Did you notice anything in common about the blackouts? Like when they happened?”

  “No. Well, yes. They do seem to be when there’s a lot of moonlight.”

  “When there’s a full moon.”

  “Maybe. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

  Trevor felt only sorrow for his friend. He really had no idea what he was or what he had done.

  “There’s no delicate way to say this, Arnold, so I’m just going to come straight out and say it. You’re a werewolf.”

  Arnold looked at his friend in disbelief.

  “What do you mean, I’m a werewolf? I’m a zombie-vampire, not a werewolf.”

  “I’m not joking, Arnold. You really are a werewolf.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  Arnold sunk his head in his hands.

  “You mean that during these blackouts, I’m a werewolf?”

  “Just the wolf part. Yes. A wolf with heightened strength and super senses.”

  It was a lot for Arnold to take in. He stood up again.

  “We’ve got to warn Adrienne. She could be in danger. She might not want anything more to do with me, but at least she’ll be safe.”

  Trevor closed his eyes. This was going to be difficult to say.

  “It’s too late.”

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s too late, Arnold. You killed her last night.”

  “No. I’d know if I’d killed anyone.”

  “You wouldn’t Arnold. Your mind loses all its humanity when you transform. You can’t speak, you can’t rationalize. You run on pure instinct.”

  Arnold’s face creased up and he let out a howl of pain, ripping off Trevor’s jacket. He stood naked in front of Trevor and pointed at his torso.

  “You mean this is Adrienne’s blood?”

  Trevor nodded. He didn’t have any words that could help Arnold feel better.

  Suddenly Arnold began clawing at the bloodstains on his body, wailing like a banshee. Bloodied scraps of flesh fell to the ground. Trevor couldn’t bear to stand by and do nothing whilst his friend was in such obvious torment. He picked up the fallen jacket, wrapped it around Arnold, and held him tight. Arnold’s shoulders shook uncontrollably. He drew away from his friend,

  “Kill me, Trevor. Kill me now. I don’t want to live.”

  Trevor understood his friend’s request.

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can. Just do it. I want you to.”

  “I mean it’s not that easy. I need special equipment.”

  “Why? Can’t you just cut my head off or something?”

  “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because my father killed a werewolf once.”

  Arnold didn’t need to know that the werewolf that his friend’s father had killed was Trevor’s own mother. He was in enough trouble with Tracey already. Giving Arnold unnecessary information wouldn’t help anybody.

  “But can’t you do it now?”

  “It has to be when you’ve just turned back from the wolf state.”

  “I’ve just turned back from being the wolf now, haven’t I? Why can’t you kill me now?”

  “You’ve been back from the wolf too long already. We have to wait for the next full moon. We have no choice.”

  There was no point in arguing. He’d have to trust that Trevor knew what he was doing.

  “So what now?”

  Trevor sighed.

  “We need to try and persuade Tracey to let us back in the house.”

  “Us?”

  “She’s thrown me out. But, hopefully, if she’ll give me a chance to explain our plan, she’ll relent and let me back in the house – and let you stay until next full moon.”

  “And then you’ll kill me.”

  “And then I’ll kill you.”

  21

  Trevor shouldn’t have felt nervous walking up his own garden path but he’d never seen Tracey in such a bad mood. They’d had disagreements in the past, like all married couples, but nothing on this scale. This would probably be a ten on the Richter scale, topped only if he had cheated on her, though not telling your wife that your mother was a werewolf is pretty bad. He toyed with the idea of using his own key to open the front door but decided against it; she might see it as a dismissive gesture. He rang the doorbell instead.

  The door didn’t open but he knew she’d looked through the spyhole. Her voice didn’t seem any calmer.

  “What do you want? I told you I don’t want to see you – not yet anyway.”

  “I want to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you. Come back in a couple of days and I may consider speaking to you again. No promises though.”

  “I need to talk.”

  “Why?”

  “The situation’s changed.”

  “How? Is it dead?”

  “No. He’s not dead. It’s not that simple.”

  “Why not? Cut its head off. Sorted. What’s not simple about that?”

  “Let me in and I’ll explain.”

  Tracey wasn’t going to fall for that one. She turned and leaned against the inside of the door.

  “You can tell me from there. I can hear you perfectly well.”

  Trevor knew he had no other choice.

  “He can only be killed just after he’s turned back from being a wolf.”

  “So you’re telling me you can’t kill it for another month?”


  “Yes.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  Trevor knew his request was probably going to go down like a lead balloon, but he asked anyway.

  “Can he stay with us? Until it’s time?”

  “Us? There is no us at the moment, Trev. Go live in the woods with your friend.”

  “But he’ll need to feed.”

  “I don’t care. Do you think anyone’s going to let it feed after what it did to Adrienne.”

  “How will they know? I’ve only just told you.”

  “Do you seriously think I’m going to keep this to myself? Our friends have looked after us for decades and I’m not going to betray their trust by not warning them that there’s a werewolf in our midst. It could attack any one of them next.”

  Trevor knew it would be difficult to get a donor for Arnold, but he had to try.

  “If he doesn’t feed with us, he’ll hunt. He won’t be able to help himself. And you know what that means.”

  Tracey knew very well what that would mean. Randomly selected innocents would be preyed upon. She didn’t want that on her conscience.

  “Find someone who’s willing to donate blood to it and I’ll think about letting it in. Just for the month though. If you don’t kill it next full moon, you’ll both be out on your ears – with no coming back.”

  Back in the car, Trevor brought Arnold up to speed. The zombie wasn’t very optimistic.

  “Who’s going to want to donate for me after what I did to Adrienne? Nobody will. And I wouldn’t blame them.”

  “Somebody will, I’m sure. I’ll explain to them what will happen if they don’t.”

  “What will happen if nobody volunteers?”

  “The craving for blood will become unbearable and you’ll go out looking for prey. It’s what we used to do in the old days. You won’t care about what happens to your victims – whether they turn or even die.”

  Arnold’s good eye looked down.