Ken Douglas - Nightwitch

He was on the floor, back against the wall and the wolf was looking for the kill. He pulled his legs back, dodged as the wolf leapt, and slammed his feet into the damaged belly of the beast, driving the knife in further as he lashed out, sending the wolf flying backwards.

Sarah stood in mute horror as the wolf, screaming its howls, and foaming at the mouth, came back at John. But he was back on his feet, grabbing one of the silver candlesticks from the table, and again John Coffee met the wolf in mid-air, shoving the burning candle and silver holder deep into its throat, and again he was knocked down by the beast, this time its claws raked across his chest, ripping into his shirt.

The wolf howled up blood in protest against the silver as it whirled and smashed into the dining room table, knocking it over, spilling the food, dishes and the other lighted candle onto the floor.

John followed Sarah into the kitchen as the carpet caught on fire. Sarah was at the back door. The roar of the beast shook through to her soul. He went to the stove, grabbing onto the hot frying pan, as the wolf came screaming into the kitchen.

The skillet’s hot handle burned into his right palm, searing his flesh, as he brought it back, wielding it like a club. The bloodied and foaming fangs were headed toward his neck, when he smashed the open face of the pan into the side of the wolf’s jaw, splashing hot grease into its eyes, blinding it.

The beast wailed and Coffee hit it again as it retreated. Then he threw the pan at it, screaming himself as the hot handle ripped burnt skin from his palm.

“ Come on, let’s go,” Sarah yelled from the back door.

“ I have to kill it. We need a few minutes’ head start, before it comes for us again.” He started pulling open drawers, the first one was a junk drawer, nothing useful. The second had dishrags and dish towels, still nothing useful. He crossed over by the sink and opened another drawer. Silverware.

“ The next one down,” Sarah yelled, figuring out what he was doing.

He pulled it open and found what he was looking for. He grabbed a meat cleaver in his left hand and a serrated cutting knife in his damaged right, then charged into the dining room after the wolf, with Sarah right behind.

The wolf retreated blindly into the living room. John Coffee, yelling like a wild man, came after it, catching it as it bumped into the overturned sofa. He drove the long knife into its belly, close to the bloody wound left by the first knife still sticking out of the raging animal. He dodged as the wolf snapped at him, swinging the cleaver, slicing off an ear. The wolf raged and he slammed the cleaver toward its neck hoping to behead it, but it turned and he sliced off its snout.

This wolf wouldn’t kill him this night, but neither would he kill it. Red and white lightning shot around the room and Coffee backed off as the wolf was covered in flames.

Sarah started for the back door at a run. He was right behind as she flew through it, seeking the safety of the cool outside.

“ In the car! Now!” He took her by the hand and ran toward the Corvette parked out front. The top was down and she hopped over the passenger door. He did the same on the driver’s side.

“ My house!” She looked back and saw flames leap out the broken bay window.

“ No time.” He started the car.

“ My life,” she said.

“ No, things. You’re getting away with your life.” He let off the clutch. The wheels dug into the pavement without spinning. He turned right at the end of the street and headed for Across the Way Road, driving the car flat out.

He went through town at fifty, dangerously fast for slow Fremont Avenue. When he flew by the police station, she thought Harrison was going to come after them, but the policeman just shook his head. He was off duty and headed for home.

“ Stop,” she said. “We should get the police. They can help.”

“ Can’t help,” he said, continuing to look straight ahead, with his eyes slightly squinted as if he was looking for something.

“ Yes they can. It’s their job.”

“ She’d kill them.”

“ Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? It was just an animal. It burned up in the fire with all my stuff.”

“ Tough animal,” he said.

“ But still just an animal,” she was shouting.

“ Smart animal, found your house.” He swung a right and stepped on the gas. They were doing eighty along Across the Way Road, with the top down. The whistling wind made it impossible to talk.

She hoped Harrison Harpine was on his way home and not going to the Bar and Grill to tip a few with his buddies. He lived down the street from her. He’d see the fire and call the fire department. Maybe they could save something. Her records, her clothes. All of a sudden she was aware of the fact that she didn’t have anything on.

“ Oh my God. I’m naked!” She started to cover her breasts, then stopped. He’d seen them already and she could hardly sit there with her legs crossed, covering her breasts till they got wherever they were going.

“ Shoes,” he shouted.

“ What?”

“ Your hiking shoes, behind the seat, put them on.”

He’s kidding, she thought, she was stark naked, riding with the top down and he wanted her to put shoes on. Still it was cold out and her feet hurt from the short run across the asphalt driveway to the car. She reached behind the seat for the shoes and was glad they were stuffed with warm wool socks.

He slowed the car when they entered Tampico, obviously not wanting to attract the attention of the local police as they cruised down Kennedy Street toward Solitude River Road.

“ Where are we going?” she asked, now that she could hear herself think.

“ Far from here.” He still had his eyes on the road ahead, not looking at her.

“ And where’s that?”

“ A long way down Highway 1.”

“ You’re crazy. It was just a crazy animal and it’s dead.”

“ Not an animal,” he said.

“ At least stop and let me out.” All she wanted right now was to get out of the car and get away from him.

“ No.”

“ Why not?”

“ She’d kill you.”

There he went being paranoid again. She’d have to try something else. Maybe if she could get him to stop, she could make a run for it.

“ At least stop somewhere so I can get something to wear.”

“ No.”

“ But I’m naked and it’s cold.”

“ Sorry.”

She saw some people coming out of Dewey’s Tavern. She started to yell, but he whipped his charred right hand over her mouth. She gagged at the smell of the burned flesh, but he wouldn’t remove the hand till they were out of earshot.

“ Do you know how to shoot?” he asked her as soon as they turned onto the winding road out of town.

“ Yes.”

“ Can you handle a forty-five automatic?”

“ Point and pull the trigger,” she said. “What’s to handle?”

“ Can you hit anything?”

“ I was raised in Kenya.” That got a quick glance from him.

“ Like your Grandmother?”

“ Yeah.”

He grabbed another look at her and smiled. The moonlight was shining through her golden hair, shimmering off her breasts. She was naked and his quick look told her she was attractive.

He hit a straight part of the road and accelerated, holding onto the wheel with his left hand, favoring his right. It must hurt an awful lot, she thought. She winced when she saw that his chest was bleeding through the torn shirt, where the wolf had raked him with its claws, and she winced again, noticing that he had torn open the scabs on his face.

“ It’s in the glove compartment,” he said.

She opened it and took out the holstered weapon. The weight of it felt good in her hand. It offered a kind of safety. She held it against her breasts, like a child holding on to a blanket its mother wants to take away.