Gary Brandner - The Howling III

"What did you do then? Did you try to help him?"

"There wasn't nobody could help Curly when this thing hit him."

In spite of himself, Ramsay felt a chill between his shoulder blades. "Do you have any idea what it was, Abe?"

Craddock nodded, his eyes shifting toward the door. "It was one of them things from up at Drago. Some of them got away, you know."

"Give it a name, Abe."

"All right, dammit, call me crazy if you want to. It was… a werewolf."

For half a dozen ticks there was dead silence. Then Ramsay said, "Keep an eye on the office, Milo. Abe and I are going for a ride."

There were about two hours of daylight remaining when Gavin Ramsay brought Craddock to the spot where the two young hikers had stumbled across Jones's body. Although he paid little attention to the fantastic stories about Drago, the sheriff had no desire to be caught in these woods after nightfall.

He gestured at the patch of ground where they stood. There were dark stains visible on the carpet of fir needles.

"This is where we found him, Abe," Ramsay said.

"Remember the spot?"

Craddock looked at the ground, then quickly away. "Yeah. You can see the bush here where he kind of reared up. We had no way of knowin" if it was a man or what."

"So you blasted away?"

"Honest, Gavin, I'm tryin" to tell you how it happened."

"Okay, okay. After you shot and he fell, what did you do?"

"Then we seen the other one and we — "

"The other one?" Ramsay snapped.

"Oh, yeah, didn't I say?"

"No, Abe, you didn't."

"Well, when we came closer we seen there was another guy. Smaller. Like a kid, maybe."

"A kid," Gavin repeated.

"Yeah. Well, he saw us coming and he took off running. We went after him."

"Why, Abe?"

"Well, we, uh, thought he'd be scared and might hurt himself, or something."

"You weren't going to shoot him too, were you, Abe?"

"Jesus, Gavin, shooting the hermit was an accident. What do you think I am?"

I know damn well what you are, Ramsay thought. I know what Curly Vane is, too. Or was, as the case may be. He said, "Which way did you go?"

Craddock looked around, seeming to sniff the air. He was on surer ground now. He pointed off at an angle. "That way. The kid left the trail and took off through the brush. Curly and me went after him."

"Show me."

"I am showin" you." Craddock jabbed with his forefinger.

"Off that way."

"Let's go."

"You don't want to go in there, Gavin."

The muscles tightened around Ramsay's jaw. "I said let's go. I'm not playing games with you, Abe."

Craddock met the sheriffs hard gaze for a moment, then turned and led the way through the brush in the direction he had pointed.

"I want you to show me where this "wolf or whatever it was jumped Curly," Ramsay said.

Some fifty yards into the brush Craddock stopped. He pointed. "It was up there at the base of that leaning fir tree. I was just about here when it hit him. He never had a chance. Nobody would of had a chance with that thing."

Ramsay walked in careful steps to the tree Craddock had pointed out. He hunkered down at the base of the trunk and examined the ground. The dead needles were stained dark and crusted. He pulled out one of the plastic zip-lock bags he had brought from the office and carefully scraped a few of the needles into it. There was also a whitish powder and bits of what might have been bone. Ramsay took some of that too.

A flash of colour beyond the tree caught his eye. He walked over and prodded the brush aside with his foot. A bright red cap with a Budweiser logo on the front lay there upside down. There were shredded bits of a jacket, tough denim trousers, a boot, and part of another boot. All of it was stiff and black with clotted blood.

Ramsay turned and beckoned. "Come here, Abe."

Craddock approached reluctantly, taking care not to step where the ground was stained dark.

"Recognize these?" Ramsay said.

"Oh, shit." Craddock turned away. He clapped a hand to his mouth too late. The coffee and whiskey he had taken in sputtered out between his fingers. He bent over and retched until nothing more would come.

Ramsay stood quietly and waited for him to finish.

Finally Craddock stood up. His normally ruddy face was pale and bloodless. He nodded. "That's Curly's hat. The other stuff, that's his too, as best as I can tell."

Ramsay scanned the area. "It sort of looks like that's all that's left of him."

From off toward the mountains came a sound that froze the two men where they stood. A long, wild, ululating howl.

In the sudden deeper silence that followed, Abe Craddock turned a stricken face to Ramsay.

"Sheriff, do whatever you got to do to me, but in the name of God, let's get the fuck out of here."

Ramsay hesitated only a moment, then he nodded and they started back toward the trail.

"I am going to count up to five, Malcolm," said Holly Lang. "At the count of one you will begin to awaken. When I reach five you will be wide awake, and you will feel rested and refreshed."

The boy sat propped comfortably in the hospital bed. His eyes were closed, the lashes moist and dark against his pale skin. He smiled gently and nodded.

"You will remember everything you have told me," Holly continued, "and you will not be frightened. I am going to begin now.

One. You are beginning to wake up."

The boy on the bed stirred. His slim fingers flexed, testing the texture of the hospital blanket.

"Two… You are feeling good, feeling rested, a little more awake now."

The boy sighed. A soft, contented sound from his chest.

"Three. Waking up now, feeling refreshed and rested."

His eyelids fluttered. His lips parted slightly.

"Four. You can open your eyes now, Malcolm, and look around if you want to. You can hear the birds outside in the trees, feel the breeze coming through the window."

The boy opened his eyes. He blinked. His eyes moved comfortably about the room, settling on Holly.

Five. Wide awake now. Wide awake and feeling fine." Holly smiled at the boy. "Hi, Malcolm."

The boy pulled in a deep breath, stretched his arms, and returned the smile. "Hi, Holly."

"That was pretty easy, wasn't it," she said.

"I didn't really go to sleep, you know."

"I told you it wasn't like that. None of this trance stuff. That's only in comic books."

"I knew what was happening all the time. I could hear you asking me questions, and I felt myself answer you. It was just that all of a sudden I could… remember." A shadow crossed the boy's face.

"And now you remember everything that you told me, don't you."

"Yes. I remember the fire. And living in the woods. Running, always running because men were trying to catch me. I remember the trap. And… oh, I remember Jones." Malcolm stopped, a look of pain on his face.

"It's all right, Malcolm," Holly said gently.

"He's dead, isn't he," the boy said.

"I don't know that for sure."

The boy nodded. "He's dead. Jones was the best person I ever knew. And they killed him. Those two men. But I told you all about that, didn't I."

"Talk about it all you want to," Holly said. "Sometimes talking helps take away the hurt."

"They killed him. With guns."

Holly watched closely as the boy's gaze drifted off somewhere beyond the walls of the hospital room. She leaned forward in the chair where she sat beside the bed. Was there a change in the colour of his eyes? Or was it a trick of the late afternoon sun slanting in through the window?

"Something happened after that and I can't remember. Did I tell you what it was?"

Holly shook her head silently. There were still empty patches in his memory that the hypnosis had not penetrated. She did not want to break into the boy's train of thought now. He did look different. She was sure of it. The shadows were deeper under his cheekbones. And there was something strange about his nose and his upper lip.