A Werewolf in Riverdale

by Caleb Roehrig

  Battling werewolves was a duty she’d spent her whole life preparing for, from reading the lore and studying combat techniques, to field training with her family. She was thirteen the first time she’d been handed a gun loaded with live ammunition—bullets she’d cast herself with molten silver—and told she’d be participating in a real-life hunt. There’d been a possible sighting in the woods outside a town in her parents’ sector, and the Coopers needed to check it out.

  It had been a false alarm in the end, but the entire experience had been a rush—terrifying and exhilarating all at once. She knew then that she wanted to be ready, to be worthy of this calling, so that one day when the time came, she could lead a mission of her own.

  Their family tree had grown considerably since Elijah Cooper’s day, with branches now spreading throughout the country, and everywhere there were Coopers to be found there were hunters. Each unit tried to ensure that there was at least one member actively tracking and confronting the lycanthrope menace, with territories carefully staked out. Riverdale, being the starting place and unofficial headquarters of the operation, had benefited over the years from having multiple full-time hunters in play at any given time.

  Or, at least, that used to be the case. But over the years, Betty’s mother’s eyesight had gotten to the point where she was no longer a reliable shot, and a back injury her father suffered the previous year had made it necessary for him to step down. With Polly away at school, Betty still inexperienced, and no other Coopers close enough to take on the work, Elena and Jacob had added managing the Riverdale territory to their responsibilities in Greendale and Midville. Things had been working out just fine … until now.

  The bite that took Jacob out of commission had also resulted in a full-moon babysitting job for Elena, which meant that almost the entire region was going virtually unprotected. For months, Betty had been worried about a werewolf attack, and when those campers had been killed, she knew—she knew—it was her worst fears come true. And still she’d rebelled against everything her instincts and her common sense were telling her, because deep down she was scared that she wasn’t ready to face the monsters alone.

  Betty was still scared. And maybe she wasn’t ready. But she had to step up to the plate, because, ready or not, there was no one else. This was her mission—the first mission where she’d be the one calling all the shots—and now was her chance to prove that she could be worthy of the Cooper name and everything it stood for. No matter what, she had to come through, and she had to stop the beast that was stalking Riverdale. Even if it meant hunting one of her friends. Even if it meant killing one of them.

  Betty closed her eyes and pushed as hard as she could against those dark clouds. She had a party to get ready for.

  It was after nine when his cell vibrated with an incoming call from Jughead, and Archie momentarily froze. They’d texted a couple of times throughout the day, but he still couldn’t quite get over what Betty had said the night before, about the werewolf gene passing down through the Jones family line. It was ridiculous; Jughead was the gentlest guy in Riverdale, and anybody who knew him could attest to it. The guy captured bugs and set them free outside so he wouldn’t have to squash them, for Pete’s sake! And yet Archie’s mouth was dry when he finally answered the phone.

  “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  “Hey.” There was a pause on the other end of the line, Jughead breathing awkwardly into the speaker. “Um … did you hear that Reggie’s throwing some kind of party tonight?”

  “Yeah, I heard.” Archie sighed, rubbing his face. “It’s disrespectful as hell, if you ask me.”

  At the exact same moment, Jughead asked, “Any chance you could drive me there?”

  “What?” For the second time that day, Archie was sure he was hearing things. “You seriously want to go? Don’t you think the whole idea is kinda messed up?”

  Silently, he promised himself that Jug wasn’t asking because he was a secret werewolf and needed a ride to the all-you-can-eat Riverdale High buffet; surely, he had some other reason. “Reggie’s parties always suck anyway.”

  “I mean, you’re not wrong, it’s just …” Jughead trailed off for a moment. “I heard a bunch of kids from Midville are supposed to be there, and I’ve been trying to reach my cousin Bingo all day. There’s something really important I need to talk to him about.”

  “You want to go to Reggie’s dirtbag party because your cousin isn’t answering his texts.” Archie wasn’t trying to sound insulting, but his tone had a sharper edge than he intended.

  “It’s really important,” Jughead repeated, and then silence filled the line.

  It was a moment before Archie could figure out how to respond.

  “Do you honestly think it’s a good idea?” Archie was nervous and practically pleading with his best friend to change his mind, to avoid everyone and stay out of trouble until the full moon was past. There were a lot of things he could say here, but many more that he couldn’t. What if—what if—Jughead really was the beast that Betty was after? Archie hated even thinking that way, but he wanted his best friend as far from any danger as possible … no matter which side of the danger he was on. “People are dying out there, Jug! Maybe we should both just stay home tonight.”

  Jughead let out a heavy sigh. “Forget it. I’ll take my bike—”

  “Don’t do that; that’s dumb. This thing is all the way on the other side of town!” Archie gritted his teeth, trying to bite back the words that were about to come out of his mouth. “I can drive.”

  It was everything he didn’t want to do, but if Jug was going anyway, Archie couldn’t let him go alone. He could watch the guy, make sure nothing happened—clear his name and narrow Betty’s list of targets. Mostly he just couldn’t imagine sitting at home like a coward, keeping himself safe while everyone else was out in the woods, their lives in danger from something he knew about and they didn’t. Anyway, it was already after dark, and the full moon was out; if Jughead was a werewolf, wouldn’t he have already transformed by now?

  His parents would surely have refused to let him leave the house, so Archie waited until they went to bed and then snuck out behind their backs, guilt rattling around in the pit of his stomach. With the exception of lying about unfinished homework, dishonest acts always gave him indigestion, because he couldn’t shake the certainty that he was going to get caught. This anxiety plagued him all the way to the Joneses’ house, where his best friend barely even acknowledged his moral anguish. Jughead was unnaturally quiet when he got in the car—shrugging off conversation attempts, or mumbling one-word answers until there was nothing left to say—and they made the trip to Reggie’s party in near total silence.

  Lights flashed through the trees, music thumping in the air from portable speakers, as they parked just off Wesley Road. Technically a county highway, it cut through the woods and crossed the river via a classic covered bridge, ultimately leading to Midville. Reggie Mantle wasn’t the first person to throw a party on the flats along the embankment here—but if Betty was right, he might be the last.

  They had just reached the clearing at the water’s edge, the noise getting louder and more distinct, a throng of shadows taking on shape and recognizable features, when someone shouted, “ARCHIE ANDREWS!”

  A petite blonde barreled through the crowd, shoving people out of the way and leaping through the air to land in Archie’s arms, liquid sloshing out of a red plastic cup in her hand. She yelped, hiccupped, and then giggled loudly in his ear. “You came!”

  “Betty?” Archie eased her to the ground, holding her out at arm’s length, staring. “Are you … have you been drinking?”

  “What, this?” She indicated her cup with exaggerated offense, making a face and blowing air through her lips. “This is a libation, Archie, it’s very different. It’s more suspisticat—sophomistic—susurra—”

  “Sophisticated?”

  “That’s it! That’s the one.” Betty touched her nose with a coy wink.

&
nbsp; Archie was still staring at her, his disappointment warring with his disbelief, when Jughead interrupted them. “I’m gonna find my cousin.”

  “Jug, wait—” But before Archie could disentangle himself from Betty, his best friend had already vanished into the crowd. It looked like half their school had turned out, and the riverside was clogged with bodies. Letting out a frustrated grunt, Archie exclaimed, “Are you kidding me, Betts? You’re actually … partying? What if, what if …”

  Only he couldn’t finish the question, because even with the blasting music, even with the buzzing din of conversation, there was no way to say the word werewolf without the risk of being overheard.

  Swatting his chest with a loose, rubbery hand, Betty stated, “You need to go get a libation and relax, Archie. We only get one spin on the big blue marble, so you might as well have fun!”

  “I cannot believe you—” he started to say, but before he could finish, she had already shoved him aside, charging at a new group of people emerging from the trees.

  “RONNIE!” Betty shrieked excitedly, tackling Veronica Lodge and nearly bringing them both to the ground.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Archie spun around, stomping deeper into the mob. If Betty couldn’t be counted on, then it was more important than ever that he keep an eye on Jug … only the guy was nowhere to be seen. There were people all over the place, pushing in from every side, and despite the full moon and the intermittent camera flashes that pulsed regularly up and down the flats, he couldn’t see his best friend anywhere.

  Anxiety brushed its fingers over Archie’s skin as he turned in circles, looking for Jughead’s distinctive hat—wondering what he actually thought he was going to do to keep people safe if the worst really happened. No matter what kind of mental state she was in right now, Betty had trained for this; he’d watched her do acrobatics and take impossible shots, hitting a bull’s-eye without even aiming. Meanwhile, he’d barely been able to climb over a fence without breaking his ankle, and he’d gotten his butt soundly handed to him by Elena Cooper because he didn’t know the first thing about actual combat.

  The truth was, Archie realized, his shoulders sinking in dismay, that if a werewolf attacked Reggie’s party? He would be nothing but a liability. One more body to be reported on the news; his parents left to grieve and wonder where they’d gone wrong, why they hadn’t paid more attention the night he snuck out to make a bad decision for good reasons.

  Archie stood in place for nearly a minute longer, coming to a decision, then he turned back around again. He was useless here and should never have come to begin with. Marching through the trees, he got into his car and cranked the engine, pulling a U-turn and heading for town. Jughead and Betty were on their own; there was something he needed to do.

  Someone had brought a grill, and the smell of meat roasting over hot coals drifted in the chilly air. Jughead’s stomach clamped down, his gorge rising, and he swallowed compulsively against the roiling queasiness. He should never have come here. Ever since he’d vomited into the bathroom sink that morning, eating had proven an impossible chore, and more of his terrible dream from the previous night had surfaced. Moonlight on metal lockers, blood and twitching limbs, Miss Grundy’s scream rising to a hideous harmony with that unearthly howling.

  It couldn’t be real—there was no way it could be real—but Bingo had been dodging his calls and texts all day, and the situation was driving him out of his mind. Jughead needed to know how he’d ended up in the cemetery, naked and covered in blood, haunted by detailed visions of yet another death. There had to be an explanation, and his cousin was the only person who might be able to give it to him.

  Closer to the water, the crowd got more boisterous. Guys in varsity jackets were “jokingly” threatening to throw a weedy-looking underclassman into the river, and Jughead steered the other direction. He studied faces on the periphery of the gathering—some strange and some familiar, but none of them Bingo—and then slipped into the trees. Some intuition he couldn’t name was pulling at him, an invisible thread guiding him away from the noise and toward a quieter stretch of the embankment. He itched beneath his skin, his legs jumpy, and he briefly fantasized about running all the way home just to satisfy them.

  When he emerged from the woods again, farther down the river, he nearly stumbled right over a couple sitting on a wide, flat rock that formed a shelf above the water. They were kissing—aggressively—their faces grinding together with a wet, smacking noise, and Jughead reflexively apologized for intruding before either of the pair was even aware of his presence. “Whoops! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—Bingo?”

  The boy on the rock broke the kiss and looked up with a lazy smile, not seeming at all surprised by Jughead’s sudden arrival. “Hey, cousin. I was wondering when you’d get here.”

  “I, uh … I was looking for you, but I don’t want to interrupt, or whatever,” he stammered, still feeling awkward. And then Bingo shifted, moonlight falling on the girl beside him, and Jughead started when he recognized Ethel Muggs.

  “Hey, Juggie.” She gave him a shy smile, her lips swollen and pink, a dreamy, contented look smeared all over her face. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “Yeah, sure, um … you too.” Jughead adjusted his hat, trying to figure out where to put his eyes. For a while there, he’d been pretty sure Ethel was into him, and although the feelings hadn’t been mutual, the circumstances here still felt really strange. “How long have you two … known each other?”

  “We met a couple months ago, but we didn’t really know each other until tonight,” Bingo said, smoothing out the collar of the girl’s jacket. “Right, Ethel?”

  She giggled, giving him back a besotted look. “I really like his band.”

  “Why were you looking for me?” Bingo asked next, his eyes still on Ethel, and it took Jughead a moment to realize who the guy was speaking to.

  Clearing his throat, he mumbled, “It’s … kind of, um, personal?”

  Bingo glanced up again, his expression unreadable, but after a moment he said, “Hey, Ethel, you don’t mind giving me and Jughead a little privacy, do you?”

  “No, of course not.” The girl got up, brushing off the seat of her pants, running her fingers through her hair to smooth out the fresh tangles. “I’ll go see if I can find Midge and the others.”

  “Thanks, babe, you’re the best,” he called after her as she headed into the trees. “I’ll call you!”

  Ethel giggled again, tossing a little wave back over her shoulder, and then she was gone. Bingo slapped his hand down on the rock beside him, right where the girl had been sitting a moment ago. “Take a load off, cousin, tell me what’s on your mind.”

  He’d been looking for Bingo, of course, but now that they were alone together, the questions didn’t want to come out of Jughead’s mouth. He sat down obediently, his hands clutched in sweaty fists, and took a steadying breath before blurting, “What happened last night?”

  “You came over. You don’t remember?” Bingo’s question was almost too casual.

  “Of course I remember, but I don’t …” Only, how could he possibly finish that statement? Maybe he was losing his mind. If he told Bingo that he’d blacked out and woken up naked and bloody in a graveyard, maybe he’d end up in an institution somewhere. “Just answer me, okay? What did we do when I came over?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Bingo gazed up at the moon, showing bright and full through a thin lace of clouds. “We ordered pizza, watched a movie, you listened to my band’s new song—you said it was really great, by the way, and that we totally deserve a recording contract. I want to make sure you remember that part.”

  “Yeah, okay, and then what?” Jughead rotated his hand impatiently.

  “Then you were hungry again, and we decided to go out to eat.” The moonlight threw deep shadows across Bingo’s hooded eyes as he turned to face his cousin. “So we changed and came back to Riverdale.”

  This was the part he still couldn’t remember, no matt
er how hard he tried, and Jughead squirmed in nervous anticipation. The itch beneath his skin was getting worse. “Where did we go? What did … what did we eat?”

  “We went to your school,” Bingo answered serenely, his eyes still engulfed by shadow, “and we ate your teacher.”

  A breeze gusted along the river, carrying a swell of voices from Reggie’s party, and Jughead gripped the edge of the rock to keep from toppling into the river. “Th-that’s not funny, man. What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t say stuff like that!”

  “I think the question you really want to ask me is what the hell is wrong with you.” A corner of Bingo’s mouth ticked up in a smirk, more clouds flitting across the moon. “After all, you were the one who knew how to get into the building after hours, because of some unsecured hatch on the roof,” he continued, “and you were the one who chased good old Miss Grundy right into the trap we set.”

  Jughead lurched to his feet, his heart racing so fast his lips tingled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but … but you need help, Bingo. This is … this is—”

  “This is who you are, cousin.” Bingo cut him off, on his own feet in the time it took Jughead to blink, a strange light gleaming in his shadowed eyes. “Last night we hunted down your teacher; the night before that, it was your buddy Dilton in the cemetery; and last month, we had a bona fide smorgasbord in the woods, thanks to those campers.” His smirk pulled into a grin, his sharp teeth suddenly on display. “That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time—and you didn’t exactly complain, either.”

  “Stop. You can’t … this isn’t …” Jughead’s stomach revolted again, bile crawling up the back of his throat, and he couldn’t finish. The dreams he’d been having—the blood, the screams, the people running for their lives; the way he’d woken up those mornings with a full stomach and grimy teeth, unfamiliar dirt trapped under his fingernails—they were all forming a picture that he didn’t want to see. It was horrifying and unthinkable, something that couldn’t possibly be true … and yet it felt true.