by Peter Spokes
Scene 6: Michael
“Michael!” I said looking at a tall and – I thought – rather emaciated acquaintance I once knew.
“Good God, I haven’t seen you since the army…” I said excited.
“Yep; I couldn’t handle the discipline so never progressed to your level,” he said.
I smiled though wondered what he meant; ‘my level’?
“Also,” he continued, “I wanted to learn about the world for myself and not from others.”
“Fair enough, but what’s all this nonsense about werewolves?”
“Nonsense?” he said laughing. “You’ve made a fortune with your stories.”
I returned the smile – it was so good to see my old friend again.
“Certainly not a fortune – and not actually containing any werewolves – but I know what you mean; and you would not believe the cut the publishers take, but as to my stories; that’s all they are,” I offered, “just stories; they’re not serious!” I said lowering my voice. “My first book was fictitious fun …” I continued, “… but in this part of the world… they think it real and authentic. So, I went with it.”
“You shouldn’t joke about that kind of thing in these lands,” he said quietly.
Then he looked up smiling, “You write like this ‘Ryker’ chap is real.”
“Oh, he is,” I responded.
“Wow, really! That explains some of the serious authenticity to his character… so, when did you meet him? He seems like quite a guy,” he asked smiling once again.
I told Michael about our meeting and how he was perfect for the hero in my stories.
“We’ve been together now three years or so.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said. “Everybody needs somebody…” he said.
I paused and looked closely at him. “We’re not gay…” I said with some surprise. “We just like the same things, enjoy each other’s company and I suppose look after one another,” I said a little defensively.
“And you’re sure you’re not gay…?” he said clearly amused.
“Absolutely!” I said. “Anyway,” I continued, “what are you doing in Romania? And what with the rather severe weight loss?”
“Oh, before I settled in Lepșa, I spent several years living in the forests and enjoying the wilderness and there is not always a McDonald’s or Denny’s to hand so got used to eating frugally.”
“Anyhow,” he continued, “Lepșa is a beautiful little village – I’ve been there now almost a year; it’s on the other side of the Carpathian Alps. It’s in the lowlands and surrounded by an almost impenetrable forest. It is a little place where the cancer of civilisation has not as yet spread or infringed and fuck knows how many parts of this rapidly shrinking world that can be said…”
“You never did like the modern world, did you?” I said remembering Michael’s regular protests at the college on behalf of the ‘save the planet’ or ‘tree-hugging’ brigade.
“Hell no!” he said laughing for a moment but then stopped and looked serious.
“But I do have a problem in Lepșa.”
I waited.
He paused for a while.
“What is it, Michael?” I asked quietly.
“You say your stories are fictional but… vârcolacs… werewolves… do exist… and we have one…”
I studied Michael for a moment. “So you indicated – in front of everyone earlier,” I said with some admonishment.
“What’s your game?” I said slowly waiting for Michael’s face to crease up into a smile and then give a loud laugh – as he always used to do.
He had always been a joker; but his face remained fixed.
“Michael,” I said awkwardly, “they don’t exist and you know it; they are the stuff of legend – for a good yarn beside an open fire on a stormy night or in one of my cheap novels.”
He smiled. “Why is it that in your novels, your protagonist has fought zombies and vampires, demons and devils… but never… werewolves? You touched upon that earlier…” he said questioning.
Without pause, I answered. “That’s because I used to work on a reserve where my job was to take care of the wolves; I could never see a wolf as evil…” I said simply.
“Well, perhaps normal ones aren’t but I can assure you that werewolves are real and very evil.”
I had never seen Michael looking so serious – and worried.
He continued, “This is not London; this is not civilisation. I so much wanted to find the primitive and primordial world – a place free of the shackles of humanity’s cancerous expansion; and… I found it. Oh, yes! Werewolves, or vârcolacs as they are known in this part of the world, exist all right. We have a creature – a human by day but becomes a vicious wolf when it needs to feed. It doesn’t need a full moon – it can become a wolf at any time – although it is much stronger when the full moon is present. It needs to be put down. It needs to be sent back to hell!”
I stared at the sudden look of fear on my friend’s face.
He looked around before hitching up his sleeve just above his wrist. There were three ugly and deep marks or lacerations.
“It attacked me one evening; it is hell spawn and ungodly.”
I winced. “Are there any ordinary wolves, coyotes… lions?” I asked a little facetiously.
“The vârcolac is real – and its teeth, claws and its mutilations are too.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing – or seeing.
“Michael,” I said again, “you are an educated man, surely not to be persuaded with talk of ghosts and goblins!”
His smile now appeared forced. “You really don’t understand what’s out there. Once I too would have laughed, but not so now. I’ve seen things. I have never seen any ghosts or goblins but believe me there are creatures in this part of the world that exist; vârcolacs… werewolves… are real; God, I have seen things – things that would turn you to madness… Oh, shit… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he said quickly and with serious awkwardness.
Michael was one of the very few people who remembered my time many years ago in the army sanatorium. It was when I was much younger following an incident when for a short while I was … disturbed and my understandings… confused and unclear.
Inwardly I winced at the reminder.
But I smiled as it was all behind me.
I was good now.
The psychiatrist interjected. “You remember the years at the sanatorium?”
I stared at her. “Years?… I thought it was only a few months…” I said trying to focus – not for the first time – on my past.
I coughed and continued.
“Think nothing of it… it’s really okay,” I said to Michael. “I’m now the epitome of rationality and good sense,” I said smiling, “… and the fact that I’m telling you that werewolves don’t exist – except for in my stories and a multitude of others – is testament to my recovery.”
“Ergo I’m mad… and yet I am not. Do I not seem lucid to you?” Michael said. “Please, Freeman. Come to Lepșa. See for yourself.”
I looked closely at him again still expecting some humour or punchline but none came.
I sighed. “Do you know who this… vârcolac… werewolf is?”
“I’m not sure. There is the daughter of the village elder, Marius Vãduvã; her name is Natalia. I have often seen her walking into the forest when all is dark.
Also, there is a couple who have recently moved into the monastery beside the graveyard. The man’s name is Dănuț. He is a hulking figure well over six feet with arms that look as if they could pull an ox apart.
He is with a woman called Lucia.”
“Lucia!” I said.
He looked at me closely.
“I once knew… something by that name,” I said.
“Something…?”
“We’ll be there tomorrow afternoon,” I said not wanting to discuss my wolf.
“Will Ryker be with you? Is he here?” he asked.
“Certainly,” I said with confidence. “Ryker is dependable, and enjoys action… and I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere without him…”
“Thank you, Freeman; I owe you – oh, I’m not going back for a day or so, so when you get there, go to the ale house – the ‘Capul de Lup’ – the ‘Wolf’s Head’ – and ask for Marius Vãduvã; he’s the owner as well as the village elder – and the guy most of the town looks to if there are troubles.”
“And it’s his daughter that you suspect as being a…”
“Yes, but Marius would naturally be a little biased if you suggested to him that it was his daughter that was digging up and eating freshly buried corpses. His English is reasonable too,” he added.
I nodded and we made our farewells.
I felt sure that Michael’s attitude was similar to the witch burnings where someone unpopular with the populous was accused of being a witch and burnt or otherwise cruelly removed from the living.
As I made my way out to my jeep I wondered if Michael might be in some way stressed or working too hard. Clearly what he suggested was nonsense… and yet he seemed so sincere. But then I remembered from my counselling that the strength of belief in something isn’t always indicative of proof in its existence.
As I returned to the hotel, I started to realise just how complex my situation was – and Ryker’s.
Clearly, the last thing the little town of Lepșa was suffering from was a werewolf but, if I could accept Michael’s ridiculous suggestion and then, in some way, get Ryker to seemingly vanquish their demon, then it would certainly do us both – and my next book – no harm.
Still, this could be tricky, I thought; to vanquish something that doesn’t exist but act like it does.
Scene 7: Research
I was looking at my watch when Ryker walked through the door. I rose and made a couple of coffees but he ignored his, before I filled him in on the night’s events.
“I’m supposed to do what!” he said disbelieving.
“Kill a werewolf… a real one…” I said with feigned seriousness. “It’s called a vârcolac, apparently, hereabouts,” I added.
“How on earth did you agree to this?” he asked.
“Let us at least investigate it; it could be good for future book sales,” I said.
Ryker shook his head.
The following morning, I rose early and researched Werewolf.
My stories had always involved all sorts of demons but for reasons already mentioned my antagonist had never been a werewolf.
As a child, I had watched Lon Chaney Jr. on a black and white TV and more recently Benicio del Toro.
A Werewolf was generally bipedal; had large teeth and enormous amounts of hair; they also appeared to move around wearing the ripped remnants of their clothes. That was about the general summation of my understanding which I would agree was somewhat… lacking.
I stared at my iPad and Wikipedia. There was a multitude of explanations on how one might become a Werewolf but what I did find interesting was a story relating to the fact that a disturbed mind might introduce the feeling of animal tendencies that might manifest themselves.
That sounded possible. Maybe hallucinations were involved here or a particularly hirsute inhabitant; or maybe an ordinary wolf. But I – as sure as hell – would not be looking to kill one.
Chapter 2: Lepșa
Scene 1: The Wolf
And so here I am, in the mud, in the dark, and trying to remove a wheel.
Ryker stood around with his hands in his pockets as – to pass the time – we discussed our fond memories of the much-lamented Lucia – her favourite walks – and the sadness that never goes away.
“You remember…” he started, looking down and smiling, “… when Lucia would join in with the unwrapping of the charity Christmas presents… she was so keen, she wanted to get her teeth on the paper and unwrap all of them. She was never too bothered with the contents… just liked to tear the paper from them…”
I smiled remembering.
“Careful!” I shouted suddenly as Ryker leaned against the car.
“If this comes off the jack, I’ll never get the spare on!” I said.
Then I reached behind me where I had put the tyre iron but only found empty mud.
I shone the torch behind and around me. Where the hell had it gone? I thought, before noticing Ryker still leaning against the car.
“Ryker! Get away from the car!” I repeated.
“Ryker?” I said again looking up. He was distracted, staring into the dark trees behind me.
I turned my head, and, raising the torch, saw the tyre iron.
Unfortunately, it was resting between the jaws of a wolf.
Just barely hidden by the shadows, it glared at us – its eyes oddly staring and unblinking despite the bright torchlight.
It looked so very much like my old girl, Lucia, in size and the way its pale blue eyes reflected the torchlight.
“Don’t move!” I whispered to Ryker unnecessarily. “It may be more afraid of us than we of it; and yes, we do need to get the tyre iron back!”
The three of us observed one another for several moments before the beast quite suddenly turned around and headed – with a gentle gait – into the dark woods.
With not a little trepidation, we both followed it into the darkness.
Unfortunately, the torch added little to the moon’s lunar glow that filtered through the trees’ canopy giving me the barest visual impression of our progress.
I knew I should have brought some spare batteries, I thought.
As we made our way, I heard howls echoing through the forest and before long, noticed dark shapes and shadows moving among the trees.
Then, we broke through into a small clearing and stopped suddenly as I saw a much smaller wolf lying on its side.
I looked around as to where the wolf with the tyre iron had gone, noticing several pairs of eyes shining from the gloom.
The beast before us was very young; my experience told me it had seen no more than a couple of winters.
I stood transfixed, and watched, mesmerised, as Ryker approached the wolf.
The beast twisted its head around and I watched its muzzle lift to catch the scent. Despite its youth, it bared its teeth and flexed its long claws.
Oddly its bright yellow eyes ignored Ryker and looked at me. The beast snarled again.
Then I noticed that its rear left leg was caught between two ugly metal rings. A trap. It wasn’t big; probably meant to catch – and kill – a rabbit or other small animal.
Bastards! I thought.
“Can we free it?” I said to Ryker as he bent down and with a smile, held up the tyre iron from beside the trap – and waved it at me.
With some serious anxiety as to Ryker’s welfare and his somewhat lackadaisical lack of concern for his own safety, I watched him heave the wrench above his head and with all his strength, he brought it down into the hinge of the trap.
After several moments, I heard the trap creak as it protested in its opening and the wolf howl as it dragged its leg free.
It immediately turned and limped off into the darkness. I followed its course to see a wolf slowly emerging from the shadows.
It was the one we had seen near the car.
Then I jumped suddenly as the trap beside me snapped on the tyre iron.
Ryker removed his hand just in time.
He looked up at me. “That was close!” I heard him say as he stared down and tugged at the only weapon we had.
The wolf approached and sat on its haunches only a dozen or so feet away.
I thought it was simply watching, but the
n I recognised the look of concentration and lack of visual focus – it was concentrating on its other senses as it moved its head very slightly from side to side.
Lucia had done that due to her impaired vision.
I felt certain that this wolf too – was blind.
Then it rose and approached further – oddly not towards Ryker but me.
Though I had more of an understanding of wolves than Ryker would ever have, I still baulked at the prospect; at least my wolves had experienced a degree of domestication.
It slowly advanced until it was only inches away, and looked up at me.
Despite the undeniably dangerous situation, I smiled sadly as I stared into the pale blue eyes that – like Lucia’s – couldn’t see me.
Her eyes remained passive and unfocussed as she continued to move her head from side to side, engaging her other senses.
I was surprised by my own courage as instead of closing my eyes to await a possible unpleasant death, I knelt and simply stared back at it with some empathy. I found it hard to feel that an animal so like Lucia could in any way harm me.
Then suddenly, I saw Lucia standing before me and I almost wept with happiness.
I reached out my hand and began to stroke the sides of her face and muzzle as I used to do. I smiled as tears fell from my face.
“… Lucia… hello, girl…” I whispered. “You’re okay now… I’ve missed you so much…” I said through the tears.
Then the spell broke as, as if from a long way away, I heard Ryker shout and in my peripheral vision, saw him waving his arms; but the beast ignored him. In fact, it hadn’t moved and continued to stare beyond me as I stroked its warm and auburn cheek.
Then, it tilted its head to one side before turning and loping off into the woods and darkness in the same direction as the smaller one.
The forest was now quiet and the dark shadows had gone.
I looked over at Ryker and took several deep breaths.
“We still need that tyre iron,” I said finally.
Scene 2: The Lady
After twenty minutes, we still had not been able to release the tyre iron from the trap.