Greg Krojac - WTF?

“What was that?”

She turned to her daughter.

“You stay here. Don’t come downstairs whatever happens.”

Keira nodded.

“Yes, mum.”

Tip-toeing downstairs, Gillian could hear the snarling of some kind of animal. Of course, she’d seen the reports of the animal killings but it didn’t enter her head that the perpetrator of these murders might be in her own front room. She looked through the bannister into the front room and saw what looked like a giant wolf sniffing around her furniture. What the hell was going on? It was as if she was in a child’s fairy story – except that this wolf was very, very real.

She tried to remain quiet but her heart was beating in her chest like a big bass drum. Her first instinct was to run back upstairs and barricade her daughter’s bedroom door but she didn’t want to give the animal any reason to go upstairs – protecting her daughter was the most important thing. She opened WhatsApp on her phone and sent a message.

Don’t come downstairs, WHATEVER YOU DO! Climb out of the window and jump to the tree outside. Then run away as fast as you can.

Gillian wished that her daughter would just do as she said, but Keira was twelve years old. There was no way she wasn’t going to question the order. She added another message.

There’s a big dog in the house. I’ll join you in a minute. Mummy’s going to be ok. Don’t worry.

Upstairs, Keira was torn as to what she should do. She wanted to be with her mum, perhaps help her mum, but she knew that if she didn’t do as she was told, her mum would kill her later on – figuratively speaking, of course.

Gillian stayed where she was, halfway up the stairs, until she saw her daughter through the frosted glass window of the door, running across the lawn. At least, she didn’t have to worry about Keira anymore.

She began to creep backwards up the stairs but suddenly the wolf’s ears pricked up. What had he heard? Was she breathing too loudly? Had she coughed? She was sure that she hadn’t made a noise. She moved up the stairs one more step and the wooden tread groaned under her weight. That’s what it had heard.

The wolf looked in her direction.

It knew she was there. What should she do? Make a run for her bedroom? Or Keira’s?

She turned and leapt up the steps, diving into her bedroom and slamming the door shut. She’d never been so grateful for Arnold’s insistence on having a lock on their door, as she turned the key.

But she was still too vulnerable.

She wondered if she should lock herself in the ensuite bathroom. The sound of the animal throwing itself at the bedroom door made the decision easy – the door wouldn’t hold up for much longer.

Just as she closed and bolted the bathroom door, she heard the splintering of wood and the bedroom door gave way.

Terrified, she listened to the creature pacing around the room, sniffing her bedclothes and furniture.

She needed to call for help. Where was her phone? She’d had it with her earlier. She’d used it to message Keira.

Suddenly she felt very lonely. Her phone was the only way she stood a chance of getting out of this alive. She needed to call the police. Without it, she would be dead meat.

She double-checked her pockets; it must have fallen out when she ran upstairs.

Now she knew she was going to die – there was no way to escape.

In the bedroom, the wolf was pacing from side to side, psyching itself up for an assault on the bathroom door.

Suddenly it realised that it was no longer alone. Trevor had managed to sneak unseen into the room along with Jared, Tyrone, and Father Pickles. Two more of the posse managed to squeeze in, but the room wasn’t designed to cater for six adult males and a werewolf so they stood near the doorway in case the wolf made a run for it. Each man was equipped with a couple of high tensile chains with padlocks, and was armed for bloody battle with the beast.

Trevor whispered to Father Pickles.

“I don’t know why you’re wearing your cassock, Father. Religious stuff can’t harm me, and I’m damned sure it won’t have an effect on a werewolf.”

Father Pickles grinned and reached under his robe.

“I didn’t think it would be a good idea for a priest to be seen on the streets with this.”

He pulled a strange object from underneath his garment. Jared’s eyes widened.

“Cool! What’s that, Father? A ray-gun?”

Father Pickles showed him the object.

“This, my son, is a captive bolt pistol.”

“A what?”

“It’s used to stun animals in abattoirs before slaughter.”

Trevor found the image of a Catholic Priest holding a slaughterhouse bolt pistol incongruous.

“What the Hell – sorry, Father – what on earth are you doing with that thing?”

Father Pickles laughed, but not too loudly.

“I wasn’t always a priest, Trevor. Before I joined the clergy, I worked in an abbatoir.”

In the bathroom, Gillian breathed a sigh of relief at the knowledge that she wasn’t alone anymore. Sure, she still might not make it out of the cottage alive, but the faint voices meant that someone was trying to help her.

The wolf had forgotten all about the woman trapped behind the bathroom door. It could see these other humans. They would be easier prey.

It moved forward slightly, snarling its threats. Saliva dripped from its jaws.

The posse moved back a step.

The animal shook its head and let out an ear-piercing howl.

Jared thought he was going to pee himself.

Father Pickles raised the bolt gun and pointed it at the wolf’s head.

Tyrone was getting excited.

“Shoot it, Father. Shoot the bastard.”

But the priest didn’t fire.

Jared couldn’t believe that the priest was just pointing the gun at the wolf.

“Why don’t you shoot it?”

“It doesn’t work like that, Jared. It doesn’t fire bullets. I have to get closer.”

“Why?”

“Because it fires a bolt into the brain, and the bolt then recoils back into the barrel. The bolt doesn’t leave the pistol.”

As if trying to force a demonstration of how the gun worked, the wolf lunged forward at the priest, growling and snapping. Tyrone struck the wolf’s head hard with one of his chains. The blow didn’t cause any pain, but the sight of the motorcyclist moving in the peripheral vision of its good eye distracted the beast momentarily and allowed the priest to place the muzzle of the gun against the animal’s temple. He squeezed the trigger and the bolt rocketed from the barrel, burst through the wolf’s skull, and returned into the gun.

The wolf paid no attention to what should have been a killer blow.

Suddenly, the animal was deluged by blow after blow from six high quality steel chains whipping at it.

For a few seconds, it stared right into Trevor’s eyes and the vampire found himself trying to see if there was a spark of a human soul inside the wolf – but all he saw was darkness.

Jared had rediscovered his courage, and he and Father Pickles took advantage of the lull in the animal’s concentration and trussed its rear legs together with industrial strength 26 inch zip ties.

Hobbled by the fastenings, the wolf thrashed around trying to free itself, but the ties each had a tensile strength of 200 pounds and not even the werewolf could break free.

The animal became more and more frustrated as it found its mobility severely limited. It spat at the group of men who now circled it.

Tyrone leapt on its back, and pulled on its ears. He didn’t really have any idea of what he was trying to achieve but it did force the wolf to raise its chin. Father Pickles brought all his pre-priesthood animal wrangling skills to bear and managed to slip a zip tie over its snout. With its jaws clamped shut, Trevor and Jared added two more ties to the makeshift muzzle.