by Ken Douglas
“ Who? No one is gonna believe us. They’ll just say we’re a couple a kids with a made up story.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes. Carolina opened the top of her backpack and the ferret climbed up on her shoulder. Arty thought it would be so nice if there was someone to take care of him the way Carolina took care of Sheila. It seemed like he’d been taking care of himself ever since he could remember.
“ What are we gonna do?” Carolina asked, interrupting his thoughts.
“ First we gotta go by your house and see if you still have that gun,” he said. Then he told her about the gun in the tent, how he almost got caught and how Brad Peters saved him by mistake.
“ It might be my father,” Carolina said.
“ And it might not. We gotta be careful.” Arty was afraid she’d want to run right up to the clearing.
Carolina’s mother was leaving as they approached the house. She had her arm wrapped up with the arm of a tall man. He looked out of place, wearing a gray suit with his long hair and beard. She had on a bright yellow, low cut dress and her hair was a new shade of red.
“ There you are,” she said. “I didn’t think you were ever going to get home. I couldn’t wait, so I left you a note.” She didn’t even notice Arty.
“ You’re not going out again, are you?”
“ I’ll be back early,” her mother said, “around ten or eleven.” She smiled at her daughter, then continued down the walkway to a shiny new Lincoln Continental. Whoever the man was, he was rich, Arty thought.
Carolina was in the house and in her room before the car started. She was opening her bottom dresser drawer and digging under her clothes, before it pulled away from the curb.
“ The gun?” Arty asked.
“ Gone,” she answered.
They slowed their pace as they approached Harry Lightfoot’s house. It was at the end of a paved road, at the edge of town, next to the cemetery. They had been walking for fifteen minutes in an early morning mist that had their clothes and their hair damp.
“ There it is,” he said.
The house was surrounded by both the right and rear by the cemetery. The left side of the house shared a fence with the small Catholic church, Our Lady of the Sacred Heart.
“ You sure he’s not home?” Carolina shivered against the early morning cold.
“ Sure, I’m sure. He’ll be at the dairy, getting set up for the morning.”
“ But how can you be so sure?” she asked for the fifth time.
“ Carolina, I’m not gonna answer you anymore. You can go back if you want, but I gotta get the dimes.”
“ Couldn’t we use something else?”
“ No, the dimes are a perfect size. I checked. They fit perfect.”
“ Couldn’t we use regular dimes?” That was a question she hadn’t asked and it caused him to stop for a second before answering.
“ No, I don’t think there’s enough silver in ’em. I don’t want to take a chance.”
“ What if we get the dimes and it doesn’t work? What if we shoot her and she doesn’t die? What if she isn’t a werewolf at all? What if we kill a poor old lady? We’ll go to jail forever.”
“ Carolina,” Arty turned and put his hands on her shoulders, “I know what I saw. She’s a werewolf. You gotta believe me. And she’s after you. We gotta do something. We can’t just wait around for her to come to us. Do you want to wind up dead on the sidewalk, like my father?”
“ No.”
“ Then we gotta get the dimes.”
“ Okay.”
“ You wanna wait over there while I go in?” He pointed to the brick archway entry to the cemetery.
“ No, not a chance. I don’t want to be out here alone with the spooks.”
“ Okay, then follow me, but be quiet.”
She nodded her head and he grinned his best fake smile. He felt like there was a giant hand pushing him down and holding him back, like in a dream. The air was heavy and every fiber in his person wanted to be somewhere else, but he’d come this far and he was determined to finish what he’d started. The old Arty Gibson would have turned and gone home, but the new Arty Gibson was not going to cut and run.
He started up the driveway, toward the redwood gate that blocked entry to both the garage and the backyard. He pulled the latch on the gate, hoping against common sense that it wouldn’t be locked. It was.
“ What do we do now?” Carolina whispered.
“ Follow me,” he whispered back. “We’ll have to go through the cemetery and climb the back fence.”
She followed three paces behind as he went down the driveway and walked around the fence. “It’s creepy,” she shuddered as he entered the cemetery, but she quickened her step and caught up to him.
“ It’s spooky all right.” The moon, the clouds, the evening chill and the headstones, combined to send spider chills crawling all over his body.
“ Do you believe in ghosts?” she whispered.
“ I hope not, ’cuz if there is such a thing as ghosts, then we’re done for.”
“ What do you mean?”
“ This is the kind of spooky night they like.” He laughed a little under his breath, but he didn’t think he fooled her. He was as frightened as she was.
“ How are we going to climb the fence?” she said.
He stared at the five foot obstacle. There was no way he was ever going to get over it. “I’ll have to boost you over, then you can unlatch the gate.”
“ I can’t go over by myself, besides, the gate’s locked.”
“ I don’t think so. He probably only has a nail or a piece of wood going through the hole on the inside that holds the latch down. All you gotta do is pull it out.”
“ How do you know?”
“ That’s the way everybody does it. Why would you wanna put a lock on the inside, if you didn’t have to?”
“ You sure?”
“ No, but I can’t think of anything else.”
“ Maybe we should come back tomorrow, or maybe we can get some silver somewhere else.”
“ Come on, don’t be a baby.” He bent over and laced his fingers into a stirrup. “I’d do it myself, but I’m too fat.”
“ I don’t think I can.”
“ You gotta, it’s the only way.” He tightened his fingers, but still she hesitated.
“ Think of the werewolf and what she will do to us if we don’t get those dimes,” he said.
She stepped into his laced fingers, without answering, and he hoisted her up. She grabbed onto the top of the fence, with tiny hands, and pulled herself up, till she was able to get a leg on it. Then she rolled over it and eased herself down into the backyard, as silently as a fly entering a spider’s trap.
“ I’m going ’round to the gate,” Arty whispered into the night. She imagined him still running his hand along the fence as he hurried around the yard to the driveway.
Carolina dropped into a garden. Mr. Lightfoot liked to grow his own vegetables and she tried to step through them, without ruining anything. She had to walk through the garden to get to the grass and the gate beyond. An owl hooted as she picked her way through, startling her.
“ Come on,” she heard Arty’s urgent whisper cutting through the night. There was a nail through the latch where a lock should have been. She pulled it out and swung the gate open.
“ Are you okay?” he whispered.
“ Yeah.”
“ Then let’s hurry so we can get outta here,” Arty said, before he turned and led her to the back porch.
The owl hooted again, sending night shivers through both of them.
“ Look,” he said, “the bathroom window is open.”
“ It’s too high,” she said.
“ I’ll have to boost you up, then you can let me in the back door.”
“ I can’t do it. Not again.”
“ It’s the only way.”
“ I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have come, I’m scared and I don’t
want to go in there alone.”
He thought about arguing with her, but didn’t. He was scared, too, but that was different. He was a guy. He was supposed to overcome his fear, and not let on that he was afraid. Girls didn’t have to do that. Besides, she went over the fence, if it wouldn’t have been for her, they wouldn’t have gotten this far. It was up to him to get them the rest of the way.
If only he wasn’t so fat, then she could boost him up. He resolved that if they got through this night, he would lose weight. No more donuts, no more candy bars and Pepsi, no more second helpings, and no more dessert. He further resolved, that he would study and work at the karate lessons until he was thin and tough.
“ Okay, we’ll find another way,” he said. He went to the back door. He tried the knob. It wasn’t locked.
“ Good thing I didn’t go through that window,” she whispered.
“ Yeah,” he whispered back. He opened the door. It made a screeching, squeaking sound, like it hadn’t ever been oiled. Arty bit his lip and they waited to see if anyone was going to catch them.
“ We should leave,” she whispered.
He shook his head, took a deep breath, and entered the house. She followed, leaving the back door open. The house was silent and forbidding. The small bathroom door off the kitchen was open, reminding Arty that he had to go, but he couldn’t, not now. He didn’t want to be in the house any longer than necessary.
He took Carolina’s hand and led her through the kitchen to the hallway. They were both taking shallow, quiet breaths as they tiptoed across the tile floor. She tightened her hand on his, pulling him to a quiet stop, just before they reached the hallway.
He turned and she put her mouth to his ear and whispered, “It feels like there’s someone else here.” They both held their breath for a few seconds and listened.
Nothing. But Arty had the same feeling. A tingly feeling, like someone was watching. But after a few seconds of silence, he was confident they were alone in the house. He started down the hallway, pulling her behind him.
“ Let’s get the dimes and get out of here,” he whispered.
She nodded her head in the dark.
“ He keeps the coins in his desk, in the den.”
“ How do you know?”
“ I’ve been here before. On Sunday mornings I trade a paper for a half dozen donuts at the donut shop, then I come by here and split ’em with Harry. He supplies the milk and I bring the donuts. We sit and talk and sometimes he shows me his coins. He has lots,” he was still whispering, but louder than before.
She followed him into the den.
“ Over here.” Arty led her to a roll top desk.
“ It’s beautiful.” She ran her hands along the smooth oak. “I’ll bet it’s old.” She wasn’t whispering at all.
“ Real old.” He rolled the top open. “It’s an antique.” He pulled open one of the drawers, reached inside it and pulled out a stack of blue folders. He laid them on the desk.
“ Coin albums.” He opened one and showed it to her. “This one’s Lincoln head pennies. See, he has every one from 1909 to now.”
“ Has he got one for silver dimes?”
“ Yeah, but we don’t want that.”
“ Why not?”
“ It takes a long time and a lot of work to fill one of these,” he said. “All we need is one roll.” He reached into the back of the drawer and pulled out several rolls of coins. “This will do.” He put three dime rolls into his front pocket. He only needed one, but he took two extra, just in case.
“ Can we go now?”
“ Soon as we put the rest back.” He shoved the rolled coins back into the back of the drawer, then put away the coin albums. Carolina sighed as he closed the drawer. In a few minutes they would be safely out of the house.
“ It still feels like someone is watching us,” she whispered, “let’s go.”
“ There’s no one here,” Arty said, “but we’re outta here anyway.”
“ You should pay attention to the lady,” a whisper rasped through the room. “She sees without seeing. She sensed I was here all along, but she allowed you to push the feeling away.”
The light came on and Carolina gasped.
“ Never fight your intuition, young miss. Believe in it and it will serve you well. And, Arty, all you had to do was ask,” Harry Lightfoot said, “and the roll of dimes would have been yours. Everything I have is yours for the asking. That’s what friends are for.”
“ Sorry, Harry,” Arty said with a bowed head. Arty hadn’t ever thought of Harry as a friend. He was older, more like an uncle, but now that he thought about it, Harry was a friend. His friend. And he’d let him down.
“ You come in the night, like a thief, but you don’t take the gold coins one drawer down. You don’t stuff your pockets full of silver dollars. You don’t run off with the coin albums. And you don’t steal the money you know is hidden in a false bottom under the coin albums. All you take is a five dollar roll of silver dimes, worth less than fifty dollars.”
“ I’m really sorry, Harry.”
“ So it’s not money you’re after, is it Arty?”
Arty shook his head.
“ And you’re not here on a childish dare, because you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you, Arty?”
Arty shook his head again.
“ So it’s something serious. So serious that you would steal from a friend. So serious that you would risk going to jail. So serious that you would overcome your sense of right and wrong, not to mention your fear, and break into my house, when you thought I was gone. That’s it, isn’t it, Arty?”
Arty nodded his head.
“ It’s the silver, isn’t it?”
Arty nodded again.
“ You think you can kill it with the silver, don’t you?”
Arty nodded again.
“ It’s not an animal, is it?
Arty shook his head.
“ It’s not human either?”
Arty shook his head.
“ You’ve seen it?”
Arty nodded and the room was silent. The old Indian had been sitting in a reclining chair in a corner of the room, opposite the desk. He got up, using both hands to push on his knees. “I hate getting old,” he said, shuffling over to the fireplace, where he bent over and picked up some newspaper.
“ You need silver bullets, not silver dimes to kill something like this. And even silver might not work.” He wadded up the newspaper and stuffed it under a log in the fireplace, but he kept his piercing Indian brown eyes on Arty as Arty nodded.
“ There was a tall man in town,” Harry Lightfoot said, “staying at the motel down by the highway. Do you know him?”
Arty shook his head.
“ And you, young miss?”
“ No,” Carolina whispered.
“ He left the motel and set up a camp in the woods. He parks his car at the end of the block, then hikes up to that clearing by the cliff. I saw him coming out of your backyard, young miss, like he lived there, but he doesn’t, does he?”
“ It’s my dad. It must be.”
“ I think he is somehow connected.” Harry held out his hand.
“ I can’t give ’em back, Harry. I need ’em to kill the werewolf.”
“ How?”
“ I’m gonna load ’em into twelve gauge shells.”
“ Good idea, but I have a better one. Give me the dimes and go home. Stay inside till I come for you. I’ll take care of your werewolf.” He shook his outstretched hand. Arty reached into his pocket, fished out one of the rolls and tossed it to Harry, who picked it out of the air.
Chapter Fifteen
Sarah felt the rush of a false breeze, as the great paw sliced the air above her head. She smelled the stink of its breath as she ducked low, bending over the front window, with half her body out of the car, breasts pressed against the glass, buttocks in the air, as the Corvette caromed off the bear, sliding sideways down the road, heading for a curve.
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br /> She struggled to get back in, while Coffee fought the wheel, trying to keep the Corvette on the road. There was no margin for error. If he spun the car off the pavement, they would slide into the trees.
She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she felt the car straighten, then slide, then straighten again. She almost lost her hand hold on the window as he slid it around a turn. She screamed and he grabbed onto her arm with his blistered right hand, saving her from taking flight and becoming one with the road. He was driving one-handed, battling the wheel, as he pulled her back from cold, cold death and slammed her into her seat.
“ Seatbelt,” he bellowed as her back slapped against the leather. She sought the harness, whipping the strap between her breasts, snapping herself in as she stole a look at the speedometer. It was pushing sixty on a road meant for thirty, forty tops, and he was still in second, the tach needle bobbing in the red.
He took another turn without slowing. He was driving crazy. If a car had been coming from the other direction, it would have been certain death for all. The tall pines guarding the side of the road guaranteed there would be no avoiding a collision. Coffee was hogging the centerline, driving like he was in a sportscar rally with the confidence that the road was his.
But it wasn’t. Up ahead, tail lights were disappearing round a curve. She prayed he’d slow down, but instead he turned on the brights and shifted into third. The car jumped to sixty, roaring its displeasure, when he went back into second at the curve. They were closing on the car ahead like it was standing still, but it wasn’t pulling over, and Coffee wasn’t slowing down.
He swung the Corvette to the left, to pass. The car in front turned on its overhead flashers and made to block. Coffee jumped on the gas, too quick for the policeman, squeezing between the cruiser and the trees, the sportscar sliding and screeching alongside the black and white.
Sarah whipped her head out of the way as the driver’s mirror of the police car came scraping by and she got a fast look into the terrified eyes of Sheriff Sturgees of the Tampico Sheriff’s Department, as he fought the wheel of the police car and she knew he’d recognized her.
Coffee stood on the brakes as soon as he’d passed, locking the rear wheels, causing the Corvette to fishtail all over the road. Sarah bit into her lip when the cruiser hit them in the rear, but the collision was minor, because Coffee jammed on the gas, as the sheriff was jamming on the brakes and losing control of his car.