Werewolves of the Other London

by Amy Cross

  There's a sudden commotion nearby. Darla and I stand up and go to watch as the workers, who have changed now into smart uniforms, gather around the door to a small tent.

  "What's going?" I whisper.

  "The audience is arriving," Darla says. "Fuck, that means the show's starting soon. We'll have to get ready."

  "What do you mean?" I ask. "Where's the audience?"

  "Coming now," says Darla.

  As I watch, the door to the little tent opens and a young boy, looking like he's only about ten or eleven years old, walks out. He has a dark, sombre look on his face, and he walks slowly and carefully.

  "Who's that?" I whisper.

  "I told you," says Darla. "The audience."

  I shake my head. "That kid is the audience?" I ask. "The whole fucking audience is just one kid?"

  Darla nods. "That's about the shape of it," she says. "The same audience every night. The same... dark little expression on his face, the same blank stare. And you know what? We perform for him every night, and he never smiles. Never claps. Never cheers. Never even reacts. He just keeps coming back, night after night. Has been for years. He's a lot older than he looks. I don't know why he's here, but he's the one who's really in charge. Vigrous Grinde works for the audience, and he knows it. Grinde is terrified of him."

  The small boy stops and turns to look directly at me. He stares at me with his totally expressionless eyes, and then he turns and carries on walking over to the main tent.

  "He's noticed you," Darla says, elbowing me in the ribs. "He likes it when there's a new creature. I don't know why. Maybe he's waiting for someone to finally do something that makes him laugh. I don't know how he can keep coming, seeing all the acts, and he never laughs. Never."

  A horn sounds. I turn to see Joe is the one who has just blown what looks like a large bugle.

  "That's the signal," says Darla, with a glint in her eye. "Showtime in half an hour. You'd better be ready."

  Duncan

  I haven't heard him for a while. Either he has left the chamber, or he is watching me in silence. I should open my eyes and look, but I don't dare. If I were to see his face, the rage might kill me.

  Slowly, cautiously, I raise my head. I listen, but I can't hear anything. I open my eyes.

  He's standing right in front of me, staring straight into my eyes, his face just inches from mine. I have never seen such hatred boiling in another person.

  Jess

  Darla leads me into the big tent by the back door. It's a hive of activity inside, with people running about, getting ready for the show.

  "Disorientating, isn't it?" Darla says, smiling at my obvious discomfort. "Don't worry, it's always like this on your first night. You'll soon get the hang of it. I was in your position once. Soon you'll be the old hand showing the new arrivals around."

  "I don't plan to stick around long enough," I say, watching as a small red creature is poked with a long golden spear. The worker doing the poking looks bored, as if he's done this kind of thing many times. The creature seems angry, but can't escape because he has a manacle around his neck, with a chain linked to the ground.

  "That's a Tenderling," says Darla. "You ever heard of them?"

  I shake my head.

  "Nasty creatures," she says. "They steal your dreams and leave little black stones under your skin. If a Tenderling latches onto you, he'll suck away every emotion you have until you're a dead husk, and then he'll just move on to his next victim."

  "Nice," I say, as the worker jabs the Tenderling harder. The little red creature lets out an ear-piercing scream and cowers away, but the worker continues to poke it. "Why's he doing that to it, though?"

  "He has to get the Tenderling riled up," says Darla. "They're docile creatures by nature, they don't like confrontation. But if he's angry, he'll perform in the carnival tonight." She looks at me and sees that I'm disgusted by the whole thing. "It's part of the routine," she says. "It's just how things have to be."

  "And what about us?" I ask, turning to her. "Are we going to be poked with sticks so that we perform?"

  Darla smiles. "Of course not. Tenderlings are dumb, they don't know what's good for them. We're smarter than that, right?" She looks at me, studying my expression. "Right, Jess? We're smarter, aren't we?" She seems to be waiting for me to reassure her.

  "We are," I say eventually. "We know what's best for us."

  "That's my girl," Darla says. "Come on, darling. I've got something to show you." She leads me around the side and we come to a large curtain, which she parts a little. "Look," she says conspiratorially, as if we're a pair of children who have sneaked into the back of a theater.

  I peer through the curtains and see a large, circular performance space, like a circus, with some small creatures putting on some kind of play-fight. The creatures are green and look like they stepped straight out of a nightmare. There are rows of seats all around. On the other side, sitting high up in the stalls, is the audience, the unsmiling little boy. He seems to be just sitting there, completely unamused by the show. He's totally impassive; I'm pretty sure you could drop a nuclear bomb right behind him, and he'd barely raise an eyebrow.

  "God, that's a bad warm-up act," says Darla. "Still, it makes us look better when we finally arrive."

  "Who is he?" I whisper to Darla, my eyes fixed on the little boy. "I mean, really, who is he? He's so... quiet."

  "We just know him as the audience," Darla whispers back to me. "I can tell you one thing, though. Vigrous Grinde is terrified of him. Absolutely terrified. Goes out of his way to make the carnival better and better each night. You should see the way he grovels and begs for praise. Not that the audience ever says anything, though he and Grinde spend hours talking in private after each show. And before you ask, no, I have no idea what they talk about. But every morning, Grinde is full of ideas about how to improve the show. Each night has to be better than the previous night."

  "And the audience," I whisper, "has the power to allow any of us to go free?"

  Darla barely stifles a laugh. "That's the story," she says. "If he's amused, he can apparently tell Grinde to release one of us. But I've only seen it happen once, and..." She pauses, as if she thinks she's said too much. "I don't think... I don't think it's something you should want to have happen to you, if you know what I mean."

  "But it happened once"? I say. "How? How do I get this kid to order my freedom?"

  "You don't want to do that," Darla says. "You really, really don't. Okay, darling? It's not... It's only happened once. A girl named Mags, another werewolf. It was just an ordinary night, and suddenly we got word from Grinde that the audience had said Mags must be released. The only catch was that Mags had to visit the audience in his tent first. Off she went, and... I don't know. I liked Mags. She was good. She was a bit like you."

  "But she was released?" I ask.

  Darla shakes her head. "That's what they say," she whispers. "But I heard things that night, coming from the audience's tent. I heard Mags."

  "Screams?" I ask.

  "No," says Darla. "More like a very low, very quiet, gentle sobbing and whining. All night. And then the sun started to come up, and the sound stopped. Later, I saw some of the workers carrying something out of the tent. I couldn't see what it was, there was a sheet over it, but... Let's just say, I don't think Mags made it very far."

  "This is fucked up," I say.

  "Ladies!" shouts a voice from behind us. We turn to find Stephen, one of the other werewolves, standing behind us. With his graying hair and his slight belly, he kind of towers over the both of us, smiling uneasily. "Are you enjoying your conspiratorial hustle? I take it that you are ready for the show?"

  "Costume time," says Darla, leading me over to a rack of what look like clown suits. "Find one that fits," she says, "and let's get this show on the road."

  I take a costume off the rack. "We're supposed to dress up like clowns?" I ask, somewhat incredulously.

  "That's the idea," says Darla. "Don't w
orry, you'll see when we get out there. Just play along, don't do anything stupid, and it'll be okay. We'll all survive, okay?" She already has her costume on by now.

  I step into my own costume. It's a white one-piece suit with multicolored diamonds all over it. I've never been a big fan of clowns, though I wouldn't go so far as to say that I'm scared of them. I just don't really find them very interesting.

  "Don't forget your head," says Darla, handing me a full fake mask. I stare at it: made of white plastic, with a painted red grin and small holes for eyes, it looks kind of menacing despite the smile.

  "Okay," I say. "This makes a whole lot of sense."

  "Relax, darling," Darla says, staring at me. "You can do this. Just don't fight it. Grinde doesn't like it when you fight it. Go with the flow."

  I nod, still staring at the mask. "There's one more thing," I say, swallowing hard. "Maybe I should have mentioned this before, but I've only been a werewolf for about a week and... I don't know how to do it."

  Darla stares at me blankly. "How to do what?"

  "Change," I say. "I don't know how to turn into a wolf. I've done it, once, but I can't do it on command."

  Darla laughs. "Don't worry about that, darling. It's all part of the show anyway." She takes my arm and leads me away from the curtain, around to where the other werewolves are standing in their own clown costumes.

  "I hope you're not going to tell me to relax again," I say.

  "Don't worry, darling," Darla says. "You'll be just fine. Come on, guys. Let's get started." She grabs my mask and puts it on my face, then she puts her own mask on. And with that, she and the other werewolves grab me, pick me up and carry me out into the ring, just as the little green creatures are trudging away.

  The lights are bright and hot, and loud marching band music strikes up, filling the tent. I struggle to get my bearings, and with this clown mask on it's hard to see. When we reach the middle of the circle, the werewolves throw me down onto the dusty floor, momentarily winding me.

  "Ladies and gentlemen!" shouts Vigrous Grinde from behind us. "Tonight, we have a very special new arrival! Meet Jessica, the little werewolf who doesn't know how to grow a tail!"

  I get to my feet and look straight up at the audience, who stares impassively back down at me. Suddenly a hand grabs my shoulder and whirls me around. A clown is right up with me. "Don't make eye contact with him," she says, and I realize that under the mask it's Darla. "Play along!"

  "Poor Jessica!" shouts Grinde, desperately trying to sell the show as the six other werewolves surround me. "She wants to change her form, but she has no idea how it's done. Perhaps..." He pauses, as a drum-roll starts up. "Perhaps we should show her!"

  The other wolves immediately change, ripping through their clown costumes as their human bodies shift and mold into their other, wolf forms. Within seconds, I find myself surrounded by six slavering, growling wolves, and they look as if they're about ready to tear me into pieces.

  "That's the way to do it!" shouts Grinde, as the marching band strikes up.

  Suddenly one of the wolves leaps at me, knocking me to the ground and landing right on top of me. He stares down at me, growling and dripping saliva onto my mask. For a moment, it occurs to me that he might actually be able to kill me. But then one of the other wolves knocks him over and seems to be squaring off against him.

  "Looks like there's a disagreement!" shouts Grinde. "The wolves can't decide what to do with their new friend!"

  I turn around just in time to see Darla shift back into her human form. Her clown costume, ripped and damaged, barely covers her naked body. "Change!" she shouts at me, anger and passion in her eyes. "You have to change now! Become one of us!"

  I have no idea what to do, so I edge backwards. I turn and look up at the audience, but he's just sitting there in his usual impassive way. He clearly doesn't have any interest in what we're doing down here.

  Darla grabs my arm and pulls me away from the others, dragging me over to Grinde.

  "Do something!" Grinde hisses at us.

  "Like what?" I ask.

  "The wolf thing!" he hisses. He turns to Darla. "What causes the change?"

  "Anger," she says. "Fear. Pain. It's different for every wolf."

  "Anger, fear and pain, eh?" says Grinde. He nods. "I think we can arrange that. Get back out there!"

  "Sorry," says Darla, grabbing me and pulling me back to the center of the ring. I look back at Grinde just in time to see him pull the little device from his pocket.

  He presses the button.

  A jolt of pain shoots down my spine, knocking me instantly to my knees. The pain is only brief, but it leaves my spine singing with ripples of agony. "No," I say, but it happens again, this time knocking me all the way to the ground.

  Darla comes and leans over me. "Do it," she whispers. "He'll keep hurting you until you change!"

  "I can't change!" I shout at her, just as a third jolt of pain hits me. I look over at Grinde, who has the device in his hand as he stares at me, a curious smile on his face.

  "You have to!" says Darla. "Too much pain like this and you'll die. You have to change!"

  "I don't know how," I say, almost begging. "I've never known how to do it!" There's another jolt of pain, and it feels like my skin is burning. I start to fall, but Darla catches me and holds me up.

  "Focus," she whispers. "He'll keep buzzing you until it happens. If you die, then you die. It's part of the show. Just focus. Think about something that makes you angry. Think about things that make you passionate." There's another jolt of pain, and I fall out of Darla's arms, landing on the hard, dusty ground. I look up and see the impassive face of the audience staring down at me. And suddenly it hits me: this whole place is preventing me from rescuing Duncan. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, Duncan is undoubtedly in trouble. I should be going to save him, to help him, but instead I'm stuck here like a performing animal. I look over at the main curtain, and I see a group of workers gathered there, including Joe. He's laughing as he watches the show.

  Something starts to change inside me. I feel it bubbling up through my body. It's as if my entire being is suddenly becoming concentrated in a single point, as if I'm suddenly more 'me' than I've ever been before in my life. And I feel my bones starting to shift, to alter themselves, and my skin starts to change. I look at my hands, shocked as I see them lengthening and becoming paws with long, sharp claws. I look over at Darla, and I can see the shock and awe in her eyes. Everyone is watching me, as I feel my body mutating and my clothes ripping. I get down on my hands and knees, except I suddenly realize that I'm actually standing on four legs. And when I open my mouth to scream, I hear only the sound of a wolf howling instead.

  Someone starts clapping nearby. I look over and see that it's Joe. He seems amused by what's happening to me. He seems to enjoy seeing all of this. Filled with rage and anger, I run at him, and I leap through the air and land right on top of him, biting down as hard as I can.

  Duncan

  "Scream," he says softly, quietly. "All you have to do is scream and I'll put you out of your misery. Do you understand? Do you even hear me anymore? You still breathe, but tell me, are you still alive in that wretched shell of a body? Is there anything left in there, or should I just put you out of your misery right now?"

  Jess

  How do you describe total blackness, total emptiness, total nothingness? That's where I am right now. No body, no mind, no soul, no thoughts or feelings. I'm just floating through the ether, completely disconnected from the real world. But there's a noise that keeps following me, preventing me from relaxing. It's a nagging, gnawing noise that seems to be begging for my attention. I don't want to listen, but maybe I should, just a little? Slowly, almost unwillingly, I turn to see where the noise is coming from.

  "Hey," says Darla.

  I sit up suddenly and find that I'm backstage again. I look at my hands: human again. I look down at my body and see that I'm back to how I was, with a sheet covering my nakedness
. But the last thing I remember is... anger. And rage.

  "What happened?" I ask.

  "You stole the show," says Darla, smiling. "Good job."

  "I don't want to..." I pause, trying to remember what happened. "The last thing I remember is jumping at Joe. What... What happened next?"

  Darla grins. "You put on a good show. You really showed the audience how powerful you can be."

  "What did I do?" I ask.

  Darla looks uncomfortable for a moment. "You really don't remember?"

  I shake my head.

  "Well..." She seems uncertain whether she should say it. At that moment, I see two workers carrying a stretcher, with a sheet covering what appears to be a body. Darla looks over at it, then looks back at me. "You weren't in control," she says kindly.

  I scramble to my feet, then I run over to the stretcher and pull the sheet away. I immediately step back, repulsed by the mutilated, ripped corpse of Joe.

  "I didn't do that," I say, shocked.

  Darla puts an arm around me. "It's okay, darling," she says. "He had it coming."

  "I couldn't have done that," I say, stepping back.

  "Don't worry, darling," Darla says. "You're not in control of your wolf side. Not yet. You will be, one day. But right now, you're a little... chaotic. It's not your fault, and you certainly have nothing to feel bad about. That lowlife scum deserved everything he got."

  She takes my arm and leads me to the curtain, parting it a little so that we can see out into the main ring. There's a small water tank in the middle, and Mena is swimming about, singing a beautiful soft song. The lights are low, and the audience is - as always - staring impassively. Near where Mena is swimming, there's a fresh patch of blood from Joe's body.