The Frenzy

by Francesca Lia Block

  I passed Ravenwood Hall at the edge of campus, a dark gray stone Victorian building with columns in front. The dorm was overgrown with vines and stood behind a wrought-iron gate. This was another reportedly haunted place in our town. It had originally been a mental asylum. There were secret underground passages where the janitor had found used straitjackets, chains and old hypodermic needles after the building had been converted into a dorm. In the fifties a male student had come home late from a dance, heard noises in the hallway and gone out to investigate, leaving all his personal belongings in his room and his bed neatly made. He was never seen or heard from again. There were rumors of satanic cults, sexual torture, murder and supernatural events. Students who lived in the dorm talked about unexplained voices in the hallways and strange lights hovering in the trees around the building. A local woman claimed that many years after, a man matching the student’s description came to her door one snowy night asking for directions. He was not dressed for the weather, seemed disoriented and had blood on his forehead. When she asked him in and offered to help him, he hurried away into the night.

  Corey and Pace and I had gone to explore this building, too. Pace had always said he thought the guy was gay and that he killed himself out of shame or was attacked because of his sexual orientation.

  “Why do you think that?” I had asked him.

  He had shrugged. “In this town gays are the monsters.”

  I rode faster past that building, choking back the tears that had suddenly welled up in my throat.

  The truth was that the town might have been dangerous for gay people—it had been for my Pace, because if he had felt accepted, maybe he wouldn’t have taken his life—and it might be dangerous for monsters like me, but the woods were dangerous for hunters, and the fathers of the kids that had been cruel to me in school.

  I got to the police station, left my bike unchained by the stairs and ran up the marble front steps. Jake Cunningham, the deputy at the desk motioned me toward my dad’s office. I rarely visited him here. He was sitting behind his desk on the phone. He scowled a little when he saw me.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked when he’d hung up.

  “Yes, I just needed to talk to you.”

  I sat down and he waited for me to go on. When I saw him like this, at work, trying to take care of people, serious and sober, it was hard to imagine him hitting me in the face.

  “I was just wondering about that thing we were talking about.”

  “Olivia, I’m working.”

  “I know. I’ve just been kind of freaked out.”

  He leaned back in his chair and patted his belly. He’d gained a little weight lately but you could still see the athlete in his body. “These killings have been going on for years. Why the interest now?”

  I wished I hadn’t come; he looked like he was getting suspicious.

  “I guess I’ve been more nervous about everything since what happened with … Pace.”

  “That’s something to talk to your doctor about, isn’t it?” he said. His voice was kinder than usual. Behind him was a picture of our family. My mom looked beautiful, like a mom in an advertisement, and my dad had his arm firmly around her. I looked okay, almost normal. It had been taken when I was twelve and he’d never replaced it with a newer one.

  “No, it’s all right.” I stood up.

  “Olivia, is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked. “About the murders? Something someone told you? Anything at all?”

  “I just can’t handle another disaster,” I said. “I miss Pace.”

  He nodded and scowled some more. “I know.”

  “I have to go.” I stopped at the door and turned back to him. “That student, that guy who disappeared in the fifties, do you think they’ll ever find out what happened to him?”

  “It’s still an open case. Endangered missing. He didn’t just not show up. There was all kinds of suspicious stuff around it. Why?”

  “It’s just weird. Another weird thing about this town.”

  My dad shook his head and stared at the top of his desk. “Liv, think about what I asked you. It’s important that you tell me if there’s something you remember.”

  I was silent.

  “I have work to do,” he said.

  So I left.

  The Sliver Hand

  My mother and father were taking Gramp to view a nursing home they thought he might like when his health “deteriorated” as my mom put it. It was a little far away but was supposed to be the best in the state. I could tell Gramp didn’t want to go but when I asked him about it he shrugged.

  “I’ll finally have some peace and quiet.” He winked at me. “How many TVs can one family own; will you tell me that, Olivia?”

  “I’ll come visit you.”

  “No, you won’t. Those places stink like sewage.

  But I’ll come see you on holidays and tell you Ellie stories.”

  “Tell me one now.”

  We were sitting on white wicker chairs on the sun-porch that looked out at the garden. I’d always liked this room best. It felt like you were outside. I would rather have slept here than in my room and sometimes when I was a little girl I’d sneak down and sleep on the swinging bench and listen to the cicadas.

  Gramp tapped his fingers on the glass tabletop. “She was perfect. And I didn’t deserve her.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “Then you’d sure be wrong. I did some bad things in my life, Olivia. Things your mother has never forgiven me for. And she’s right. But I’ve had to learn to forgive myself so I could go on without wreaking more havoc. And if you can forgive yourself, you can forgive others. That’s the only way you can, I think.”

  I thought I understood what he meant. Every time the moon was full and I bled I had to forgive myself on some level for the thoughts I’d had about my mother when I was thirteen or I would have only felt more rage and been more dangerous to everyone.

  When my family left I invited Corey to come stay. We took over the whole house. We lit tall green candles everywhere in the crystal holders and played music as loud as we could. Corey had found this Meat Loaf song from the seventies that started with dialogue about a wolf coming to the door with red roses. “On a hot summer’s night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?” It freaked me out because it reminded me of Victor so I made Corey skip to the next song. We ordered takeout Chinese—steamed dumplings, mushu vegetable, stir-fried broccoli—with my mom’s credit card and ate in bed out of the white paper cartons watching the Lord of the Rings movies. Plum sauce on our lips when we kissed. We talked about what our life would be like someday when I could move to New York and we’d get a tiny apartment with a claw-foot tub in the kitchen and one raw brick wall and Corey would be a vet and I would be a psychologist. We’d run in Central Park every day and go to the museums and galleries and clubs to hear all the new bands. We’d sample different cheap ethnic cuisine every night. We’d have a very small wardrobe of mostly black clothes that we shared and all our dishes would be mismatched from the Salvation Army. Maybe we’d have a baby. We even joked about the fact that it might be a little pup.

  “We’ll call him Wolfgang,” Corey teased. “Wolf for short. It’s a great name. Or Faolon. Little Wolf in Gaelic. I’ve been researching.”

  Nothing scared me when I imagined a future like that with Corey. It didn’t seem as if there would be any danger anymore, as long as we were together and away from this town. We even forgot, for a moment, that night—or at least we pretended to forget—that our friend Pace would never come visit us in Manhattan the way he had said he would when we had shared our fantasy with him.

  On the evening of the full moon we’d been drinking red wine from my dad’s liquor cabinet and we lost track of time. Corey should have left before sundown, just to be safe, but instead we were lying on the living room carpet eating chocolate-covered espresso beans with our wine and making out. The first Underworld was playing on the big-screen T
V. I was half dressed, wearing just underpants and a tank top and Corey only had on his plaid shorts. My head was resting on his smooth chest and my eyes were closed. The air-conditioning was blasting cool over our hot bodies. Kate Beckinsale was running through a Gothic city in her sleek black cat suit.

  The door opened and my parents and Gramp came in.

  I pushed Corey behind me as if I could hide him with my body and stared at my mother.

  My father just turned and walked back outside, swearing. “What the hell. I’m sick of this bullshit!

  I’m going out with Jake.”

  My grandfather went to sit in his chair and put on the TV.

  My mother stood her ground. She pushed her glasses up on her nose, crossed her arms over her chest and looked at Corey and me.

  “Company?” she said.

  “I didn’t know you were coming home now.”

  “Well, yes, it is our house. I didn’t know you’d be busy.”

  Corey grabbed his shirt and slipped it over his head. “Sorry, Mrs. Thorne.” He stood up and held out his hand. “I’m Corey Steele. I’ve gone to school with Liv since first grade.”

  My mother shook his hand lightly. “First grade? Wow. She didn’t tell me about you.”

  Corey and I exchanged a look. My mom smiled brightly at him, then turned to me. “Are you okay, Olivia?”

  She had been asking me if I was all right constantly since Pace’s death. This time there was more to it.

  “I’m fine.” I put on my cutoffs and grabbed Corey’s hand. “I’m going out.”

  My mother stopped me. “Wait a second. I want to talk to you first.”

  I looked at Corey and my expression must have been desperate because he nodded as if to say, It’s all right.

  “I’ll call you later,” he told me.

  My mother followed me upstairs and into my room. I sat on my bed and glared at her. “What?”

  “I didn’t know you were seeing someone so soon.”

  “So?” I took a few deep breaths. There was no reason I should let myself get out of control. I couldn’t let her get to me that easily.

  “I know this thing with Pace has been hard for you. It isn’t easy to lose a boyfriend like that.”

  I turned away. He wasn’t my boyfriend, Mom.

  “But that isn’t a reason to act out like this.”

  I circled around to face her. Saliva seemed to boil over in my mouth. My skin itched and my teeth and nail beds ached.

  “Mother,” I said, as quietly as I could, “Corey is my boyfriend. Not Pace. Pace was my friend, but not my boyfriend. He just pretended to help me out because I was afraid of what you would say. I loved Pace in a different way and he died pretending he was something he wasn’t. And I’m sick of being afraid.”

  “Liv …”

  “Give me one reason why it is a problem that I am seeing Corey? One reason! Say it!”

  She cleared her throat and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. “You don’t even know …”

  “I know him better than I know you and Dad. I know him better than I know myself!”

  “You should have told me,” my mother said, straightening out her blouse.

  “Why? What would you have said? You would have been happy about it?”

  She stood up. “I don’t think you understand. There’s nothing wrong with mixed race couples per se but it can cause you a lot of problems down the road.”

  Pain shot through my hips. I could feel blood coming out of my body. My hands shook.

  “Think of the children—I mean that alone …”

  I did think of the children. They had cocoa skin and green eyes. They had soft, loose curls and Corey’s smile. The problem wasn’t Corey. The problem was if they were born creatures like me.

  “Get out of my room!” I yelled. “Just get the hell out!” It wasn’t only about my anger now; it was about protecting her. The moon was rising. I could feel it in my marrow.

  “We’ll talk this over with Dr. N.,” she said. She went to the door, stopped and looked back at me. “I don’t think you’re fully aware of the consequences of your actions and that’s part of what becoming an adult means. If you and this boy are having sexual relations it can get especially complicated considering the circumstances.”

  A growl came up from my belly and I tried to stifle it. She went away and I lunged toward the window. If I leaped now and ran fast I might be able to get to the woods in time to save her from me.

  But I didn’t make it.

  The woods. Have to get to the woods. The white moon. Pulling, pulling. I have to run but I can’t run. The pain of change shoots through my limbs. I press my face into the earth, breathing the scents, intoxicated.

  At last the beast raises her muzzle and looks around, confused. Where are the woods?

  But the beast is in a garden full of orange lilies and lacy green trees with softly peeling bark.

  “There’s a wolf in the garden,” my grandfather says from his chair.

  A woman steps out the back door. She wears pink lipstick and her hair is perfect. She looks at the beast, startled, and cocks the gun on her shoulder. On her breasts, under her clothes, lies the silver cross. The beast can’t see it but she can feel it, burning her own skin, branding her.

  The beast wants to leap for the woman’s throat but I won’t let her because I am still here, too.

  As I whirl to run for the woods, the woman raises her gun, aims and hesitates for just a moment.

  “Liv?” she cries. Her voice sounds confused. I stop and look at her but she is looking toward the house, up toward the window of my room. She half looks back at me and then she shoots.

  My mother is usually a good shot, precise as hell. But anyone can be distracted. And the pain blasts through my paw, shattering fur and muscle, blood and bone.

  I dive into the underbrush, limping on three legs, on fire with pain. The other pain, the changing pain, is nothing compared to this.

  And that is all I know.

  I heard beeping sounds and felt the bright light through my eyelids. The air cool and sterile but I could smell death down the corridor. I tried to move but my body was trapped. And somewhere far away and softened by narcotics there was a horrific pain, or the memory of pain.

  This was what I felt when I woke finally in the hospital. I opened my eyes, a light flickering attempt that finally succeeded. Corey was at my side.

  “Liv!” He stood up and moved closer. “Mom!” He was yelling now. “She’s awake.”

  His face was drawn, dark shadows under his eyes. He pressed his cheek against mine and his skin was cold.

  I tried to talk. My lips were chapped and my throat felt closed. I wanted to ask what had happened. Where was my mother? But I just blinked at him instead.

  “You’re in the hospital. There was an accident. Do you remember, baby?”

  I tried to shake my head no but even as I thought that, I was remembering. I was remembering it all. I was a shape-shifter, a werewolf. My best friend, Pace, was dead and if it hadn’t been for Corey my heart would have turned to stone. My mother had called the boy I loved, “this boy.” She had said, “Think of the children.” Rage had seized me. And I was bleeding and the moon was full. This was the combination that led to change. I had changed. My mother had seen a wolf in the garden. She didn’t know that the wolf was me and she had shot at it. She had shot and there was a splintering pain in my left hand. My left hand … I couldn’t take any more.

  I had to close my eyes and sleep.

  When I woke in the hospital again Dr. Nieberding was there.

  “Corey!” I said. I tried to move. I looked down and saw the bandages wrapped around my hand. Some blood had stained the white. In my mind I saw my mother lift her gun. My hand. What had happened to my hand? I leaned forward and vomited over the side of the bed.

  “Nurse,” Nieberding called. He moved his chair closer to me. “Do you understand what’s happened, Olivia?” he asked.

  I stared at h
im. My eyes must have looked as wild as I felt because he cleared his throat and moved away slightly. There was the taste of acid in my mouth.

  “You’re in the hospital. There’s been an accident. We don’t know exactly what happened but we’re looking into it.”

  “Corey!” I said. He was the only one I wanted, the only one who would understand. I tossed my head back and forth. Then I realized. My body was in restraints.

  “We didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Nieberding said. “When you’re calmer we can take these off.”

  “Get away from me!” I could feel a stirring of the frenzy deep in my body. A month could have already passed since the last moon; I wasn’t sure—I had lost all sense of time. I took a breath, trying to control it. I couldn’t let it happen here. “Get me Corey!”

  “Your mother wants you to know she is very concerned. She and your father are doing everything they can to find out how this happened.”

  I know how it happened.

  “What did she tell you?” I growled.

  “You had an argument and then you ran into the woods. A search party was sent out and they found you there … like this.”

  No! That was a lie. My mother had mistaken me for a wolf and shot me in our own backyard. I had run to the woods on three paws, leaving a trail of blood. A sound was starting in my throat, a low whistling hum that would escalate soon into something fierce and blood curdling.

  The nurse came. “Visiting hours are over, Doctor,” she said.

  Nieberding stood up. “Yes, of course. And get this cleaned up, please.” Wincing, he gestured to the vomit.

  Dr. Nieberding walked away. I looked at the end of my arm. I thought of my left hand, how I had used it to pet dogs and cats, to care for them, to hand ice cream cones to people, to hold the handlebars of my bike, to stroke Corey’s face. I retched again but there was nothing left in my stomach except bile.