"ONE OF THE BEST HORROR NOVELS

I'VE READ IN THE LAST TWO YEARS!"

-STEPHEN KING

BYRICKHAUTALA
 REFLECTION OF DEATH

"Tonight may I have my desires," the woman

said softly as she looked up at the night sky, her
naked body bathed in the gleaming moonlight,
"May I have what I want, and in return, I
pledge myself to you," she repeated, looking at
the ground beside her. There was a series of
intersecting lines forming a rough pentagram; in
the center was a knife with a six-inch gleaming
silver blade.
Her hand seemed to move of its own accord
toward the hilt of the knife. Looking from the
moon to the blade and then back to the moon
again, she asked, 4*What do I have to do to prove
my sincerity?"
Slowly, deliberately, she clenched her hand
and carefully forced the blade to her skin.
Rivulets of blood ran the length of her arm and
streaked her left breast and side. The pain was a
dull, distant ache that pulsed with her heart-
beat. The
throbbing grew steadily, until the
woman could no longer separate her pain from
the brightness of the moon. They were one: her
life's blood, her pain, and the moon.
She felt a distant joy as the Power rose within
her —and she knew that she did not control it,
yet. She breathed a deep sigh and whispered,
"Let the ceremony begin."
 READ THESE HORRIFYING BEST SELLERS!

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When Ian Donovan and Caly St. John arrive at the eerie Simpson
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Available wherever paperbacks are sold, or order direct from the

Publilsher. Send cover price plus 5(K per copy for mailing and
handling to Zebra Books, 21 East 40th Street, New York, N. Y.
1001 6. DO NOT SEND CASH!
MOON-
BYRICKHAUTALA

ZEBRA BOOKS

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

ZEBRA BOOKS

are published by

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORPORATION

21 East 40th Street
New York, N.Y. 10016

Copyright © 1980 by Rick Hautala

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced in any form or by any means without the
prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief
quotes used in reviews.

Printed in the United States of America

To Anthony Herbold,
who will never read it — damn it!
Like any other book, this one was not written in
a vacuum, and throughout the telling of this
story, some close friends gave much needed
criticism and encouragement. Most of all, my
thanks and love go to Bonnie, who was patient
and understanding — well, most of the time.
Terry Blouin was the toughest critic, but he had
to be. Steve King and Sue Austin kept me going
when my pace started to slacken. Without these
and other friends, this story would still be caught
somewhere between my brain and the type-
writer.
PART I: "HIS FELL SOUL"

Thy currish spirit

Governed a wolf who, hanged for human slaughter,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
And whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam,
Infused itself in thee; for thy desires
Are wolvish, bloody, starved, and ravenous.

—W. Shakespeare
The Merchant of Venice
(IV, i, 133-138.)
PROLOGUE: THURSDAY, MAY 13

"She was right! Dear God, she was right!"

A burning pain throbbed up his left arm,
piercing his shoulder with a sharp stab. It made
him cringe, hunching his shoulders, but he
found no relief. He staggered across the kitchen
floor and flung open the front door. Stepping out
into the cool night air, he gripped the stair rail-
ing and
looked up at the star-sprinkled night.
"Help me! Help me!!" he shouted, throwing
his head back. A violent tremor through his body
intensified the pain that swept now along his
spine. Stiffly, he vaulted the railing and ran
across the lawn toward the lake. His voice rose
and fell in wavering howls of pain.
"No! No!" he whimpered, hugging himself as
he ran. The pain suddenly intensified, doubling
him over. He fell to the ground, locked in a fetal
position. "Dear God! Please! No!"
He looked around him, at the close-pressing
night. Across the shimmering moonlit lake, he
saw the distant shore. The dark forest seemed to
spread around him like encircling arms. It
reached for him, and he twisted in agony on the
ground, pulling away from the grasp of the
forest.
He looked frantically for the hands, the dark
hands of the forest that reached out to grasp
him. Looking down, he saw his own hands, held
clawlike, as they twisted and dug into the loose
soil.
"No! No!"
He tried to stand, but the pain wracking his
body forced him to remain crouched. He raked
at the ground, as if, on level ground, he was slip-
ping, falling
away. Large clots of earth tore
away in his furious clawing. Dirt smeared the
backs of his hands until he was almost unable to
see them, pressed against the ground.
His breathing came in ragged gasps, fighting
the constricting pressure he felt. His head rolled
loosely on his shoulders, but when his eyes
caught the gold diskof the moon, he froze, star-
ing. He
felt the embracing arms of the forest
groping, reaching. Dark hands clawed at him.
With one last, throat-tearing scream, he con-
vulsedthen,
and lost in pain, found relief in un-
consciousness.

10
 Chapter One

Saturday, August 23

Another car sped down Main Street, a red

Buick with New Jersey license plates. It was
headed toward Route 43, from there to Route 16
and south. The light at the intersection of
Turner Avenue and Main Street turned yellow as
the Buick, taillights flickering, swung around the
corner and left town.
The afternoon was hot and sticky. The sky
held a dull, almost pulsating blue. Summer
visitors were beginning to nail down the shutters
on their camps, stuff their cars and trailers with
suitcases and kids, and head back home. There
would be a few of them returning in October for
apples and Halloween pumpkins, and maybe a
few families would open up their cottages one or
two weekends for skiing, but the locals of

11
Cooper Falls were beginning to feel the relief
they felt every late summer when their town was
turned over, once again, to them.
Bob Wentworth paused in his walk to watch
as a blue Chevy station wagon jolted to a stand-
stillthe
at light. When he noticed the young boy
sitting in the back, staring curiously at him, he
looked in the other direction up Main Street un-
til heheard the car pull away when the light
changed.
Gritting his teeth, he reached into his shirt
pocket for his cigarettes and shook one out. After
lighting it, he watched as the smoke hung
suspended in the muggy air. He stared vacantly
at his lighter before putting it away, then, shak-
ing hishead, continued his walk down Main
Street.
How long had it been since Amy had given
him that lighter, he wondered. He kept his hand
on it and toyed with it in his pocket.
He noticed that the blue Chevy had turned in-
to Ernie'sExxon station. Ernie was busy splash-
ing sudsy water over the windshield. Bob, not
wanting to chance another inquisitive glance
from the kid in the back of the station wagon,
crossed the street. He took one deep drag from
the cigarette and dropped it down into an open
drainpipe.
The Chevy was filled now, and it rattled past
Bob, down to the corner of Barker Avenue. It
looked as though these people were just coming,
rather than going, and it reminded Bob that he
still had a little more time before school started

12
and he began his new teaching assignment.
The left turn signal on the Chevy began to
wink, and Bob watched as the driver bolted
across the street. He cut right in front of an on-
coming pickup
truck. Both horns blasted. The
Chevy cut hard to the left and, fortunately, the
pickup veered into the other lane. There was a
loud scraping sound as the Chevy jolted over the
curb. The driver of the pickup straightened out
his wheels and continued up the street without
slowing. He had his hand held high above the
cab of the truck, his middle finger extended.
When the driver of the pickup was beside
Bob, he stopped the truck and stuck his head out
the window. "D'you see that?" he shouted. His
face was flushed. "The fuckin' idiot!"
"Just up from New Jersey," Bob said with a
shrug. "What do you expect?"
The driver of the truck grimaced and then
pulled away. The Chevy had already made its
turn and gone.
Bob's walk had just about taken him the
whole length of Main Street. The rest of the
street, from Barker Avenue on down to the river,
had only a few more stores and a couple of run-
down apartment
buildings. Bob turned around
and started back.
Bob enjoyed these walks through the town. It
helped him in a number of ways. First of all, it
gave him a sense of where he now lived and
worked. As a new teacher in the high school, he
wanted to have some idea of what country life
was like. The only thing he was sure of was that

13
it would be a lot different than living and
teaching in Worcester.
The second thing Bob liked about his walks
was that it gave him plenty of time to think, to
think about how he was going to live and work
in this town without Amy. They had separated
in June, just after they decided to move to
Cooper Falls. After Bob had learned that he had
the job teaching English at the high school, he
had been firm in wanting to follow through.
Amy had hesitated but finally agreed to come
with him, to give their lives a fresh start. That
resolve had lasted about a week. His walks
helped him sort out his thoughts and feelings;
but still, beneath it all, he felt bitter, resent-
ful—
and scared; scared because, for the first
time in a long time he had to prove something to
himself —alone.
Just as he was about to cross the street,
another car pulled up to the curb beside him. It
was Harry and Ellen Cushing. Bob went over to
Harry's window and bent down to talk. Through
the open window, a blast of arctic air from the
air conditioner hit him in the face.
"Gonna miss you back home," Harry said,
leaning his head out the window. His puffy arm
flattened against the side of the car. "You've
been a good neighbor/'
Bob smiled weakly and nodded. "Buy a place
out at the pond, then," he said. "Country living
would do you some good. 'Sides, I could use a
bit of company this winter."
Bob didn't miss the sorrowful look Ellen gave

14
him, and he felt bad that throughout the sum-
merhad
he involved them so deeply in his per-
sonal problems.
Harry chuckled, the flesh under his chin jiggl-
ing. "No,
we've got to head back. Can't retire
just yet."
Bob glanced down at the pavement, then
forced himself to look up brightly. "Well, when
you do, just make sure you get a place out on the
pond." He paused, then said, "By the way, you
didn't happen to see Amy out at the cabin, did
you?"
Harry shook his head.
"Ummm. She said she was going to be up
some weekend soon to pick up the rest of her
things. I thought maybe, well."
Harry looked at Bob intently. "Now one thing
I want to say before we leave, Bob, and that's
that you've got to stop making things so hard on
yourself."
Bob shifted his feet uncomfortably.
"It's not just your fault that —well, we've
talked about it and I want to make sure you
don't let this get you down. You've got a good
job, a nice place to live —a new start. Let your
old life slip away behind you."
"Easy to say," Bob muttered. He wasn't sure
whether or not Harry heard him.
"We know it's going to be hard on you, Bob,"
Ellen said, leaning across the seat. "But you can
hang in there."
Bob smiled at her use of slang; he knew she
used it on purpose, trying to communicate with

15
someone she felt was so much younger than she.
"But you won't catch me running around up
here until next June," Harry said, trying to
lighten things up. "I've heard about these
winters, and you can have them as far as I'm
concerned."
"They can't be that much worse than winters
in Massachusetts," Bob said, smiling. He shook
Harry's proffered hand. It was cold and clammy
from the air conditioning. "I'll set aside a bottle
or two of Scotch, and I'll see you next summer."
"Sure thing," Harry said. "If you survive the
winter." They all laughed as Harry rolled up his
window.
"Keep in touch," Ellen yelled as the window
shut.
"For sure."
The car pulled away from the curb, and Bob
stood there silently waving as the Cushings drove
down Main Street and slowly rounded the
corner.
As he watched them drive away, Bob felt an
empty pit in his stomach when he realized that
he would indeed miss the Cushings. He found
that they were a nice couple, once he had gotten
to know them. They had listened to him when
he most needed someone to listen to him. And,
as far as he knew, he was going to be the only
person staying out on Pemaquid Pond for the
winter.
But winter is months away, he reminded
himself, squaring his shoulders. He breathed
deeply and crossed the street to the park. Even

16
the shade from the maple trees that lined the
sidewalk gave no relief from the heat, and Bob
decided that he would head on back to the cabin
and maybe take a quick swim before supper.

.II.

Monday, June 23

"She's gonna be pissed," Billy Sikes said, ex-

haling
lungful
a of smoke and snubbing his
cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. He
barely took his eyes off the dark road ahead. The
twists and turns along Mountain Road, from
North Conway to Cooper Falls, were dangerous
for any driver, even a driver who knew the road
as well as Billy Sikes did. Of course, two six-
packs and numerous joints didn't help.
"Stop sweating it, will you?" the young
woman beside him said laconically. Her eyelids
were half-closed, and she had a dull, stoned
smile spread across her face. "Just tell her you
had a flat tire or somethin'."
Billy snorted. "I've already had two flat tires
this summer."
"You'll think of somethin'," his passenger
mumbled, and then she seemed to doze off; her
breathing became shallow.
The wind whistled through the opened air-
vent with a shrillness that set Billy's teeth on
edge. He considered putting the radio on, but he

17
glanced at the sleeping woman and decided to
let her sleep in peace.
Her name was Joyce Brewer. She had
graduated from Cooper Falls High School last
June, and planned to start working full time at
the local I.G.A. grocery as soon as there was an
opening. Billy had been seeing her for almost a
year, and he hoped that his wife, Julie, didn't
have any suspicions. She wasn't much of a con-
versationalist;
wasn't all shethat bright a girl;
but she liked to party and she liked to screw, and
that was all Billy really cared about.
Billy shook another cigarette from the pack on
the dashboard, and lit it. The flash of light made
Joyce stir, and he looked over at her again. The
bright light of the full moon was shining through
her window, and the shadows emphasized the
fullness of Joyce's breasts. He could see her nip-
ples pressing
against the soft fabric of her
T-shirt. Billy felt a lump form in his throat and
puffed nervously on the cigarette.
Five minutes later, a reflective sign loomed
out of the darkness: Cooper Falls —Two Miles.
Billy reached out and gently shook Joyce's
shoulder. "Hey. Come on. Wake up," he
whispered. "We're 'bout there." He smiled softly
and let his hand move down and grasp her
breast. He gave it a squeeze, and Joyce groaned.
"Come on, babe. We're almost in town."
Joyce sat up a bit straighter and rubbed her
eyes. Billy kept his hand on her breast. An even
battle ensued between keeping his eyes on the
road ahead and keeping them on Joyce.

18
 "Ummm, boy," Joyce said with a sigh, "that
drive went by pretty fast."
They came up to a stop sign, and Billy had to
take his hand away from her so he could
downshift. The road split off left and right, but
before he pulled away from the stop sign, Billy
put the car into neutral and shifted around so he
faced Joyce. His hand went immediately to her
breast again, and now that she was awake, Joyce
moaned with pleasure. They kissed long, and
ran their hands over each other's body.
"Good time tonight," Joyce said, still sounding
drugged. "You gonna be able to get away next
weekend?"
Billy grunted, "Dunno," and slid his hand up
under her T-shirt. Joyce's hand started to rub his
crotch with increased vigor.
They were both lost in their embrace when
something bumped against the car. They jumped
up and looked around, startled.
"What the hell was that?" Joyce asked, a trace
of fear in her voice.
Billy was scanning the area back and forth, his
head bobbing like a chicken. "Maybe a branch
dropped and hit the car," he offered. His voice
didn't sound like he was convinced.
"Let's get back to town," Joyce said, sitting up
and pulling her shirt back down. "You gonna
drive me home?"
Billy was still looking around nervously. "I
was thinking you could walk from here," he
said. "It's goddamn late enough as it is. What
the hell am I gonna tell Julie?"

19
 "You'll think of something honey pie," Joyce
said, smoothing his cheek. This seemed to make
him relax, and he turned back to her. "And you
wouldn't want me to walk all the way home
from here, would you?" she asked, sounding
much sweeter and more innocent than she was.
"You done it plenty of times before," Billy
said.
"I just don't feel like it tonight, honey pie. And
besides," —she let her hand rest on his crotch
with slight pressure —"I was thinkin' you might
come up for a quick cup of coffee." She squeezed
harder. "I don't have any cream for mine."
Billy laughed and then leaned forward, wrap-
pingarms
his around her. They held each other
tightly for a moment. Suddenly, Joyce let out a
shattering scream.
"Jesus! Look out!" she screamed, pointing,
wild-eyed, over his shoulder. Billy had an instant
impression that her face looked almost skull-like,
then he snapped his head around.
What he saw outside the car window made his
stomach tighten up like a clenched fist. He tried
to say something, but all that came out of his
mouth was a gagged, choking sound. Staring at
him, not more than a foot away and with only
the car window between them, was a large dog.
Its teeth were bared in an angry snarl, and its
eyes seemed to glow with a ferocious hatred. Bil-
ly watched in stunned horror as the animal
pressed its muzzle against the glass. Foamy saliva
smeared the window.
Joyce had stopped screaming and was pressed

20
against the passenger door, quivering with fear.
Billy looked over at her and then back at the
animal. Automatically, his hand went to the
horn and pressed down, giving off a loud, blar-
ing blast.
The dog —it looked like an overgrown
German shepherd —started to rumble deep in its
chest.
"Christ!" Billy yelled, "let's get the fuck outta
here!" He jammed the car into gear and took off
from the stop sign with a squeal of tires. He had
turned left, taking the road toward town. He
would have turned right to go to his house.
"You gonna bring me home?" Joyce asked
tightly. She was still huddled in the corner of the
seat.
"Right to your door," Billy answered. He
drove grimly, constantly glancing in his rearview
mirror. His heart was still pounding, and he had
to urinate badly.
"Who the hell's dog was that?" he asked either
Joyce or himself. Neither of them had an
answer. "Christ, I've never seen a dog that big
before!"
The road seemed to unwind slowly. They
were still two or three miles from the turnoff to
Millstream Road. They were following the Con-
way Road
along the east bank of the Sawyer
River and would have to cross the river into
town down by the old woolen-mill bridge. In
spite of the car's headlights and the full moon
overhead, Billy had a numbing sense of the
darkness of the surrounding woods. He tried not
to admit it even to himself, but he was still
scared.
21
 "Was, was that thing, you know, like standing
up on the car, or was it, was it really big
enough, you know, tall enough to . . . ?" jffefet
the question drift away as he looked over ana
connected with Joyce's wide, blank eyes.
He knew the turn was coming up on the right,
so he started downshifting and snapped on his
turn signal. Once they crossed the bridge into
town, Billy thought, they'd be safe for sure. He
remembered something, vaguely, about how
demons or evil spirits couldn't cross running
water; he also wondered why seeing that large
German shepherd had made him think of
demons.
The turn was just around the next bend in the
road. Billy smiled over at Joyce, who still hadn't
moved. "I guess I won't come up for that cup of
coffee. Not tonight."
Joyce nodded dumbly.
There was a sign ahead: Old Mill Bridge —
Millstream Road. Billy eased the car into second
gear and started the turn. He gasped and Joyce
screamed again when they saw, standing in the
middle of the road, its back bunched up, its legs
planted firmly, as if to spring, the same large
dog.
"What the—" Billy said. He laid his hand on
the horn and snapped his headlights from high to
low to high. The animal wiggled back and forth,
ready to pounce. Billy slammed on the brakes
and stopped the car about twenty feet away.
"I'll be goddamned if I'm gonna — " he started
to say. He pressed in the clutch, put the car into

22
first, and jammed the accelerator to the floor.
"Get out of my fuckin' way!" he shouted, mov-
ing his
foot to the side and letting the clutch pop
out. Tires screamed, tearing at the asphalt as the
car darted forward. The headlights, on high
beam, transfixed the animal, sending back a
fiery green glow from the beast's eyes.
The dog had no place to go. It would either
have to jump into the river or be hit by the car.
Billy smiled grimly as he bore down on the
animal. "You're gonna get out of my fucking
way or I'm gonna —"
He never finished his sentence. Just as he was
sure he was going to smash into the dog, the
animal sprang up into the air. The move was
perfectly timed, and if Billy was going to hit the
damned thing, he would have to swerve to the
left. The trouble was, it was already too late for
such a move. The animal was already clear of
the car with no more damage done it than wind-
ruffled fur and dust in its face from the speeding
auto. Astounded, Billy jerked the steering wheel,
trying to correct for his error. He glanced in his
rearview mirror and then back at the road. He
knew immediately that it was too late, too late
for anything.
Billy's foot hit the brake pedal just as the front
fender of the car smashed through the wooden
railing of the bridge. When the brakes grabbed,
they did nothing more than start the car spinn-
ing around
in a circle. One of the cross beams,
the one that had the sign reading Old Mill
Bridge —Built 1886, tore into the door on the

23
passenger side and took off the right side of
Joyce's head.
The car had enough speed to shoot out over
the dark, swiftly flowing water and crash flat
against the sheer rock face of the further shore.
Billy Sikes' body snapped forward from the im-
pact, breaking
his neck and spine in three places.
The car exploded into a ball of orange flame and
oily black smoke, then it dropped into the black
water to be extinguished and submerged.

24
 Chapter Two

Monday, September 1

.1.

The sudden, scraping sound of brakes behind

him made Bob Wentworth jump. As he spun
around, his mind flashed a quick picture of an
accident, but his brain also registered that these
squeaky brakes sounded familiar. He wasn't sur-
prised when
he saw Amy smiling at him through
the windshield of their battered blue VW beetle.
She tapped the horn twice and then wiggled her
index finger at him in greeting.
Good, Bob thought, at least she's in a good
mood. He nodded and walked over to the
passenger door. He hopped into the car and then
reached for a cigarette.
"Hi."
"How you doing?" he asked, as he fished in his
jacket pocket for his lighter.

25
 "I wish you wouldn't smoke in my car," she
said firmly. The smile was beginning to fade at
the corners of her mouth.
"Ahhh. That's right. It's your car now." He
smiled back at her and then put the cigarette
back into the pack. He looked out at the sunny
day and the less than busy main street of Cooper
Falls.
Amy let the car idle for a moment, but had to
keep stepping on the gas to keep the motor from
stalling out. "I've been out to the cabin," she
said finally, once it was obvious that Bob wasn't
about to start the conversation. "I had to pick up
a few more things." She flicked her eyes toward
the back seat, which was filled with boxes. "I
was hoping I'd catch you before I left."
"You got me," Bob said, wishing he had lit the
cigarette anyway. He wanted to sound casual,
uncaring, but was afraid that she heard his voice
catch in his throat. "So, what's on your mind?"
Amy didn't answer. She dropped the car into
gear, raced the motor, and then started driving
up Main Street. The smile was just about gone
from her face now, and there was a deep frown
forming on her forehead. The gears grinded
noisily as she gained speed.
Bob's hands were beginning to feel sweaty. He
looked down at them, pale knuckles and thin
fingers, and wiped his palms on his blue jeans.
Then he folded his hands on his lap and looked
over at Amy.
God, but she's damn good looking, he
thought, as he studied her profile. Maybe her

26
jaw was a bit too sharp and her nose was too
small for her face, but he had always been a
sucker for women with black hair and blue eyes;
there was something about the combination that
got him. He detected the tension in her face, and
he noticed that her thin hands gripped the steer-
ing wheeltightly as she slowed for the turn that
would take them out of town.
"So," Bob repeated, "what did you want to
see me about?" They were heading down the
road toward Route 43. "In case you don't
remember, I'm not going with you." He was
glad that his voice sounded firmer.
Amy's face hardened. "I know!" The muscles
in her jaw clenched and unclenched. She flicked
a quick glance at him. "Are you, are you sure
you want it this way?" Another quick glance. "I
mean, are you sure we're doing the right thing?"
"The right thing," he echoed, and then
snorted and looked at her intently. "The right
thing! Amy, do I have to remind you that you
were the one who decided to leave? You're the
one who has to decide if it's the right thing."
"But—"
"You said that you wanted to leave. I'm stay-
ing. I've
got a good job starting in a couple of
days, and I'm not going to blow it, not this
time."
Amy looked at him, and Bob was positive he
heard her say, "Not going to fuck this job up,
huh? We'll see about that!" But she remained
silent. Her glance said it all.
"This is my last chance to make it, and you

27
know it," he said earnestly.
Amy drove slowly down the road toward the
highway. The VW couldn't have done any bet-
ter. She
sat stiffly, watching the road with a
fixed stare.
"Do you think," Amy said, after a moment,
"that any of the school board members, or
maybe the principal or superintendent, read the
Boston papers?"
Bob's folded hands began to feel slippery with
sweat again. "Come on, Amy. Cut the shit."
"Well." She shrugged her shoulders and
looked at him.
His fingernails were biting into his hands, and
his knuckles were white. When he answered, his
voice caught in his throat. "You know there
wasn't anything to all that. Those charges would
have never held up in court."
"If they had ever made it to court," Amy said
softly, yet accusingly.
"Goddammit!" Bob pounded his hand on the
dashboard. "You know damn right well why the
whole thing was dropped. There was nothing to
it!"
"Just ask Beth Landry, huh?" Amy asked.
"She says it's true." The sarcasm in her voice
stung him.
Bob sighed deeply and tried to unwind the
tension that was building up in him and ready to
explode. He wanted to scream at her, shake her,
make her understand, shout at her until she
believed him. Instead, he said mildly, "You
know, Amy, maybe that was the most of our

28
problem to begin with. Both of us know only too
well just what to say, just how to hurt, exactly
what button to press."
"It's pitiful," Amy whispered.
"And now," Bob went on, "now we're begin-
ningrealize
to that what we were doing all
along was just hurting ourselves." Bob sighed.
"Amy, honestly, there was nothing. Nothing
happened between me and Beth Landry."
Amy drove, silent and unsmiling. The car
chugged across the bridge that spanned Pequaket
Stream, and then the town was lost behind a
screen of pine trees. Bob looked at Amy and then
out at the trees that seemed to lean threateningly
out over the road.
"Where's Jamie been staying? At your
sister's?"
Amy nodded. "She's been staying there while I
get the apartment ready. She starts school next
week, and I — "
"Well my school starts in two days," Bob said
with a snap. "And I've got a lot of work to do
between now and then; so I really don't have the
time to go joy- riding with you this afternoon.
Will you tell me what you wanted to see me
about and then drive me back into town?"
Amy suddenly pulled the steering wheel to the
right. The car rumbled onto the gravel-covered
shoulder, sending up a plume of dust in its wake.
She yanked the emergency brake on and twisted
in her seat to nail Bob with her angry look.
"I, I don't know what in the hell I ever
wanted to say to you," she said. Her lower lip

29
was trembling, and her voice cracked. "I just, I
just wish things had been different, that's all."
"This is just the way you wanted it, pal," Bob
said bitterly. He snapped open the door and put
one foot out onto the roadside. "I've had it, and
I'm just not going to try anymore. That's it."
He stepped out of the car and wanted to slam
the door shut behind him. Instead, he leaned
back inside and placed his hand on Amy's
shoulder. "We've made our decision," he said
calmly, not at all the way he was feeling inside,
"and there's just no way we can go back on it."
She looked up at him and her eyes began to
tear up.
She looks so helpless, so alone, he thought,
over and over. He wanted to apologize, to cor-
rect everything
with one word, if he could; but
he knew that everything had been said. "It's too
late," he said simply.
"Yeah." Amy's voice was raspy. "You're
right."
"Call me from your sister's tonight, OK?"
Amy nodded her head and reached for the
emergency brake. She snapped it off and then
put the car into gear. It shuddered, trying to
stall, but she worked the gas and kept it going.
"I'll be home after five o'clock. Call once the
rates go down."
Amy started to ease the car away, but Bob
walked along beside it. "Give Jamie a kiss for
me. Tell her I'll talk with her soon."
"OK."
He swung the door shut firmly, and then stood

30
there on the side of the road and watched as the
car sputtered away. He waved his hands slowly,
and then the car disappeared over a small rise in
the road and was gone. He stood and listened to
the receding sputter of the motor, and once it
had faded away, he started back toward town.

.II.

Two miles north of Cooper Falls, the Simmons

farm nestled against a barrier of woods that
became the White Mountain National Forest
about five miles due west. The farm was small,
consisting of a house, a large (mostly unused)
barn, and two smaller outbuildings, one of
which was caving in and slanting badly to one
side. A wire fence enclosed a small pasture. The
wire was badly rusted and in need of repair or
replacement. The general impression it gave,
was like that of many New Hampshire family
homesteads, one of poverty and decay.
What was most striking, or maybe peculiar,
about the house itself was its location? It sat at
the end of a long, rutted dirt driveway, barely
visible from the Bartlett Road, in the shadow of
Bear Ridge. The ridge was a steep rise that
reared its boulder-strewn head over the farm.
From the top of the ridge, you looked directly
down onto the roof of the house. Squatting in
the shadow of the ridge, the house didn't receive
any sunlight until well toward noontime, even in
the summer.
31
 Ned Simmons had learned early in his life to
hate his home and the darkness that hovered
over it, especially after his father died, leaving
him, his mother, and his brother Frank to keep
the place going. They had not done well these
past ten years, and the shadow that hung over
the farm seemed to hang over Ned's life as well.

.III.

The woman bent over and stared intently at

the book spread open on her knees. The book
was old, having been printed in the early
eighteen-hundreds, and the print was small,
almost too small to read with just the light of the
full moon. The tiny letters seemed to float and
dart about, almost as though they were trying to
rearrange their order. The old paper, turning
yellow with age, glowed with a pale blue
iridescence.
She puffed her cheeks with frustration and
pulled the hair away from her eyes. She spread
the book open, and the ancient library-binding
cracked. A fine powder dusted the woman's
knees. Again, she wished she had memorized the
pages, but the ceremony was complex and dif-
ficult
follow.
to Staring up at the night sky
above her, she took three deep, even breaths,
and then returned to her reading. She was
almost ready to begin.
"Tonight may I have my desires," the woman

32
said softly, as she closed the old library book and
laid it gently on the ground beside her. Again,
she looked up at the night sky, at the disk of the
moon, and spread her arms wide. Soft moonlight
gleamed over her naked body as she stood silent-
ly prayingto the powers she hoped to command.
"May I have what I want, and, in return, I
pledge myself to you." She had been reading at
the edge of a clearing in the woods. Now she
strode to the center of the clearing where, before
dark, she had prepared the things she needed for
the ceremony.
Dug into the ground, at a depth of about an
inch, were a series of intersecting lines forming a
rough pentagram. At the tip of each of the five
points, a willow branch had been driven into the
ground. In the center of the pentagram, there
was a cup containing a sticky black mixture, a
stump of a candle, and a knife with a six-inch,
gleaming silver blade.
The woman walked up to the implements and
knelt down. Her mind drifted, taking scattered
lines from the ceremony and recombining them
in a new order as she let her fingers dance lightly
over the ground. She considered picking up the
book and reading through the ceremony once
more before beginning. Her excitement and an-
ticipation
hermade
confuse the lines she had to
say aloud to the Power.
Was it better to have it exactly right? she
wondered, or better to go ahead with it, maybe
missing some of the words? She didn't know, but
in answer, her hand seemed to move of its own

33
accord toward the hilt of the knife. She grasped
it and held it up so the clear, blue light of the
moon made the blade glimmer.
"What do I have to do to prove my sincerity?"
she asked, looking from the moon to the blade
and then back to the moon again. The words
and actions of the ceremony were completely
forgotten as she begged for the Power to touch
her, make itself known.
"I give you my life blood, to seal our pact,"
she said, holding the hilt of the knife with one
hand and the gleaming blade with the other.
Slowly, deliberately, she clenched her hand
holding the blade and then slowly withdrew it.
The knife cut cleanly into the heal of her hand.
"I offer myself, my life, in service if I may
have your assistance." She squeezed her cut
hand. Rivulets of blood ran the length of her
arm and streaked her left breast and side. The
blood looked dark, like ink, absorbing the light
of the moon but not reflecting any of it back.
The pain was a dull, distant ache that pulsed
with her heartbeat. She looked up at the moon
and saw the orb begin to pulsate with her heart-
beat, with
her pain. The throbbing grew steadi-
ly, until
the woman could no longer separate her
pain from the throbbing brightness of the moon.
They were one: her life's blood, her pain, and
the moon.
She felt a distant joy as the Power rose within
her, yet a respectful humility kept her from feel-
ing too
much excitement. The Power, after all,
was entering her, and she knew that in no way
did she control it, yet.
34
 She looked at the pale skin of her left arm, still
held above her head. The latticework of blood
lines was beginning to dry, and the pain was
receding. The moonlight became once again
steady. But she knew. She had felt the Power!
Bowing down until her forehead was pressing
against the warm soil, she breathed a deep sigh.
Sitting up again, she whispered softly, "Let the
ceremony begin."

.IV.

Bob stood at the register in Miller's Pharmacy

and waited patiently as Vera Miller totaled up
his purchase of pens, paper, and a new
typewriter-ribbon. He was feeling uncomfor-
tablewas
but trying hard not to show it. He had
told Amy to call him after five o'clock, and it
was now past seven-thirty. Rather than going
straight home after Amy had left him off, Bob
had spent the rest of the afternoon walking
around town, taking the opportunity to feel the
place out. Once he realized what time it was,
and that he still had some errands to do, he had
tried to hurry along. Vera Miller was taking too
long to ring up so small a sale.
"You're driving to your cabin, aren't you?"
Vera asked suddenly.
"Huh? What?" Bob said. He had been idly
flipping the pages of the local newspaper, the
Cooper Falls Eagle, and her question had
startled him.
35
 "I asked if you were driving home tonight,"
Vera repeated. "Because if I was you, I surely
wouldn't be walking home. Not after dark."
Bob shook his head quizically. "I'm sorry?"
"Well," Vera said, drawing out the word for
emphasis, "you must have heard what happened
out at the Cunningham's farm last week, didn't
you?"
Bob nodded. Of course he had heard what
had happened. A wild animal — people weren't
sure if it was a wild dog or a coyote, but
something had slaughtered three of the Cun-
ningham's
lambs.
baby Whatever it was that
had killed them hadn't done it for food, either.
None of the animals had been eaten. Their
throats had been torn open and they had bled to
death. Apparently the animal had killed them
for the pleasure of killing. The whole town had
made this the number one topic of conversation
since it had happened. Even a newcomer to
town like Bob had been drawn into a discussion
or two about what had happened and what
could have done it.
"When did that happen?" he asked, aware
that Vera had been taking her time because she
had wanted to strike up a conversation.
"That was, ohh, I think it was on the twenty-
first of August, if my mind doesn't fail me." She
looked at Bob and pulled at a stray strand of
gray hair.
"Well, I'm not particularly worried," Bob said
confidently. "I mean, I don't think there's any
particular danger in my walking home."

36
 "You never know," Vera said spookily, ob-
viously playing
it up just a bit. "There's some
kind of wild animal out there in the forest, and
it sure seems like it could be dangerous."
Bob smiled and shrugged it off.
"You moved up here from Boston, didn't
you?" Vera asked.
Bob tensed, and his eyes alighted on the small
stack of Boston Globes that were in the rack
beside the counter.
"Uhh, yeah, I am," Bob replied. "Well, Dor-
Chester, really. Why do you ask?"
"Well." Again, Vera trailed out the word for
emphasis. "You just don't know what's
dangerous out here in the sticks. You city people,
you got your muggers and robbers. Here in
Cooper Falls, we got our wild animals that kill
farm animals,"
"Well," Bob said with a wide smile, "at least
you don't have grizzly bears that break into your
house^and steal your color TV's."
Vera smiled and pressed the total button on
her register. With a clang and a rattle of change,
the drawer opened. "That'll be five dollars and
fifty-seven cents," she said, still smiling.
Bob dug into his pants pocket and produced
the bills and the exact amount of change. He
counted it out into Vera's outstretched hand.
"I don't need a bag for this stuff," he said. He
stuck the pens and typewriter ribbon into his
jacket pocket, and put the pad of paper under
his arm.
"Oh, you're one of those environmentalists

37
that wants to save paper, huh?" she asked.
"No, not really. I'd just end up throwing it
away." He started for the door. Outside, press-
ing against
the plate glass window, a large white
cat regarded him for a moment, then dashed off
into the night.
Vera's voice halted him at the door. "But
seriously, Mr. Wentworth, I would be more
careful. You never know what's going to be out
there in the woods, especially after dark."
"Yeah," Bob said, swinging the door open.
The brass bell on the door jangled wildly. "Good
night."
"G'night," Vera said, and then she watched as
Bob stepped outside and the door swung shut
with a whoosh and a jangle.

.V.

"You can leave early tonight, Sue. It hasn't

been all that busy tonight," Lisa Carter said.
The master of understatement, she thought, as
she glanced at her watch and realized that about
four people had been in since suppertime. She
sighed and dropped another past due notice into
the outgoing mail. She looked around on her
desk and saw the cards from the books taken out
that day and decided she would file them in her
desk catalog.
"Are you sure it's OK?" a high-pitched voice
yelled from the next room.

38
 "I'm sure/' Lisa answered. "I can close up."
Her well-trimmed fingernails snapped through
the cards, dropping the few she had into the cor-
rect places.
She took the loose strand of hair that
was hanging in her face and tucked it behind her
ear.
That's the last time I'm going to get a short
haircut for summer, she thought bitterly, as she
held the renegade strand behind her ear and
learned on her elbow to continue the task. She
vowed silently to wear a scarf for work tomor-
row. She
put the last card in place and then slid
the drawer shut.
Sue Langford, the high school senior who was
helping her in the library that summer, came
running into the main office. She dropped an
armload of books onto the desk with a bang.
"Thanks a lot, Mrs. Carter. I didn't want to say
anything, but there's sort of a back to school
party tonight."
"That's right," Lisa said, smiling, "Wednes-
day'sbig
the day."
Sue chuckled. "Yeah."
"Senior year's the best one of all, too," Lisa
added. "Lot's of fun. Where's the party tonight,
anyway?"
"Out at Kevin Fowler's folks' camp," Sue said.
"Ohh." Lisa's smile widened when she saw the
glow that lit up Sue's face when she mentioned
the name of Kevin Fowler. She felt as though she
knew just what Sue was feeling. "Well, you can
get along now. Go have some fun."
Sue disappeared into the coat closet for a

39
second, then dashed out and scooped up the
books she had left on the table.
"Well, good night," Sue said. She was about
to disappear out the front door when she stopped
short. She stood there beside the desk silently un-
til Lisalooked up.
"Yes, Sue? Have you forgotten something?"
Sue bit her lower lip and looked at Lisa
thoughtfully. "Mrs. Carter, is there something
bothering you?" she asked earnestly.
Lisa shook her head and softened her eyes.
"No," she answered, but it sounded distant.
"If it's my work," Sue said seriously, "well, I
know I should have gotten all the books on the
cart put away, but I just, I don't know, I guess I
just didn't have my mind on my work today,
that's all."
"It's not your work, Sue," she said. She smiled
reassuringly. "You've done a great job this sum-
[Link],
In I'm sort of disappointed that you
have to go back to school. I've gotten to depend
on you a lot."
"Thanks, Mrs. Carter."
"Now you get going before you miss your par-
ty. It'sthe last party of the summer, after all,
and you're only young once."
With that, Sue made a dash for the door.
Over her shoulder, she yelled, "I'll be in tomor-
rowfour,at and I promise I'll get that cart
cleared off. Honest." And then the heavy
wooden door slammed shut behind her.
"Only young once," Lisa repeated to herself as
she rose slowly from her chair. She remembered,

40
as she had a lot lately, that it had been nine
years now since she had gone to her senior class
back to school party. Nine years. Remembering
Sue's energy made Lisa feel suddenly very old.
She felt a growing frustration within herself for
all of the chances she had missed and now,
unlike Sue Langford, would not be able to take.
Lisa went to the closet and got her coat. Then
she went over to the bank of light switches and
slowly, one by one, snapped off the lights in the
library. After checking the front door to make
sure it was locked, Lisa left by the back door.
Once she was out in the park, she paused and
looked back at the massive granite-and-brick
library, crouching in its surrounding grove of
maples and pine. She felt her frustration turning
slowly into anger, and she knew, she was honest
enough with herself to admit, that the source of
her frustration was her husband, Jeff.
She sighed deeply and started walking down
Main Street toward her apartment building on
Railroad Avenue. She knew that when she got
home Jeff wouldn't be there, that she would
cook a supper for herself and then climb into bed
alone. It was just after nine o'clock now, and she
knew that Jeff wouldn't be home until at least
midnight, probably later, and reeking of beer
and smoke. She knew all this, and she was right.

.VI.

The walk back to his cabin on Pemaquid Pond

should have been soothing, but all the way along

41
Old Jepson's Road, Bob felt an eerie, almost
panicky sensation trying to fight its way out of
his stomach. He was surrounded by everything
he had used as an argument with Amy to con-
vincetohercome with him to Cooper Falls.
There was the distant whistle of the whippoor-
will, the constant chirring of the crickets, a cool
breeze rustling through the pines —everything to
put a person's mind at ease. But Bob felt edgy
and afraid.
Of course, he realized that much of it was his
nervousness about starting his new job as an
English teacher at the high school in two days.
He always got tense before a new school year,
but things were especially nerve- wracking, con-
sideringhehowhad left Dorchester High
School. That alone was enough to keep him
awake long past midnight, but there was more;
there was something he couldn't quite pin down.
Perhaps it was what Vera Miller had said
about the wild dog that was running in the
woods nearby. It would be pretty scary meeting
a beast like that on a dark road, out of earshot of
the nearest house. Bob considered this and
almost thought he'd rather face someone who
wanted his wallet. At least in that situation, he
might live if he gave the mugger what he
wanted. If you met a wild dog, what could you
do?
The gravel on the roadside crunched under-
foot. The
wind stirred his hair. The stars
sprinkled the sky, looking peaceful. And still he
felt this vague gnawing.

42
 He came to the end of his driveway and
started up the dirt track to his cabin. The win-
dows were
dark and he hadn't left the outside
light on, so he had to fumble to get the key into
the door lock. Finally, after a bit of effort, he
got the door open, and he was just stepping into
the kitchen when the telephone rang. He
snapped on the kitchen light and ran to pick up
the phone.
Well, he thought, at least Amy got home OK.
I hope she hasn't been trying to call all night. He
picked up the phone, but before he could say
hello, he heard Amy's voice say, "Where the hell
have you been?"

43
 Chapter Three

Wednesday, September 3

.1.

Beige locker doors were opening and slam-

ming shut
as noisy waves of students swept
through the central corridor of Cooper Falls
High School. Bob stood in front of his classroom
door painfully aware of being checked out as the
new one in Room 17. There were sly glances,
quick once-overs, and challenging stares as he
leaned his back against the wire-mesh window.
He reached down and nervously flicked the tab
of his fly. The overpowering aroma of fresh
paint and floor wax made his nose sting, and he
wished he had time to go to the teachers' room
for one last cigarette before the first bell.
A well-dressed girl with curly black hair
walked past him and entered the classroom. She
held a bright red, three-ring binder close to her

44
chest, almost like armour, as she pushed her way
through the crowd. Once she was in the relative
quiet of the room, she looked up at Bob and
said, "Good morning, Mr. Wentworth."
Bob smiled and nodded a greeting. "Good
morning."
Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, then,
smirking slightly, she said, "Boy, if you think it's
crazy now, just wait." She took a seat in the
front row.
The noise in the corridor seemed to grow
louder as the time for the first class got closer.
Slowly, Bob became aware of one voice that rose
above the din of the corridor. The voice sounded
high pitched and angry.
"Get lost, will yah, Tate!" the voice screamed,
cracking.
Bob scanned the crowded hallway, trying to
pinpoint the voice. After a moment, he saw a
concentration of students. They were gathering
around two boys. Bob started over toward them.
"I'm tellin' yah to get lost!"
"Make me," another voice taunted.
The second voice was from a tall red-headed
boy, thin, but not scrawny, who was leaning
toward his opponent like a tree threatening to
come crashing down.
The other boy, the boy with the angry,
frightened voice, was shorter, stockier. He stood
with his back pressed against the row of lockers,
his shoulders slightly stooped. As Bob made his
way toward them, he could see the cornered
boy's lower lip trembling. From beneath a

45
tossled mass of black hair, his eyes burned with
rage.
"What's the matter, little Neddie-pooh," the
redhead taunted, "did your mama forget to wipe
the cow shit off your shoes, or is that your
lunch?"
The crowd of students snickered. The redhead
pursed his lips and made gross kissing sounds.
Ned cringed back further.
"That's it!" the redhead shouted, with a glee
of discovery. "Neddie-boy here eats cow shit for
lunch."
Everyone surrounding the boys started to
laugh and hoot. A few took up the chant, "Sim-
monspasture
eats patties! Simmons eats pasture
patties!"
As the shouting grew louder, Ned's eyes darted
from face to face. He scowled deeply, and his
mouth pulled back in a sneer, exposing his teeth.
"Simmons eats pasture patties! Simmons eats
pasture patties!"
"Maybe we ought to take you down to the
shower room and clean you up, get the cow shit
off you before school starts?" the redhead sug-
gested. "How
in the world could your mother
send you off to school looking like that?"
The redhead made a grab for Ned's arm just
as Bob broke through the line and shouted, "All
right! Fun's over." He grabbed the redhead by
the shoulder and turned him around. Someone
in the crowd started to boo.
"What's your name?" Bob asked the redhead,
who was trying to twist out of his grip.

46
 "Alan Tate," the boy replied. Then, after a
brief pause, he added, "What's yours?"
There were scattered chuckles, but Bob ig-
noredaffront.
the "OK, everyone, you can get
along to your homerooms now."
The crowd started to thin out reluctantly.
Bob looked over at Ned, who was still huddled
against the lockers. "And your name?"
"Ned Simmons," the boy mumbled with a low
growl in his voice.
"Well," Bob said, turning back to Alan, "why
don't we all go down to Mr. Summers' office and
straighten this out." He looked at the few
students still milling around and said, "The rest
of you are going to be late for class."
Just as Bob spoke, the bell rang. Its clanging
shattered the tension in the hallway, and
everyone drifted away, leaving Bob, Alan, and
Ned.
"Let's go," Bob said harshly.
Ned straightened up, his fists in tight balls.
"I'll get you, you pigfucker," he hissed.
Alan broke away from Bob's grip and, turn-
ing, reached
out to tweak Ned on the cheek.
"What's the matter, is the little fairy-boy getting
mad?" he said teasingly.
Ned suddenly swung his fist, but, because he
was off-balance, his punch merely glanced off
Alan's shoulder.
"All right, cool it!" Bob yelled, but Alan had
already hauled back, and his fist smashed into
Ned's face. Ned spun around, a mist of blood
and mucus spraying the lockers behind him.

47
His knees buckled, and he sank slowly to the
floor, looking dazed and hurt. He covered his
face with his hands. Blood seeped out between
his fingers.
Alan stood over him, threatening. "If you ever
touch me again, you bastard, I'll lay you in your
goddamn grave!"
Bob's hand gripped Alan's shoulder. "You go
to the office right now!" He gave the boy a push
in the right direction and Alan started down the
corridor.
Bob turned to Ned and helped him to his feet.
The boy was snorting loudly, trying to keep his
throat clear. The blood was still gushing from
Ned's nose and falling onto the floor, leaving
huge red splotches.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Bob said, sup-
porting
[Link] reached into his back pocket
for his handkerchief and offered it to the boy.
Ned remained silent, except for his loud snor-
ting.
"I've seen a lot worse," Bob said. "Noses bleed
real easy."
Ned held the handkerchief to his nose, and the
cloth was quickly saturated with blood. His
stance was still unsteady, but he twisted away
from Bob's support.
The second bell rang, and Bob looked ner-
vously
his atwatch. "Class is starting," he said.
"Can you make it to the nurse's office?"
Ned nodded.
"OK," Bob said, turning toward his
classroom, "After you get cleaned up, I want you

48
to report to Mr. Summers' office too. OK?"
Ned nodded and walked away slowly. The
heels of his shoes left long scuff-marks on the
freshly waxed floor.
Back in class, Bob guided the students through
the process of filling in the schedule cards. He
was just collecting them when everyone heard
the screech of tires from the parking lot. They all
turned and looked out the window. A rusted
Ford pickup truck ran the stop sign, swaying
heavily as it turned the corner and headed down
the road. A shimmering blue cloud of exhaust
hung suspended in the air, and then it faded as
the sound of the truck receded.
'There goes Simmons," someone said. Bob
wasn't sure who had said it, because he was still
staring down the road where the truck had
disappeared.
Someone else in the back of the room chuckled
softly.

.II.

"So there's no way you can find out if the

book is still in the library?" Bob asked, his
knuckles on the librarian's desk.
Lisa Carter looked up and tucked a strand of
hair under the red-and-blue paisley kerchief she
was wearing. I must look like a damn Russian
peasant girl, she thought.
"If the card for the book is still in the catalog,

49
then either the book has been stolen or it's been
misplaced." She made a conscious effort to sound
professional in order to compensate for her
Russian-peasant look. "The card indicates that it
hasn't been taken out of the library for more
than five years. I mean, Hadas' Greek Anthology
isn't on any bestseller lists I know of."
Her attempt at humor worked, and Bob
smiled.
"Aren't you the new teacher at the high
school?" Lisa asked, hoping to keep the conver-
sation going.
She liked the looks of this man. She
became aware that she had her hands in her lap
and that she was playing with her wedding ring,
sliding it up and down her finger. She stopped
doing that and leaned her right elbow on the
desk, keeping her left hand in her lap.
"Yeah, my name is Robert Wentworth."
"Pleased to meet you," Lisa said, holding out
her hand for him to shake. "My name is Lisa
Carter." She found herself thinking that she was
glad she hadn't let him see the wedding ring on
her left hand.
They were both silent for a moment, neither
of them knowing what to say to keep the inter-
change going.
Finally, Bob said, "Well, if it does
turn up, would you please hold it for me?"
Lisa nodded. "Sure."
"It was the text I used in college, and I'm go-
ing to
need it for a class later this semester. I'd
appreciate it."
"No problem at all," Lisa said, smiling, but
feeling very foolish, for some reason. She

50
watched as Bob Wentworth left the library,
then, once the door had shut behind him, she
got up and went over to the window to watch as
he walked down the granite steps and out into
the street. The whole time she watched, she un-
consciously
withplayed
her wedding ring, twirl-
ingand
it sliding it up and down her finger.

.III.

Ned's nipples stiffened as he leaned over the

counter and bent his head into the sink. His nose
was still throbbing from the punch he had
received 'hat morning. His mother took a pitcher
of cold ater and poured it over his sudsy hair.
Bracing himself with a hand on either side of
the sink, he held his breath and watched the
creamy white stream wash from his hair and run
down the sink. The drain couldn't take the water
fast enough, and the suds backed up and then
swirled down in a small whirlpool. The drain
began to gurgle with a deep, hollow sound.
Ned's fingers began to ache, and he realized
that he was gripping the side of the sink too
hard. The sink had always made that gurgling
sound, and ever since he could remember, that
sound had frightened him; it reminded him of
the sound of someone choking. He tried to fight
back the panic that was rising. The sound in the
sink grew louder. Suddenly, the stream of white
shampoo turned pink, and then, after his mother

51
doused his head again, a thin red line ran from
his nose and down the sink. Ned started to choke
as he snorted loudly in an attempt to keep his
throat clear. He was bleeding again.
In a panic, he turned his head to the side, and
when he did, some of the shampoo ran into his
left eye. He screamed. "Towel! Towel!" he
yelled. "Quick! It's in my eyes!"
He groped wildly, blindly on the counter
beside him for the towel. The drain continued to
gurgle above the sounds of his shouting, and his
fear rose all the more. He felt the dark, gurgling
hole of the sink start to pull him and, scared out
of his wits, he thought he might be drawn down
into it.
"Here you are," his mother said, slapping his
bare shoulder and handing him a coarse cotton
towel. He rubbed his face vigorously and kept
his face hidden until his fear began to recede.
The sound coming from the sink had grown
softer too. He pulled the towel away and saw
that it was stained with blood. He folded it so
his mother couldn't see it.
"Lord have mercy, boy," his mother said,
"don't holler so. You'd think someone was tryin'
t'kill yah!" Her voice sounded hard and cold,
Ned thought, like the chilled countertop pressed
against his chest.
"It hurt," he said meekly, as he turned and
started to ruffle his hair with the towel. He
made sure to keep the bloody side hidden. "The
shampoo got in my eye."
"Well it's not like you were gonna die." She

52
had her flabby arms folded across her chest and
was leaning against the refrigerator.
Ned was silent as he finished drying his hair
and then started to comb it. "Hey, Ma, do you
know where Frank is?" he asked.
She shook her head no.
He slid his comb back into his back pocket and
then put his shirt on, buttoning it slowly. "I was
just thinking —"
"Well, don't!" his mother said harshly. "It'll
always get you into trouble.
"No, I was wondering," Ned continued, trying
to get past her. "I've got all my homework done,
and I kinda wanted to go downtown and ..."
He wanted to keep talking, to present his argu-
mentfull
in before she had a chance to refuse,
but he fell silent when he saw her take a
threatening step toward him.
"You were thinking what?" she asked. She
took another step forward.
"I thought I might go, ummm, downtown,"
he managed to say before shrinking back from
his mother's advance.
"Going to the Royal, right?" she said shrilly.
"You were thinking you'd go hang out at the
Royal, weren't you?"
"No, I, uh I—" Ned felt the cold edge of the
countertop press into the small of his back. He
moved backward, feeling the formica rub
against his bare skin.
"You were gonna go down there and drink
beer, weren't you? Drink Beer! And the girls
who go down there! Girls! They'd be home, if
they had any decency!"
53
 "No, honest, Ma, I —" Ned had backed into
the corner and stood there, cringing under her
angry outburst. Her eyes widened, and her face
became flushed. Spittle flew from her mouth.
'Til bet you they use drugs there too. Don't
they. Don't they!"
"I dunno," Ned said weakly. He felt pressure
in his bladder.
"They do! I know they do!" Her eyes were
bulging, the yellowed whites showing all around
the pupils. She moved closer, clenching her
hands into fists that started to weave and dart
dangerously. Ned raised his hands to ward off
the expected blow.
"Is that it?" she shouted. "Have you been
smoking pot?"
Ned was silent, terror-stricken.
"Well?"
"No! Of course I haven't," he stammered. **I,
I— "
"Well you better not start," she said menac-
ingly,then,
and certain that she had scared him
into submission, she took a few steps backward
and crossed her arms over her chest again.
"It's bad enough that I've got one runabout
son. I don't want you starting in drinkin' and
chasin' after girls. Drink!" She snorted loudly
and looked at him piercingly. "You know,
drink's what killed your father."
Ned nodded his head but still didn't dare to let
down his guard. He knew from past experience
that her anger could flare up again, instantly.
"I've tried to stop Frank. Honest, Lord, I've

54
tried V Fve failed." She glared at Ned. "But I'm
not gonna fail with you! No, sir! By God and all
His angels, I'm not gonna fail with you!"
"Now," she said, and Ned could tell that her
tension had begun to unwind, "you must have
some homework to do."
Ned shrugged his shoulders. "First day of
school. I got it all done in study hall."
"Well, you just go on up to your room and see
if you can do just a bit extra. Or maybe you
could go to bed a little bit early tonight so I
won't have to drag you out of bed in the morn-
ing. You
have to finish your chores before you go
to school, you know."
"I know."
"Well, I don't wanna have to remind you. But
one thing's for certain." She stamped her foot on
the floor for emphasis. "You're not going out.
Especially to the Royal!"
Ned turned to go upstairs. He was still holding
the towel loosely in his hand, and he let it drag
up the stairs behind him.
"G'night," his mother called from downstairs.
"Sleep well."
In answer, Ned hockered from deep in his
chest and sent a ball of spit sailing through the
air. It hit the wall by the door with a dull plop.
There was blood mixed in with saliva and, for
some reason, that made Ned smile.

.IV.

The jukebox at the Royal was cranked up to

55
full volume, and the worn speakers blasted a
fluttery rumble with each bass note. It was play-
ing an
unrecognizable Rolling Stones song.
Frenchie, the bartender, was leaning with his
elbow on the bar, swirling a damp cloth in tight
circles. Bob sat on one of the stools at the end of
the bar. He nodded in the direction of the
bartender, and Frenchie walked over to him. His
damp cloth left a wet streak the length of the
bar.
"Another Mic?"
Frenchie nodded, drew a beer, and then came
back. Bob left a dollar bill on the bar, which
Frenchie picked up. Before going to the cash
register to ring in the sale, though, Frenchie
leaned on the bar, waiting for Bob to say
something.
Bob glanced over his shoulder at the crowded
room. Just about every booth was filled, and
there were three couples dancing in the center of
the floor. "Is it always this busy?" Bob asked.
Frenchie smiled. "I wish," he mumbled.
There was a sink close by, so he rinsed his rag
and then took a few more swipes at the bartop.
"Fridays and Saturdays are usually pretty good.
A crowd like this on a Wednesday night is kinda
unusual." When no further conversation was
forthcoming, Frenchie started to move back up
the length of the bar, wiping as he went.
Bob watched the crowd for a while, then
turned back around and took a swallow of beer.
He settled more comfortably in his seat, then
shook out a cigarette from his pack and lit it. His

56
glass was half empty and he was just stubbing
out the butt in the ashtray when a firm hand
gripped his shoulder. He tensed before turning,
expecting to find a drunken regular who felt
compelled to challenge this newcomer. He
turned and was surprised to see Lisa Carter smil-
inghim.
at
"You should be home, reading Greek drama,"
she said brightly.
"I would be," Bob replied, returning the
smile, "if the local library had a copy of the book
I need."
"Isn't that just the case," Lisa said. "One of
the best libraries in the state of New Hampshire,
and they don't have a copy of Hadas' Greek An-
thology."
shookSheher head sadly, clicking her
tongue. "So I see you decided to check out the
local hot spot instead."
"You mean this is it?" Bob said, and they both
laughed. He rose and pulled out the stool beside
him. "Care for a drink?"
Lisa stood there, considering for a moment. "I
suppose one drink wouldn't hurt. What say we
sit over in a booth, though."
Bob smiled and followed her over to a corner
booth. Once they were seated, Lisa leaned across
the table and, in a conspirator's voice, said,
"You know, one thing I always thought, though,
was that teachers indulged their vices out of
town." She laughed softly, but there was
something in her voice that made Bob think she
really meant it.
"Well," he said, throwing his hands up, "I

57
don't really mind if people talk. What harm is
there in that?"
He couldn't believe he heard himself say that,
not after what had happened to him in Dor-
chester!
"Cooper Falls is a pretty small town, though,
Mr. Wentworth," she said more seriously as her
smile faded. "Really, you should, maybe, be
more careful."
He looked at her and then raised his hand over
his head to signal Frenchie that they wanted
something to drink. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
he asked, once he saw Frenchie making his way
over to the table.
Lisa shrugged.
Frenchie took her order for a whisky sour and
then walked away. Bob lit his cigarette and then
sat back in the booth, observing Lisa.
She sat straight up in the seat, her hands fold-
ed on
the table. Bob realized that this afternoon
in the library, he had hardly noticed how attrac-
tive she
really was, especially her green eyes,
which seemed to flash and twinkle with humor.
"I would think," Bob said finally, "that the
local hangout wouldn't be exactly a great place
for the local librarian to hang out either."
Lisa smiled, and replied, "Well, I don't have a
school board to please, especially a school board
like the one we have."
David almost gagged Qn the smoke he was ex-
haling. "You'll,
you'll have to tell me about them
sometime," he managed to say. He fidgeted with
the ashtray, spinning it around in circles.

58
 "What can I tell you about them? They're a
cross section of a typical small New Hampshire
town." She paused for effect, then added, "They
wear red-white-and-blue underwear."
While she was talking, Bob became aware of
two voices behind him gradually rising higher
and higher as their conversation turned into an
argument. It was a man and a woman, and,
curious, Bob twisted around in his seat to glance
at them. Lisa looked also, and Bob noticed that,
when she saw who it was, she tensed noticeably.
The corners of her mouth tightened.
"Who are they?" Bob asked, but before she
could answer, Frenchie arrived with her drink.
Bob paid him, and he walked away, giving the
arguing couple a brief, harsh stare.
Bob held his glass of beer up and, clinking it
against Lisa's, said, "Well, here's to pleasing the
school board members, especially conservative
school board members."
After they each took a drink, Bob turned
around in his seat again and glanced at the
fighting couple. They were still going at it and
getting louder.
He could only see the back of the man's head:
shoulder-length, stringy black hair. He was
wearing a dirty denim work shirt. When Bob
looked at the girl, though, he felt an almost elec-
tric charge
jolt him. She had pale blue eyes that
seemed to be focusing somewhere in outer space.
They flashed from beneath a shaggy mass of
dark hair. Her face was thin and angular, with
high cheekbones, and, at least from what he

59
could see of her body, she looked like she had a
great shape. She was an unusually attractive
woman, and Bob felt an immediate interest in
her.
"Who are they?" he repeated, turning back to
Lisa.
Lisa ran her teeth over her lower lip and was
about to reply when the girl behind Bob sudden-
ly shouted, "I can see whoever I damn well want
to see! And you aren't going to tell me not to!"
Bob looked around again and saw her stand up.
He had been right; she did have a terrific body.
"And it's none of your fucking business who I
see!
"Hey, come on, Julie, sit down," the man
said, nervously rising and grabbing for the
woman's arm. "For Christ's sake, will you just
calm down?"
Lisa leaned toward Bob and whispered, "His
name is Frank Simmons. Hers is — "
She was going to continue, but the argument
at the other table drowned her out.
There was a loud bang as the woman slammed
her hand onto the table, sending her glass of
beer flying, and then shattering it on the floor.
Other talk in the bar died down. Even the
jukebox was silent as the argument dominated
everyone's attention.
"I don't have to take this kind of shit from
anybody!" the woman screamed. "You can just
stuff it!" The woman reached across the table,
picked up the man's glass of beer, and flung it
into his face.

60
 'Tuck off!" she shouted.
The man sat there stunned, sputtering. The
woman picked up her pocketbook and started for
the door. Just before she left, she turned back
and looked at the man, who still hadn't moved.
"You can go to hell!" she screeched, and then
stormed out the door.
The barroom sat in surprised silence, which
was finally broken when an old man sitting at
the bar started to clap his hands. "That's tellin'
him, lady. Yessir," he said drunkenly.
The silence settled on the barroom like a
crystal bell-jar. Then someone dropped a coin in-
to thejukebox, and conversation slowly re-
sumed.
"Frank Simmons?" Bob said, turning back to
Lisa. "Is he related to Ned Simmons?"
Lisa nodded. "Yeah. His older brother. Why
do you ask?"
"Oh." Bob looked down at his hands. "I,
umm, I have Ned in school, At least, met him
there." He took a swallow of beer, emptying his
glass. "It's a long story."
"Umm."
"So," Bob said, "who's his girlfriend? Or
should I say who was his girl friend?"
"Her name's Julie Sikes. She lives a bit out of
town, up on Martin's Lake."
"She's a pretty woman," Bob said simply. He
noticed, again, that Lisa was sitting very tensed.
"Hey, come on. You can't let that fight bother
you. Have another drink." He raised his hand to
signal Frenchie. "Tell me about yourself. I've

61
learned about the town's school board, Frank
Simmons, and Julie Sikes, but I still don't know
very much about you."
Lisa lowered her eyes and studied her folded
hands. Then she shook her head and said, "No.
No thanks. I've got to get going."
She stood up and started to walk away, but
Bob grabbed her by the arm. She was surprised
by his boldness.
"Hey. What's the matter?"
"Nothing," she said tightly.
"Something."
Lisa started for the door. Bob stood up and
almost bumped into Frenchie, who was finally
making his way over to the booth. Bob got out
his wallet and handed the bartender a five dollar
bill. He glanced over at the door and saw it clos-
ing behind Lisa.
"Here," he said, pushing the bill into Fren-
chie's hand, "Keep the change." He rushed out
after Lisa.
She was already out in the parking lot beside
her car, fumbling in her purse for her keys. Bob
ran up to her and caught her by the arm. He
turned her around, and was surprised by the
pain he saw twisting her face. Her keys clattered
onto the asphalt, and he bent down to retrieve
them.
"Hey," he said.
She looked at him, her mouth working to form
words. Finally she said, "It's personal, OK? So
don't press, OK?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sure." Bob started to back off.
"Sorry."
62
 "Oh, Christ!" she said. "It's not your fault.
I'm sorry."
Bob was still unsure, but he mumbled, "Sure."
They stood there staring at each other in
silence. The sodium streetlight cast an eerie
orange pall on her face, washing away all other
color. The night was quiet except for the distant
barking of a dog.
Lisa shivered and took a step closer to Bob.
She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder. "I
shouldn't act like that," she said raspily, "I'm
sorry." She looked at him intently, as though try-
ing toread his thoughts. "It's just that
sometimes, sometimes I like having someone I
can talk to, someone I can trust."
Bob placed his finger on her lips. "You can
talk to me," he said. The sincerity in his voice
made Lisa smile again.
"So what got you so upset? Was it that argu-
ment
thein bar?"
Lisa nodded. "Yeah. That and other things."
"What other things?"
"Well, it's Julie. I, oh, Jesus, Bob! I don't
know how to say this without sounding like a
damned fool. You're going to think you've mov-
ed to
the original Peyton Place, or something. I
don't want to unload my problems on a total
stranger."
"Not total stranger," Bob said, and he pulled
her closer. "You can tell me anything you want."
He leaned forward, and their lips met. Lisa
didn't resist the kiss, but she remained stiff. Her
lips felt cold and hard. When they pulled apart,

63
Bob saw that her eyes were filling with tears.
"Hey, come on, Lisa. It can't be that bad," he
said. He brushed her cheek with the back of his
hand. Suddenly, she pulled away.
"Oh, shit!" She covered her face with her
hands and leaned against her car roof. Her
shoulders shook with her sobs, then she
straightened up, looked at Bob, and spoke. She
fought to keep her voice steady. "Look, Bob, I've
got to tell you. I should have said something
before now. I'm sorry I didn't but —"
"You're married, right?"
"Yeah," she said simply, staring at him with
wide, gleaming eyes. She raised her hand to her
mouth as though to hold back another sob and
bit down on her knuckles.
"I should have said something before," she
whined. "But it wasn't like I was leading you on
or anything. I like you. I liked from the moment
I saw you walk into the library."
"I thought you were pretty attractive too,"
Bob said softly.
"I, I was afraid you saw me playing with my
wedding ring while you were talking to me. I
guess I kind of tried to hide it."
"No, no, I didn't," Bob said, feeling foolish.
He started to pull away from Lisa. "Well, I
guess I should be getting on back home." He
paused, then added with a chuckle, "Read a lit-
tle Greek
drama before tucking in."
Lisa smiled, but Bob noticed that some of the
sparkle had left her eyes.
"I can give you a ride home, if you'd like,"

64
Lisa offered. "It's quite a long ways to walk."
"And how do you know how far I have to
go?" Bob asked, with, a trace of humor in his
voice.
"Oh," Lisa replied with a laugh, "I know
quite a bit about you. More that you think. I
told you, Cooper Falls is a small town. Now
come on. Hop in."

.V.

"So how long has he been having an affair

with Julie Sikes?" Bob asked. He and Lisa were
sitting in her car parked on Old Jepson's Road at
the bottom of Bob's driveway. They had been
talking for close to two hours. His question hit
her like a dull hammer blow in the darkness of
the car. She looked at him and smiled weakly.
"Jeff? My husband?" she asked, sounding sur-
prised.
I really
"I, don't know."
"But you're sure he is seeing her?"
Lisa shrugged. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure." She
tried to keep her voice calm, but just mentioning
it made her feel tense.
"So why was she in the bar tonight with
Frank?" Bob asked. "From the looks of things,
I'd say they were kind of involved."
"You don't know Julie Sikes," Lisa said. She
swallowed hard, and Bob waited for her to con-
[Link] a cigarette and blew the smoke out
the open window on his side.

65
 "Julie was a sophomore in high school when I
was a senior. Even before she dropped out, she
had a, a reputation." Lisa paused and shook her
head with amusement. "Jesus, I sound like a
class-A prude, don't I?"
"No," Bob said simply.
"Well, during her sophomore year, Julie got
pregnant. She had to drop out right when she
found out. It's not like today, where someone
can stay in school right up to delivery. So Julie
dropped out just around Christmas vacation."
"Did she get married?"
"Oh, yeah. Billy Sikes admitted right away
that the baby was his. He kind of took a lot of
pride in that fact, maybe because it proved to his
buddies that he was screwing Julie."
"Hell of a way to prove you're growing up,
isn't it?" Bob exhaled and snapped the cigarette
out the window. "He dropped out of school
too?"
"He already had. Billy had been or should
have been a senior that year. He had a job at one
of the ski resorts in North Conway. They got a
house out on Martin's Lake and Julie had the
baby."
"How old is the kid now? He should be about,
what, nine years old?"
"She. It was a baby girl. Well, that's where it
starts getting kind of weird. The baby was born
that June. A real healthy kid and all. She died
later that summer. The old scapegoat: crib
death."
"That's a drag," Bob said. He turned and

66
looked out the window, his thoughts suddenly on
his little girl, Jamie. He remembered wishing
many times, when he and Amy were having
trouble, that Jamie had never been born, that
their separation would have been much easier if
a kid hadn't been involved. He tried now to
grasp the reality of losing a baby, and his mind
rejected it. He didn't tell Lisa any of his
thoughts.
"But see, one thing that's always mystified me
is that the baby was buried in a closed casket."
"So?"
"For crib death? A closed casket? Come on!"
"Well," Bob offered, "maybe she just couldn't
stand seeing her baby like that."
"That's what I'm getting to. It seemed not to
affect Julie at all. She didn't cry at the funeral.
She didn't even look upset."
"That isn't a crime," Bob said. "So she didn't
care for the baby?"
"OK, OK. Maybe she didn't like the kid, and
maybe it's a good thing that the kid didn't have
to grow up with, with Julie for a mother."
"That's really not a very nice thing to say,"
Bob said.
"Come on, Bob, you saw her tonight. Can you
tell me she struck you as a nice person?"
"You want the truth?" he asked sharply.
Lisa nodded.
"Well, my first impression, other than the
fight they were having, was that she was quite
an attractive woman. You have to admit, she's a
pretty good looker."

67
 "Oh, believe me, I know. That's just the
thing. See, even before Julie got married, she
was sleeping around. She's attractive and she
knows it. And she uses it to get whatever she
wants. So, to answer your question, how do I
know my husband is sleeping with Julie? I don't
know, but I'm positive!"
"What about her husband, Billy?"
"That's what I'd have to call the last, or most
recent chapter. Her husband Billy was killed just
this past August in a car crash."
Bob grunted and stared at Lisa. "And ..."
"And, just like when her baby died, it seemed
as though she really didn't care. She just showed
no reaction to it at all."
"You know, Lisa," Bob said, shifting around
and placing his hand on her shoulder, "a lot of
people find it hard to express their emotions, to
really let people know what they're feeling."
"You can't say that about Julie, Bob. You
don't know her; I do. Her husband didn't die
alone. He was driving with a local girl, Joyce
Brewer. When their bodies were found, there
was a lot of talk about them having an affair."
"God, Lisa, you're right. I think I did move to
Peyton Place." Bob laughed, but his laughter
failed to lighten Lisa's mood.
"How does the expression go? He wasn't even
cold in the ground, and she was messing around
with Frank Simmons, and my husband, and who
knows how many other men."
"So why in the hell don't you leave him?" Bob
said finally. He looked at Lisa and saw the

68
pained expression on her face. "You could, you
know?"
"I know, I know. It's just, that, well ..." She
broke down and began to sob. Bob patted her
shoulder and let her cry it out. They'd have time
to talk about it. Of that he was certain. One
thing he had decided in the two hours they had
spent together was that he wanted to see Lisa
Carter again, a lot.
"Hey," he said, once her tears had subsided,
"it's late. Tomorrow —" He glanced at his
wristwatch. "Today's another school day."
"Yeah," Lisa said. She adjusted herself behind
the steering wheel and started up the motor. Bob
snapped the car door open and put one foot out
onto the roadside. Even in the dark he could see
that the gleam had returned to her eyes. He
touched her and, with a slight pressure, signaled
that he wanted to hold her and kiss her.
"Don't rush anything, OK?" she said, drawing
away. Her voice was low and steady, but not
cold.
"Sure."
"Thanks for being such a good listener."
"Aww," Bob said, "it was nothing." Besides,"
he added with a laugh, "it beats reading Greek
drama any day. Good night."
"Good night, Bob."
He stood on the roadside in the darkness and
watched her pull away, then he started walking
up to his cabin.

69
 .VI.

When Lisa got home, it was almost one

o'clock. The stack of dirty dishes was still sitting
in the sink where she had left them that
morning.
As if Jeff would ever bother to help with the
housework, she thought bitterly, as she stuck her
hand into the cold, greasy water and pulled the
plug. She watched the water swirl down the
drain, then filled the tea kettle with fresh water
and put it on the stove.
She went over to the kitchen table and sat
down with a huff. The window was open, and
the yellowed curtains billowed in and out on the
breeze, catching now and then on the window
sill's chipped paint. She rested her elbows on the
plastic tablecloth and let her breath out with a
long sign. She wanted to cry, but some of the
emotions she was feeling counteracted that feel-
ing.
She looked out of the window onto the street
when she heard a car approaching. When the
car passed by, she felt vaguely relieved. Jeff
wouldn't be home for another hour or so, she
figured. For the first time in her life, she wanted
the time alone to think.
The tea kettle started to whistle, so she walked
over and turn it off. Then she left it sitting there
until the water got cold.

70
 Chapter Four

Saturday, September 20

Roy Granger, chief of police of Cooper Falls,

was sitting in his office beside the open window
reading the newspaper when he heard voices
outside.
"You never heard about that? Somewhere in
Massachusetts, I think it is in Gloucester, or
Marblehead, that this woman was killed and
eaten by her dogs when they got snowbound."
"Never heard that one."
They were coming closer, and Granger
recognized who they were even before he saw
Ted Seavey and Gene McCann walk past his
window. Granger sighed heavily and folded the
newspaper up and threw it on top of the clutter
on his desk.
"Come on in," Granger shouted, as soon as he

71
heard the heavy clump of their boots on the
steps. As the men mumbled greetings, Granger
went over to the coffee pot on the table under
the wall gun-rack and poured three coffees. He
had done it enough mornings to know that
Gene had two sugars and milk, and Ted had his
black. He handed them each a cup and then sat
back down in his chair beside the window.
"What's got you up and about this early,
fellas?" Granger asked. He rested his cup on the
window sill and leaned back in his chair until it
touched the wall.
"That damn dog, that's what," Ted replied
angrily. "It got into my hen house last night and
tore the shit out of it." He was pacing back and
forth, his face creased with concern. "I was
hoping he'd stop, that he'd gone away, 'cause he
ain't been seen for a while; but he's back, god-
dammit!"
Granger glanced over at Gene, who was sit-
ting silently
near the door, elbows on knees,
studying the toes of his boots.
"We gotta do somethin' about it, dammit!"
Gene nodded his head in agreement but didn't
take his eyes away from his boots.
"You're sure it was the same animal, this wild
dog?"
"Dammit! Sure I'm sure!" Ted bellowed,
directing his anger at Granger. "He was howling
like hell out there last night, and you should see
the henhouse!"
"I'm planning on taking a drive out there."
"When? Next week sometime?" Ted said.

72
"Christ, Roy, the way you're dragging your ass
on this, I'm beginning to think —"
"Look," Granger snapped, "I just want to be
sure. Remember last week when I got hauled out
to Judkin's place at three a.m. and it turned out
to be nothing but a raccoon cornered in the barn
by their dog? I don't want to go off half-cocked,
that's all. A coon can raise a ruckus in a
henhouse, but it sure as hell ain't no wild dog."
Gene finally looked up from the meditation of
his boots. "It's a dog all right, and a damn big
one. I saw the paw prints." He shook his head
with astonishment.
"Fucking- A straight," Ted said. "Look, I lost
close to ten hens last night, and the ones that
lived'll probably be off laying for weeks. The
henhouse looks like a goddamn tornado hit it."
Granger took a sip of coffee and rubbed his
cheek thoughtfully. "Wild dog, huh?"
"Come on, Roy, you know damn right well
there are wild dogs in the woods around here.
Tourists come up in the summer and let their
animals run loose, even though we have leash
laws; then, come September, they leave and
don't even try to get their animals back. What
the hell are the animals gonna do? They have to
survive somehow."
"Yeah," Gene said softly, " 'n, every winter
we find plenty of carcasses of deer that've been
run down by dogs."
"Now wait just a minute," Granger said.
"Those dogs that kill deer ain't wild ones. And
summer folk ain't the only people who don't

73
observe the leash laws. Anyone's dog can spend
an afternoon chasing down deer and then come
home in the evening like a perfect pet."
"Well," Ted said solemnly, "this happened at
night. And Cunningham's lambs got killed at
night. So if we ain't got a wild dog on our
hands, we got a coyote or a wolf."
Granger snickered, shifting his weight in his
chair and joining his hands behind his head.
"Come on, Ted. You and I both know there ain't
no wolves in New Hampshire, haven't been for
over a hundred years."
Ted walked over to Granger's desk and slam-
medfist
his down. "Well I don't give a shit what
it is! Me and Gene and a few other guys have
decided to do something about it." He cleared
his throat as though making a speech. "We're
organizing to hunt. We're here to ask for permis-
sion carry
to loaded guns after dark, That's
when the animal hits, so that's when we're gon-
na huntit."
"Now wait a minute, Ted," Granger said,
slowly rising from his chair. "You know I can't
suspend the hunting laws like that." He snapped
his fingers under Ted's nose.
Ted exploded. "Roy, we're gonna do it
whether you give us permission or not. Enough
of us have lost enough livestock and are worried
enough about it to take the chance of gettin'
fined." Having said his piece, Seavey went over
to the door and leaned against it. His eyes bore
into Granger, but the blood drained slowly from
his face and he relaxed. He picked up his coffee

74
where he had left it and took a sip. It was cold.
"Well, we do have a problem here," Granger
said thoughtfully. "The first thing I want you to
do is give me a list of everyone who's going to be
out on this hunt."
"Sure." Ted said.
"Good, that way if I decide to arrest you, I'll
be able to get you all." Seavey missed the at-
tempt
humor
at and glared at Granger.
"Now another thing," Granger said. "I don't
want you or anyone else spreading any stories
about wild dogs in our woods. We don't need
the panic, and we don't need any bad
publicity."
"What if it is wolves?" Gene said, almost
dreamily, as though he hadn't heard the last five
minutes of argument. "I think I heard something
about how they were gonna bring some Cana-
dian timber
wolves into the state, you know, to
give 'em a chance to expand their range. Maybe
they already started and didn't tell anyone, you
know, 'cause of the fuss."
"I doubt it," Granger said, "because I think
we would have heard something about it."
Ted snorted. "Not if they didn't want us to,
we wouldn't."
"Well I'll tell you one thing." Granger pointed
his finger at Ted. "If this here animal is a wolf,
you just keep in mind that wolves are protected
by federal law. You guys can hunt at night, and
if I don't like it, I can get the warden to slap a
fine on you. But if you kill a wolf, it's a federal
crime."

75
 Gene shrugged his shoulder, dismissing the
thought. "Maybe it's coyotes, them coy-dogs,
they call 'em."
"Whatever it is, I just want you fellas to be
careful. I have the authority to, but I won't pick
any of you up for this. Just be goddamn careful.
I don't want anyone getting shot; it's bad enough
once hunting season starts."
Gene shook his head sadly, but there was a
twinkle in his eyes. "Roy, you know it's always
out-of-staters that get shot up during hunting
season."
Ted went over and put his coffee cup on the
table and then started out the door. "Yeah, well,
we just wanted to talk it over with you. For the
next couple of nights or so, we're gonna be out in
the woods."
"OK," Granger said. "And keep me posted.
Ted, I'll be out your way later today to check
that henhouse."
"Sure. Thanks a lot," Ted said as he left. Gene
scrambled to his feet and followed him out the
door. Just as he left, someone else walked into
the office. Granger looked up and nodded to his
deputy, Rick Thurston.
"Sorry I'm late," Thurston said. "I had a little
trouble with my car this morning. Guess it needs
a tune-up."
"Don't sweat it, Rick," Granger said, "it's not
like we have a murder case on our hands." He
paused and looked out the window for a mo-
ment, then
said, "But I do think we got some
trouble brewing."

76
 Briefly, Granger filled Rick in on what had
just transpired in the office. Thurston listened
attentively, nodding but saying nothing.
"So," Granger concluded, "they're gonna be
out hunting for the next few nights. I don't think
there'll be any trouble, but it won't hurt to be on
the alert."
Thurston squared his shoulders and said, "I
try to be ready all the time."
Granger chuckled. "Good, good," he mut-
tered. "Now
to get down to more serious mat-
ters. Who's
going to run over to the B&B and see
what Ruthie's got for donuts?" He took a quarter
from his pocket and flipped it into the air.

.II.

As he got closer to the library, Bob slowed his

pace and walked leisurely along the asphalt path
that angled across the park. He had had a simple
breakfast of toast and eggs at the B&B and was
enjoying the sense of satisfaction he got walking
along the Main Street of his new town. Lisa had
a lot to do with it. They had been seeing each
other quite a bit during the past month; they
hoped they had not generated any suspicions.
There was a football game in progress at the
far end of the park, and Bob stopped for a mo-
mentwatch.
to Apparently there was a dif-
ference
opinion.
of The boys were gathered in a
circle, and Bob could hear their shrill, angry

77
voices rising higher and higher. At last the
disagreement was settled, and the boys split into
two opposing lines again. Bob watched the snap
of the ball and the resulting pile-up, then started
up the granite steps.
At the top of the steps, just before entering the
library, Bob turned to look again out over the
peaceful Saturday morning park. The trees and
the ivy that climbed up the walls of the library
were just starting to turn. A squirrel skittered
across the lawn, its cheeks filled with acorns.
Suddenly, a big cloud overhead passed in front
of the sun, blotting out the light and plunging
the park into shadow. This had an unnerving ef-
fect Bob,
on and he stood there for a moment,
rigid.
Why, he wondered, does that feel so ominous?
He watched the darkness shift over the park.
The boys playing football didn't even notice it;
they kept on playing.
While he was eating breakfast in the B&B, he
had heard a few men at the counter talking
about the wild dog. They were sure it was still
around, running in the woods. Then one of them
told everyone that something, the wild dog, he
thought, tore up someone's chicken coop. All of
this brought back the warning Vera Miller had
given him about not walking around after dark.
"You never know what's going to be out
there ..."
Somehow, the cloud passing overhead brought
all of this back to Bob, and it gave him an ex-
tremely uncomfortable
feeling. He opened the

78
door to the library and rushed in, feeling almost
as though he was seeking refuge from something.
"Good morning,'' Lisa called to him brightly.
She got up from her desk and came over to him
quickly. He noticed that she was looking better
and better every time he saw her. She glanced
around furtively, then gave him a quick kiss on
the cheek.
"Good news, too," she said, smiling. "I finally
found that book you were looking for, the Greek
Anthology. It had fallen down behind the shelf."
She giggled. "Shows how much I dust around
this place, huh?"
Bob nodded his head and said nothing.
"Hey! What's the matter?"
Bob shrugged. "Aww. I don't know."
"You still need the book, don't you?" Lisa
asked earnestly.
"Yeah, I do. Thanks for getting it," he said
dully.
"Come on, Bob. What's bugging you?"
"Nothing. Really, nothing, just, well, forget
it. So where's the book?"
Lisa slapped her open palm against her
forehead. "Stupid me. I was cleaning, so I put it
back on the shelf and then left it there." She
studied him for a moment, her green eyes sparkl-
ing. "Hey,
you know, if you want to talk about
it, I'll listen."
He saw that her concern was genuine and
tried hard to return a brave smile. "I'll go get
that book," he said, heading toward the door to
the stacks, "then maybe we can talk."

79
 "Sure," Lisa said warmly. "I'll go put on a
fresh pot of coffee. It'll be done by the time you
get back."
Once he was alone in the stacks, Bob felt a
measure of relief. He had always felt a certain
peacefulness in library stacks. The ceiling-high
metal shelves jammed with dusty old books of-
fered
pleasant
a quiet and protection. He walked
slowly down the aisle, clicking off each title as
he went. He located the Hadas book, tucked it
under his arm, and continued down the line
without interruption.
His thoughts were muddled as he tried to sort
out why he had gotten such a funny feeling as he
looked out over the park. There was no way he
could deny it; there had been a distinct feeling of
foreboding, of danger. He realized that he was
letting little things bother him. This talk about a
wild dog in the woods just wasn't as serious as
the guys around town were making it. He tried
to force his mind into a lighter mood.
He snapped up straight suddenly. Had it been
his imagination, or had he really heard faint
laughter? He cocked his ear and listened intent-
ly. He
heard it again; not right-out laughter, but
muffled, as if behind a hand.
Bob peered along the row of books he had
been following. The stacks were quiet again ex-
cept the
for buzzing of the fluorescent lights.
Then, a third time, he heard it: a high, almost
childlike laugh.
He found that he was holding his breath as he
edged his way around the bookcase into the next

80
aisle. There was no one there, and just as he had
concluded that he hadn't pinpointed the direc-
tion correctly,
he caught a shadow of motion in
the next aisle over.
Someone else was in the stacks. That wouldn't
have unnerved him, ordinarily, but that
laughter: so childlike, yet so spooky sounding.
Silently, Bob tiptoed to the aisle and sneaked a
look at whoever it was who had invaded the
sanctuary of the stacks.
When he first saw the woman, he had to
choke back a gasp of surprise. He immediately
recognized the mass of tangled black hair. The
woman, sensing that someone was watching her,
snapped her head around and nailed Bob with a
harsh stare.
It was Julie Sikes.
She was holding a large, leather-bound
volume in her hands. Keeping her pale blue eyes
locked on Bob, she slowly closed the book and,
without looking, slid it back into place.
Bob was transfixed by her appearance. Her
wild shock of black hair framed her face which,
in the harsh electric light, looked pale and wax-
en. She
was wearing a long black dress that
brushed the floor, and a white shawl over her
shoulders. When she turned around, Bob sawr
that the top of her dress was open, exposing a
vast area of her chest.
"You surprised me," she said softly, airily. Her
voice was nothing like the angry voice Bob
remembered from that argument in the bar. She
held Bob's gaze with her eyes.

81
 "I'm, Fm sorry," Bob stammered, feeling em-
barrassed.
uhh, "I,I didn't know there was
anyone else up here."
Julie smiled slightly. "It is a public library,
isn't it?" she said, with a faint laugh.
"Oh, yeah, sure." Bob tried to take his eyes
away from the woman, but the piercing, blank
gaze held him.
"You gave me quite a start, too," Julie said.
Her smile widened, and she ran the tip of her
tongue over her lips.
"I didn't mean to," Bob said. "Sorry."
Julie took a step closer to him. He felt a tight
tingling in his stomach. "Uhh, what were you
reading that was so funny?" he asked, aware
that his voice sounded strained.
"Oh nothing, nothing," she said, shrugging
her shoulders. Bob couldn't help but notice that
the movement emphasized the woman's ample
cleavage. "I was just looking for something to
read, a novel or something."
She took a few more steps closer to Bob, and
he pressed back against the bookcase to let her
pass. She stopped, standing right up close to
him. He caught an aroma of cloves, and he
could feel her body-heat.
Looking directly into his eyes, she said, "Do
you have any suggestions?" Her breath was
warm on his face.
"Ahh, no. Not really," Bob said awkwardly.
He tried but was unable to look away.
"Hmmm," she said, looking thoughtful and
faraway. "Well, maybe later." With that, she

82
moved past him and walked down the aisle. Bob
watched her hair bounce and flutter with each
step. Just before she turned the corner to leave
the stacks, she turned around and nodded,
almost imperceptibly. Bob nodded back silently,
and then she was gone.
Once she was gone, he would have seriously
wondered whether or not she had been there
had he not been left with the cloying aroma of
cloves.

.III.

"She must have come in when I was in the

back room or something," Lisa said, blowing on
her coffee before taking a tentative sip. "I didn't
know she was up there."
Bob smiled slightly, shook his head, and
looked down at the floor.
"Well?" Lisa said. "Did you speak with her?"
"Uhh, no." Bob shook his head and started to
raise his cup to his mouth. Some coffee spilled
and burned his fingers. "God! This is hot," he
muttered.
"What was she looking at?" Lisa asked. She
was making an effort to sound casual, conversa-
tional,she
butcould see that meeting Julie had
put Bob on edge.
"I don't know," Bob replied. "I didn't even
check. It just startled me because I thought I
was up there alone, that's all. But I'll tell you
one thing, Lisa. You were right. She does have

83
some kind of a, some kind of an energy or
something. I don't know. It seemed like she had
some kind of power or something."
Lisa laughed and took a sip of coffee. "Now
you're starting to sound like her."
"Huh?"
"You didn't check to see what she was looking
at. I'll bet you next week's paycheck it was some
kind of occult book. You know, witchcraft, ESP,
whatever."
Bob raised his eyebrows.
"That's all she ever takes out, books like that."
"Well then she really likes to play it up, I'll
tell you that much. It's like she has this kind of
control over things that nobody else has. Like,
like, I don't know."
"Now, maybe you understand what I was try-
ingtell
to you that night I met you at the Royal.
She always has that kind of aloof detachment,
even when she was at the funerals for her baby
and her husband."
"She's weird, all right. I don't know what
she's into, but it sure must be a strange trip."
"She really shook you up, didn't she?"
Bob nodded and drained his cup with three
gulps.
"Here. Do you want a refill?"
Bob held out his cup and Lisa started to pour.
His hand was shaking. Lisa reached out with her
other hand to steady Bob's cup.
"God! Your hand's as cold as ice," she said
with surprise.
Bob smiled tightly but said nothing. He

84
reached into his pocket for a cigarette and lit it,
inhaling deeply. He straightened up and said,
"Hey, let's forget it, huh?" He looked into Lisa's
eyes and drew her closer to him.
"The library isn't going to get very busy today.
It's a beautiful September day, and it's almost
time for lunch. What do you say we drive out to
North Conway and see if we can find a
restaurant with a decent menu?"
Lisa hesitated, cast a nervous glance into the
empty library, and then said, 'Well, OK. But I
have to be back by one o'clock."
"Two at the latest," Bob said, grinding out his
cigarette and taking Lisa by the arm.

.IV.

Through the dust and cobwebs that covered

the hayloft window, Ned could see the sun slant-
ing down
behind the hills. A beam of light sliced
through the grimy window, illuminating a small
cloud of dust that hung suspended, glittering
over Ned's head. Below, he could hear the cows
shuffling in their stalls.
Ned grunted and started tcTpush a bale of hay
across the floor to the open trap door. He
paused, wiped the sweat on the back of his neck,
then shoved the bale up to the opening. The bale
balanced on the edge, teetered, and then fell to
the floor below with a dull thud. He looked
down and saw that the baling wire had snapped,
and the hay lay spread out like an accordion.

85
 Ned sat back on his heek and stared vacantly
at the wall. He felt a line of sweat carve its way
through the grime on his neck. Slowly he raised
his hand and pulled his damp hair away from his
eyes, then, shaking his head as if just waking, he
stood up. From below, he heard the side-door
spring stretch open, then the spring twanged and
pulled the door shut. Footsteps scuffed along the
cement floor and then stopped.
"You up there Ned?" his mother called sharp-
ly-
He stood tensed, unable to answer.
"Well, supper's on."
"K," he answered, his voice as thin as paper.
He heard her take three quick steps and then
stop.
"You got everything done?" she yelled, and
when he didn't answer, "I said, did you get — "
"Yeah, yeah, just about. I'll be right down."
He glanced out the window where the sky was
now tinted orange with thick purple streaks in it.
A spot right between his shoulders got a sudden
chill, and he shivered as he shifted his gaze back
to the trap-door hole. "Be right down," he
whispered as he curled his upper lip into a sneer.
He waited without moving until he heard his
mother leave the barn, then he lowered himself
through the hole. His arms trembled, supporting
his weight, but before he dropped, he glanced
down at his legs. He let them hang loosely,
suspended, swaying above the floor. For a mo-
mentfantasized
he that he was a hanged man,
and the image amused him until he glanced at

86
the worn, shiny wood at the edge of the trap
door. The fantasy took on a harsh degree of
reality. He looked at his hands; they looked pale,
the skin seemed thin as onionskin.
"No, no," he whispered, the words barely
above a croak. The image of the gallows re-
mained
he snapped
as his arms to his side and
dropped.
He hit the floor with a groan, his knees giving
way with a sharp, burning pain that shot down
to his ankles. Moving slowly, he went over to the
stall and grabbed the pitchfork he had left there.
As he was forking fresh straw into Tillie's stall,
she looked at him over her shoulder. Softly she
mooed.
"That's easy for you to say," Ned muttered,
his eyebrows creasing into a deep slash across his
forehead. "You've got it pretty goddamn easy."
He reached into her stall, grabbed her water
bucket, and placed it on the floor beneath the
faucet. As the water sputtered, mostly into the
bucket, he waited patiently, running his hands
along the tines of the pitchfork.
"Are you comin' sometime tonight?" his
mother called from the house.
"Just a minute."
"And have you seen Frank? He's late again!"
"Who gives a shit about Frank?" he said, not
loud enough for her to hear. He reached out to
turn the faucet off and, grunting, lowered the
pail back into Tillie's stall. " 's probably with
Julie getting his rocks off," he said, letting his
voice trail awav as he became conscious of a dull

87
ache in his crotch. He reached down and
scratched himself.
Before going into the house, Ned paused to
survey the barn. There was still more than half a
bale of hay spread across the floor; there was a
big puddle of water on the floor where it had
sloshed from the bucket; there was the loft trap
door gaping open like a hungry mouth.
Ned coughed a ball of spit from deep within
his throat and sent it sailing off into the darkness
of the barn, then he turned and went into the
house for supper.

Inside the doorway, as he untied a bootlace,

Ned kept glancing at his mother, who was sitting
at the kitchen table, her arms across her chest.
Her mouth was set in a firm scowl; her eyebrows
arched questioningly.
"I asked you," she said, voice iron-hard, "if
you know where Frank is. He's late again."
Ned dropped a boot to the floor, unmindful of
the mud and manure that smudged the tiles. "I
haven't seen him since morning." He kicked the
boot over into the corner and then began unty-
ing the
other. He noticed that his hands were
shaking as he wedged the boot off and dropped
it.
"I wish you wouldn't make such a mess," his
mother said, rising and moving over to the stove,
where she began stirring the pot of baked beans.

88
Ned studied his mother's shoulders as she
worked. He heard her puff as she blew her hair
from her face and then began scooping beans on-
to aplate. Ned dropped into his seat with a
groan.
"Something the matter with your eyes?" his
mother asked as she placed the plate of beans
before him.
"No."
"Well, they look pretty bloodshot."
Ned glanced up at the fluorescent light on the
ceiling and winced. "Maybe the dust and stuff in
the barn," he replied, reaching for a slice of
brown bread. They were stinging a bit.
"You getting enough sleep?"
"Sure."
His mother filled a plate for herself and sat
down opposite Ned at the table. He ate in
silence, knowing that if the silence were to be
broken, she would be the one to do so.
"Oh."
She paused for effect. Ned tensed.
"I see you didn't get the henhouse cleaned out.
I went out while you were at work, and it looks
like you haven't hoed it for months."
Ned stared down at his plate, swirling the
beans with his fork, and replied softly, "Mr.
Pomeroy had a big delivery. I had to get there
early." He felt as though he were pleading.
"What's more important, Pomeroy 's I.G.A. or
your family's henhouse?"
Suddenly she fell silent, and they both turned
to look out the window when they heard Frank's

89
truck coming up the driveway. Ned smiled
slightly when he heard a spark plug misfire. A
beam of light swept over the kitchen wall. The
brakes groaned; the tires skidded in the loose
gravel. When he heard his brother's heavy
clumping feet on the doorstep, Ned turned back
to his supper, swirling his beans again.
Frank walked into the kitchen with merely a
nod of his head as greeting, and sat down at the
table. "Well," he said, leaning his .308 Mustang
against the table, "I'm starved. Smelled them
beans half-way home." He rubbed his hands
together.
"Frank, will you please not bring your rifle to
the table? How many times do I have to tell
you?"
Frank reached across the table and placed a
hand lightly on his mother's shoulder. "Now you
don't have to worry; it ain't loaded," he said.
"I've been out hunting all day, and I'm beat,
and starved."
His mother rose and walked over to the stove
where she began serving another plate of beans,
"it ain't hunting season. What 'ave you been up
to?"
"Ah, ah, ah," Frank said, waving his index
finger in the air. "We've got permission from
Granger to try 'n' track down that wild dog
that's been causing so much trouble."
Ned's fingers jerked spasmodically at the men-
tionthe
of dog. His fork left a trail of beans and
sauce on the tablecloth as it fell to the floor with
a clatter. His face flushed, Ned bent down to
retrieve it.
90
 "Take it easy there, little brother," Frank said
with a laugh; then, turning back to his mother,
"We've been out in the woods around Seavey's
place all day, hopin' to get a shot at 'im. Man,
you should see what that animal did to his
chickens!" His mother slid a heaping plate in
front of him and he interrupted his narrative just
long enough to shovel in a forkful of beans.
"Anyway," he said, his voice muffled, "I guess
he wants us back again tonight."
"Wait a minute, you know you can't go hunt-
in' at night," his mother said.
"I told you, we got permission from Granger,
and like it or not, he's just not going to be able to
stop us. We're gonna get that animal!" Frank
sopped a piece of brown bread in his bean sauce
and stuffed it into his mouth. "Hey, little
brother, you wanna come with us?"
Ned shook his head with a quick snap. "Naw.
I've got things to do."
"You don't have to carry a gun or anything,"
Frank said. Ned thought he heard a mocking
tone in his voice. "We could use another pair of
eyes."
Ned shook his head again and tried to speak,
but something caught in his throat and he had to
stifle a cough. He cast a quick glance at his
brother as he reached for his glass of milk. He
swallowed hard and felt his tightened lower lip
begin to tremble.
"I'm pretty tired; I was thinking of going to
bed early tonight," he said, surprised at how low
and serious his voice sounded. He wanted to

91
mention to his brother all the work he had done
that day. Frank didn't answer and continued to
eat. Ned figured that because his brother
couldn't think of a quick insult or joke he had let
the topic drop.
After some minutes, Frank straightened up
and swiped his sleeve across his face. "Good
beans. You make em today?"
"No," his mother replied. "They're canned."
"Hmm. B&M's gettin' pretty good."
His mother looked at him, not knowing
whether or not to feel insulted.
- They finished their meal in silence, and then
at eight o'clock Frank took his rifle and left in
the pickup. While his mother was washing the
dishes, Ned went up to his room to read a little
before going to sleep. Saturdays were his busiest
days, and he was beat.

.VI.

The stone walls of the room were cold and

damp. Where water had eaten through the mor-
tar, there
were pale streaks of lime running to
the floor. In the darkest corners, patches of mold
grew. There were no windows, and the air was
thick like honey, difficult to breathe.
A single candle burned fitfully in the center of
the dirt floor, making the low-hanging ceiling-
beams sway sickeningly. Small whisps of soot
twisted up from the flickering flame, curled in
the rising heat, and melted into the darkness.

92
Bubbling wax almost guttered out the flame, but
it continued to burn with a faint lapping sound.
That was the only sound in the room, other
than the short, gasping breaths of the woman as
she bent over, tracing a pent angle in the dirt.
When the star was complete, she erased the lines
within the star, carefully smoothing over her
footprints before stepping back to admire her
work. After running her finger along the line
another time to make sure the line was un-
broken,
placed
she the candle in the top point of
the star.
She remained silent, absorbed in her work,
aware only of the rising anticipation she felt.
Tonight. The night of the full moon. The
harvest moon. As she stared at the wavering
light, she reached up and pulled a strand of dark
hair from her eyes. With a deep sigh, she was
just beginning to unbutton her blouse when she
heard a quick, almost frantic scratching sound.
It came from a wooden box that lay hidden in
the shadows by the door. Beside it was a small,
indistinguishable heap.
"Patience, my dear," she whispered, as her
trembling fingers raced down the row of but-
tons. shrugged
She her shoulders, and the blouse
fell to the floor. Quickly she stepped out of her
skirt and slid off her panties and bra. She
reached down, gathered her clothes, and
deposited them near the box by the door. With a
quick grunt she lifted the box, carried it over to
the star, and placed it down in the center, just
below the candle.

93
 Striding back to the doorway, she picked up a
length of bright red cord and quickly wrapped it
around her waist, tying it off with a loose
square-knot. Then, her eyes staring almost
unbelievingly at her shaking hand, she reached
for the knife she had left on the floor. As she
raised it, staring at the blade, it caught the
candlelight and sent a shimmering splinter spin-
ning around
the room.
She smiled faintly and whispered, "Master,
help me."
She looked over her shoulder at the wooden
box when the scratching sound was repeated.
Slowly, solemnly she walked over to the pen-
tangle, hesitated for a moment at the line, and
then stepped within the design.
"Aquerra goity, aquerra beyty," she began in
a chanting voice. "Aquerra beyty, aquerra
goity." Sweat glistened on her arms, giving them
an oily look. Still mumbling the chant, she
dropped to her knees and held the blade over the
flame until the silver was streaked with soot. She
ran her thumb along the edge and smiled, then
looked down at her breasts, heaving from her
rapid breathing.
Her mouth and throat were dry, and when
she spoke again, the words came out crackling.
"Ashtarorh, Asmodeus, Princes of Amity, I con-
jure you
to accept this sacrifice, which I offer in
return for what I ask."
Quickly she snapped the hasp on the box and
flipped the lid open. She held her breath, burn-
ing her
in chest, as she grabbed inside the box

94
and then slowly withdrew a black rooster. Beads
of sweat stood out on her forehead, and she
could feel tracks of moisture run down her side
from her armpits. The thin tendons in her arms
stood out from the effort as she held the bird
aloft. The rooster struggled to escape, but her
grip was firm. The woman felt a surging wash of
dizzied excitement, and she felt as though she
might faint.
The light from the candle made the rooster's
dark feathers gleam with a deep blue
iridescence. "This I give you," she cried out,
throwing back her head and reveling in the
swells of excitement. The rooster's eyes, thin
golden rings, stared at her, dumb, unblinking.
"Receive this gift from your servant," she
yelled and she lowered the rooster to the floor
where she held it pinned with one hand. The
other hand, holding the soot-smeared knife, rose
above her head, and then, in one swift motion,
she ran the blade across the exposed neck of the
bird.
A trickle of blood ran down onto the dirt floor
and stained it. The bird continued to kick, trying
to escape the pain that was draining its life, but
the small hand remained tight. Again the blade
ran across the throat, this time with more
sureness, more power. The bird's head was
severed. With a quick flick of the knife, the
woman knocked the head away, where it lay
beside the wooden box. One gold-ringed eye
stared back at her.
The woman snatched the bird's body to her

95
chest and she let the sticky, warm river gush
over her breasts. The bird's rapid heartbeat was
now stilled, but she could still feel an occasional
twitching. A warm ecstasy, centered in her
stomach, began to wash over her. Tangled
scarlet streams ran down her legs to the floor.
She dropped the now bloodless corpse to the
floor. It landed on top of the severed head.
"Ashtaroth, Asmodeus," she whispered, look-
ing down
at her legs and letting her vision blur.
Then, slowly and smoothly, in ever- widening
circles, she began to smear the thick blood over
her breasts. Her hands moved down to her
stomach. Her breathing came in rapid, stinging
gasps as she ran her hands still lower. "Come,
and take this," she rasped, "in exchange for
what I ask."
Swaying back and forth, and then, as if in
slow motion, dropping to the floor, she con-
tinued
runtoher fingers inside herself until she
lost consciousness.

.VII.

It was after five o'clock in the morning. The

full moon was riding low in the west. Frank was
heading home along the Bartlett Road.
He was pissed. He had wasted a whole night.
He and his friends had scoured the area around
Seavey's, frozen their butts off, and hadn't even
turned up a pawprint of the animal they were
chasing. Also, his bladder was hurting from all

96
the beer he had been drinking.
As he drove up the driveway to the house, he
saw that all the lights had been turned off. The
windows reflected the morning sky like polished
marble. Out back, only the porch light had been
left on.
He pulled up into the driveway and then
backed the truck into the backoff. He let the
motor sputter and then die. For a long moment,
he sat looking out over the field and listened to
the morning birds. He opened the truck door
and was just stepping out when his eye caught a
flicker of motion.
Just a little bit too tired, he thought, dismiss-
ingafter
it a close look at the barn and corral
revealed nothing.
He reached back into the truck for his rifle,
shut the truck door, and turned toward the
house. Again, from the corner of his eye, he saw
motion. He turned and looked at the barn, but
this time he saw something: a swift gray shape
was moving along the edge of the barn toward
the open field. It was vague and ill-defined, as if
a patch of moonlight had detached itself and
was moving through the early morning shadows.
Frank squinted, trying to see better. His hand
gripped his rifle until it began to hurt. His
thumb flicked the safety catch and he brought
the rifle up to his shoulder.
Just then, the shape coalesced into the form of
a large dog. Frank grunted his pleasure, took
aim, and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot shat-
teredpeace
the of the early morning, echoing
from the hills.
97
 "Damn you!" Frank hissed when he saw the
shape cringe and then bolt for the field. Frank
took aim and shot again, but he knew he had
already missed his best shot. If he brought the
animal down now, it would be more luck than
skill. He squeezed off two more shots and then
watched in frustration as the silent gray shape
crossed the field and melted into the forest.
"Frank! What in the dickens are you doing?"
his mother shouted from her bedroom window.
She looked wide-eyed, half -crazy, with red hair
in curlers and nighttime coat of Noxema on her
face.
"I missed the damn thing, that's what!" Frank
yelled, stamping his foot on the ground with
frustration. "We spend the whole goddamn
night out at Seavey's place, and the damn thing's
right here. Shit!"
His mother disappeared from her window and
ran outside. She pulled her tattered bathrobe
around her against the night chill.
"I've never seen anything move that fast,"
Frank said, glancing off in the direction the
animal had taken. "Christ, it was big. Bigger'an
a German shepherd, I'd say."
"Too bad you missed," his mother said simply.
"Did he get into the barn?"
"Oh, Jesus!" Frank shouted. He ran to the
barn door and flung it open. The door spring
stretched with a loud twang. Inside, the barn
was warm with the heat of the animals. Both
cows, Frances and Tillie, were stamping in their
stalls. They started to bellow as soon as Frank

98
entered the barn. He hoped to hell it had only
been his gunshots that had scared them.
"Oh, Christ!" he said when he saw that Tillie
had kicked one of the boards out of her stall.
The splintered pieces lay scattered on the floor
on top of the broken bale of hay.
Frank moved over to the cows' stalls and pat-
ted each
on the head. As he bent down to stand
up the pail Tillie had knocked over, he saw the
legs of the calf, Ginger, sticking out through the
railing. Frank could tell immediately that she
was dead.
"You bastard!" he hissed.
He walked over to the workbench and felt
around for the flashlight he knew was there
somewhere. He found it and flicked the switch.
He was surprised when the light came on.
He ran the pencil-thin beam around the barn.
He saw that one of the windows at the back of
the barn was broken; not just one pane, the
whole window had crashed inward. 'That's how
you got in, you son of a bitch!" Frank
whispered.
There was a bad taste in his mouth as he slow-
ly edgedhis way over to Ginger's stall. The small
circle of light played along the floor until it came
to rest on the dead calf. What he saw there
almost made Frank vomit. The calf's throat had
been torn open. A wide, gaping hole spilled
blood out onto the floor, where it mixed with the
hay. The calf's lifeless eye threw back a dull,
silvery reflection that sickened Frank. After a
moment, he realized that the calfs head had

99
been torn completely off; it lay there beside the
lifeless trunk.
Frank wiped the sweat from his forehead and
angrily thumbed the trigger of his rifle. "I'm
gonna get you for this, you bastard," he hissed,
his eyes riveted to the dead calf. "I'm gonna
make you pay for this!"
He left the barn and stood out in the middle of
the driveway wondering what to do. He wanted
to try to track the animal but realized that he
had better wait until the sun was up. He saw
that the light was on in the kitchen, and he
cupped his hand to his mouth and shouted.
"Hey Ma! Ma!"
After a second, his mother appeared on the
back porch. "What in the blazes is it now," she
yelled.
"Give Granger a call, will you. Granger and
Ted Seavey. Tell 'em to get their butts over here
right away. That damn dog's killed the calf."
His mother gasped and covered her mouth
with her hand.
"If they get over here right away, maybe we
can track it. And get Ned out of bed. Tell him to
get down here. Someone's gotta bury the calf."
His mother went inside. Frank walked over to
the side of the barn and carefully scanned the
ground. It was still too dark to see much detail.
He straightened up and walked around back to
where the window had been broken in. In the
soft mud undernearth the window, he could
clearly see the animal's tracks. He studied them
under the beam of his flashlight and noticed that

100
they didn't look quite right; they almost looked
like some other kind of animal's track.
"Yoo-hoo. Frank," his mother called from the
porch. He straightened up and came around the
side of the barn.
"Both Granger and Seavey said they'd be here
as soon as they could."
"Good." He looked at her, then back at the
barn. When he turned, he saw a dark shape
moving along the side of the barn. Frank
snapped the rifle to his shoulder, but before he
fired, he saw that the shape was human. He
lowered the rifle and snapped on the safety
catch .
"Ned!" he shouted, once he recognized the
person. "What the hell are you doing out here? I
thought you were still in bed." He shined the
flashlight into his brother's eyes as he came
closer to him. Ned squinted and turned his head
away.
"Christ! Do you know that I almost blew your
fuckin' head off?"
Ned shook his head and stood still, about five
feet from his brother. "No, no, I, I wasn't ..."
"What the hell's the matter with you, kid?"
Frank asked. He played his light over his brother
and saw that his clothes were mud-stained and
torn; dead leaves and twigs hung from his
shoulder.
Frank stepped up next to his brother and
grabbed him by the chin. He twisted his head up
to the light, and Ned tried to turn away.
"Are you all right?"

101
 "Yeah, I'm, I'm, OK."
"Jesus! It looks like you cut your head or
something," he said, when he saw that Ned's
hair was matted down with caked blood. "You
bang your head on something?"
"I, ummm, I guess I did," Ned said, wincing
as he brought his hand up to the wound. "I must
have fallen or something when I was running."
"Did you see it? Did you see that wild dog?"
Frank asked anxiously.
Ned cast a fleeting glance at his brother, but
had to turn away because the light from the
flashlight hit his eyes painfully. "Yeah, I guess I
saw something, and I guess I, I went after it."
"Without a gun? Are you crazy?" Frank
shouted. "That animal's a killer. You can't go
chasing after it without a gun."
"I guess I wasn't thinking," Ned said. "I —It
got away pretty fast." Ned looked at his brother
dazedly, then, suddenly, he almost folded up
and fell onto the ground. Frank grabbed him
and caught him before he hit the ground.
"You look pretty beat, kid. You better go on
inside."
"Yeah," Ned said hollowly, "I am pretty tired."
"You feel pretty cold," Frank said. "Are you sure
you're all right?" Ned's eyes looked dark, sunken in-
to his
brow.
Ned nodded and started walking slowly toward
the house.
Frank watched his brother walk away, and he
noticed that he kept his legs locked stiffly so he
wouldn't wobble. He took the steps carefully, one
by one, and then entered the house. The sun was
just rising, tinting the eastern sky a light blue.
 Chapter Five

Saturday, October 18

.1.

A lot happened in a few seconds.

Ned was carrying a load of frozen-food car-
tonsthe
to walk-in freezer. His grocer's apron of-
fered little
protection against the cold. His
fingers were getting numb in the joints.
He twisted his body to the side and jabbed at
the button for the freezer light. He missed, and
the nearly off-balance load of frozen food almost
tumbled. He tried again, and this time there was

103
a soft click. A small red light went on, indicating
that the lights were on in the freezer as well.
He reached out blindly until he felt the door
bar, grabbed it, and pulled. The door swung
open heavily, and Ned, grunting loudly, kicked
it open. When he turned to enter, he heard a
scuffing sound behind him.
A fist, maybe a foot, struck him in the small of
the back, propelling him forward. The stack of
frozen food he was carrying flew into the air and
hit the freezer floor with a clatter. Automatical-
ly, he
put his hands out in front of him to break
his fall. As he hit the floor, the heavy metal door
slammed shut, and the lights overhead winked
out.
For a moment, stunned and confused, he sat
on the cold floor, rubbing his wrist. He had held
it too stiffly, and it hurt like hell. If it wasn't
broken, he thought, it was at least sprained.
Then, as he pieced together what had happened,
he started to panic. He was alone in the darkness
and cold, hurt. He took a deep gulp of frozen air
into his lungs. It burned.
He sat silently in the darkness, trying to
master his rising panic. The thick darkness began
to flicker, as his eyes adjusted. Then, for a mo-
ment,
wondered
he if his eyes were opened at
all. Maybe he had hit his head and had gone
blind. He fought back the scream so it emerged
as no more than a whimper. He scrambled over
to the door and was relieved to see a thin line of
light at the bottom of the door. At least he was
not blind.

104
 "OK," he called out, a whine in his voice.
"You can open the door now."
From outside he heard a ripple of laughter
and then a faint click. He knew that that click
had been the door lock.
The darkness wrapped itself closer, like a
deadly blanket.
Cold and death!
I'm hurt! I could die in here! he thought.
His hand reached for the door. He balled up
his fist and brought it down against the
unyielding metal door.
"Come on, open the door," he said weakly.
Again, his fist hit the door, harder. He didn't
even notice that he was using the hand he had
hurt. He beat the door viciously.
"Open the fucking door! Right now, goddam-
mit!"
There was a faint rattling sound from outside.
"Aww, jeeze. I think it's stuck," a muffled voice
said.
"Come on!" he shouted, giving the door
another solid hit. He stood back and rubbed his
shoulders to keep warm. "Come on, I'm freezing
in here," he said, softer. He bit his lower lip to
keep from crying out.
I could die in here! his mind screamed.
A wild shiver wracked his body, and he leaned
forward, pressing his full weight against the
door. "Will you open the door? Please?" he said,
trying to keep the panic from registering in his
voice.
Tears ran down his face and froze. His teeth

105
chattered, and he kept rubbing his arms for
warmth.
There was another click outside, and then a
voice said, "Jeeze, it really is stuck." This time
Ned recognized Alan Tate's voice.
Ned dug in with his heels and pushed hard
against the door. Then, with a loud snap, the
door swung open. Ned fell forward, landing on
the floor in a crumpled heap. Slowly, fighting
back the pain and fear, he stood up. His body
was stiff and cramped. He squinted from the
sudden brightness of the lights. Through his
watery vision, he scanned the semicircle of peo-
ple who
stood there watching him.
"Real funny," he whispered angrily, "Real
funny." He stood there unconsciously rubbing
his hurt wrist. He knew that they could tell he
had been crying, and that galled him all the
more. Besides Alan, there were Louie, Jack, and
Ralph.
"You all right?" Alan Tate said, stepping for-
ward and
trying to put his hand on Ned's
shoulder. "Honest, the door got stuck. Just ask
Louie."
Ned looked at Louie, who merely shrugged his
shoulders. "I don't know," he said with his thick
French accent. "I did not see what happened."
"We were trying to get you out," Ralph said,
but his faint smile gave him away.
Ned's anger burned. A curse was forming on
his mouth but remained unspoken because, just
then, Dick Pomeroy walked into the back room.
"Hey, what the hell are you guys doing back

106
here?" he shouted. "There're cases of frozen food
getting warm out there. Plenty of stock to put
away." He halted and then looked at everyone in
turn. His eyes finally rested on Ned, whose teeth
were still chattering.
"What the hell's going on?" he said again.
Louie wiped his hands on his blood-stained
butcher's apron and headed back into the meat-
cutting room without a word. Jack and Ralph
took nervous steps backward but seemed afraid
to leave. Alan stood his ground.
"Had a little trouble with the freezer door,"
Alan said, sounding truthful and sincere.
"Well," Pomeroy said, "the girls could use a
little bit of help up front, and there's a lot of
stock still to be put away."
Everyone made a move to scatter, glad that
they hadn't been caught in their practical joke.
As Ned walked past Pomeroy, the store manager
grabbed him by the arm. "Just a second, Ned."
Ned looked at the man with fear- widened
eyes.
"Granger's up front of the store. Wants to talk
to you," Pomeroy said.
Ned saw that Alan was listening at the door,
and when he heard this, his face broke out into a
wide grin.
"You aren't in any trouble, are you?" Pomeroy
asked seriously.
Ned shook his head and made to leave, but
Pomeroy still held him. "One more thing, Ned.
I've really had quite enough of this horsing
around in the back room. We're here to work,
not to have fun."
107
 "Yeah," Ned replied. "It won't happen
again."
"See that it doesn't." Pomeroy said, as he
headed for the bathroom. "And don't keep
Granger waiting all day."
As Ned walked up the aisle to the front of the
store, his mouth carefully formed the word "Bas-
tards!"

.II.

"So, how's everything going?" Granger asked.

His smile reminded Ned of Alan Tate's innocent,
stupid grin. Ned glanced outside and saw that it
was still raining and that it was dark. He felt a
bit anxious because he knew he had a lot of work
to do before closing time.
"Pretty good, I guess," Ned replied. He was
unconsciously rubbing his injured wrist.
Granger cleared his throat. "Yeah, well. I've
been going over what you said to me after that
night your family calf was killed by that, that
wild dog, or whatever. I was wondering if—"
"I told you everything I remember," Ned said
curtly. "We've been all over it."
"I know. I know," Granger said, shifting his
weight from one foot to the other. "But, uhh,
you said you were a little confused that night,
that you fell and hit your head and your memory
mightVe been a little scrambled up. I just
wanted to get everything straight."

108
 "Sure. OK." Ned looked at Granger and then
down at the puddle of rainwater that had
formed at his feet from his dripping rain-slicker.
Granger rubbed his cheek and looked up at
the ceiling for a moment, collecting his thoughts.
"Well, for one thing, your brother said that
when he checked out back of the barn, by the
broken window, that he saw some tracks there,
what he figured were the animal's tracks."
Ned grunted. *
"And then, once I got out to your place, oh,
about six o'clock, I didn't see a damn thing
underneath that window. It looked like the
whole thing had been smoothed over. Not a
track to be found."
Ned shrugged. "Maybe Frank was wrong," he
said. "Maybe it looked like tracks with just a,
just a flashlight, but wasn't really."
"But you don't know anything about those
tracks?" Granger asked. His voice had an edge of
accusation. "You didn't see them?"
Ned shook his head.
"Hmm. Well, Frank says that he first saw you
walking out from behind the barn. I
thought ..."
"I didn't see them, those tracks, I mean."
"But you did see that dog, right?" Granger
pressed.
Ned nodded.
"You say it was a German shepherd, a big
German shepherd?"
"That's right," Ned replied with exasperation.
"I told you all of this before."

109
 Granger ignored Ned's last remark and pressed
on. "And you didn't see or hear any other dogs,
right? Nothing to indicate that there might have
been a pack of 'em out there."
Again, Ned shook his head. He peered up to
the end of the aisle where they were standing,
expecting to see Alan Tate watching them and
enjoying his discomfort. Alan wasn't there.
"Well, one thing for damn sure. You were
lucky you didn't run into that animal, if you
went chasing after him without a gun."
"Yeah, I guess so," Ned answered. "Like I
said, I wasn't thinking too good."
"You see," Granger said, suddenly softening,
his interrogation ended, "Jeff Carter was out on
the old mine road that night. He failed to men-
tion why.
I don't think it was because he was
out hunting with Seavey and the others. I've got
a feeling he was out visiting at Martin's Lake,
but that's none of our business.
"Anyway, he says he heard something
thrashing through the woods, so he hunkered
down behind a bush, and he says he saw a full-
grown timber wolf run right by him. Not more
than ten feet from him, he says."
Ned tried to look Granger in the eyes but
found that he couldn't.
"Course," Granger went on, "Jeff Carter isn't
the most reliable witness in the world. He was
probably, hell, I know, he was drunker'an a
skunk. It could have been a cocker spaniel, for
all I know. But I tell you, you were damn lucky
you didn't meet up with that animal, no matter
what it was."
110
 Just then the lights in the store flickered
overhead, and Pomeroy's voice boomed over the
P. A. system. "The I.G.A. will close in ten
minutes. Please go to the registers now. We
thank you for shopping at the I.G.A."
"Now I don't want you to get all worked up
about this," Granger said kindly. "Seavey's got
enough people worked up as it is. But I do want
you to know that we might have a serious prob-
lem here.
And I would recommend that you not
go out into the woods at night, not without a
gun."

.III.

"But you didn't see anything," Lisa said,

wide-eyed. "You just heard it?"
Bob nodded as he continued to work on the
cold-duck bottle cork. Suddenly, with a bang,
the cork shot from the bottle, ricocheted off the
ceiling, and then spun in a wide semicircle and
disappeared under the refrigerator.
"Well," Bob said, smiling, "we'll just have to
drink the whole thing. He poured two glasses of
wine, handed one to Lisa, and then took a noisy
swallow from the other.
"No," Bob said, placing the glass back down,
"I didn't see anything. Correction. I didn't see
the dog. I did see something/'
"What?" Lisa asked, leaning forward, her face
expressing fear and wonder.

Ill
 "I'll get to that in a second. You remember
you let me off at the end of the driveway, right?
Well, I stood there for a while, watching your
car drive off. I waited until I couldn't hear the
car and then started up toward the cabin. I was
about halfway up the path when I heard this
low moaning, real hollow." Bob tried to im-
itate sound
the heard.
"That sounds like a dog that's been hit by a
car," Lisa said with a laugh.
"Well, it didn't that night, let me tell you. At
first, I thought it was a dog howling far away,
you know? Like I couldn't get a fix on it. I just
kept walking up the path. It had me a little bit
spooked, but ..." Bob shrugged.
"Did this really happen, or are you just mak-
ingupit to scare me?" Lisa asked. Bob could tell
by her expression that she was getting drawn in-
to thestory.
"Honest, it happened. I was almost up to the
house, right up on the rise where you can look
down on the pond. The sound came again, but
this time I was sure it was pretty close. I kind of
panicked, but I looked around for where it
might have been coming from. Suddenly" — Bob
jumped and grabbed Lisa's arm. She let out a
scream — "The bushes on the side of the road
started rustling. I just about died! I started
toward the house at a pretty good pace, and I
was almost there when this animal burst out of
the brush and ran right in front of me."
Lisa looked almost as scared as Bob had felt
that night. "I thought you said you didn't see
it?"
112
 "Ohh, it wasn't that wild dog everyone's been
talking about. It was a rabbit, I think, or maybe
a white cat. I couldn't tell for sure, it was pretty
dark and my nerves were on edge. The animal
ran in front of me and went down toward the
pond." Bob lifted his hands into the air and con-
cluded, that
"And was it. It was gone."
He walked over to the stove and opened the
oven door. Peering inside, he said, "It's just
about ready. Are you hungry?"
Lisa smiled and shook her head. "I don't
know, after that story."
"Aw," Bob said, as he pulled the lasagna out
of the oven and placed it on the counter, "it was
nothing."

.IV.

The dishes were washed and put away. A fire

burned low in the fireplace, evenly and warm.
The stereo had clicked off almost an hour ago.
Lisa was sitting cross-legged on one of the couch
cushions on the floor. Bob was lying on his side,
his head supported by his hand. The empty bot-
tle cold
of duck stood on the hearth, catching the
flickering flames.
"I ought to be getting back home," Lisa said,
glancing at her watch. "I told Jeff that the con-
ference would
be over by nine o'clock and that
I'd be home by ten."
"How 'bout a cup of coffee first," Bob said,

113
rolling over and slowly rising. He stood up, close
to Lisa, and let his fingers twine gently through
her hair. She looked blankly at the fire.
"Yeah. I suppose I can be a little late," she
said.
"You don't really think he's going to be home
waiting for you, do you?"
Lisa sighed. Bob went into the kitchen and
filled the tea kettle with water. He put in a lot of
water so it would take a long time to heat. He
came back over to Lisa and sat down beside her.
For a long time, he watched the flames reflected
in her eyes.
"And what would the fine folk of Cooper Falls
think if they knew their head librarian was here,
sitting in front of a romantic fire with" — he
paused for effect — "another man!"
Lisa's smile was twisted. "Come on, Bob."
"Well, have you thought any more about it?"
Bob asked earnestly. "It's not like you don't have
any grounds for divorce, that's for sure."
"I've thought about it," Lisa answered faintly.
"Probably too much."
"And?"
"And — " Before she could continue, the tea
kettle whistled shrilly. Bob jumped up and ran
into the kitchen.
Lisa looked at him over her shoulder and said,
"Just milk in mi — "
"I know, I know," Bob said as he poured the
water. He fixed both coffees and then came back
into the living room . He placed the cups careful-
ly onthe hearth. While they drank their coffee,

114
both of them avoided the topic Bob had brought
up earlier. Bob wanted to talk some more about
Lisa leaving her husband, but he respected her
wishes not to discuss it. Lisa just couldn't deal
with the idea, not yet, anyway, she told herself.
When the coffee was gone, Lisa shifted and
stood up. They walked out to the entryway, and
Bob got Lisa's raincoat out of the closet.
"Hey," he said, looking outside, "it stopped
raining."
He helped Lisa on with her coat and, as she
was buttoning the front, he held her shoulders.
He pulled her close to him.
"Thanks for the meal," she said, pulling away
slightly. "I didn't realize you were such a good
cook."
He leaned forward to kiss her, but she raised
her hand and covered her mouth. "Please, Bob.
Not now. I'm confused, and that'd only confuse
me more," she said, looking at him earnestly.
Bob nodded and reached to open the door for
her. "Thanks for coming over," he said, "and for
the conversation."
Lisa took a step outside, turned, and said,
"Hey, it was nothing. It beats reading Greek
drama any day."

.V.

"Hey, Julie! For chrissakes, open up!" a voice

slurred, and its entreaty was punctuated by a
loud bang on the door.

115
 Crouching behind the large oak tree in her
front yard, Julie watched as*Jeff Carter, propped
against the door jamb at a sharp angle, con-
tinued
hammering.
his His hulking form was il-
luminated
then and
plunged into darkness as the
clouds of the passing storm raced by.
"Hey!" he shouted, and Julie heard a muffled
echo from across the lake.
"It's a damn good thing I don't have any
neighbors," she said, stepping forward. "They'd
be calling up Granger for sure." Her left hand
rose slowly and dropped the gnarled root she
was holding into her coat pocket. It bulged con-
spicuously,
she figured
but Jeff was too drunk to
notice anything.
"Hey, babe, ain't yah gonna let me in?" he
asked, childlike.
She stepped closer, and the smell of liquor on
his breath blasted into her face. She cringed
back, but Jeff reached out and grabbed her arm.
His fingers dug in and started to hurt her, even
through her coat.
"What you been doin' out on a night like
this?" he said, wobbling, and then leaning his
weight onto her. He ended his question with a
bubbly belch.
"Just, uh, out for a walk. After the rain,
everything's so clean and fresh." She patted the
bulge of the root in her pocket.
"Well, let's get inside," he said, patting a
crinkling brown bag as he held it out to her.
"I've got a bottle, the night's young, 'n' we got
nothin' but time."

116
 Julie broke into a short burst of laughter.
4 'Sides, I need to have my ashes hauled," Jeff
said as he turned, wavering, and opened the
front door. His shoulder caught on the door and
almost spun him back around, but he caught his
stride and barreled his way into Julie's kitchen.
Dragging a chair from the table, he sat down
with a grunt and slammed the brown bag onto
the formica top. Julie, still standing in the door-
way, was
surprised the bottle inside the bag did
not break. She eased the door closed behind her,
shutting out the chill night air, and slowly
walked over to the kitchen counter.
"Get yourself a glass and have a drink,
honey," Jeff said, unscrewing the top off the
Seagram's Seven and tilting his head back to
swallow a mouthful.
Julie huffed, glanced at the clock on the stove,
and then said softly and evenly, "Hey, you
know, it's past midnight. Don't you think you
ought to go home?"
Jeff stared at her with a semiconscious squint.
He wiped the saliva that was running down his
chin onto the cuff of his jacket and then belched.
"Now com'on, babe, have a drink with me. 'S
not good to drink alone."
Keeping her eyes fixed on Jeff, Julie edged
close to the sink and, reaching into her pocket,
withdrew the root and dropped it into the sink.
She reached in again and took out a sprig of
grayish-green leaves, which she dropped onto
the root. Jeff obviously didn't see her do this. He
sat wavering, holding the bottle out to her.

117
 "Seriously, Jeff, I've got to get some sleep."
She feigned a wide yawn and scratched her head
with her dirt-encrusted fingers.
Jeff placed the bottle on the table and rose to
his feet. He dropped his jacket onto the back of
the chair and began to unbutton his shirt.
"You'll sleep a lot better after a little of what
IVe got saved for you," he said as he flipped
open his belt and lowered his pants to his ankles.
Julie felt revolted when she saw the bulge in his
yellowed skivvies. He shook his feet free of his
pants and then lunged at her.
"Hot stuff, honey," he mumbled with a slur.
His hand reached out and grabbed her on the
elbow before she could pull away. With his
other hand he reached up and grabbed her
breast, massaging it roughly as he pressed his lips
to her mouth . The sticky sweetness of his breath
made Julie want to gag. His fumbling finger
reached inside her coat and, when he found he
couldn't unbutton her blouse, he gave it a quick
pull and tore the material.
"You bastard," Julie screamed, and her hand
shot out, slapping his face with a rifle-like
report.
"Keep your goddamn hands to yourself!" she
shouted, shaking herself loose and taking a step
back away from Jeff.
Off-balance for a moment, Jeff fell forward
and caught the edge of the counter. He stood
there for a moment with his head hanging over
the sink. He still didn't see or recognize what
was there in the sink. Shaking his head, as

118
though to dispel a fog, he glared over at Julie.
His red-rimmed eyes were swollen and unable to
focus.
"What's the matter? You on the rag or
somethin'?"
Julie shook her head haughtily.
"One drink's all I ask." He wheeled around
and scooped the bottle from the table with an
accuracy that surprised Julie. "One drink and
then we can fuck our brains out."
He leaned back and took a long slug of
whisky. He almost lost his balance and fell over
backwards.
"You can fuck your brains out," Julie said,
pulling the torn material of her blouse around
her for protection. "I don't plan on fucking my
brains out."
"Christ, woman, you sound like you need a
good screwin', if you ask me." Jeff tilted back for
another swallow and then walked slowly toward
the bedroom door. Once he was framed by the
darkness of the bedroom, Jeff turned and
grabbed the elastic band of his underwear. He
started to roll his underwear down slowly.
"I've been savin' this for you, honey," he
slurred, once he had exposed himself. Julie
looked at him with disgust. "Now come on. Get
your ass in here!" With that, he walked into the
bedroom .
Julie waited in the kitchen, listening as Jeff
fumbled about in the dark, pulling back the
sheets. She heard a long, low groan as he eased
his body onto the bed, and then, seconds later,

119
the heavy sound of his snoring filled Julie's small
house. She knew he'd be asleep for a few hours
at least, as long as he could keep his drinks
down.
After listening to his snoring for a while, Julie
eased her coat off. Her torn blouse hung loosely
down, and she considered putting something else
on but decided against it. A light on in the
bedroom might wake Jeff up. Instead she took
the blouse off and threw it into the corner of the
kitchen.
She walked over to the sink and gently
handled the sprig of leaves and the dirt-crusted
root. She ran the faucet and began washing the
root.
"Hey, babe," Jeff's voice called sleepily from
the bedroom. "Are you comin'?"
"No," Julie whispered, as she continued to
wash the root clean, "I'm just breathing hard."
She finished washing the root, tore off a few
paper towels, and carefully patted the root dry.
She left the root on the counter and picked up
the sprig of leaves. After rinsing them under the
sprayer, she tied them into a loose bunch and
hung them from a nail in the ceiling.
The blubbering sounds of Jeff's snoring filled
the bedroom when Julie entered and finished un-
dressing. Holding
her breath against the sticky
sweet of booze on his breath, she slipped in be-
tween
sheets
the beside Jeff. She decided, as she
closed her eyes to sleep, that if he woke her up in
the night and wanted to have her, he could.

120
 .VI.

Just before dawn, Julie awoke with a start

when she heard the loud report of a rifle. She sat
up in her bed and looked out the window.
Holding her breath, she listened, her eyes fixed
unblinking on the pale gray sky.
Again, a shot split the morning stillness, mak-
ing Julie
jump. The movement woke Jeff up,
and he rolled over, forcefully sliding his hand
between Julie's legs.

.VII.

The echo of the first shot was still rolling back

from the hills that ringed Martin's Lake. Frank
Simmons rose stiffly from where he had been
hiding behind a low stone wall. There was a
wide smile on his face.
"You goddamn son of a bitch," he said, almost
laughing, as he moved across the field toward
the fallen gray bulk.
In the early morning chill, a crow cawed.
Holding his rifle, cocked and trained on the
fallen form, Frank inched his way toward the
motionless dog. The animal looked ghost-like in
the pale, gathering light.
As he got closer to the dog, Frank could see
that the animal was still alive. His ribs rose and
fell rapidly as he tried to hold onto life. A

121
widening pool of blood spread out around the
dog's belly.
"That's about all for you," Frank said, raising
the rifle to his shoulder and squinting down the
sights.
The dog whimpered pitifully, his lungs filled
with blood. He lifted his head and looked at
Frank with dimming eyes.
"You've killed your last calf, you son of a
bitch!" Frank said as he took sight on the dog's
head. He squeezed the trigger, and the top half
of the dog's head disappeared.

122.
 Chapter Six

Monday, October 20

.1.

Bob looked over at Lisa, who sat slumped in

the passenger seat with her head resting against
the side window. In the dim light of the dusk, he
could see her bruised and swollen cheek. It
looked like it was stained with grape juice. Her
eyes glistened with tears.
Bob moved his hand from the gearshift to her
knee, and she jumped with a snap and then
relaxed.
123
 "Do you want to talk?" he asked softly. His
voice was reassuring.
Lisa ran her hand under her nose and sniffed
loudly. She winced when her knuckles brushed
against the bruise.
"Was it about us?" Bob asked.
"No," Lisa answered sullenly. "Well, maybe.
A little, I guess."
"Did you —explain?"
She looked at him cooly. Her face was pasty,
washed of color. Her eyes looked almost vacant.
When she replied, her voice sounded like
crinkled paper. "What's to explain? We haven't
done anything that needs explaining!"
"You know what I mean." Bob sounded firm.
"I think you're a fool not to dump him. Serve
papers on him." He was gripping the steering
wheel with one hand; his hand on her knee
tightened, almost painfully. "Nobody has to put
up with that kind of treatment! Christ, Lisa!"
"Bob, please," Lisa pleaded.
"I'm serious. For your own good. He's running
all over town, making you look foolish, because
you're pretending you don't see it. The sooner
you admit it and deal with it —Well, how many
more times is he going to beat you up?"
Lisa's eyes overflowed. "He wasn't always like
this," she cried, her voice breaking. "He didn't
used to drink and, and run around. When we
were first married, I couldn't have asked for a
better husband."
"Well, I know you must have seen something
in him," Bob said. There was a trace of cynicism
in his voice.
124
 "It's only been in the last year or so that he's,
he's changed so much. It's like he's a different
person."
"So why don't you leave him?" Bob pressed.
"I love him!" Lisa said loudly, then her voice
broke, "Or, I used to love him. I just don't know
him anymore. It's like, like he's turned into a
beast or something."
"Then you have every right to leave him," Bob
said. "Especially if he's going to do something
like this to you." He reached toward her face
and rubbed her cheek with a delicate touch.
Lisa looked at him. Her lower lip trembled
and then, suddenly, the emotion flooded out.
With a groan, she pressed her face into Bob's
chest and cried.
"There, there," he said soothingly. "Let it out.
Let it all out." He pulled her to him and patted
her shoulder.
Bob looked out at the fading brightness of the
sky. They were parked at the top of Cemetery
Hill, just across from one of the wrought-iron
gates to the graveyard. The sun had set behind
the hill, streaking the sky with yellow.
Gravestones stood out black against the sky,
reminding Bob of a row of broken teeth. The im-
age gave
him a sudden, nameless discomfort.
"There, there," he whispered again, but this
time he noticed a tightness in his voice.
He let his gaze wander back toward the
cemetery, to the heavy iron gate that was at-
tached
twoto granite pillars. He then noticed
that the gate was swaying back and forth slight-

125
ly, almost imperceptively. His eyes darted to the
trees overhead to see if there was any wind.
There was none.
Fighting back the feeling of uneasiness, he
stroked Lisa's hair softly. He was relieved to feel
that she was no longer shaking. Her breathing
was even and deep. He thought she might be
asleep.
The sky was now dark. Bob looked back at the
cemetery gate. It was still swinging, just barely
moving. Then as his eyes adjusted to the dark,
he realized that there was something on top of
the left pillar. He squinted, and finally recog-
nizedform
the of a large white cat, nonchalantly
licking its paw. The white fur glowed, almost
glimmered against the night sky. The cat paused
in its cleaning and looked over at Bob with a
cold, distant stare.
Bob's breath caught in his throat, and his legs
twitched. Lisa stirred and sat up slowly.
"Huh? What is it?" she asked sleepily. "Too
much pressure on your leg?"
"Ahh, no. No," Bob replied, then he forced a
laugh. "Just getting a little twitchy. I get ner-
vous around
graveyards after dark."
"I must've fallen asleep for a second there,"
Lisa said, shifting herself around.
"Yeah, you did." Bob's voice cracked.
"Hey, what's the matter? There's nothing to
be afraid of," Lisa said. She surprised him by
leaning toward him and kissing him full on the
mouth. Automatically, he put his arms around
her and pulled her tight. He shifted slightly and

126
stole a quick glance at the granite pillar. The
wrought-iron gate was closed, and the cat was
gone.
He pulled her closer, almost in desperation as
he fought back the uneasiness he felt.
Moments later, still wrapped in a tight em-
brace,both
they heard a sound that made them
sit up, startled.
A long, hollow howl drifted through the
night, rising and falling like a cry.
Bob quickly rolled his window down and
stuck his head outside to try to get a fix on the
direction. It seemed to be coming from the
cemetery.
Lisa shook his arm anxiously. "What in
heaven's name?"
"I don't know. I don't know," he said, waving
her to silence. He listened to the last dying
strains of the howling and then pulled his head
back into the car. "That sounds a hell of a lot
like the sound I heard out by the pond that
night."
"God, it's creepy."
The night was silent, and Bob and Lisa sat
there looking around them at the surrounding
darkness. Then the baying began again, rising in
quivering notes. This time it seemed to be closer.
Lisa screamed when a sudden burst of wind
kicked up a whirl of leaves that clattered noisily
against the car. They bounced off the car's wind-
shieldhood,
and sounding like scratching, like
somebody trying to get into the car. Bob looked
over at Lisa. Her panicked eyes held his.

127
 "What the . . ." Bob said tightly.
"Let's get going," Lisa said urgently. Bob
rolled the window shut and turned the ignition.
He snapped on the headlights and pulled away
from the curb.
Bob was just shifting into second when Lisa
screamed, "Look!" Vaguely and just out of reach
of the headlights, Bob saw a large black shadow
emerge from the graveyard. A ripple of
gooseflesh spread across his arms as he watched
the form slink across the road and disappear into
the woods on the other side.
Bob pressed the accelerator to the floor. The
car jolted forward with a squeal of tires. When
he got to where the black shape had disap-
peared,
pressed
he down hard on the brakes.
The car skidded to a stop in the gravel on the
roadside.
"What did you see?" he shouted, looking anx-
iously
Lisa
at and then out at the dark woods.
"Tell me, what did you see?"
"I, I don't know," Lisa stammered. "It looked
like a big dog or something."
"Yeah, or something!" Bob said. "That sure as
hell didn't sound like a dog, and by Jesus, that
didn't look like a dog!"
Lisa's voice shook as she tried to gain control.
"It looked like a dog to me."
"Well, it wasn't!" Bob said firmly. "That
animal moved just like a wolf."
Bob peered off into the darkness. "What's
through those woods there?" he asked, pointing
to the side of the road.

128
 "There's a, uh, there's a gravel pit a little way
in there. And an old dirt road that goes out to
the falls and the old abandoned silver mine.
Then just forest." Lisa bit on her lower lip.
"Hey, Bob, come on. Let's get going, OK?"
For a moment longer, Bob stared into the im-
penetrable darkness,
then he shook his head and
grunted. "Yeah, OK."
He looked at her and smiled. She returned a
brave smile. "I'm telling you, though," he said
grimly, "that sure as hell looked like a wolf to
me!

.II.

Simmons, you are one hot fucking shit!" Reg-

gie Vellieux
said, slapping Frank on the shoulder
and then taking the seat opposite him in the
booth .
Reggie's face was split by a wide grin that had
always reminded Frank of Howdy Doody; he
had never liked him.
Frank took the last swig of beer from his glass
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Reggie jumped to his feet and gestured wildly.
"Hey! Frenchie! A beer over here for the hero!"
Frank hooked his thumbs through his belt
loops and leaned back in his seat with a loud
belch. Well, he figured, might as well stick
around if the beer's free.
Frenchie came over with a cold one and slid it

129
in front of Frank. Reggie already had a dollar
bill out, which Frenchie neatly pocketed as he
moved away from the table.
"So tell me all about it," Reggie said, beam-
ing. "I've
heard about it from everyone else, but
I want the details from you."
"Not much to tell, really," Frank said, pur-
posely nonchalant
and looking bored to
counteract Reggie's enthusiasm. There's nothing
better, he thought, than a hero who maintains
his cool.
"Aww, come on," Reggie said, leaning for-
ward eagerly.
"You can't tell me it wasn't a hell
of a rush to nail that bastard."
Frank took a swallow of beer and shrugged his
shoulders. "I spent most of the night hunkered
down beside that stone wall. I knew that son-of-
a-bitch would be out that way."
"How'd you know?" Reggie asked.
Frank tapped his forehead with his finger. "I
knew," he said, smiling and nodding, "I knew.
And when that animal Went by, it was just
about dawn." Frank pointed his finger at Reggie
like a make-believe gun. "Bang! I nailed the
sucker."
"That's it?" Reggie asked, crestfallen. Ap-
parently
wanted
he a detailed account of a
hand-to-hand struggle; Frank's account was too
easy.
"That's it," Frank said simply. He took one
last gulp of beer and left the glass, still not emp-
ty, on
the table. "Look, Reg, I've gotta get go-
ing. I've,
I've got some business to take care of."
He winked lasciviously.
130
 "Ohhh," Reggie said, nodding knowingly.
"You're gonna go out and see Julie, huh?"
"Yeah, I think I just might," Frank said as he
rose from the booth. He strode from the table,
heading toward the door. As he reached into his
pants pocket for the truck keys, he mumbled to
himself, "That is, if she don't have company
already."

.III.

"Well, I don't know if I can thank you for a

pleasant night out or not," Lisa said with a tight
laugh as Bob pulled up to the curb in front of
her apartment building. "It did have its
moments."
"Yeah." Bob looked at her and then out at the
darkened apartment building. His forehead was
creased with concern. "And if he starts in
again . . ."he said, but then let his voice trail
off when he saw the pleading look in Lisa's eyes.
"OK, OK," he mumbled finally.
Lisa cast a quick glance over her shoulder at
the parking lot. She sighed and looked back at
Bob.
"He's not home yet?" Bob asked.
Lisa shook her head. "I wouldn't expect him
to be. Whenever we have a fight, he always
stays out even later than usual." Her voice began
to break. "Probably just to make me feel lousy."
They dropped into silence. Bob leaned for-

131
ward and scanned the three-story apartment
building. The disk of the full moon had just risen
over the rooftop, outlining the eaves with silvery
filigree. A low, moaning wind added to the
eeriness.
"About that animal we saw," Bob began. "Do
you, do you think we should report it?"
Lisa shrugged.
"I thought I heard that Frank Simmons or one
of the men from town killed that dog that had
been getting the animals," Lisa said.
"I'd say, by the looks of what we saw, that
they got the wrong animal. Or else there are two
of them."
"Maybe you should give Granger a call and
report it."
"Yeah," Bob said, rubbing his chin, "maybe I
will." He turned and looked at her. "Hey, I
almost forgot. It's the perfect time to ask you
this, I know."
Lisa looked at him and cocked her eyebrows.
"A week from Friday," Bob continued, "on
the thirty-first, we're having a Halloween party
at school. The senior class has hired a band from
Portsmouth. They decided to do it really big this
year."
"You want me to chaperon?" Lisa asked
guardedly.
"That comes later. First of all, we're going to
have a decorating party. Would you like to come
and help?"
"You think it'd be OK?" Lisa asked. Bob
recognized the question behind her question.

132
 He nodded. "Sure. We can, you know, play it
cool."
'This is tomorrow night? A school night?"
"There's a teachers' conference the next day,
so the students have the day off. We thought
maybe a preparty party would get everyone into
the spirit of things." Bob's grin widened. "What
do you say?"
Lisa looked down at her folded hands and
slowly twisted them. "Sure, I guess it'd be OK."
She looked at him and brightened. "After all,
it'd be a school function, right?"
"Right!" Bob said, emphatically. "No funny
stuff."
Lisa snapped open her door and stepped out-
side. "OK.
What time can you pick me up?"
Bob shifted in his seat. "Well, that was my
last question. I have to take this old heap into
the shop for repairs tomorrow. I was hoping you
could pick me up."
Lisa laughed. "So that's it!" she said playfully.
"You're just using me to get what you want!"
Bob shook his head with exaggerated in-
nocence. "No-o-o-!
Honest. How does six-thirty
sound?"
"Well, I suppose so," Lisa said. She eased the
door shut and stood there for a moment on the
curb. She waved goodbye, and Bob saw her
mouth the word, "Thanks," as he pulled away.

.IV.

"Ned? Are you awake?"

133
 Ellie Simmons cupped her hands to her mouth
and called sharply from the foot of the stairs.
She peered up at her son's closed bedroom door
and waited what she thought was a reasonable
time for an answer.
"Ned! You left the light on in the barn. It
shouldn't be on all night. It might start a fire.
Ned? Don't you think you should go turn it off?"
She huffed and folded her arms across her
chest. Still no answer came. She placed her foot
on the first step, as though, somehow, the threat
would be transmitted to Ned.
"Ned!"
She put weight on that foot, and the step
creaked.
"It's your responsibility, not mine!" she yelled.
She listened to the ticking silence of the house,
then shook her head and said softly, "My God,
but that boy sleeps like the dead!"
She waited a few seconds longer, then
shouted, "Never mind. I'll do it this time!"
She went to the closet and got her coat before
venturing out into the chilly night. All the way
to and from the barn, she was muttering about
how kids these days are such lazy so-and-sos.

.V.

Tuesday, October 21

"I could use a little bit of help over here," Bob

shouted. He was balanced on the edge of the

134
next-to-the-top step on the ladder, straining as
he reached over his head. The large orange-and-
black crepe jack-o'-lantern face bobbed up and
down as he felt blindly for the coat hanger hook
he had wrapped around the I-beam.
The ladder was squeaking noisily, like a
frightened mouse. Bob gritted his teeth.
"Don't worry, Mr. Wentworth. We'll catch
you," someone yelled from the floor. Bob didn't
dare to look down to see who it was who had
such a charming sense of humor. He thought he
could hear Lisa chuckling with the rest of the
people below.
"Terrific. Just what I need." He grunted soft-
ly. "Wouldn'tI look great, dancing at the Hallo-
ween party
with a cast on my leg?"
"You could go as an accident victim," some-
one else
yelled.
Bob stretched his legs and, finally, the hook
caught. "There," he said with a noisy exhale. He
took a quick step down until the ladder was
more stable. He stood there for a moment, ad-
miring
colorful
the streamers that arched away
from him in all directions. A round of applause
went up from the floor as Bob scurried down the
rest of the way.
"Nice, isn't it?" he asked, looking at his
finishing touch.
Lisa cleared her throat and stepped closer to
him. "Umm, don't you think that that red
spotlight is just a bit too much?" she asked,
seriously. "I mean, it's supposed to be spooky,
not gory."

135
 "I think it's just per-fect!" Bob said, rubbing
his hands together maliciously. He followed it
with a hollow, ghoulish laugh. Then he turned
and looked in the direction of the lighting booth
at the far end of the gym.
"Hey, Wendy!" he shouted to one of his
students who was up there controlling the lights.
"Mrs. Carter doesn't like the red! Ghostly, not
bloody!" Shading his eyes, he looked into the
bright light. The booth looked empty.
"Wendy? Are you still up there?" he called.
"Just a second," a faint voice answered. "I'm
looking for the blue gel."
Bob saw Wendy rise from behind the low bar-
rier thatsurrounded the booth. "I can't find it
up here. Maybe it's in the band room."
"I'll go check," one of the students said and
dashed off.
Bob looked back up at Wendy. Then his eyes
caught a motion at the foot of the ladder leading
up to the booth. Someone else had just been up
there with Wendy. Bob nudged Lisa and
pointed, but she turned too slowly to see the
figure disappear out the side door. In the light of
the exit light, Bob thought he recognized Alan
Tate.
"Aww, the things that can happen in a
lighting booth," Bob said to Lisa's questioning
gaze.
A few moments later, Wendy came down
from the lighting booth and walked over to the
group in the center of the gym floor. She moved
cautiously, as though she was shy. This wasn't at

136
all like Wendy, and Bob knew she was wonder-
ing anyone
if had seen that she had had com-
panyin
up the booth.
Bob noticed that Wendy looked a bit dishev-
eled. Her
hair was messed up, and the top two
buttons of her blouse were open. Her skirt
looked as though it was twisted around.
"I've got it!" yelled the student who had run
off to the band room. He held a blue gel trium-
phantlyhis
overhead. When he came up to the
group, he handed the gel to Wendy, who took it
and then thrust it into Bob's hand.
"I've, I've got to get going," she said. Her
voice sounded edgy as she backed away from the
group. "My mother wanted me home by ten
o'clock."
Bob looked at his watch and saw that it was
just nine-thirty. "Well, thanks for the help," he
said. "Have a good day off tomorrow, and I'll
see you in class on Thursday."
"Yeah," Wendy said. Her skirt swished as she
turned and ran over to the pile of coats on the
bleachers. She grabbed her coat from the bottom
of the pile and disappeared out the door.
Wendy's sudden departure seemed to infect
the other students, and they slowly started filter-
ing out
of the gym. Within fifteen minutes, Lisa
and Bob were the only people left to put away
the unused materials.
"Well," Lisa said, bending down to pick up a
crumpled paper cup. "That sure was a dud of a
party."
Bob was struggling to take down the high

137
stepladder. "At least we got the work done," he
said. "I was afraid we wouldn't even finish, the
turnout was so bad."
He got the ladder down onto the floor, then
he stood up and went over to the record player
and clicked on the record that was on the turn-
[Link]
An blast of guitars and
drums rumbled the speakers as Bob held out his
hands and bowed to Lisa gallantly. "May I have
this dance, madam?"
Lisa curtsied and lightly touched her fingertips
to his hand. Oblivious to the beat of the music,
they began to waltz slowly across the floor.
From the lighting booth overhead, a bright red
spotlight illuminated them.

.VI.

Wendy struggled to get her coat buttoned as

she ran across the high school parking-lot. She
crossed the street and then, at an easier trot,
started across the football field. For a moment,
she considered going straight home, but then she
decided to cut through the cemetery to take the
long way home along Strout Street. She needed
time to think.
The cold night air burned her lungs, and her
eyes watered as she slowed to a walk. She went
through the cemetery and then came out onto
the street.
There were no streetlights on this stretch of

138
road, but the full moon overhead cast a pale
glaze over the road, and she could see her way
well enough.
Wendy was caught between two extreme emo-
tions: one
made her want to scream with
laughter and joy; the other twisted within her
until she wanted to break down and cry.
"There's a first time for everything," she
whispered softly, conscious of the dampness and
pain between her legs. She stopped walking and
slid her hand up underneath her skirt. Her
fingers came away sticky.
"Well," she said to herself in an admonishing
tone, "you can't stay a virgin all your life,
right?" She was trying to sound brave, but she
could feel her lower lip trembling. "I'm probably
the only girl in the senior class who hasn't
screwed, and it's not like he forced me."
She moved down the road in the shadow of
the trees, telling herself not to cry; it had to hap-
pen sometime.
She breathed in the night air and exhaled it in
spasmodic jerks. She hoped the walk home
would caln> her down enough so she would be
able to face her mother without giving away her
wonderful-horrible secret. She looked to her
right and saw the glow of lights from town.
Suddenly, a pair of headlights sliced the
darkness. Wendy slid down the embankment
and hid until the car passed by and disappeared
around the bend. She scrambled back up to the
road and continued walking.
She was about a hundred yards from where

139
Strout Street crossed Railroad Avenue when she
heard a noise. It was off to her left, in the
woods.
She stood perfectly still, holding her breath as
she scanned the deep darkness. It was nothing,
she told herself, just the wind or something.
Then she heard it again, and this time she
thought it sounded like twigs breaking under-
foot. felt
She the tension coiling in her stomach.
No, not the wind. A branch. A branch snap-
ping. Someone'sin the woods!
"Alan?" she whispered. "Is that you?" She
looked off into the dark and listened tensely. She
hoped madly that she would hear a friendly
voice or a laugh.
Steeling her voice, she said, "Whoever you
are, it's not funny. Come on out right now!"
The black forest remained silent for an
unbearably long time.
Wendy turned on her heel and took a few
quick steps back, staring at the streetlight at the
corner of Railroad Avenue. The pain between
her legs began to throb. Suddenly, as if coming
from right beside her, a loud howl filled the
night. It rose with a piercing crescendo.
Wendy screamed and then broke into a run.
Over the sound of her feet slapping the pave-
ment,heard
she the howling rise higher and
higher. It shifted, seeming to remain right
alongside her as she ran. She gulped in air as she
ran, and it burned her throat.
It seemed as though the streetlight was getting
no closer as she pumped her arms madly.

140
 Then, with a suddenness that almost made her
stumble, the howling stopped. The silence that
followed was as thick and impenetrable as the
darkness beneath the trees. Wendy slowed for a
moment and chanced a look over her shoulder.
The road glimmered like smoke in the
moonlight. The trees were black. Then, phan-
tomlike,
shadowa detached itself from the trees
and slinked out onto the road. It was the biggest
damn dog Wendy had ever seen.
She broke her stride and pulled to a stop. Her
eyes were transfixed by the massive black shape
that was moving slowly toward her. A tremor
rose up her spine and shook her shoulders wildly
when she heard a low, rumbling growl that
seemed to shake the road.
"No! No!" she whined. Her hands flailed wild-
ly behind her, searching for support as she
walked backward. The throbbing between her
legs intensified.
In the moonlight, she caught a glimmer of
green in the animal's eyes. The growl rose louder
until it seemed to enfold her. Wendy sucked in a
gulp of air to scream, but all that came out was
a strangled cry. The black shape drew nearer.
"No! No! Momma, Momma," Wendy
moaned. It was the last sound she made as the
beast went for her throat.

.VII.

An hour later, Midge Stevens and Mark

McKinnon were driving back from the movies in

141
North Conway when they found Wendy. She
was lying at the side of the road with her head
resting at an impossible angle. Neither would
ever forget Wendy's saucerlike eyes as she stared
blankly back at the headlight's glare.

.VIII.

Lisa stood leaning on the roof of her car, her

chin resting in her cupped hands and one foot on
the running board. "You're sure you don't want
a ride home?" she asked.
Bob shook his head.
"It's not that far out of my way, you know."
"It's OK. Really," Bob said. He took the
smouldering cigarette butt from his mouth and
snapped it off into the darkness. "I just need
some time to think, to sort things out."
"After what we saw last night?" Lisa asked,
her voice edged with fear.
Bob felt an uneasiness, but he smiled and said,
"I'll be all right."
Lisa sat down in the car and started the
motor. "You're sure?"
"Yeah. And thanks for the help with the
decorations." He moved over and shut the door
for her. "I hope you had an OK time."
"Of course I did," she said. "It was terrific."
"Well," Bob said, hunching his shoulder, "it
wasn't that great. You're planning on coming to
the party next Friday, I hope."

142
 "We'll see," she said. "I'll have to think what I
can wear for a costume."
Bob braced himself on the car roof and leaned
closer to Lisa. "You don't have to wear a
costume, you know?"
"I know. But what would Halloween be
without a costume?" she asked. Then she shifted
into gear and drove away.
Bob started across the high-school front lawn
toward Old Jepson's Road. He walked along
easily, whistling softly, trying to ease his mind.
He had walked about a mile when he stopped
suddenly. He focused on the thought that had
been lurking in his mind all day, like a hungry
shark coasting just below the surface.
The cat! That white cat that was sitting on the
cemetery post!
He looked back down the road toward the
high school. He knew he could cut across the
football field and come out on the back side of
the cemetery. He also realized that he'd be
foolish to go back there and look for the cat.
Why? he wondered. It's just an ordinary cat.
Probably just sitting there waiting for a mouse to
pounce on. He was being silly letting something
like that bother him.
So if it's so silly, why was it so unsettling?
He looked back and forth, up and down the
silent, dark road.
So what's the problem? he asked himself.
The problem was, that white cat had scared
the shit out of him. Worse than seeing that
wolflike dog.

143
 "So why get so damned worked up?" he asked
himself softly. He stuck his hands into his
pockets and started down the road toward his
house. He felt a vague uneasiness, a pulling at
his back that made him want to turn around and
go to the cemetery, but he resisted it.
Suddenly, a shiver crept along his back. He
pulled his collar tighter but the feeling didn't go
away. It spread out into a chilly tickling along
his scalp.
He looked over his shoulder at the blackness
that filled the road like ink. A breeze shifted the
trees, and the moon, shining through the leaves,
spotted the road with a shifting pattern.
He was reassuring himself that he hadn't seen
anything moving on the road behind him, that
he was letting his imagination run away, when
he realized with a start that he did see something
on the road behind him: a dark shadow that
seemed to absorb the scattered moonlight.
"It's nothing, nothing at all," he whispered to
himself.
And then the "nothing" shifted closer to him
and began to growl softly.
The darkness obscured the shape, but Bob was
positive that this was the same animal he and
Lisa had seen the night before. They stood there,
about fifty feet between them, facing each other
off. Then, uttering a low rumble, the animal
flattened onto its belly and started slinking
toward Bob. The moonlight caught the animal
just right, and Bob could see the animal's hackles
raised like battle spears. The snarling grew

144
louder as the beast inched closer.
Bob realized with a sinking feeling that it
would do no good to run. The animal could
bring him down in ten paces. Instead, Bob stood
still until the animal was within twenty feet of
him. When he saw the baleful green glow in the
beast's eyes, Bob suddenly jumped forward and
yelled.
"Yah! Yah!" he shouted, waving his arms
wildly. "Get! Go on! Get!"
The animal stopped moving, but continued to
worm its belly against the asphalt. The rising
rumble in the beast's chest told Bob that his
scare tactic hadn't worked.
"Jesus Christ," Bob exclaimed. "That is a god-
damn wolf!"
When Bob said this, the animal let out a loud
yelp that sounded almost as if it had been hurt.
Bob watched as the animal crouched, preparing
to jump. Bob raised his hands to this throat in a
futile protective gesture.
"Christ Almighty!" Bob said softly, and again,
the beast made another pained sound
Just as the growling had started again, Bob
heard a screech of tires behind him. A blast of
light swept across the road and illuminated the
scene in front of him.
He saw the beast, caught by surprise, as it
reared back on its hind legs, almost standing up.
A wolf doesn't do that! Bob's mind screamed.
And then, in the brief flash of light, the
animal did something that made a strangled cry
catch in Bob's throat. The animal covered its

145
eyes with its paws to protect them from the sud-
den glare
of light. But what made Bob cry out
was that what he saw were not animal paws!
They looked like human hands!
Even as the thought registered, the animal
dashed off into the woods.
"Christ Almighty!" Bob mumbled, wiping the
sweat from his forehead. The chilly night air
made him shiver.
The car came up behind him and skidded to a
stop inches from him. He was still standing there
numbly in the center of the road. He spun a
round quickly and shielded his eyes from the
light.
"Bob? Are you all right?" Lisa's voice called to
him from behind the glare. "What are you do-
ing, trying
to get yourself killed?"
He walked over to the passenger's side and slid
into the seat without a word.
"What's the matter?" Lisa asked. Her voice
was agitated. "You look as pale as a sheet. Are
you crazy or something?"
"Maybe," he muttered. "I just saw, saw
something that startled me. That's all."
"What? What did you see?" Lisa asked.
"Nothing, nothing," he answered. "I just let
my imagination get carried away, that's all. It
was just a raccoon or something in the woods."
"Ohh?"
"Yeah." He felt the tension unwinding and
took a deep breath. "Hey, what are you doing
out here anyway? I thought you went home."
There was still a concerned crease across Lisa's

146
forehead, but she smiled and jabbed her thumb
toward the back seat. "It seems as though you
left your briefcase in the library this afternoon. I
forgot to give it to you earlier. I didn't think
vou'd want to go to school tomorrow without
it."
"Oh, God, yeah. Thanks," Bob said, fighting
to keep his voice steady. He reached the brief-
case from
the back seat. "Thanks a lot."
All the way to Bob's house, his mind con-
tinued
dwell
to on the image he had seen, trying
to absorb it; a wolf, a wolf with human hands!

147
 Chapter Seven

Friday, October 24

.1.

Bob had slept over an hour later than usual. It

was just seven-thirty when he finished shaving
and came downstairs for breakfast. He looked
blankly out at the falling rain as he fried his
eggs.
School had been cancelled for the rest of the
week. Wendy Stillman's funeral had been yester-
day, and
the whole town was still in shock. The
weather for the funeral had been overcast,
threatening rain, which did not come until after
dark.
Bob sat at the breakfast bar glumly eating his
eggs. The breakfast had not filled the hollowness
he felt in his stomach.
He didn't hear the car drive up to his house, so
he jumped when he heard heavy footsteps on the

148
porch. Looking up, he saw his early morning
visitor through the door window.
"Deputy Thurston," Bob said, rising and go-
ing the
to door. "Come on in."
Thurston entered and eased the door shut
behind him. He followed Bob back into the
kitchen.
"Care for a cup of coffee?" Bob asked.
Thurston said, "Thanks," and took off his
yellow rain slicker. He hung it on the back of the
chair before sitting down. Bob got two cups
from the cupboard and filled the tea kettle with
water.
"I hope instant coffee's OK," he said. He
looked over at the puddle forming under
Thurston's chair.
"Sure."
Bob put some coffee into the cups and then
leaned back against the count ertop. "It's kind of
a nasty day to be out so early. What can I do for
you?"
The kettle started screaming, and Bob poured
the hot water into the cups. He put one in front
of Thurston and then sat down, pushing away
his egg-stained plate.
"Well," Thurston said, fingering the coffee
cup, "you could start by answering a few ques-
tionsme,
for if that's all right?"
"Yeah. Sure," Bob said, feeling a lump of ten-
sionhis
in throat.
"I didn't see you at Wendy Stillman's funeral
yesterday," Thurston said solemnly. "I was
wondering why." He took a tentative sip of cof-

149
fee and eyed Bob over the rim of the cup.
Bob felt himself shrink under the stare. "Well,
I, uhh. Wendy was one of my better students,
and I just didn't think, didn't think I could han-
dle it."
He made a conscious effort to relax, but
still felt tight.
" 'S that so?" Thurston said softly. He took a
noisy sip from the cup.
"Do you guys have any idea who, who did it?"
Bob asked.
"We have some ideas," Thurston replied, a bit
too quickly, Bob thought. "Have you got any
ideas?" Thurston countered.
"I, I don't know," Bob replied. He lit a
cigarette and noticed that his hands shook.
Thurston stared at him with a cold, analytical
glare. "What have you heard?" he asked. His
voice was tightly controlled.
"Some pretty wild stories, some of them," Bob
said.
"Like the story you told Granger about seeing
a wolf out on Old Jep's Road that same night?"
"I saw something," Bob said. He turned his
eyes away and took a drag from his cigarette.
Thurston shifted in his chair and leaned for-
ward. "The
best we can figure, the Stillman girl
was killed between nine-thirty and eleven
o'clock, when she was found. Now, you say you
saw something on your way home, about ten-
thirty."
"What I saw looked like a wolf," Bob said
forcefully.
Thurston was silent as he studied Bob with an

150
unblinking stare. Finally, he said, "Maybe you
saw a human wolf?"
Bob jumped as the image of the animal's
paws — hands — came back to his mind. "Wha —
what?"
"Well, she might have been bitten by a dog,
savaged some by this animal that's been bother-
ing the
farmers around, but there's evidence that
she had been molested, raped."
"What?"
"Doc Stetson did an autopsy." Thurston
leaned closer to Bob and spoke in a secretive
voice. "Now this is kind of confidential, so I
don't want you adding it to those stories cir-
culating around
town, but Doc says someone put
the boots to her before they killed her."
"God! Raped and then murdered?" The
thought staggered Bob, and he dropped his head
into his hands and stared blankly at the counter-
top for a moment.
"Seems as though," Thurston said. He looked
at Bob and cocked an eyebrow. "I just want you
to refresh my memory. When was it you saw her
last? Wendy Stillman, that is."
"When we were decorating for the Halloween
party. She was helping us with the —"
"Us? You mean you and Mrs. Carter?"
Bob felt his face redden. "And some students.
Wendy left before everyone else did."
Bob had forgotten entirely that he had seen Alan
Tate, or someone, leave the lighting booth before
Wendy came down. The shock of Thurston's
revelation had driven it completely from his mind.

151
 "Did she leave with someone, or alone?"
Thurston asked.
"Alone," Bob replied quickly. He got up
slowly, stunned, and filled his coffee cup with
cold water. He drank it in two big gulps. "We,
we stayed and cleaned up after everyone else
had gone home."
"We?"
"Mrs. Carter and I."
"Ohh." Thurston nodded his head. "And did
you go home alone or with someone?"
Bob's anger suddenly burst. He took a men-
acing toward
step Thurston before he got control
of himself. "Look, that's my personal life. I don't
have to answer anything about it. And I resent
your prying into my private life."
"You don't have to answer that question,"
Thurston replied cooly. "Not at all. Look, some-
one has
been killed in this town, and that makes
me and Granger nervous. It makes a lot of
people nervous. You're not under suspicion for
anything." Thurston pointed an accusing finger
at Bob. "'Cause if you were, I'd have hauled
your ass down to the station by now. And you
can be damn sure you'd answer my questions
there! I'm just trying to find out how Wendy
Stillman died, that's all!" He brought his fist
down hard onto the countertop, making the cups
rattle.
"You mean what killed her, don't you?" Bob
asked cooly. Seeing Thurston get so agitated had
a calming effect on Bob. "What killed her!"
Thurston smiled and snickered softly. "Yeah,

152
right. Your wolf, huh? Look, I don't want to
debate that point with you right now. I think it's
bullshit thinking there's a goddamn wolf in the
area."
"Just check it out!" Bob said forcefully. "It's
another line of investigation. Like you said,
someone's died in this town, one of my best
students, and that makes me nervous, because
whatever got her came awful damn close to get-
ting me
too!"
"Yeah, well," Thurston said, rising. He took
his coat and shook it before putting it on. "Well,
I'll be in touch if I have any more questions." He
tipped his head back and finished off his cup of
coffee. "Thanks for the coffee."
He left, slamming the door behind him.

.II.

The rain stopped by three o'clock that after-

noon,the
andsun was shining through the raft
of clouds as it set. It was nearly twilight as Ned
walked home slowly from the I.G.A.
He was feeling better than he had in weeks.
He felt whole, rested, refreshed. He walked
briskly along Old Jepson's Road, swinging his
arms and whistling a tuneless song. His lips were
dry, and had to wet his lips continually to keep
the notes from fizzling away. With jaunty skips,
he avoided the leaf-choked puddles along the
roadside.

153
 Suddenly, he stopped, the tune cut short. He
knelt down and stared into one of the muddy
puddles. Leaves dimpled the surface of the
water and the mud on the bottom was irregular,
but he clearly saw his reflection in the water.
The face looking back at him was pale,
washed out, almost, he thought, as though he
had lost some of the substance just below the
skin. His cheeks were hollow. His eyes were dark
and receding beneath his scowling brow. He
could see that his lips were chalky and cracked,
and as he stared at himself he ran his tongue
over them again.
He tried to smile at himself, letting his mouth
widen slowly, but the grin looked more like a
grimace.
He stretched out his hand toward the puddle,
letting his hand form a tensed claw. His fingers
got closer to the water, and he had a brief image
of someone else's hands reaching slowly for his
face. His fingers touched the water, and his
reflection shattered into a dozen ripples.
With a barely audible whimper, he jerked to
his feet. He started to walk away rapidly when
he heard a car coming toward him down the
road. The steady hum of the car's engine was
muffled as it dropped into a dip in the road.
Then, as it crested the hill behind him, Ned
chanced a quick look over his shoulder.
He immediately recognized the black Mustang
convertible. He continued walking, never break-
ing his
stride, as the car bore down on him from
behind. He held his arms stiff and clamped

154
against his sides. The tightness in his stomach
spread into his chest and crotch.
The car was rapidly closing the distance be-
tween them.
Ned wished wildly that the driver
of the car would not even notice him walking
along the roadside; he also wished that she
would stop and pick him up.
When the car was close behind him, the driver
gave a quick toot on the horn, and then the car
sailed past Ned, leaving him with an uncomfor-
table prickling
at the nape of his neck. The car
was a short way down the road when Ned saw
the brake lights flicker and then stay on. The car
pulled over to the side of the road.
Ned watched as the backup lights came on,
and then the car started coming toward him in
reverse. When it was right beside him, the
passenger's side door opened. For a moment,
Ned considered lighting out across the field, run-
ning before
he had to speak with her. What
would he say? he wondered wildly. How could
he ever talk with her, face to face?
"Hey, d'yah want a ride, or are you into walk-
ing?" Julie
Sikes called to him, leaning across the
front seat to hold the door open for him.

.III.

Bob ran the zipper tab up to his chin and

snuggled into the collar of his jacket to break the
chill. He was sitting at the top of the hill in Pine

155
Haven Cemetery. The sun was low in the west
behind him, but already the gravestones below
him were washed with shadows. The only
sound, as he sat cross-legged beside a large
marble column, was the steady flapping of a flag
on one of the gravestones.
He had been out walking in the woods all
afternoon. He was trying to sort out his reaction
to Wendy's violent death and his feelings for
Lisa Carter. There was much he wanted to think
about and much he wanted to forget. He hadn't
been too surprised when, once the sun started to
set, he had walked in the direction of the
graveyard.
Bob could look down from the hill and catch a
glimpse of the town to his right. He was soothed
and calmed by the small spectacle it presented.
All around town, lights were being turned on.
As he watched, the string of streetlights that
marked Main Street came on. Peace and quiet
and gathering night lay upon the town like a soft
blanket.
But as he looked out over the town, Bob was
filled with an unnerving foreboding. He
remembered that day in the park, when he had
been going to see Lisa in the library, and an
uneasiness came over him. What he felt now was
much like what he had felt then, when he
watched the thick cloud pass overhead; but now
the feeling was much more intense, still as vague
as that day, but much more intense.
He noticed that he was breathing rapidly and
that, in spite of the cool evening air, his face was
bathed in sweat.
156
 He got up slowly and started down the hill
toward the road and home. He wanted to be
home before it got dark, and he would have to
hurry.

.IV.

Hunching up his shoulders, Ned looked into

the car and stared at Julie. "Su —sure," he said,
sliding onto the seat. "Thanks for st —stopping."
The sweet smell of marijuana filled the car.
Julie gingerly held the nub of a roach to her lips
and inhaled noisily. "Wanna hit?" she asked,
holding the roach out to Ned.
"Ahh, no. No thanks," he mumbled.
She shrugged, took another whistling drag,
and then dropped it into the ashtray. 'Tt'd do
you some good," she said, lazily smiling. Ned
shrugged. Julie dropped the car into gear and
pulled away.
Ned sat back in the seat uneasily. He kept his
hands folded in his lap, trying to hide the bulge
in his pants. The setting sun glinted on the still
wet road, giving it a slippery, sealskin glow. The
tires hissed like tearing paper.
Ned kept stealing fleeting glances at Julie as
she drove silently. His eyes kept wandering from
her face to her bulging breasts. The warm
tightening in his crotch made him shift uneasily.
He found it almost impossible not to reach out
and grab her.

157
 What amazed him, what he couldn't believe
was that, after all his dreaming and fantasizing,
here he was, alone with Julie Sikes.
Again he looked at her. The thick, curly black
hair framed her pale face against the flickering
view out the side window. He studied the curve
of her neck that led down to the swelling of her
breasts.
Go ahead! his mind screamed. Reach out!
Grab her! Everyone in town has had her, in-
cludingbrother.
your Go on! Grab her. Just
reach inside her coat and grab her tits! That's
what she probably wants. Why else would she
pick you up?
The aching in his crotch began to throb.
You can have her! Take her! Just reach over
into her blouse.
"So how's everything been?" Julie asked.
It sounded innocent, but Ned thought he saw
a sly glance in his direction that said a lot more.
"Ahh, pretty good, pretty good," he
answered, trying to sound at ease. "Been pretty
busy."
Julie smiled and looked at him. "Doing
what?" she asked intensely.
"Nothing much."
They drove a while longer in silence. Ned was
cursing himself for not carrying on the conversa-
[Link]
He wondering how he would ever get
around to putting some moves on her.
"Did you go to Wendy Stillman's funeral?"
Julie asked after a moment.
Ned shook his head. "Couldn't. Had to work."

158
 "Oh. Horrible, wasn't it?"
Ned nodded and let his eyes wander down to
the floor. His gaze immediately fell on Julie's
legs. He saw that they were spread apart slight-
ly, and
he wished he had the courage to run his
hand up her thigh.
"So young, and to die like that. And no one
even knows who or what killed her. I heard
someone say that she might have been raped,
too. That it might have been a person who did
it."
Ned gulped for a breath of air and managed to
say, "I hadn't heard."
"Were you at the school decorating that
night?" Julie asked. Again she looked at him,
and Ned read more than simple conversation.
"No, ummm, I was busy," he answered.
"So was I," Julie said, apparently to herself.
She dropped her hand into her lap and let it rest
there. "Say," Julie said, "are you planning to go
to the Halloween party?"
Ned was afraid to reply, afraid to open his
mouth for fear of what would come out. He rub-
bed hands
his together, feeling the slippery sweat
of his palms.
"I don't think so," he said finally. "I don't
have a date."
Julie's hand in her lap moved, and her skirt
moved up about three inches. Ned ran his
tongue over his dry lips.
"Would you, would you like to go with me?"
he stammered. He looked at her intently, trying
to mask his intense feelings.

159
 A simple, flat no would have been enough
and, feeling the way he did, it would have been
accepted. When Julie burst out laughing, Ned
felt his face flush with blood. He balled his
hands into fists and wanted to hit her, but in-
stead,
looked
he out the window at the road
ahead. His eyes were stinging, and he carefully
formed the word "Bitch."
She has no right to laugh at me, he thought
angrily. I should take her right now and teach
her a lesson.
Julie's laughter died away slowly, and then
they both sat in silence as she drove up the
Bartlett Road. When they came to the end of
Ned's driveway, Julie pulled over to the side of
the road.
"It's going to be dark soon," she said, "and
I've got some things to do."
"This is fine," Ned said weakly. His ears were
still stinging from her abusive laughter. He
opened the door and stepped out, right into a
puddle. Before he got out, though, he turned
and looked at her once more. "How come?" he
asked. "How come you won't come with me?"
The whining tone of his voice irritated him.
"Huh?" Julie asked dully.
"Why won't you come to the Halloween party
with me?" His foot was still ankle-deep in the
water. His sock was thoroughly soaked and his
ankle was starting to feel numb.
"Come on, Ned, don't you think I'm a little
too old to be going to something like that? A
high school dance?"

160
 "Not really," he answered feebly. "It's open to
the public, and I know there'll be other people
there who have already graduated/'
"Sorry, Ned," she said softly, and he thought
she almost sounded sincere. She shocked him
when she reached out and rested her hand on his
leg. She squeezed his thigh slightly and said,
"But who knows, maybe we can get together
sometime."
Walking up to his house, Ned was limping,
the pain in his crotch was so intense. "Got, I'd
love to get into her pants," he muttered to
himself.

.V.

„ "Jesus [Link]!" Bob swore as he shook angri-

ly onthe locked cemetery gate. He had heard
that, because of some recent vandalism in the
cemetery, all but the front gates would be kept
locked. He had forgotten all about it. Now he
would have to go back up over the hill and walk
around.
He looked up at the pointed spikes that lined
the top of the iron fence. There was no way he
could get up and over them without getting
hurt. He shook a cigarette from the pack and lit
it before turning back up the hill.
He picked his way carefully between the
gravestones. The sun had set completely, and the
cemetery pathways were indistinct, the footing

161
unsure. When he reached the crest of the hill, he
paused and scanned the small grove of cedars
that surrounded the marble pillar where he had
been sitting. As he turned to walk down the hill
to the road, he caught a glimpse of motion
beside the pillar, and when he turned carefully,
he saw the white cat slink into view.
Bob's breath snagged in his throat. The animal
looked at him intently. It walked back and forth
a few times, rubbing its sides against the monu-
ment, then
it sat down at the base and glared at
him.
Bob knew he had to prove that this was just
an ordinary animal, that the hunting for mice
was good in the graveyard, and this cat had
staked out its claim. He bent down and, snapp-
ing his
fingers, called to the cat.
"Come here, kitty, kitty," he said in a friendly
tone.
The animal stood up and hunched its back.
Bob took a cautious step forward, still clicking
his tongue. At first, the animal stood its ground,
but just before Bob could have reached out and
touched it, it darted away toward the cedars.
The animal moved with a quick feline grace
that looked almost unnatural in the dim light.
Before disappearing into the trees, the cat
paused and looked back at Bob.
Bob threw his cigarette to the ground and
followed after the cat. He wondered why he was
doing this, why he was wasting his time chasing
after the animal, but he couldn't deny the
strange compulsion of the mystery he felt about
it.
162
 Bob stood for a moment on the edge of the
grove, his nerves and muscles tensed. Suddenly a
loud hissing- and-spitting screech shattered the
quiet of the cemetery. Bob crouched and peered
into the darkness under the trees.
Caution! Caution was what he needed now,
he decided. He knew he should just leave the
animal alone, let it be. It was probably in heat
and mating in the grove. Bob knew he should
just head on home, but something drew him for-
[Link]
He the cedar grove.
He had taken no more than five steps in the
enfolding darkness when that horrible feline
shriek sounded again, right beside him. In a
quick reflexive move, Bob dropped to his knees
and spun around, raising his hands to his face.
He recognized the white shape that had
launched itself at him from the darkness. There
was a sharp stinging on his cheek as the cat's
claws raked across his face.
And then it was gone. As quickly as it had at-
tacked,
white
the cat vanished into the night.
Bob stook up, confused and wondering. His
cheek was singing with pain. He brushed the
slash with his fingers and his fingers came away
sticky with blood. He turned and ran wildly
from the cemetery.

.VI.

The thin tendons in her arms strained and

stood out like pencils beneath her skin as Julie

163
carried an armload of groceries toward her
house. It was almost nine o'clock.
She got up to the door, fiddled with the lock
until it snapped, and then bumped the door
open with her butt.
She dropped the groceries on the counter with
a huff. It wasn't until she turned back around
that she saw the man's jacket was hanging on
one of the kitchen chairs. She immediately
recognized it as Frank's.
"Hello?" she called out, not too loudly as she
walked over and glanced into the darkness of the
living room. "Are you in here?"
She flicked on the overhead light and saw that
the room was empty. She then moved to the
bedroom door and cautiously peered around the
door jamb. The shades were drawn, and she
could hear the faint ticking of her alarm clock.
Then, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she
saw the mountainous bulk on her bed. She
cocked her ear, listening carefully, and then she
heard Frank's shallow breathing.
"Let sleeping dogs lie," she whispered softly as
she went back over to the counter and started
putting the food away.
She emptied the bags quickly and was just
folding the last empty bag flat when she heard
Frank mumble incoherently. Julie tensed.
"Please, please don't wake up."
"Mmmmmm, no. No! NoIFrank moaned.
There was a loud rustling of sheets, followed by
a loud thump.
Did he bump the wall or fall out of bed? Julie

164
wondered. The silence descended again, and
Julie went over to the sink, where she stood
watching the faucet drip for a long time.
On tiptoes, she crept back to the bedroom
door and looked in. Frank was lying, spread-
eagle, across the bed. Sheets and blankets were
tangled around his legs. His breathing sounded
louder, more labored. Not wanting to disturb
him, Julie was about to leave when she noticed
the pile of clothing at the foot of the bed. She
looked at it intently, trying towdistinguish the
clothes from the bedspread.
"Ahhh," she whispered softly, "there it is."
Glancing over her shoulder, as if afraid that she
was being observed, she slid into the darkened
room, went over to the bed, and snatched
Frank's shirt from the floor. Cursing the floor-
board that
creaked under her weight, she
sneaked back into the kitchen with the rumpled
shirt held tightly in her hand.
Once in the light, she held the shirt out at
arm's length and examined it. "Same one," she
muttered, when she saw where she had cut a
small piece of cloth from the shirttail.
Frank's voice suddenly shattered the silence.
"No! God! No!"
Julie quickly rolled the shirt into a ball and
held it behind her back. She expected to see
Frank come out of the bedroom. Her heart was
pounding in her ears. Then she heard Frank turn
over in the bed and groan.
She exhaled slowly. Again she held the shirt
up for inspection, then she went over to the kit-

165
chen table and spread it out. The blue cotton
was faded and worn.
"Well," she said, thoughtfully rubbing her
chin, "maybe last time I didn't have enough for
it to work. Maybe I need more." She grasped the
shirt by the pocket and gave it a quick tug. The
pocket let go easily with a soft hiss. She folded
the pocket carefully in half and then put it into
one of the counter drawers. She crumpled the
shirt back up and threw it back at the foot of the
bed.
WheQ the shirt hit the floor, Frank jerked up
into a sitting position. "The eyes! The eyes!" he
screamed in a hissing voice. "Like fire! Burning,
flaming eyes!"
Fighting back the initial surprise, Julie sat
down on the edge of the bed and grabbed
Frank's shoulders. She shook him wildly. "You're
OK, Frank. You're just dreaming!"
His arms flailed, trying to beat her away. His
eyes were open wide, staring. "No! No! No!"
Awww w wwwwww .
"Will you wake up?" Julie shouted. She
slapped him sharply on the face. "Goddammit!
Wake up!"
Frank dropped back onto the bed. His eyes
flickered and then opened. They were wild and
glassy. His body was slick with sweat, and his
hair was plastered to his forehead.
"Hey, man," Julie said, more calmly, "you
were having one hell of a dream!"
Maybe it is working, she thought excitedly.
She started to rub his shoulders, and she could

166
feel him loosening up. "Take it easy. It was just
a dream."
"Yeah, yeah," Frank muttered as he rubbed
his face with his hands. "Just a dream, but God,
it was like no dream I ever had before."
It really could be working! Julie thought. She
made an effort not to let her excitement show.
"God, you wouldn't have believed it!" Frank
said with a deep rattle in his throat.
"You scared the shit out of me when you cried
out."
Frank sat slumped on the bed, his mouth
drawn tightly at the corners. His eyes still looked
distant and glazed. Air hissed between his teeth
as he inhaled. "Christ, it was terrible."
"Well it's all over now. Just relax," Julie said
soothingly. "What was it? What did you dream
about?" she asked.
If it's just starting to work, maybe it works
just on the dream level at first.
A thickness clogged Frank's voice as he spoke.
"I can't remember for sure. It was something big
and dark. It was trying to surround me, to, like
swallow me up." Frank shivered as the dream
came back clearer in his memory. "It felt like it
was trying to eat me. Then — Oh, God! Then I
saw that it had eyes. Terrible, burning green
eyes! And I had this sensation that, like, I was
being ripped apart." His voice cut off with a
sharp intake of air.
Julie sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing
Frank's shoulders and speaking soft words of
comfort. All the while her mind was screaming,
It is! It is beginning to work!
167
 Chapter Eight

Friday, October 31

.1.

Bob glanced at his watch as he drove rapidly

down Old Jepson's Road toward the high school.
It was almost seven-thirty. The Halloween party
started at eight. The janitor was going to let the
band in early so they could set up, but Bob
wanted to be there too, just to keep an eye on
things.
Up ahead on his right, he saw the school
parking-lot lights glowing brightly. As he pulled
into the parking lot, he could hear the band tun-
ing up.
There would be a loud blast of music
that would last for a few seconds and then stop
abruptly. Bob skidded to a halt near the
walkway, making sure to leave his car directly
under a streetlight. He noticed Lisa's car parked
off to the side.

168
 He got out of the car, made sure he locked the
doors, and then raced up the walkway to the
school. In one of the alcoves, he passed a knot of
students who were smoking. He wondered what
they were smoking, but decided not to take the
time to find out yet. It was more important to
make sure everything was set for the dance.
When he entered the gym, he saw that the
band members had left the stage and were mill-
ing around the refreshments table with a group
of girls. He also saw that the red spotlight had
not been changed, that it still directed its fiery
beam onto the middle of the floor. It brought
back a clear memory of Wendy, and he had to
fight back the pained emotions.
Lisa was standing at the far corner of the
gym, silently surveying the scene. Bob almost
laughed aloud when he saw that she was dressed
like a medieval fairy princess. She was wearing a
long gown that trailed a piece of gauze from the
pointed cap.
"Fantastic," he called, as he walked toward
her, smiling. "Why didn't you tell me? I would
have come up with something."
One of the students standing near the stage
looking at the band's equipment turned around
and shouted, "Hey, Mr. Wentworth. I really like
your mask!"
He laughed with embarrassment as he joined
Lisa. "Well, fair maiden, are you set for a
stomping good time tonight?"
Lisa raised the magic wand she held and tapped
Bob lightly on the shoulder. "At midnight,"

169
she said solemnly, "y°u will be transformed into
a pumpkin."
"Oh, great. Just what I need." He stood
beside her and scanned the gym. Indicating the
band, he asked, "Are they any good? From what
I heard in the parking lot, they sounded pretty
loud."
Lisa smiled. "They have to be loud or they
aren't any good. Don't you know anything?"
Students were beginning to wander into the
gym. At exactly eight o'clock, the band took the
stage and lit into their first number. A few
students made it onto the dance floor; others
wandered over to the refreshments.
Bob watched as several paper cups were filled
with punch. He realized that the punch looked
very dark, and he looked over at Lisa. "Are my
eyes playing tricks on me, or does that punch
look like blood?"
Another cup of punch was poured, and Bob
watched the thick red stream fill the cup.
Lisa nodded. "It's not your imagination. It's
someone's idea of a joke, I guess. Gruesome, if
you ask me."
Bob rubbed his hands together and said in a
ghoulish voice, "Perhaps it is an acquired taste."
As more students arrived and began dancing,
the motion of their bodies sent the crepe decora-
tions swaying
gently. The gym started to feel
quite warm, so Bob grabbed Lisa's arm and led
her over to the punch bowl. "Let's take our lives
into our hands and try that stuff," he said.
Lisa shook her head. "You can if you want to.

170
I'll stick to the water fountain."
Bob picked up a cup and took a cautious sip.
"Ummm. Not bad. Not bad at all/' he said,
smiling. "I was right, it is an acquired taste."
Lisa smirked and looked out at the dancers on
the floor. "You can acquire mine," she said.
The band finished one song and, after barely
enough of a pause for applause, they broke into
another.
"Hey, I know this one," Bob said with sur-
prise, when
the opening notes of "Satisfaction"
filled the gym.
Lisa nodded and walked onto the floor, trail-
ing the
gauze behind her. She scooped it up and
held it as they danced. Bob noticed that Lisa
was keeping a respectable distance from him.
As they moved about the floor, doing steps
Bob didn't even think he remembered, Bob kept
surveying the students in the gym. Everybody
looked as though they were having fun. The only
disappointment was that not many of the
students were wearing costumes.
They finished their dance and, as the band
worked into another number Bob didn't
recognize, they walked back over to the
refreshments to try some of the Halloween cup-
cakes cookies.
and Bob bit into a pumpkin-face
cookie. He took the punch ladle and began to
stir the thick red punch. He felt a wave of revul-
sionheas poured a glass and offered it to Lisa.
She shook her head. "I reached my limit with
that before I had my first one." She looked away
again, and Bob finally realized that, as they had

171
agreed, she was playing it very cool. He nodded,
took the glass for himself, and stood watching
the dancing students.
When they finished the song, the lead singer
announced that the band would be taking a
fifteen-minute break. A wave of babbling voices
filled the gym.
"Well," Bob said, "Fm glad we can finally
hear ourselves think." He took a sip of punch
and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
He felt a slight jolt when he saw the back of his
hand was smeared bright red.
"Not a bad turn-on, huh?" a voice close
behind him said.
Bob turned and almost knocked over Ned Sim-
[Link]
He the last person Bob would have
expected to see at a school social function.
"No, uh, not bad at all."
Ned smirked and looked down at his feet with
an unfocused stare. Bob looked at the boy and
wondered if he had been drinking. His face
looked deathly pale and he was wobbling, as
though he needed support.
"Have you got a date tonight, Ned?" Bob
asked brightly.
Ned looked up at him. His eyes looked distant
and lifeless. "Uhh, no. I asked, ahh, Julie, but
she was busy tonight."
"Julie Sikes?" Bob asked with surprise. He cast
a quick glance over at Lisa, who had heard the
exchange. Her eyes were widened with surprise
too, but she shrugged and looked away.
"Yeah," Ned continued, "she couldn't make it,

172
%but I thought I'd drop by. There's no place else
to go." Ned chuckled. "I mean, I'm not into
smashing pumpkins or anything."
"Yeah. This is the place to be," Bob said
cheerfully. He had watched Ned carefully as he
spoke, and, he was becoming increasingly con-
cerned the
about
boy's health. Bob kept thinking
that he looked like someone who had just gotten
over a serious illness.
"You did a great job on the decorations," Ned
said. "Real nice."
Bob tensed. Ned's comment again reminded
him of Wendy Stillman and what had happened
to her. "Yeah. We worked real hard on them
that night. . . ."Bob said, but he let his voice
trail off.
"The night Wendy Stillman died," Ned
finished, half under his breath. To Bob, he
sounded like someone talking in his sleep, and
his eyes were glazed over as he looked out at the
crowd of students.
Suddenly, the band started again. Someone hit
the light switches, and the banks of fluorescent
lights on the ceiling winked off. More students
had arrived during the break, and soon the floor
was packed with gyrating bodies. Bob was
grateful for the sudden transition because he
wouldn't have to reply to Ned's last comment.
He looked down at the frayed edge of his paper
cup and tossed it into the wastebasket beside the
table.
He grabbed a new paper cup and started fill-
ing it.
"You want some?" he called over to Ned.

173
 Ned nodded and, walking over to the table,
accepted the cup from Bob. When he looked up
to hand Ned the cup, Bob was stunned into a
split-second of immobility. The red spotlight was
directly behind Ned, and the angle was just right
so a hot red glow surrounded his head like an
unholy halo.
Ned took a sip and said, "Too bad there's
nothing stronger."
"Sorry," Bob stammered unthinkingly. He
tried to look away but couldn't. His hands
shook, sloshing cold red punch onto his wrist.
The red nimbus behind Ned's head seemed to
pulsate with Bob's rapidly beating heart.
The music, once loud and abrasive, now
seemed muted, fading and flickering in and out
as though someone were playing with the con-
trols. Bob,
feeling flushed and on the verge of
fainting, struggled to fight down his rising panic.
Finally, he tore his eyes away from Ned and
looked out over the sea of smiling, bobbing
faces. Heads bounced lazily to the distant, hazy
beat of the music. The dancers' movements, like
the music, seemed to be slowing down into slug-
gish, plodding
motions.
Happy grins suddenly took on aspects of
frozen grimaces, as though everyone had worn
masks. Tight mouths twisted into soundless,
open-mouthed shrieks. Eyes filled with the angry
red light from overhead reflected a dull, dead
blankness. It appeared as though everyone in the
gym was merely a part of one gigantic, writhing
animal.

174
 Bob staggered back a few steps and swiped his
hand across his face. His cup dropped to the
floor with a dull plop. Waves of heated panic
swept over him.
He blinked his eyes forcefully, but the vision
did not disappear. A quick, paranoid thought
flashed through his mind that someone had
spiked his drink with LSD. His anxiety rose
higher, and he wanted to scream to relieve the
tension.
His mouth was open, and he could feel gulps
of air scratch his sand-coated throat. He wanted
to shout, to cry, to scream until everything
returned to normal, but his voice was frozen.
Suddenly, Lisa realized what was happening
and darted forward. She grabbed him by the
elbows and steadied him as she led him over to
the side door. The backs of his knees ached wild-
ly, andhe leaned on her for fear of falling down.
By the side door, she let him lean against the
wall. He watched as Lisa's mouth formed words,
but what he heard sounded like gibberish. The
darkness swelled and pressed against him.
Again, Lisa's mouth moved, and this time Bob
understood her. "Are you all right, Bob? What's
the matter?" she asked frowning.
Bob shook his head with a sharp snap, but still
the fogginess remained. He stared into Lisa's
wide-open eyes, seeing his own panic reflected
there. Then, with an abrupt whoosh, the music
grew louder. Once again the dancers moved nor-
mally.
"Yeah, veah," Bob said, shakilv, "I think I'm

175
OK." He massaged the back of his neck and
looking up at the ceiling. His voice sounded
strange to him. "Must be the heat that's getting
to me." He forced himself to inhale deeply,
evenly.
"You still don't look so hot," Lisa said. "Do
you want to sit down for a minute?" Her grip
tightened on his arm and pulled.
Bob pulled away from her grasp. "It's so damn
hot in here. I think I'll take a walk outside and
have a cigarette. Want to come?"
Lisa shook her head. "I'll stay here, I think."
"I'll be right back then," Bob said quickly. He
turned and barreled through the door, ignoring
everyone in his path.

.II.

Once outside, Bob let the cool air wash over

him like water. He shivered because he had not
taken his jacket, but the cold felt good and he
decided not to go back for it. He lit his cigarette
and decided that once around the school should
unwind him.
He walked slowly, taking long, even puffs,
watching the smoke drift lazily away. He tried
not to think about what had happened in the
gym. He tried to convince himself that it had
been the noise, the heat, the confusion, but he
couldn't shake the image of Ned standing there
with the red spotlight glowing eerily behind his

176
head. The image unnerved Bob, and for some
unexplained reason, he felt that the image was
connected with Wendy Stillman.
He turned a corner of the building and was
just moving along the back side of the school
when he saw someone else come around the cor-
ner at
the far end. The man was walking
unsteadily (Bob could tell that even at such a
distance) when he suddenly stopped, unhitched
his pants, and urinated on the side of the
building. Bob could see his profile clearly against
the backdrop of the lighted parking lot.
The man finished his business, zipped his
pants shut, and was starting toward Bob again
when someone else came around the corner. It
was a woman. Bob stood still and watched as he
heard Lisa's voice cry out, 'Tor crying out loud,
Jeff, will you please take it easy?"
"Shut up!" the man snapped.
"It's nothing to get excited about!" Lisa
shouted. Her fairy princess veil, bunched up in
her hands, glowed with a blue haze.
"I tole yah to shut the fuck up," Jeff slurred.
Lisa stood still as Jeff took a menacing step
toward her with a raised fist. "I tole yah I'm
gonna settle things my way, you goddamn bitch."
"Jeff, please!"
Bob was not sure whether or not he should in-
tervene
thisin family argument, but he knew
that Jeff was drunk, and he didn't want Lisa to
get beaten up again. He started toward the cou-
ple andhad come to within ten feet of Jeff's
back before the man knew he was there and
turned around.

177
 "Just the man I'm lookin' for," Jeff slurred
thickly, as he dropped into a crouch and raised
both fists. "Come on! Come on, you bastard and
get what's comin' to yah!" He belched loudly
and wavered unsteadily.
"Wha — what the hell are you talking about?"
Bob asked in surprise.
Jeff lurched forward. "You know goddamn
well what I'm talkin' 'bout, mister hot-shit
English-teacher! You been dippin' your wick in
places you ain't supposed to."
Bob took a quick step backward. Although
Jeff was so drunk that he was almost falling
over, he was still bigger than Bob, and Bob
didn't want to tangle with him; his fighting
reflexes might not be impaired by the alcohol.
"Please, Jeff," Lisa pleaded. Bob glanced over
at her, hunched in the shadow of the school
building. He had a sudden, silly image that she
was a princess and he was her champion.
"Really, Jeff," Bob said soothingly, as though
talking to a frightened child. "Why don't you
just take a minute to cool off and think about
it."
"Bullshit!" Jeff bellowed, his voice almost
breaking. "You've been messin' with my wife,
'n' nobody does that without answerin' to me!"
He thumped his chest with his fist and took a
step closer to Bob.
"Let's go inside and —" was all Bob got to say.
Jeff attacked quicker than Bob thought he could,
his fist landing squarely on Bob's jaw. Bob spun
around from the impact and fell to his knees.

178
The warm, salty taste of blood filled his mouth.
He held his jaw with one hand and raised the
other to ward off a second blow, but when he
looked up, he saw that the momentum of his
punch had carried Jeff around. The drunk man
stood off to the side, yelling, "Come on, you
mother-fuckin' coward. Where'd you go? Where
are you?"
Bob stood up slowly and spit out a mouthful
of blood. He worked his tongue around in his
mouth to check for loose teeth and was relieved
to find none.
Lisa was still cringing in the shadows, uncer-
tain who
to go to for help.
Jeff, from his crouch, spotted Bob standing
there on weak legs, rubbing his jaw. "There you
are, you prick," he shouted.
This time Bob was ready, and when Jeff
threw his punch, Bob sidestepped it easily. Jeffs
haymaker whistled through the air, throwing
him wildly off balance. He spun around in a
complete circle and flopped onto his back with a
loud grunt. He lay unmoving, staring up blankly
at the stars. His breath rattled in his lungs.
Lisa screamed and ran forward to her hus-
[Link]
She down and cradled his head in
her lap, stroking his forehead. Jeff struggled for
a moment to get up, found that he couldn't, and
then dropped back into Lisa's lap with a sigh.
*T never even hit him," Bob said as he walked
over and stood behind Lisa.
Jeff rolled his head from side to side. His
groaning grew louder, and then a thick gurgle

179
rolled in his throat. Without even raising his
head, he vomited all over his chest. Lisa sat, un-
moved.
"Honest, Lisa," Bob pleaded, "I didn't touch
him. I didn't want to hurt him."
"I know. I know!" she shouted in a pained
voice that Bob could barely hear above Jeffs
retching. Jeff suddenly stiffened and then, mer-
cifully,
consciousness.
lost
"For God's sake, Bob, will you help me with
him?" Lisa cried out. Tears streaked her face.
Her fairy-princess dress was stained with vomit.
She shifted from underneath Jeff's dead
weight, and Jeffs head hit the ground with a
dull thud. Drool smeared his chin. His eyes were
still open, gazing blankly at the sky.
Bob leaned down and grabbed Jeff under the
arms. With Lisa's help, they got Jeff standing
up. It took both of their strengths to support the
dead weight. With one of them on each side,
they slowly started to drag Jeff toward the park-
ing lot,
his head flopping loosely back and forth
with each step they took.
Once they got him over to the parking lot,
they laid him across the hood of his car. Lisa
fished in Jeffs pants pockets for the keys.
"Do you want me to drive?" Bob asked, after
they had loaded Jeff into the passenger seat.
"You're going to need help getting him upstairs."
Lisa pointed at the school. "One of us has to
stay. And I'm sure as heck not going in there
looking like this! I can get Mr. Herlihy from
downstairs to help me."
"You sure?"

180
 Lisa nodded and managed a weak smile.
"What are you going to do about your car? Do
you want me to bring it over after the dance?"
Lisa nodded. "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind," Bob said.
Lisa started to get in behind the wheel of Jeff's
car. Bob caught her by the shoulders and looked
at her intently. "I've got to say this, Lisa," he
said seriously. He tried to ignore the tear stains
on her cheeks. "I don't think he's much of a per-
son,husband."
or

.III.

An hour later, after a phone call to Lisa

assured him that everything was all right, Bob
stood quietly at the foot of the stage. The band
was on break, and he was grateful for the
relative quiet in the gym. He was standing near
a group of students when a dancer rushed up
and said, "He's leaving now. Come on."
In an instant, four or five students ran and got
their coats and slipped out the side door.
Curious, Bob followed them.
He stood for a moment, hiding in the shadows
of an alcove as more of the costumed partyers
went by. "Everything's set," he heard someone
say as they headed toward the parking lot.
Staying hidden in the shadows, Bob watched
with interest as the students gathered together
around several cars. Then the door to the gym

181
crashed open, and Ned Simmons strode out into
the night.
Ned hesitated for a moment when he saw the
group hanging around, then he squared his
shoulders and walked over to his truck.
Everyone pretended indifference as Ned got
in, shut the door and turned the key. A faint
chugging sound came from the motor. Then, just
before the truck should have started, there was a
dull thump that sounded to Bob like a fire-
crackeroff
going
under water. The young people
laughed loudly as a billowing cloud of blue
smoke rose from underneath the hood of Ned's
truck.
"Trick or treat!" several of them shouted and
whooped.
"Hey!" someone yelled with mock surprise,
"What's the matter with Ned's truck?"
"Do you need a tune-up?" someone called out.
The crowd spread out and made a circle
around Ned. Their wild hooting filled the night
as he sat tensely gripping the steering wheel.
Bob started across the parking lot when he
saw Alan Tate walk up and lean against the
truck door so Ned couldn't get out. The cloud of
smoke still hung, suspended in the air. Bob
caught the sickening aroma of burning sulfur.
"You're OK, aren't you, Neddie-pooh?" Alan
said in a taunting voice. "Don't worry, we'll get
your crate, I mean truck, going. Won't we?"
The crowd laughed as Ned forced his way out
of the cab and went to the front of the truck. He
raised the hood and waved his hands to dispel

182
the remaining smoke. Alan Tate stood nearby,
his arms across his chest and his hip cocked to
the side. Everyone else backed away when they
saw Bob coming.
Bob heard Ned curse softly as he peered down
at his truck motor. A small pumpkin had been
smashed on top of the distributor, spewing
pumpkin seeds all over the inside. Taped to the
inside of the radiator was the remains of a smoke
bomb. Ned ripped this out and threw it at Alan's
feet.
"You prick," Ned whispered shrilly, glaring at
Alan.
"What?" Alan said, with mock innocence. "I
didn't do anything."
"If this is wrecked, you're gonna pay for it!"
"Sure, sure," Alan said, smirking.
Ned snatched up a piece of the shattered
pumpkin and threw it at Alan. It bounced off
the boy's chest, then splattered on the ground.
Alan looked at Ned with surprise, then rushed
forward. Bob jumped in between the two boys,
holding them apart at arm's length.
"Hold it! Hold it!" he shouted. "We don't
want any trouble here."
"He started it," Ned said through clenched
teeth.
"Well you can end it right now by just forget-
ting about
it," Bob said calmly. The anger that
raged in Ned's eyes frightened even Bob.
"The hell I will!" Ned shouted. Spittle flew
from his mouth, spraying Bob's cheek.
%*Can't you take a joke, Neddie-pooh?" Alan
asked .
183
 Bob turned to him angrily and said, "You can
just cut that out right now!"
Alan pinched his nose and waved his hand in
front of his face. "Whew! What's that stink? Did
you let one, Neddie-pooh?"
Ned pressed against Bob's restraining hand,
pushing toward Alan. Bob could feel the boy's
chest heaving with agitation. Then, abruptly,
Ned pulled back and shook away Bob's hand.
"You're gonna be sorry for this, Tate," he said,
in a voice so controlled and tense that it was
more frightening than his shouting. "You're gon-
na be
real sorry you even showed your ugly fuck-
ing face
around here!"
"Let's just take it easy," Bob said, still afraid
something more would happen.
Ned spun on his heel and slammed the hood
down. He climbed up into the cab and started
the truck. Alan jumped up onto the running
board on the passenger side and pressed his face
against the glass. He stuck out his tongue and
smiled viciously.
Ned stepped on the gas, and as the truck
lurched ahead, Alan jumped off and stood with
his hands on his stomach, laughing.
Ned rolled down his window and stuck out his
head. "You'll be sorry for this! All of you!" he
shouted to the cheering crowd as he drove out of
the parking lot.

184
 .IV.

Julie's hands were shaking. Her long finger-

nails clicked
together as she swung the red cord
behind her back, looped it over once, and tied it
in a loose knot that hung on her left side. Except
for the braided red sash, she was naked as she
stood beneath the tree in her front yard and
looked up at the moon.
Tonight, she thought, tonight is the most
blessed and holy of nights. All Hallows Eve! The
beginning of Samhain!
Shivering, she ran her hands over her body,
teasing her nipples until they stood out like
spikes. She kept her eyes fixed on the moon, a
thin fingernail-paring that was hanging low in
the sky out over the lake.
Slowly, her hands opened as though to grab
something. She reached up over her head and
lowered them three times.
"Feel the rising strength of our sister moon,"
she muttered softly. "Feel it build. Feel it grow
like the unwinding power of a coiled serpent.
Come! Give me power!"
Turning quickly, she walked into her house,
snapped off all the lights, locked the door, and
walked ceremoniously down the steps to her
cellar.
She had drawn the pent angle earlier. Five
small yellow candles burned, one in each point
of the star. A worn leather bag and a jar had
been placed in the center of the star. Carefully,

185
so as not to smudge the lines, Julie stepped
within the magic diagram.
"Come! Aid me! Give me power!" she said in a
voice loud and hard with authority. She turned
slowly counterclockwise as she uttered a brief
prayer for protection. When this was done, she
brushed the hair from her eyes and dropped to her
knees in front of the leather pouch and the jar.
Eyes closed, she sat for a long time with her
hands placed lightly on her thighs. Her skin
glistened with sweat, even though the room was
cool and damp. Her breathing sounded almost as if
she were asleep, but it began to increase in tempo
as she began to move her hands over her body,
caressing herself. She held her heavy breasts in her
hands and moaned softly as she massaged them.
Opening her eyes, she looked around at the
dark corners of the cellar. Then, sighing, she
reached into the leather bag, withdrawing a
small rectangle of cloth, a torn pocket from a
man's shirt. In the light of the candles, the piece
of cloth seemed almost to glow.
Carefully, she flattened the faded cloth out on
the earthen floor. Then, uncovering the jar, she
poured a small amount of its contents onto the
piece of cloth, her nose wrinkling from the thick
stench of belladonna, ash, sweet flag, and
chicken fat. The mixture poured like coagulated
India ink.
She rubbed the gooey liquid into the cloth
with her index finger, then sat back on her heels
with satisfaction. After a moment, she reached
into the leather bag again and withdrew a

186
square of bristly gray fir, like that of a dog.
She repeated the procedure of pouring out a
small amount of the black mixture and rubbing
it into the piece of fur. Taking the cloth in one
hand, the fur in the other, she stood up and
raised them over her head.
"On the open field shines the moon, the silver
goddess," she said shrilly. The noxious odor of
the substance grew stronger, and she had to fight
back her gag reflex.
"On the ashen stump, in the greenwood, runs
the shaggy wolf into the moonlit night." Her
voice grew firmer, stronger.
She held the two pieces of material overhead
and slowly brought them together. Grunting,
she pressed them against each other and watched
as the black mixture oozed out from between
them and ran down her arms. A thrill coarsed
through her body.
"Under his teeth are all the beasts of the
wild!" she shrilled. Her breathing grew shorter,
sharper. Lines of sweat rolled from her armpits
down her sides. The now joined pieces made a
faint squishing sound as she rubbed them
together.
She knelt down again and carefully, so as not
to burn the cloth and fur, held them over the
candle at the top point of the star. Just as they
started to singe, she pulled them back and sat on
her heels.
Moon! Moon! Silver horns! Melt the bullet and
blunt the knife that none may take the life.
Strike fear into the hearts of men, beast, and

187
reptile! None may kill the gray wolf nor steal
from him his warm hide!"
Her voice broke as air came into her throat
like fire. She jabbed her index finger into the
black mixture and, in one quick slash, drew a
thick line across her forehead. The mixture
seemed to burn her skin and she began to sway
wildly back and forth as though intoxicated.
She raised her hands over her head and made
two fists, which she shook at the ceiling. "My
word is as firm as the death of the world!"
She dipped her hand into the mixture again
and this time scooped up a large glop. Spreading
her legs, she applied it to her vagina. Gently, she
started to rock forward and backward until the
tempo gradually increased. She ran her black
coated finger inside herself and groaned with a
deep passion.
There was a sudden rush, a roaring in her ears
like a blast of wind. Dripping sweat, her body
shook with a prolonged shudder. The flames of
the candles in the room seemed to sputter and
flicker. Julie watched, dumb with fright, unsure
if the raging wind was just in her ears or really
there in the closed confines of her cellar.
Her hands fluttered to her face, covering her
mouth as it twisted with soundless words. Then,
falling backward onto the hard floor, she passed
out. Her hand was still clutching the black-
stained cloth and fur.

188
 The coffee was still warm in his belly as Lisa
pulled her car into the high school parking lot.
The lot was empty except for Bob's car. The
school was dark and quiet. It had, surprisingly,
suffered little of the usual Halloween damage.
"Thanks for all of your help," Lisa said, as she
pulled up beside Bob's car and shifted into
neutral. "I'm, I'm sorry if I upset you with
anything I said."
"It wasn't you," Bob replied soothingly. "But
I'll tell you one thing, I sure hope to hell old Jeff
wakes up with a terrific hangover and the taste
of parakeet shit in his mouth."
Lisa grunted.
"Well, I'll give you a call tomorrow to see how
everything is. You're not afraid he'll, he'll hurt
you, are you?"
Lisa shook her head. "He probably won't even
remember it."
"Good for him!" Bob said. He got out and
went over to his car. He waited while Lisa drove
out of the parking lot, and then followed behind
her, giving her a quick toot on his horn.
Lisa turned right, heading back into town.
Bob turned left toward Old Jepson's Road.
Then, on an impulse, instead of taking another
left toward home, he turned right and headed
out to the cemetery. He was thinking that a
quick swing past the cemetery would,
would —"What?" he asked himself out loud.

189
"What the hell are you doing?"
He bit down on his lower lip as he slowed for
the turn. On his right he could see the grove of
cedars standing out dark against the starry sky.
As he drove along one side of the graveyard, he
chanced an occasional glance at the rows of
tombstones.
"Well," he said to himself, "what better place
to be on Halloween night?" He was driving
slowly along the length of the cemetery, looking
for —for what? Vandals? The white cat? A dog
that looks like a wolf, with human hands?
He shuddered, and then grunted with surprise
when he saw something sitting, hunched up by
one of the granite gates.
Too big to be the white cat! he thought as he
peered ahead at the indistinct form. He drew up
close to the gate and swung his car up so the
light fell full upon the driveway into the
graveyard.
Sitting on the ground, leaning against the
granite gatepost, stripped naked and tied with
more than a dozen loops of rope was Ned Sim-
mons.
Bob sat behind the steering wheel staring
openmouthed for a moment. "Good Lord," he
muttered, switching off the car and getting out.
Ned, apparently unsure who had driven up,
squinted into the glaring headlights with a mix-
turehope
of and fear. Bob walked over quickly
to the trussed-up boy and started working to
loosen the knots.
"Who did this to you?" Bob asked.

190
 Ned didn't reply, but Bob thought he had a
pretty good idea who was to blame for this
humiliation. As Bob worked to untie Ned, Ned
let his head hang loosely on his chest. Bob moved
the boy around and he was surprised at how
loose and flaccid the boy's body seemed.
"I don't suppose you'd care to tell me who did
this?" Bob asked gently. He had Ned's hands free
and started to work on the ropes that bound his
ankles.
"Well," he said, "if you won't tell me, I'll — "
"You don't know who did this?" Ned said sud-
denly,
a in
voice cracked and raw from scream-
ing. "Go
on, take a guess."
Once he got Ned's feet free, Bob helped the
boy to his feet. He had to support him until the
circulation returned to his legs.
"Where'd they leave your clothes?" Bob asked.
"Over there," Ned replied, indicating the
ditch on the other side of the road. Bob started
to coil up the rope.
"Well, go and get them. Get dressed, and I'll
give you a ride home."
Ned's lower lip was trembling furiously as he
backed away from Bob and crossed the street. A
low growl rattled in his throat. Then, suddenly,
he dashed down into the ditch, scooped up his
clothes, and started running down the street.
"Hey!" Bob yelled, surprised at how fast Ned
ran. "Come on back! I'll give you a ride!" He
cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted
again, but had to stand there uselessly as Ned
receded into the darkness that swallowed the

191
road past the streetlight.
Bob turned and walked sullenly back to his
car. He drove home and, feeling dejected,
walked into the bathroom. He hadn't noticed
that, as he drove, he had picked at the scab that
remained from the cat's scratch. He looked in
the mirror and saw a thin trickle of blood drying
on his cheek.

192
PART II: "THE MOONLIGHT IN HIS CAVE"

193
 Chapter Nine

Monday, November 17

Frank Simmons was grateful for the light

dusting of snow that had fallen overnight. It
made it much easier to follow the trail of the
wounded deer he was following. For over an
hour he had been tracking the splotches of blood
that diffused and turned pink in the snow.
He knew he was getting close to the animal,
but he took no precautions to try to be silent.
Judging by the amount of blood he had seen, the
animal would have to weaken and die soon. He
hoped so. It was getting dark and the last thing
he wanted was a fine for hunting at night. But
he had an obligation to end the wounded
animal's misery.
As he scuffled down a birch-tree-covered hill,
he caught a glimpse of the full moon rising off to
his left. It would provide enough light to find his

194
way home, he thought, and then he didn't feel
quite so bad when the sun dipped down below
the distant mountains.
Dusk gathered quickly, and the blood stains
on the snow turned brick- red. Frank could tell
by the tingling on the back of his neck that the
wounded deer was nearby.
He stopped and listened. The forest was silent
except for the hissing of the wind in the bran-
ches. dark
The purple of the sky closed over the
lighter bands of clouds. Adjusting his rifle in his
armpit, he followed the deer's footprints. They
looked like small inkwells in the snow.
Frank chuckled softly to himself. Here it was,
just one week into hunting season and soon, very
soon, he would be tagging his kill. What luck!
Luck? No, Frank thought, shaking his head,
skill. Skill! The others can set up their jack lights
and salt licks, or hope to hit a deer while driv-
ing. He
was the hunter, the stalker!
The trail turned abruptly to the right and ran
down the slope to a small stream that wound its
way through a boulder-strewn hollow. Frank
could see where the deer had stopped and drunk
from the still-running water. The ice on the edge
of the stream was broken, and the trail con-
tinued
theon other side.
Frank paused and scanned the other side. The
deer might have fallen behind any of the large
boulders. It couldn't go much further, he knew.
The wind picked up suddenly, and the branches
of the birch trees behind him clattered wildly,
like rattling dice.

195
 Was that the deer over there? That rounded
gray form? Frank raised his rifle and took
careful aim. He couldn't be sure in the darkness,
so he waited, hoping it would move so he could
finish it off with one clean shot.
He stood by the edge of the stream waiting,
savoring the end of the hunt. Behind him, he
heard a sound that made him jump. It was muf-
fled, like
the tearing of cloth. He flicked his eyes
to the side, but kept the fallen deer directly in
the' sights of his rifle.
The wind, or a falling branch, he thought,
but when the sound was repeated, he turned
around and scanned the slope of the hill.
He saw what looked like the shadow of a
cloud moving easily between the birch trees,
gliding along the path Frank had made down
the hill. As it got closer, the shadow took on a
more distinct form.
"No. By Jesus, no!" Frank muttered, as he
finally saw clearly the shape of a large dog.
Without hurry and apparently without fear, the
black shape drew closer.
Thin, pointed muzzle, hunched shoulders,
spindly legs, an erect tail raised like a pen-
nant—
Frank recognized with mounting horror
the shape of a wolf.
"Impossible," he whispered. His rifle, forgot-
ten, hung
loosely in his hand.
Thirty feet from him, the animal stopped and
rose to its full height.
Frank realized with a flood of fear that he was
looking at the horror of his nightmare, the

196
dream that had so frightened him that night at
Julie's house. The black shape glared at him, its
green eyes flashing in the moonlight. It tilted
back its head and let loose a long, mournful
howl that throbbed in the still night.
Frank took a step backwards into the stream.
His hands were shaking as he watched the
animal lower its head and crouch close to the
ground. The wolfs haunches worked back and
forth as it prepared to attack. The beast's growl
rose, rumbling, keeping time with the pulsing
beat in Frank's ears.
The present reality and the memory of his
dream merged. In blind panic, Frank raised his
rifle to his shoulder and fired.
The report shattered the night. An orange
flame leaped from the rifle barrel. The animal
thrust its head forward and then charged.
Quickly, Frank cocked his rifle and took more
careful aim. The wolf launched just as the rifle
roared. The animal let out a loud yelp as Frank
saw the jaws open to engulf him. The white
teeth flashed in the moonlight and Frank felt the
animal's fetid breath on his face. Then the jaws
clamped down on his shoulder with a tearing,
ripping pain.
Frank was carried back by the weight of the
animal. His arms pinwheeled wildly, looking for
support behind him, and his rifle flew off into
the darkness.
For a frenzied moment, Frank lay in the
stream. The animal withdrew and paced on the
shore, studying the wounded man. With his arm

197
hanging uselessly at his side, Frank scrambled up
the shore and finally collapsed beside one of the
large boulders. He leaned back, letting his head
rest against the cold stone as he watched the
animal pacing back and forth on the other shore.
The warm flood of blood from his torn
shoulder soaked through his shirt and seeped
down his side and back. In a dull, dim way, he
knew that even if the animal didn't attack
again, he would probably die from blood loss
before he could get out of the woods.
The beast's gravelly growl rose in intensity,
and the green eyes glowed and pulsated in the
dark. Then with remarkable ease, the wolf leapt
the stream and in two bounds shot at Frank.
The jaws reached for Frank's throat and
clamped shut, severing Frank's windpipe and
neck arteries with the quick slash. A fountain of
blood shot up from his neck, spattering the
animal's mane.
A dark, widening abyss slid open beneath
Frank, and he drifted easily into a realm where,
mercifully, the pain ceased to matter.
The wolf, crouching beside the dead man, was
still slightly dazed from the bullet which had
creased its skull. With its muzzle resting in the
warm, spreading pool of blood, the animal
waited until the body stopped twitching. Once
silence had settled back on the forest, the wolf
tore open the man's belly and began to eat.

198
 .II.

Later that night, as the full moon sank behind

a bank of clouds, a wounded deer struggled to its
feet, took three wobbling steps, and then fell
down dead. At least it had not died alone.

.III.

Tuesday, November 18

The sun was not yet up when Ned awoke with

a start. The dream that had made him twist and
groan on his bed all night slowly faded as the sky
began to brighten. Slowly, reluctantly, the
dream gave way to a dull ache that soon
blossomed into a sharp headache. His eyes came
to rest on the lightening gray square of the ceil-
ing, and
for a moment he felt better. Then the
waves of pain increased with his pounding pulse.
Ned heard the scuffling of his mother's
bedroom slippers at the foot of the stairs. "Ned?
Frank? Get up now!" she called.
Her voice made Ned jump, and the movement
caused such great pain he almost screamed
aloud. Finally, with some effort, he managed to
say, "Yeah, yeah. Coming."
He ran his fingers through his hair and found
that on the left side of his head, the hair was
matted into sticky clumps. He sat up and looked

199
down at his pillow. The pillow case was smeared
with blood.
The dream came back, clearer and more real.
He leaped from bed and stood there looking at
the bloody pillow, shaking.
"Ned! Frank! Right now!"
How can a dream make you bleed? Ned
wondered madly. Can a dream be so real it can
really have a physical effect?
Ned took three quick steps over to his bureau
and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His
skin was ashy pale in the morning light, and the
left side of his face was crusted with blood. He
felt the wound on his forehead with his fingers,
gently at first; then he pulled the cut open.
Blood ran down and fell onto the top of the
bureau.
"Ned! Frank!"
"I'm coming," Ned answered weakly, and
then for the first time realized that Frank hadn't
answered.
"Frank?" his mother shouted.
Still no answer.
It didn't really happen! Ned thought. It
couldn't! How could it? The pounding in his
head increased as Ned stared intently at his
reflection. As he focused on the small black
circles of his pupils, he had a sudden sensation of
being almost transparent, ghostlike.
He shook his head slowly from side to side, all
the while keeping his gaze fixed on his own eyes.
How did I get this cut? he wondered, forming
the words silently with his mouth. Where did I
get this cut?
200
 "Last night, last night," he whispered to
himself. He wrinkled his face with concentration
as he tried to recollect his thoughts and
memories. As far as he could remember, he had
finished his chores and homework, and then
gone to bed at ten o'clock.
The dream was coming closer to the surface of
his mind. Like an ant that has been buried with
sand will scramble free, the dream worked its
way up to reality.
Did I go out last night? Late? Once everyone
was asleep? he asked himself.
He caught a fleeting image of a ball, a cold
blue ball, the moon. Yes! A full moon!
Ned ran his hands over his face as though
washing it. He was unmindful of the pain when
he pulled the wound open further. Blood wig-
gled down
his cheek, tickling as it touched the
corner of his mouth.
The taste of blood! There was a hill, a birch-
covered hill. Something lay there by a boulder,
dying!
As the image of something dying came closer
and clearer, the taste of blood in Ned's mouth
grew stronger until he felt he was going to choke
on it.
The taste of blood!
"Ahhhhhhh!" he screamed, watching intently
in the mirror as his face contorted with the pain-
ful [Link] fingers clawed at his face, leav-
ing white
lines that quickly began to well up.
"No! No! No! I didn't do it! I didn't do it!" he
shouted when, instead of his own face in the

201
mirror, he saw the face of his brother Frank. He
was wearing a blank, lifeless grin. He gripped
the bureau top until his fingernails bit into the
soft pine.
He snapped his head around when he heard a
car driving up their driveway. He dashed over to
the window and felt a nauseating hollo wness in
his groin when he saw Police Chief Granger and
Deputy Thurston get out of their cruiser and
walk up to the porch.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the porch.
Downstairs, Ned heard his mother shuffle to the
door. "Good morning, Roy, Rick. What in tar-
nation brings
you out this way so early? Come
on in. I'll put the coffee on."
"No thank you, Mrs. Simmons," Granger said
firmly. His voice sounded muffled, but it carried
upstairs.
Ned went back over to the mirror and stared
at himself. "It was real!" he whispered in a
hollow voice. "It really happened!"
When the face in the mirror started to shift
again into the lifeless face of his brother, Ned
cocked his arm back and drove his fist into the
glass. The mirror shattered into a spreading
spiderweb.
"I'm afraid we have some bad news for you,
Mrs. Simmons," Granger said compassionately.
Ned pictured his mother easing herself down into
the safety of a chair before Granger continued.
"Frank was out hunting last night. Reggie
Veilleux said he was going to be out by Cushing's
Stream."

202
 "I know," Ned whispered to his shattered
reflection, "I was there too."
"After dark. It seems as though he, he met
with something."
"What?" Ellie Simmons shrilled. "What hap-
penedFrank?"
to Her voice echoed like thin
metal in the stairwell.
Granger said solemnly, "I'm sorry, Ellie. He's
dead."
"No! You can't mean it! Frank's not dead!"
"He's at Doc Stetson's now. Doc '11 check him
over, and we'll call the county examiner later to-
day. You
probably shouldn't go down until later
this afternoon."
"Dead! Dead! No, dear God, he can't be
dead!" Ellie wailed, and then she broke down
into tears.
"I'm awfully sorry, Ellie. We ain't quite sure
what happened, but you can be damn sure we're
gonna find out."
Ned's mind was filled with the image of his
dead brother's face and the warm taste of blood.
"I did it!" he whispered. "I did it!" And sudden-
ly hefelt like laughing.
Ned walked over to the pile of clothes he had
worn yesterday and began to dress. Quickly, he
slid into his blue jeans and flannel shirt. He sat
down on the bed and pulled on his socks and
boots. His mind was a whirring confusion.
Frank is dead and I killed him!
Frank is dead and I killed him!
His mind kept repeating this in a rising fury.
"Ned," his mother called softly from the stairs.

203
It was not her usual voice at all; it sounded
broken and defeated. "Could you come down,
please?"
"I, I heard," he answered simply, wondering
what his voice sounded like to her. He waited,
listening, his teeth grinding back and forth.
He went to his closet and took out his sheep-
skin lined
jacket. As he pulled it on, he felt a
rush of well-being, vigorous and strong.
Frank is dead and I killed him! his mind
repeated. The horror of that sentence was
diminishing, and Ned felt a deep sense of joy.
He went into the bathroom and washed the
dried blood from his face, then he went
downstairs. When he came into the kitchen, his
mother rose from her chair and, arms spread
wide, rushed toward him.
"Oh, Ned! Ned! What are we gonna do?
What are we gonna do?" Her face was bright
red and looked as though it would explode.
Ned looked down at the floor and shuffled his
feet. "I need some time," he snapped, dodging
away from her hug. "I need some time to think."
Frank is dead and I killed him!
He threw open the door and ran out into the
cold morning air. He glanced over his shoulder
as he ran and saw his mother standing dazed in
the doorway.
"Ned, Ned," she called faintly, holding out
her arms.
He dashed past the barn, forcing himself not
to hear her. Vaulting the fence, he lit out across
the field.

204
 Those dreams were real!
Frank is dead and I killed him!
The dark, ice-green of the forest seemed to
open its arms and welcome him.

.III.

"You hadn't heard?" Lisa asked, trying to

keep her voice down as she glanced at the other
customers in the B&B.
Bob fought to control the shaking in his hands.
He had a B.L.T. sandwich halfway to his
mouth, and he slowly lowered it and put it on
the plate. "Of course I've heard. Ned didn't
show up for school today, and by the end of
homeroom, the whole school was buzzing."
"It's horrible! Do you think, do you think it
was the same animal you saw? The one that
killed Wendy?"
"What the hell else do you think it was?" Bob
snapped angrily. He looked at her tensely.
Lisa was biting her lower lip. "Well, Granger
just said it was a hunting accident, and —"
Bob snorted a laugh. "Yeah, sure, a hunting
accident! What's he supposed to say? Well, folks,
it looks as though there's a killer animal out
there in the forest. Be careful, you might be
next! I'm sure that'd go over really great with
the townspeople."
"Nobody's seen that animal for about a month
now," Lisa said evenly. "Frank could have been
shot or something."
205
 "Lisa, I just don't think it's likely, that's all.
There's something out there that, that — " His
voice broke when the sudden image came to his
mind of something that looked like a wolf but
had human hands.
Lisa reached across the table. "Bob what's the
matter?"
Bob shook his head, picked up his sandwich,
and tried to take a bite; he suddenly found he
had no appetite left. "Let's go outside."
He paid his bill at the counter and held the
door open for Lisa as they stepped out into the
chilly afternoon sunshine. Ice skimmed the pud-
dlesthe
on sidewalk and crunched underfoot as
they made their way toward the library.
Bob walked, holding his hands behind his
back. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the
sidewalk. "There's something going on here in
town that, well, that I just don't understand.
Ned Simmons has something to do with it, too."
"There's a wild dog or a wolf in the woods,"
Lisa said forcefully. "That's what's going on. It's
killing people!"
"It's not just that. It's more than that." Bob
stopped abruptly and grabbed Lisa by both
shoulders. "I want to tell you something that
happened a while ago, something that will
sound absolutely crazy, insane; but when it hap-
pened,
was itso clear, so real, that no matter
what I've done to try to convince myself it was
otherwise, I still can't come up with anything
else."
His intensity gripped Lisa, and she listened

206
silently as he told her about what he had seen
that same night Wendy Stillman had died: the
wolf with human hands.
When he wras through, Lisa whistled through
her teeth and shook her head. "You're right," she
said simply, "it does sound crazy."
"And I can't think of any other alternative.
Either I saw that animal with human hands or,
or I had a hallucination. I'm going crazy."
"Don't be ridiculous," Lisa said warmly.
"You're not going crazy."
"Well, I didn't worry about it until the night
of the Halloween dance. When I saw Ned stand-
ing with
the red spotlight behind him, it trig-
gered something."
"Like you said that night, it was the heat, the
noise, the confusion."
"But right away," Bob said intensely, "right
away, that image of Ned made me think about
Wendy! Like, somehow, there's a connection."
Lisa shook her head, then turned and started
walking slowly down the street. "You can't help
it if something like Wendy's death affected you
so. The red spotlight. That was what we were
discussing; changing that. I think it'd be normal
to connect that with Wendy. It was the last in-
teraction
had you
with her."
"So how is it all connected with Ned?" Bob
asked. He looked at Lisa earnestly, as though she
had all the answers, and that made her feel ner-
vous.
"You want to know what I think?" she began.
"Well, I think there's no real connection. I think

207
you're making one. Look, you told me about
what they did to his truck that night, and then
later, you find him tied naked to the cemetery
gatepost. I think you just feel sorry for the kid.
Nobody should be treated that badly. I mean,
I've heard of scapegoating, but this seems to be
going a bit too far."
"You should have seen him when he drove
away from the school that night. God! His face
was so contorted with anger." Bob shuddered
with the memory.
"So, simply, I think you feel sorry for him.
Maybe because you've been there when these
things happen, you feel responsible in some
way."
Bob grunted. "Huh. Maybe." It rang true to
him, but deep down, there seemed to be more.
"Do you want a little bit of cheap advice?"
Bob nodded.
"I think you can offer Ned Simmons friend-
ship. may
He take it; he may reject it. That's
fine. But the last thing Ned needs from you or
anybody is pity."
"Yeah, but—"
"Cheap advice, like I said," Lisa chirped
before Bob could continue, "but it's true. And
that's gonna cost you a quarter." She held out
her hand and smiled smugly.
"I think that's what I like most about you.
You're so damn practical." He reached into his
pocket, took out a quarter, and handed it to her.
"Your next appointment is next Monday, same
time," she said, assuming a pseudo-German ac-
cent.
208
 They were standing at the bottom of the
library steps. Bob wanted to get home and cor-
rect some
papers. He was about to say good-bye
and leave when he remembered something.
"Oh, Lisa, you said that you have a lot of
books on witchcraft and occult stuff, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Are they in now?"
"I think so. Most of them, anyway. Why do
you want that stuff for? Don't tell me you're get-
ting into
that?" Lisa was standing on the third
step, and she scowled down at Bob.
"On no, no. Nothing like that," he said. He
fished in his mind for a lie that would sound
convincing. "We're, uhh, we're going to be star-
ting Macbeth
in a few classes soon, and I wanted
to get some background."
"The weird sisters, huh? Old 'double, double,
toil and trouble! time again."
"Yeah," Bob replied weakly. "I have to get
running now, but, well, I guess I can take a look
now," he said, following Lisa up the steps to the
library.

.IV.

"Have you finished your aisle yet, Alan?" Mr.

Pomeroy shouted. He stood at the end of the pet-
foods and
aisletapped his pencil against his clip-
board.
"Not yet, sir," Alan said as he angrily shoved a

209
stack of Calo onto the shelf. He added, under his
breath so Pomeroy wouldn't hear, "Not when I
have to do mine and Neddie-boy's aisles, I'm not."
"Well, hop-to, hop-to. We'll be closing in a
half -hour!" Pomeroy disappeared around the
corner, and Alan continued to open boxes and
stack the contents on the shelves. He felt some
slight sorrow for Ned's family because of Frank's
death, but he disliked Ned enough not to care
too much.
Alan had all of the cartons empty, and he was
just picking up the crushed boxes when the lights
overhead flickered and went back on.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. The
I.G.A. will be closing shortly. Please come to the
registers with your purchases now. Thank you
for shopping the I.G.A. way."
Alan ran with the boxes to the back room, threw
them into the trash, and quickly undid the knot on
his apron. "God night, and good riddance," he
muttered, as he hung the apron on its peg and took
his jacket.
As he started down the aisle toward the door,
he saw Pomeroy still working in an aisle. "Well,
goodnight. Do you want me to lock the door?"
Alan asked.
"No," Pomeroy said, rising to his feet, "I'll be
along in a minute. Goodnight."
Alan stepped outside and glanced up at the
starry sky as he zipped up his jacket. He shivered
when a vagrant breeze blew into his face. He
turned back and saw Pomeroy walking up and
down, inspecting Alan's aisle. Alan jabbed his

210
middle finger in the direction of the store
manager and then walked over to his car.
As he walked up to his car, he noticed that it
was sitting at a sharp angle. The back right side
dropped down, and he realized immediately
what the problem was.
"Oh, Christ!" he said angrily, walking around
the back and looking at the flat tire. "I just hope
the damn spare is OK." He had wanted to swing
downtown and see who was hanging out. The
delay meant that he would have to go straight
home. He couldn't be out past ten o'clock on a
school night.
He had the trunk open and was fishing out his
spare tire and jack when Pomeroy came around
the corner. "Alan, how many times do I —"
Pomeroy stopped short when he saw what Alan
was doing. "Flat tire, huh? Want some help?"
"No thanks," he replied, dropping the jack to
the ground with a clatter. "I can handle it. You
were gonna say?"
"Ohh," Pomeroy shifted on his feet, "you had
forgotten to punch out again. I did it for you."
"Thanks," Alan said simply. He went over to
the flat tire and snapped off the hubcap.
Pomeroy got into his car and drove off with a
short toot on his horn. Alan ran his hand over
the flattened tire, trying to feel if there was a
hole or something. At the bottom of the tire, his
hand encountered a wet, sticky foam.
"What the —" Alan said, raising his hand to
the streetlight to see what it was. The bubbly li-
quid stuck
to his fingers with long strings. It
looked like saliva.
211
 "Christ on a mountain/' Alan said under his
breath. He loosened the lugnuts on the tire and
then, with some effort, got the car jacked up. He
picked up the spare and rolled it over to where
he was working. It was then that he saw that the
spare too was flat.
"Shit!" he swore, violently punching the flat
spare. "Now what the fuck am I supposed to
do?"
He stood there beside his jacked-up car, con-
sidering
a moment.
for He knew he would have
to call his parents and tell them. If he was late
coming home one more time, his father had said
he'd take his car away from him. That was the
last thing he wanted, next to a flat tire with no
spare.
There was a pay phone next to the I.G.A., in
front of Drapeau's Hardware and Lumber. He
fished in his pocket for change as he made his
way across the parking lot.
Alan entered the telephone booth and began
dialing his home number. Before he could finish
dialing, something slammed into the phone
booth with ferocious impact. The phone booth
tilted to the side and then righted itself.
Surprised and a bit disoriented, Alan looked
around. His first thought was that a car had
careened into him, but he didn't remember see-
ing the
headlight.
When he turned around he saw, to his horror,
a snarling dog with its face pressed against the
glass. The beast had its mouth open, showing a
row of long white teeth. Saliva flecked its muz-

212
zle. Its angry growl rose steadily.
"Holy shit!" Alan muttered, as he cowered
away from the beast. His dialing was forgotten,
and he dropped the receiver, letting it hang.
The animal pulled back and, for a moment,
Alan thought it was going to leave. But then,
without warning, it sprang forward, throwing
itself against the glass. With its paws flashing
wildly, it clawed the phone booth glass. The
sound, mingled with the animal's angry growl-
ing, Alan's
set teeth on edge.
The phone booth tilted, threatening to fall
over as the wild animal pressed its weight
against it. Alan was shocked to see that the
animal actually seemed to be pushing, its hind
feet braced for leverage. Waves of
claustrophobia added to Alan's panic, and he
crouched on the floor of the phone booth and
whimpered.
His eyes rested on the loose receiver, hanging
and swinging back and forth as the booth was
pushed back further and further. Alan gripped
the phone and started dialing.
The animal outside let out a terrifying growl
and increased the fury of its attack. Suddenly,
the glass of the booth burst inward. Flying
shards lacerated Alan's face and hands. His
fingers wavered wildly as he tried to complete
his call. A paw reached in and snagged the back
of his jacket.
"Help me! Help me!" he screamed, even while
he was dialing. "Help! Help!" He spun the dial
with the last number just as the booth rocked

213
precariously and then started to fall. Alan
turned. He was still gripping the receiver, and
when he turned, the wire ripped out of the phone.
"Help me! Help me!" he screamed into the
dead phone as the booth tipped over and shat-
tered explosively
on the sidewalk. A flying piece
of glass ripped across Alan's neck and blood
spurted out, drenching his chest.
For a moment longer, Alan struggled. His feet
kicked wildly in the wreckage of the phone
booth as the beast, slowly and confidently, came
closer, its mouth gaping wide.
Alan's bladder released a warm flood. He
stared, wide-eyed at the gaping mouth as the
beast's warm breath washed over him. Con-
sciousness
began
slowly
to slip away, from loss of
blood from his neck wound. "Help me! Help
meee."
With an angry snarl, the beast tore open the
boy's belly and luxuriated in the spreading pool
of blood that soaked Alan Tate's body. The wolf
ate until he was satisfied, then trotted off into
the darkness.

.V.

Wednesday, November 19

For the first time in weeks, Thurston arrived

at the office before Granger. He immediately
saw the letter addressed to him lying on top of

214
the desk. He sat down and ripped the envelope
open.

In response to your requested background

check on Mr. Robert A. Went worth, late
of Dorchester, Mass, I am enclosing the
following newspaper articles photocopied
from The Boston Globe. A full back-
ground report
is in progress.
Sincerely,
Timothy Hatch
Agent- F. B. I. (Boston)

Thurston unfolded the two sheets of paper and

read rapidly. As he read, he congratulated
himself for having a sharp investigative instinct.
He hadn't trusted or liked Bob Wentworth, ever
since he interviewed him the morning after
Wendy Stillman's murder. Now, as he read, he
felt he had even more reason to mistrust Bob
Wentworth.

The Boston Globe: March 6, 1973 (Dor-

chester)
Hearing Held on Rape Charges.
Mr. Robert A. Wentworth, a teacher at
Dorchester Public High School, has been
charged with rape by Miss Beth Landry,
a senior at the school.
Miss Landry alleges that, on the night
of January 27, following a dance at the
high school, Mr. Wentworth offered her
a ride home. When she refused, saying

215
 she already had a ride, she says Mr.
Went worth forced her into his car, drove
her to an abandoned warehouse lot, and
forcibly raped her.
At the hearing today, the charge was
sternly denied by Mr. Went worth and his
lawyer.
The date for a formal inquest has been
set for next Monday.

The Boston Globe: March 20 (Dor-

chester)
Teacher Resigns After Rape Charges
Dropped.
In an out-of-court agreement today,
rape charges stemming from an alleged
incident last January have been dropped
by the attorney for the plantiff , Miss Beth
Landry. Immediately following the deci-
sion, Mr.
Robert Wentworth appeared
on the steps of the courthouse and an-
nounceddue
that,to the harassments
associated with the case, he was forced to
resign his teaching position. His resigna-
tion would
take effect immediately, he
said.

Footsteps sounding on the doorsteps outside

made Thurston jump to his feet. He quickly
folded the letter and articles, and stuffed them
into his shirt pocket.
Granger burst into the office, his face flushed
with agitation. "Come on!" he shouted, as he

216
went to the wall gun-rack and slid the chain to
release his rifle. "Something's happened down at
Drapeau's."
"What? What is it?" Thurston asked, sensing
the excitement.
"I'll tell you on the way," Granger said, as he
checked the rifle for ammunition. "But I'll tell
you one thing, we've got another one!"

.VI.

The cigarette dangled loosely from his mouth

as Bob listened to the ring a ninth, a tenth time.
He was just about to hang up when the line
clicked and he heard Lisa's voice.
"Hello," she said, her voice still thick with
sleep.
Bob snubbed his cigarette out and took a deep
breath. "Hi, Lisa. It's me. I hope I didn't wake
you up but, well, I only have a minute before
homeroom."
"Huh? Yeah. Sure? What is it?" Lisa said, still
sounding confused.
"I'm sorry I woke you up, but this is impor-
tant."
There was a prolonged silence at the other end
of the line while Lisa waited for Bob to con-
tinue.
"Well, you know those books I took out of the
library yesterday, the ones on witchcraft." He
paused and looked up at the ceiling, almost

217
afraid to continue.
"Yeah?"
"Well, ummm, there's a section in one on, on
lycanthropy."
"Huh?"
"Lycanthropy, the ability of a, uhh, a human
being to change into animal form." His neck was
beginning to burn with embarrassment.
"Bob, is something the matter?"
"No," he said sharply. "Look, I stayed up late
last night reading this stuff. Now I know you're
gonna think I've flipped my lid, but when I read
that section on lycanthropy, it just made me
start to think."
"What did you say it was?" Lisa asked heated-

"It's the ability of a person to change into an

animal. According to this book, it's a belief that
is so widespread, well, they think there might be
something to it."
"You mean like werewolves and stuff?" Lisa
asked, astonished. "Come on, Bob, this is the
twentieth century."
"It has a whole section about the spells
witches can use to change themselves or others
into animals. That's how they go to the Sabbaths
in the woods, by turning into animals. You
know, how black cats are supposed to be
unlucky?"
"Yeah," Lisa responded, sounding totally
unamused.
"Well, that's because witches usually took the
form of a cat. Now you've told me that Julie

218
Sikes reads a lot of this stuff. What if, what if
she really believes it, and it works. Maybe she's
turning someone, herself or someone else, into a
wolf."
"Bob! Don't be ridiculous! That stuff is
superstition. It's garbage!" Lisa sighed loudly.
"You can't be serious."
"I don't know. I just don't know. But I did see
an animal that had human hands. I know what I
saw! Now, in this book, it says that if you meet
with like a werewolf or something, if you call
out the person's name, he'll assume his human
shape again."
"Is that what you did?" Lisa asked, deciding
to go along with Bob for a minute, just to see
how far he would go.
"No. I didn't know who it was. But it also says
that if you call out the name of Jesus, the
transformation will also start to reverse. I don't
know, I can't remember, but if I swore out loud,
that would have started changing — whoever —
back into human form."
"Is this some kind of joke, Bob?" Lisa asked
beginning to get concerned about Bob's mental
state.
"Look Lisa," he said firmly. "I know what I
saw. It was a wolf with human hands!"
"The animal that's doing this, killing these
people, is a wild dog. There have been enough
people who have seen it to establish it was a dog,
a real animal!"
"That's my point!" Bob shouted. "That's it ex-
actly! The
magic ceremony you use for the

219
transformation really turns you into an animal.
Forget all those / Was a Teenage Werewolf hor-
ror movies.
That's a cheapening of what was, at
least for other centuries, a really powerful
symbol."
"That's it," Lisa said, "you said it: a symbol.
That stuff isn't real. It can't be."
"I'd like to think so," Bob said. The bell for
homeroom rang, making Bob jump. "Look, I've
got to go to class. I, I don't know what to think,
but, but reading this stuff just started to make
me think that — "
"It's not real. It can't be," Lisa said firmly.
"Look, stop by the library after school this after-
[Link]
We talk some more."
"Yeah, I've got to get to class. See your later."
"See you," Lisa said. She hung up the phone
and listened to her heartbeat thumping in her
ears. She was beginning to feel afraid, afraid for
or of Bob. Maybe he did have some deep-seated
problem. Maybe, after all, he was unstable. She
sat there staring at her telephone and started to
cry.

220
 Chapter Ten

Wednesday, November 26

.1.

Everyone was already in the office and seated

when Granger arrived at nine o'clock. He had
been in Portsmouth overnight, meeting with law
officials to help with the investigations of the
town's recent deaths. He entered the office and
nodded a silent greeting to everyone.
Standing against the wall, Rick Thurston was
silently sipping at his coffee. Seated in a semicir-
cle around
the desk were Ted Seavey, Gene Mc-
Cann, Ralph Hamlin, and Chuck Doyle. Others
had been asked to attend but had declined,
choosing instead to spend the day before
Thanksgiving with their families.
"I'm glad you could make it," Granger said
over his shoulder as he filled his coffee cup from
the pot. He walked over to his desk and snatched

221
his badge from the top drawer. Before pinning it
on, he buffed it on his chest.
"What we're gonna discuss here today, I want
held in strictest confidence." He sat down at his
desk and tapped the inkblotter for emphasis.
"Things are bad enough in town without lots of
wild stories circulating."
"We know it's that damn wild dog, Roy. You
can stop the bullshittin' and get to the point,"
Seavey said. "I've been talkin' with Artie down
at the lumberyard and he says — "
"That always has been Artie's biggest pro-
blem," Granger
snapped. "He talks too damn
much!"
The other men in the room exchanged con-
fused glances.
Granger motioned for Seavey to
stay cool, and then said, "Ted's right, though. It
is that wild dog. We're damn lucky there's only
one of 'em. Otherwise, if there was a whole
pack, this town'd be wiped right out."
Granger pointed his index finger at the group.
"Now just be quiet while I talk. You all know
about the Tate boy. There's no use trying to
disguise the fact that something, something
awful damn powerful knocked over that
telephone booth before it killed him. Traces
around there do indicate that it was a dog, a
canine. There are large paw prints, and the lab
in Portsmouth determined that the smears on the
glass were dog saliva. The holes in the boy's
body were also made by a dog."
Granger waved his hand to silence the excited
outburst. "So, what do we have? We have three

222
people, all killed in a similar manner, all of them
savaged by a wild dog. We know that. I have
the lab reports to prove it!"
"So what're we gonna do?" Doyle asked. He
sounded frightened.
"This thing has tasted blood, human blood.
And it likes it!" Seavey added.
"That's why I called you all here. To tell you
what I discussed with the authorities in Ports-
mouth to
and determine a course of action. Of
course, we've got to hunt, but we can't do it like
we've been doing it. We've got to have it
organized."
"That's what Simmons was doing when he got
it," Doyle said. "He was hunting."
"Well, the first thing we'll make sure of is that
no one goes out alone, or at night."
"But night's the only time the animal's on the
prowl, it seems," McCann said.
"Well, it's not the only time that animal is
around!" Granger shouted. "It's not the only
time we can find him. We can get dogs from the
state to track. We know what we're looking for,
and if we field enough men, we'll get that
damned animal."
"I don't know about that, Roy," Seavey said.
"I think we've got one cagey beast on our hands.
It's like it almost thinks before it kills, making
sure to isolate whoever it's after."
"That's why we aren't going out alone."
Granger paused and took a sip of his coffee. It
had already cooled off to a point where he didn't
like it.

223
 "You said that this was a dog," McCann said,
"Are you sure? Did the lab tests prove it?"
"Well," Granger said, "the tests only proved
that it was a canine, not necessarily a dog."
"So, like, maybe it could be a wolf or
something, right?"
Granger nodded.
"See, I was reading about those coyotes they
were having so much trouble with out there in
Maine, around Turner and Upton. They called
'em coy-dogs. This article talked about what
they called an en-vi-ron-mental niche that was
left open when the wolves were killed off in the
state. Something has to take the place of the
wolves, so the coyotes take it."
"What this animal is doesn't concern me,"
Granger said heatedly. He leaned forward and
pinned McCann with his eyes. "You guys can
debate what it is till hell freezes over. I want
some action!"
"You're the police chief, so you tell us," Doyle
said.
Granger could tell that tempers might flare
any minute, so he spoke calmly. "Like I said,
we're going to organize and hunt. And I'm not
talking about a couple of guys out drunk at
night. I mean a full-scale, systematic combing of
the area. If we need to, I've made arrangements
to get the Forest Service and even the National
Guard to help out."
"Hold on a second," Thurston said. He pushed
himself off away from the wall where he had
been standing quietly. "I'm not so sure that call-

224
ing in the National Guard is what we need."
"You don't, huh?" Granger asked, glaring up
at Thurston as he walked over and stood beside
the desk.
Thurston placed his hands on his hips.
'There's another possibility that no one's men-
tioned yet."
"And that is?" Granger said impatiently.
"That is, that it might not be an animal at all:
that it might be a person who's doing this."
The room was silent for a moment, then
Granger chuckled. "You don't mean to tell me
that— "
"It's an angle we haven't considered, and I
think we should." He faced his superior with a
harsh look of challenge. "I won't deny that
there's a dog running in the woods. There have
been too many reports, too many sightings to
deny it. But what if someone was using the
situation, the confusion, for a cover?"
"Jesus, Rick, you can't be serious," Granger
said aghast.
"I'm serious! Now one of the reasons I'm not
for getting the National Guard and who all
knows what else involved is that if I'm right, if
it's someone, not something, killing these people,
the confusion of a full-scale search would only
help that person hide."
"We have the lab reports," Granger said.
"They found canine saliva in all of the wounds."
"It could be faked," Thurston snapped. "If the
person was clever enough, an unattended death
could be faked to look like a dog attack."

225
 "Rick, come on. You think there's a psycho
loose in town?" Granger shook his head.
"You got any ideas who it could be?" Doyle
asked. "You're talkin' like someone who knows
more 'n he's sayin'."
Thurston paused and looked up at the ceiling.
His hand went to his shirt pocket and started to
reach inside. He stopped and patted the pocket.
"No," he said softly. "No, I don't. I don't want
to accuse anyone. I'm just raising a possibility we
haven't touched on."
Granger knuckled his desktop. "Well, I don't
see where that would change much. I don't see
where it'd be any problem to have some help
from a few state services in scouring the area.
Hell," he waved his hand, "we could concoct
some story about a kid missing to explain the ac-
tivity. Let's
just get some men out there and
track this animal down."
"That's another thing," Thurston broke in.
"We all agree that we have a problem, a serious
problem here. But I think we'd also agree that
the people of this town can solve their own prob-
lems withoutgetting the state involved."
Everyone but Granger nodded, and Thurston
sensed that he had them. He leaned forward and
spoke earnestly. "Especially the federal govern-
[Link]'t
We need any of this getting into the
papers. Our town has a tough enough time with
a slew of bad press."
"Rick, we're talking about three, three un-
solved murders.
People have been killed right
here in town! How are you going ,to keep

226
something like that quiet?"
"Chuck," Thurston said, pointing a finger at
Doyle. "You have some cabins you rent to
weekend skiiers. Do you think you'll be able to
rent them if this story gets out?"
"Well," Doyle said, scratching his chin. He
huffed and recrossed his arms over his chest. "I
can't see as it would help any."
Thurston jabbed his index finger forward.
"And you, Ted, don't you think something like
this could hurt your business at the store?"
"I don't see where it can get too much worse
as it is," Seavey muttered. "But — "
"No but's about it," Thurston said. "If Cooper
Falls has a problem, I think Cooper Falls can
solve it without everyone from Maine to Florida
knowing about it."
Granger frowned deeply and had to hold
himself back from grabbing Thurston and shut-
ting him
up forcibly. Instead, sensing the feel-
ingsthe
in room, he folded his hands on his desk
and said in an even voice, "This is a damn
serious situation. I don't see where getting out-
side help
would hurt."
"I think Rick might be right," Doyle said,
shifting his weight forward in the chair. "We
sure as hell don't need something like this on the
cover of Newsweek and Time. Not with skiing
season just startin'."
"We can't go scaring folks away," McCann
said softly.
"Ted, what do you think?" Granger asked,
almost desperately.

227
 "I dunno," Ted replied. "I just think we ought
to get rid of this damn animal as soon as we
can."
Granger stood up and banged his fist on the
desktop. "What you're saying is that you want to
take the chance that someone else will be killed
before we bring this animal in."
"I didn't say that," Thurston said defensively.
"There's no way of knowing if the goddamn U.S.
Army could get it."
"But the more men we have out hunting, the
sooner we stand a chance of getting this animal.
We can-—"
"We got plenty of good men right here in
town," Doyle said. "I think we can take care of
it."
"That's right," Thurston said. "Now, with a
holiday tomorrow, most everyone'll have the day
off. Why don't we get together this afternoon
and work out a plan?"
Seavey shifted uneasily. "Lots of folks got
plans for the holiday. Bess and I were thinkin' of
going out to Vermont to see Jeffrey."
"OK. OK," Thurston said. "Then let's make it
Friday. Friday evening we'll meet here. Ask
around. Try to get as many people with guns as
you can get." Thurston stood rubbing his hands
together.
"Sounds good," Seavey said, rising. McCann
and Doyle followed close behind him.
Granger cleared his throat. "Just one thing
before you go, fellas. I think you're making a
serious mistake. As police chief of the town, I

228
have the authority to call in anyone I want to
help us. If this doesn't work, if by the end of
next week we haven't turned up one dead dog,
I'm gonna get in touch with Major Norman at
the Armory. And" —he took off his badge and
dropped it on the desk —"right after that, you
can find yourself a new police chief."
Thurston shook his head. "Don't worry, Roy.
We'll get him."

.II.

Ned peered ahead intently as he followed the

circle of light trail along the walls and floor of
the abandoned silver mine. The dried-out
wooden support-beams that traversed the ceiling
were thick with cobwebs. Everywhere he looked
he was reminded of at least a dozen movies in
which the beams would sway and creak, a little
shower of dirt and gravel would sprinkle down,
the ceiling would moan, and then the whole
thing would come crashing down, trapping the
miners underneath the mountain.
He stopped short and looked back around at
the pale blue patch of sky still visible at the
mouth of the mine. He had to fight back the im-
pulse
fleeto the mine. He swallowed hard and
pushed on into the darkness, following the dot of
light.
After another hundred yards, he came to
where the mine branched off in two directions.

229
He knew that he had to take the left passage, but
before continuing, he checked for the red slash
of paint he had put on one of the beams.
The bundle he was carrying —a down-filled
sleeping bag rolled thick with extra clothing, a
heavy winter jacket, and a dozen cans of
food —was beginning to hurt his arm. He
wedged the flashlight under his armpit and
shifted his burden until it was comfortable, then
continued on his way.
His sharp breathing echoed hollowly in the
empty darkness. His feet scuffed dully in the
loose gravel.
After a few more twists and turns in the tun-
nel, his
flashlight beam caught a gleam of metal
and threw it back at him. He knew he had made
it. After a few more times in, he thought, he
would be able to do it without thinking, maybe
even without a flashlight, if he had to.
His light beam danced over the old wooden
crate upon which he had placed one of the
kerosene lanterns he had taken from the barn.
His mother would never miss it and, hell,
kerosene was much cheaper than flashlight bat-
teries. Next
to the wooden crate an old mattress
was spread out on the floor. Beside the mattress
were two gallon wine- jugs filled with water, a
pile of empty cans, and the remnants of the
campfire he had had last night. He reminded
himself that he would have to gather more
firewood soon.
Ned sighed deeply as he snapped a match
under his thumbnail and bent down to light the

230
lantern. The warm orange glow quickly spread
out to the walls and ceiling, pushing the shadows
back but not dissolving them.
He dropped the bedroll down and then
flopped face-first onto the mattress. The musty
odor assailed his nostrils, but he let himself enjoy
the brief rest. He realized that for more than a
week now he had felt run-down, exhausted. He
needed rest, rest and something more to help
him regain his strength.
He knew now with certainty that the dreams
were real. How, he had no idea, but he had
been there when his brother Frank and again
when Alan Tate had died. He was probably
there when Wendy Stillman had died too, but
that memory of the dream was too deep. But
with Frank and Alan, he knew. He had felt the
soft, yielding flesh grind between his teeth. He
had tasted the hot blood as it gushed into his
mouth. He had crunched the bones, snapping
them between his jaws. It had been real!
Damn, but it had been real!
Suddenly he jumped to his feet and began
pacing back and forth across the hard-packed
floor. All the while he rubbed the back of his
neck at the top of his spine.
He had been there, he knew. But he had been
there in a different body, a body that was
hunched and sleek, strong, close to the ground.
In that body he had killed his brother and Alan!
The muscles in his neck twisted with tension
as he paced back and forth. He worked his
fingers harder to relieve the pain.

231
 He didn't understand it, but he knew that
somehow he had been transformed.
Transformed!
The word burst in his mind with fireball
brilliance.
"Transformed," he whispered shrilly as he
stared unblinkingly into the orange glow of the
kerosene lamp. "Transformed! I became the
animal! I am the wolf!"
With a sudden sharp cry, he spun around and
stared down into the darkness of the mine shaft.
With the lantern behind him, the light threw his
enlarged shadow down the dark corridor.
That was it! he realized with astonishment. I
am the shadow, the black shadow that is formed
by the light of the full moon! In the light of the
full moon, I am the wolf!
He knew, fully. When the moon was full, he
had the power, and he could kill whomever he
wanted to kill; absolutely anyone he wanted to
kill would come under his shadow!
Cocking his head back, he stared into the
thick blackness of the mine until it seemed to
reach out and enfold him. A low, hollow laugh
built in his chest and escaped from his mouth,
rising higher and higher. The laughter echoed
back from the depths of the mine with a hollow
booming.
"I am the wolf!"

.HI.

"The body's hardly cold in the ground!" Bob

232
shouted angrily. He and Lisa were standing
together in the church parking lot. Lisa had her
coat buttoned up tightly to her chin and her
arms folded protectively across her chest. Her
breath was a fine mist on the night air.
Bob had his hands stuck in coat pockets.
When he wasn't speaking, he paced back and
forth in front of her.
"Well, don't you think it's a little bit strange?"
he asked, making an effort to keep his voice
down. "I mean, we've been divorced about three
months now and already she's rushing back to
the altar. I couldn't believe it! Calling me up
and inviting me to her wedding!"
He stopped pacing and looked at Lisa intently.
"I don't know," she said finally. "I guess it is a
bit early to remarry."
Bob snickered and shook his head.
"Cripes, Bob, maybe you just don't realize.
She might be a very insecure person who needs
to be married. A lot of people feel as though
they —"
"There you go with your psychoanalyzing
again," Bob snapped. "She's the one who ended
it for us. She left me, not the other way
around!"
"Don't sound so defensive, for crying out
loud," Lisa said. "You're getting too worked up
about it. Think about it. This might be the best
thing in the world for her. Maybe it'll work out.
Maybe this time she found the right guy."
"Oh, thanks. Thanks a lot." He slapped his
thighs with frustration.

233
 "You know what I mean," Lisa said mildly.
"She's doing what she wants to do, right? You
should want what's best for her, too."
They both turned and looked up at the
stained-glass windows when the booming notes
of the organ suddenly swelled. The bright lights
inside lit up the colored patterns, throwing their
designs onto the snow-covered ground.
The parking lot was full now. A few stragglers
hurried past them, nodding greetings as they
went. Bob huffed, looked at Lisa, and resumed
his pacing.
"You just have to take it easy," Lisa said smil-
ing. "You're
putting yourself under way too
much pressure lately. It's not healthy." The con-
cernher
in voice was genuine. Since his phone
call about a week ago, Bob hadn't mentioned the
topic of witchcraft or werewolves again. But it
had bothered Lisa quite a bit, and she wondered
if he was still thinking along those lines. He had
sounded pretty paranoid, and she hoped he
wasn't losing touch.
"Stop taking yourself so seriously," she said
gently. "Why don't you come to church tonight.
The Thanksgiving candlelight service is one of
the prettiest of the year. It might do you some
good." She reached for his arm, but he pulled
away.
"No. I don't feel like it tonight. Maybe some
other time."
"You always say 'some other time,' " Lisa
pleaded. "I've been after you to come to church
with me for months."

234
 "I told you," Bob replied, and there was
hostility in his voice, "that I just don't get into it!
I'm not a churchgoer!"
Lisa turned and started for the church door
without a word. Bob hurried and caught up
with her. He looked at her earnestly. "Look,
Lisa, Fm kind of uptight. I'm sorry I snapped."
"Yeah, well," she said, shaking her head back
and forth as though scolding a child, "just take it
easy."
"I promise you I'll come to church on
Christmas Eve. Really." He raised his hand in
the air. "Promise."
"Shake on it," Lisa said, holding out her
hand.
"There," Bob said as they shook.
Lisa said, "I don't want to be late." The choir
was already starting the first hymn. She ran up
the steps and went into the church.

.IV.

Lisa's face was flushed as she walked up the

side aisle, looking for an empty seat. She found
one, two rows from the front and eased her way
in. Her fingers fumbled with pages of the hym-
nal, and
she didn't join in on the opening hymn
until halfway through the last verse. Her voice
sounded weak and flat to her as she sang.
When the hymn was finished, Reverend Alder
strode to the front of the church and faced the

235
dimly lit painting of Jesus praying in the garden.
The music swelled to a crescendo and then
dropped off abruptly. As it did, Reverend Alder
let his shoulders sag slightly.
He turned and, pulling his sleeves up, faced
the congregation. There was a loud explosion of
creaking wood as everyone resumed their seats.
"Well," Reverend Alder said, rubbing his
hands together like a workman beginning a job.
"I'm glad to see so many of you here."
There was another, softer creaking of the
pews as people shifted around, getting comfor-
table. was
Lisa still too upset and nervous to feel
at ease. Her conversation with Bob had ruined
what she had hoped would be a joyful, peaceful
night.
"And I think this Thanksgiving season, that
we have a lot to be thankful for." A smile
stretched across the minister's face, seeming to
reach from ear to ear. He held his Bible behind
his back with both hands and bounced lightly on
his toes. "Of course, you realize this is the end of
my dry season, my bad spell. With Christmas
just around the corner, I expect to do a land-
office business."
There was scattered laughter through the con-
gregation.
stillLisa,
uncomfortable, shifted in
her seat and stared numbly at the minister.
"With Easter coming up, I expect to see plenty
of faces that I haven't seen, well, for a year at
least."
Again the reverend's comment was followed
by laughter. A knot of tension was growing

236
stronger in Lisa's shoulders, and she wiggled to
try to relieve it.
Reverend Alder continued, "But you're prob-
ably wondering
what we have to be thankful
for, here in Cooper Falls. Our town has been
saddened recently by three tragic, senseless
deaths." He paused and looked into the silence
that filled the church.
"And then there's the wider scope," he said
suddenly, waving his arms wide. "What do we
see in the world today? We see hunger, war, and
pollution. Our newspapers are filled with stories
about child abuse, wife beatings, kidnapping,
and hostages. We see close-up and in-depth
coverage of every plane crash and train derail-
ment any
and other human tragedy . . ."
The reverend went on, but Lisa was having a
difficult time concentrating on what he was say-
ing. Her
mind was still on the man she had been
talking to in the parking lot, a man she probably
loved more than her husband, a man she could
see was under too much pressure, putting
himself under too much pressure, and who
might be cracking up.
The reverend's voice rose louder as he raised
his arms dramatically over his head. "Like the
tribes of Israel wandering in the desert, what do
we have to be thankful for? Nothing but a prom-
ise! Like
the Pilgrims who fled the religious op-
pression
Europe
of and braved the dangerous
crossing of the Atlantic, what do we have to be
thankful for? Only our hope! Only our faith in
our Lord!"

237
 Lisa looked up at Reverend Alder, and a
thought suddenly struck her.
What if Bob is right? What if there really is
something supernatural happening in town?
The thought startled her, and she jumped in
her seat, looking around nervously at the faces
watching the minister.
If you believe in the power of God, why not
believe in the power of Satan? Doesn't one need
the other? Isn't Satan the dark side of God? The
shadow of God?
"Our life is a tenuous arrangement," Reverend
Alder said in conclusion. "And it can be ter-
minated
that!
like So what do we have to be
thankful for, this Thanksgiving? Just this — our
lives and our trust in the Lord our God! Let us
now sing Hymn Two-hundred and thirty-seven."
There was a brief organ prelude, and then the
congregation burst into song. Lisa, standing
hunched and angled away from the front of the
church, found that she could not sing. There was
a hot tightness that gripped her by the throat.

238
 Chapter Eleven

Wednesday, December 17

.1.

Bob had his head resting in one hand as he

ticked off the right and wrong answers on the
test sheet he was correcting. He heard footsteps
approaching his desk but did not look up until he
saw a pale hand place a pink slip of paper on his
desk beside the tests.
"Would you sign here, in period five?" a dry
voice asked.
Bob looked up and saw Ned Simmons. The

239
boy's pale face showed a hint of a smile, but
there was no humor in his darkened eyes.
Bob calmly placed his red pen on top of the
test, sat back in his chair, and picked up the
pink slip.
"Dropping out of school, huh?" he asked,
scanning the slip. It had been folded and un-
folded many
times. It hung limply in Bob's
hand.
"Yeah," Ned answered, looking away.
"You just need mine and Mr. Summers'
signatures, and that's it."
Ned crossed his arms over his chest, fluttered
his eyes at the ceiling, and sighed.
"Well," Bob said, picking up his red pen and
tapping it on the desk, "before I sign any drop-
slips, I like to have a chat with the student, see
why he wants to drop out. It could be that
he-"
"Would you just sign? Please?"
"Pull up'a chair, Ned. I'd like to— "
"Mr. Wentworth," Ned said tightly, "I'm
kinda in a hurry, so would you just sign your
name?" The hostility in his voice was restrained,
just barely. Ned made a move to sit down, then
compromised by leaning against the desk.
Bob cleared his throat and looked at the boy.
What he saw worried him. The boy's pasty com-
plexionalmost
had no spark of life. He looked
underweight and tired.
"You know, Ned, I've been quite concerned
about you lately. You've missed more than half
the school days since September."

240
 The boy glared at him with glazed eyes. Bob
felt slightly unnerved.
"You're a bright boy, Ned. I hate to see y>u
drop out. Heck, it's your senior year. Couldn't
you just hang in there until June? A diploma
would get you a lot more —"
"Mr. LaFleur already gave me that rap yester-
day," Ned
said dully. "He earned his paycheck
for the week. If you'd just sign on line
five . . . ."
"I will," Bob snapped, "when we're through
talking."
Ned seemed to cringe back from Bob's out-
[Link]
His knitted together.
"Have you been feeling well lately?" Bob
asked.
Ned looked at him with a frightened stare.
"You look like you could use a little food in
your belly. Have you thought of seeing a
doctor?"
"I feel fine," Ned said, but the weakness in his
voice contradicted him. "I'll be OK in a couple
of days or so."
Bob leaned forward and folded his hands on
the desktop. "You haven't been having any faint-
ing spells
lately? Any dizziness or ringing in your
ears? Anything that maybe should be checked
out?"
"I'm doing fine," Ned said angrily.
Bob knew he shouldn't press, but he had to;
his questions burned in his mind. "Have you had
any times when, you know, you just lose touch?
Where you wake up and you don't know what's

241
happened? Anything? Anything that seems out
of the ordinary?"
"I told you! I've been feeling fine!" Ned
picked up the pink slip and held it almost under
Bob's nose. "Sign. Please."
Bob stood up and walked slowly over to the
window. He stared silently out onto the snow-
covered school yard. "So," he said, addressing
the window and watching Ned's pale reflection,
"what are your plans. You've got to do
something with your time. Have you got a job?"
"Pomeroy said he might be able to work me in
full-time."
"Might! That's not much of a promise to
throw away your education for."
In the reflection of the window, Bob could see
Ned's scowl deepen. "Yeah, well, besides, my
mother needs a lot more help around the farm
now that Frank's dead."
"Ummm. Yeah. I'm sorry about that. It still
bothers me."
Ned suddenly snapped his head up and
shouted, "What business is it of yours, anyway?
I don't need you messing around with my life.
Just leave me alone, will you?"
"It's not that. It's not that at all," Bob said as
he turned and walked back to the desk. His
knees felt weak as he took the slip of paper from
Ned. "Sure. Sure. I'll sign," he said with a
crackle in his throat. He dashed his name on the
fifth line and handed it back to Ned just as the
last bell of the day rang.
"Hmmm. Three o'clock already," Bob said,

242
trying to sound casual as he jogged his tests
together and put them into his briefcase. "Well,
I guess you won't have to run your life on a bell
system any more, will you?"
Ned had already turned to leave, but he
stopped at the door and looked at Bob. There
was something in his gaze that unnerved Bob: a
deep, smoldering hatred and —and suspicion?
"Thanks," Ned said tightly. "You've earned
your paycheck for the week," he added, slam-
mingdoor
the shut behind him.

.II.

"I had plans for tonight. Really," Julie

pleaded. She pulled back as Jeff Carter's hands
ran roughly over her back and shoulders. She
shuddered.
"Well you'll just have to put them off, babe,
'cause I've got something else in mind." He slid
one hand around to her waist and then ran it up
to her breast and squeezed. She wiggled, trying
to get away, but Jeff read it as her growing ex-
citement.
pulledHe her roughly to him and
snapped open the three top buttons of her
blouse.
The smell of booze on his breath sickened her.
"Well, for Christ's sake, Jeff, can't you get it up
without getting drunk first?" she asked.
Jeff belched loudly.
"I mean," Julie went on, "it's almost an insult.
If you think I—"

243
 "This is no insult," he said, taking her hand
and placing it on his bulging crotch. Julie
squeezed, hoping to inflict some pain. Jeff took
her shoulders and pushed down, making her
kneel in front of him. "There you go, babe. How
about giving me a little bit of head."
Julie stood up quickly and tried to get away,
but Jeff grabbed her and forced her to the
couch. He ripped open the remaining buttons
and then began to tug her blouse down her
shoulders.
"Just loosen up a bit, will yah?" he said, pin-
ning her
by the shoulders and shaking her.
"Christ, come on!"
He fastened his mouth to hers in a slobbering
kiss, jamming his tongue into her mouth. The
sour taste of whisky made Julie gag. She pulled
away, but Jeff forced her to lie down on the
couch.
"Take it easy, will you?" she said angrily.
"You're hurting me."
"You love it and you know it," he said. His
eyes were glowing with passion. His breathing
was raspy. He grabbed his drink from the coffee
table and swallowed it with two large gulps.
Then he turned back to her and lunged forward.
Julie wanted to spit on him as he bent down
and nibbled on her neck. His hands worked
furiously behind her to release her bra. She felt it
loosen, and then his hands came back around
front.
"Jeff, don't you think it's a little bit late to get
started?" She looked over at the clock on the

244
mantel. "It's past eleven. Won't Lisa be wonder-
ing whereyou are?"
All she heard was a muffled snort as he took
her nipple into his mouth and began to suck. His
hands moved down and started working on her
belt.
"Really, Jeff, I think Lisa will—"
"Will you just shut the fuck up about Lisa?"
he shouted, raising his hand in a threatening
blow. "And loosen up, dammit!"
He grasped the top of her jeans, snapped them
open, and pulled them down roughly, taking her
panties with them. There was a quick sound of
tearing fabric. With a low animal grunt, Jeff
stood up and dropped his pants down around his
ankles. Pulling her legs open wide, he plunged
forward and into her.
Julie gritted her teeth and kept her eyes fixed
on the clock as Jeff pumped up and down,
groaning. He rocked her back and forth until the
couch springs squeaked in rhythm. Finally, with
a shudder, Jeff stiffened and gasped, then sank
onto her with his full weight.
Half an hour later, after Julie had dressed and
Jeff had tossed down three more whiskies, Julie
got up off the couch and walked into the
kitchen. It was getting really close to the time,
and she was getting nervous, wondering how she
could get rid of Jeff.
Jeff wandered into the kitchen behind her.
"Hey, Jule," he said with a slur, "yah haven't
even had a drink wi' me all night. 'S not good to
drink alone." He reached up into the cupboard

245
and took down another glass.
"You're not alone," she said, smirking as he
almost dropped the glass when he tried to fill it.
"I think I'll pass tonight," she said, jumping up
to sit on the counter.
"Not even a tinsy-winsy?" he asked, measuring
a small amount with his fingers.
Julie shook her head.
"Well, then, how 'bout a little . . ." He
winked at her lasciviously.
"Oh no! I think you've exceeded your limit on
two accounts tonight."
He started toward her on shaking legs but
found the effort too great and sank down into
the kitchen chair.
"I think you best be getting home, don't you?"
Jeff raised his half-empty glass to the light and
squinted at it. "Jus' lemme finish this one first,
OK?"
Julie glanced at the clock. It was eleven-
thirty. "Just make it quick," she said, jumping
down and going to the closet to get Jeff's coat.
Jeff polished off the glass and, snickering,
started to unscrew the cap on his bottle.
"Oh no you don't," she said. "You said you'd
finish that drink and go."
"One more for the road. There's jus' a little bit
left. 'Sides, it's awful cold outside."
Julie came over to him and started to slide one
of his arms into the coat sleeve. "No way. It's
late. Time for sleepy-bye."
Jeff stood up to put his other arm into the
sleeve. He stumbled and had to catch at her to

246
keep from falling. His rough beard scratched
against her face. "That's what I been tryin' to
tell yah, babe. 'S beddy-bye time."
Julie kept her voice firm as she glanced at the
clock. It was eleven-forty- five. She might still
make it. "That's right. For me here, and for you
at home."
Jeff finally got his other arm into the coat
sleeve and started to button up. He turned
quickly and planted a wet kiss on Julie's cheek.
She wiped the saliva away and handed Jeff his
gloves.
"There you go. Got your keys?"
Jeff nodded dumbly and patted his coat
pocket .
"Well then," she said, moving over to the
door, "I guess you're on your way." She opened
the door and a frigid blast of air entered the
kitchen. She took a deep breath as she looked up
at the rising full moon.
"You won't lemme sleep in your cozy little
bed, huh?" Jeff said, coming toward her.
Julie neatly sidestepped him and, grabbing his
coat collar, propelled him out into the cold
night. He tried to negotiate the steps, but he was
so blind drunk, he wasn't able to stop. He pin-
wheeled wildly across Julie's snow-covered lawn
and then collapsed onto his back. Julie shut the
door with a bang and locked it.
She sat at the kitchen table, nervously drum-
ming fingernails
her on the formica top as she
waited to hear his car start up. She looked up
and saw the glow of his headlights out the win-

247
dow, then the car roared into life. The gears
ground loudly once, and then she heard the car
sputter down the snowy road that led back to
town.
As soon as the sound of the car disappeared,
she jumped to her feet, knocking over the chair.
She ran to the counter and pulled open the
drawer. Reaching in, she took out the red sash
and the jar filled with the black syrup.
She dashed over to the cellar stairway. Paus-
ing for
a second and casting a quick glance at the
clock, she snapped the kitchen light off and
descended.
She wasn't too late.

.III.

Jeff clicked on the radio as he drove and

jumped into the middle of a Merle Haggard song
with a voice that hit one note in ten. His eyes
barely focused on the snowy road, and the ass-
end of his car kept trying to take the lead for a
change. Snow shot up from under his back tires
as Jeff pressed the accelerator down hard.
He rolled down his window and let the freez-
ing air
hit him in the face. The dark river to his
right glittered in the moonlight; it had just
started to freeze up above the falls. He leaned
his head back and bellowed up at the ceiling.
When he got to a point where he could see the
falls through a break in the trees, he slowed

248
down and stared up at the white plume of mist.
His attention wasn't on his driving, and sudden-
ly, there
was a dull thump from underneath his
car. Instinctively, Jeff gripped the wheel hard as
he looked out at the road. He recognized his
problem immediately. Looking out of his wind-
shield,
washestaring at the side of the road. His
car was sliding sideways.
"Lousy cunt," he swore as he pumped the
brake with his foot. He merely assisted the skid.
He watched, frozen, as his headlights swept up
into the sky and his car rocketed over the
snowbank and into a stand of swamp maple.
His head was thrown forward and hit the
horn, giving off a loud honk. The car jolted to a
stop with its front end pointing down into the
snow. He could see that the light of his headlight
was diffused through the snow.
"Goddamn!" Jeff said as he sat for a moment,
dazed. He turned the car off and slumped in his
seat. His hand dropped to the floor beside him,
and he remembered something he had forgotten
all night. He had another bottle of whisky in
the car.
Huffing, he got on his knees and reached
under the seat. Passing over tools, oily rags, and
assorted empties, his hand finally alighted on the
pint bottle.
"Liquid gold," he said, smacking his lips and
unscrewing the cap. He tilted his head back and
took a bubbling swallow. "Thank you, Lord," he
said, and belched.
Fortified now, he felt able to get out of the car

249
and assess the situation.
He found that his car was about twenty feet
from the river, and somewhere in his clouded
brain, he found the ability to appreciate that. If
the car had hit the ice here, he probably would
have gone through and sunk. He stared at the
river and listened to the distant hissing of the
falls.
He walked over to the car and, cursing, kicked
it viciously on the door. "Goddamn piece of
shit!"
Steadying himself with a maple sapling, he
took another swallow of whisky. It was working
its magic. With each swallow he felt less upset.
He could deal with the situation.
"Is this like when you have a boating acci-
dent?"
asked
he himself, staring drunkenly at the
car. "Are you supposed to stay with the car or
try to get back?"
He had a rough idea of where he had gone off
the road. He knew that it was just about the
same distance to town as it was back to Julie's
house. It'd be a bitch either way, a hell of a long
walk. Finally, after a moment's consideration,
he came up with a better idea.
He knew that, above the falls, there was an
old wooden bridge spanning the river. From
there, he figured, it would be easiest and
shortest to take the old mining road back to
town. He could come back in the morning with
a tow truck and get his car out of the pucker-
brush .
He went over to the car and switched off the

250
lights. Before closing the door, he sat down on
the seat and, fumbling, tightened his bootlaces.
After one more gulp of whisky, he pulled his
coat collar tight and started out.
He took exaggerated giant-steps through the
snow. The going was a bit more difficult than he
had expected. He hadn't considered the depth of
the snow. Slowly, and with many pauses for a
haul from his pint, he made his way upriver to
where he knew the bridge would be.
As he got closer to the falls, the roaring grew
louder, until it filled the night, drowning out all
other sounds. Mostly by luck he found the bridge
and started out across it.
The bridge was old. Its timbers were rotting.
With each step, Jeff was surprised that he didn't
fall through. The wooden railing swayed loosely
in his hand.
When he was halfway over the bridge, Jeff
paused to watch the water as it swept toward
the falls. It moved with an inky oiliness, glitter-
ingthe
in full moonlight and almost taking Jeffs
stomach with it a$ it slid through the flume. The
sound was deafening. The spray rose up into the
still night air.
Taking his bottle from his pocket one last
time, Jeff emptied it. Then, with a heartfelt
sigh, he pitched it into the water and watched it
go over the falls before continuing on his way.
He came out by the old abandoned silver-
mine. The road was never plowed out this far
up, so the snow was deeper here, and he had a
tough time making his way through it. His steps

251
wavered, and he fell every twenty feet or so, but
he slowly made it down the slope, past the
deserted buildings, and onto the wider road that
led back into town.
As he walked down the road, Jeff kept glanc-
ing back
over his shoulder at the falls. The white
spray rose into the air and glittered as it froze.
Up on the cliffs, beside the falls, Jeff could see
the gaping black holes of the played-out mine-
shafts. Something about them made him shiver,
and he picked up his pace.
When he was about half a mile below the
falls, he stopped short. He realized only then
that he had been running, plowing his way
through the snow. He leaned over with his hands
on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
He turned his gaze down the road and at the
trees that silently lined the road. A soft wind
suddenly picked up and swayed the branches
back and forth. Jeff shivered and clapped his
hands to his shoulders to keep his circulation go-
ing.
Suddenly he froze, his arms poised in midair.
Something was standing underneath the trees by
the side of the road. Jeff squinted and, through
his alcoholic gaze, finally discerned a doglike
shape.
"Just a little old pooch," he said with glee. He
chuckled to himself and started forward. "Jus' a
little ole doggie."
He clapped his hands together and whistled
shrilly. "Come'ere, fella. Come on." He took a
few more steps closer and whistled again. "Come
on, boy. Come'ere."
252
 He stopped short when he saw the animal sud-
denly crouch
low to the ground. It snarled loud-

"Hey, come on, fella. I'm jus' bein' friendly.

What's the matter wi' you?"
Jeff cocked his head and regarded the dog who
crouched about thirty feet away from him. The
growling rose steadily.
"Are you feelin' nasty 'cause you didn't get a
piece o' ass tonight? 'S that it? You horny little
bastard!"
The animal growled again and moved for-
ward.
"Now that ain't nice, fella. Be a good dog.
Come on." Jeff snapped his fingers and whistled.
He suddenly felt his stomach drop when the
animal growled and rose to its full height. It
moved closer toward him, and when it stepped
out into the moonlight, its eyes glowed with an
angry green light.
"Big fella, ain't yah?" Jeff said, starting to
back away as he realized the danger.
The animal's jaws opened, exposing a row of
sharp white teeth.
"I sure hope you're jus' bluffin' me," Jeff said,
trying to sound calm.
The animal's hackles shot up. The growl ex-
plodeda into
loud bark, and the animal sprang.
Needle-sharp teeth tore into the arm Jeff raised
in front of his face for protection. His coat and
his arm tore open as the weight of the beast bore
him back onto the ground. The air was knocked
out of Jeff. The animal held onto Jeff's arm and

253
savaged it back and forth, its teeth grinding like
a saw blade.
Jeff started to shout and scream as the pain
spread through his body. An icy numbness
gripped his brain when he heard the sharp
crunching of bone.
"Get away! Get away, you bastard!" Jeff
shouted as he scrambled on the ground trying to
dislodge the weight that pressed him down.
With his loose hand, he swung wildly and struck
the animal's nose several times. With a sudden,
savage pull, the animal jerked on Jeff's arm.
There was a dull pop as the shoulder was
dislocated. Jeff screamed.
At last the animal let go and backed off. Jeff
lay on the ground for a moment, dazed, looking
up at the wild beast that crouched nearby. He
tried to move away but found that his body
wouldn't obey the commands of his brain.
His eyesight began to dim and soon all Jeff
could see was the hazy blue expanse of moonlit
snow. He knew, distantly, that the dark
splotches on that blue snow were pools of his
life's blood. He was sinking down.
Then, like a terrible shadow, the animal
loomed up over him. The green eyes flashed
with fury and, with a ferocious snarl, the animal
fastened its jaws to Jeff's neck and pulled
violently. Jeff's neck broke with a dull pop. The
animal gave his body a few quick shakes and
then began to feed.

254
 .IV.

"I'm sorry I called you so late," Lisa said as

she sat on the couch with her hands pressed be-
tweenknees.
her "He should have been home by
now. I'm really worried/'
Bob leaned back in his seat and took a
thoughtful drag on his cigarette. He let the
smoke drift lazily out his nostrils.
"I know what you're thinking," Lisa said soft-
ly.
"No," Bob said pointedly. "No, you don't
know what I'm thinking."
"I do," Lisa said with an edge to her voice.
"You're thinking that I'm getting exactly what I
deserve for putting up with, with his running
around."
"I'm not," Bob said calmly as he snubbed out
the butt in the ashtray.
"But this is different. I know it is. I just have
this feeling that something's happened." She gig-
gled nervously.
"I know he's been on some real
good benders, but this, this is different." She
shook her head hopelessly and let her shoulders
slouch as she stared at the floor.
"I'm sure he's OK. Really," Bob said, leaning
over to pat her gently on the shoulder. His voice
was still rusty with sleep.
"He's never been later than two o'clock in the
morning!"
"Maybe he just had a flat tire or something.
Look." Bob stood up and began pacing the floor.

255
"If he came home and found me here — well, I
just don't think I want to be around for that to
happen/' Bob rubbed his jaw as the memory of
the fight behind the school came to him. He
made for the door.
"Wait!" Lisa shouted in a voice that almost
froze Bob. "There's something else."
Bob walked back to his chair and eased
himself down.
Lisa looked at him and ran her teeth over her
lower lip. "Tonight's your night, right?"
3ob was confused. "My night?"
"It's a full moon tonight, isn't it?"
Bob felt a rush of fear, but he tried to remain
outwardly cool. "Don't tell me you're starting to
think about full moons and werewolves?" he
asked. His voice registered disdain, but he
searched Lisa's face for a reaction.
"I, I don't know," Lisa said with tears welling
up in her green eyes. "I just don't know. I, I—"
"Lisa," Bob said calmly, feeling the back of
his neck prickling with heat, "you don't really
think I still think that, do you?"
Lisa raised her eyebrows.
"That I think there's a werewolf in Cooper
Falls?"
"I don't know." Her voice was hushed, as
though she was afraid to hear herself speak. She
ran her fingers through her hair and then slipped
her hands back between her knees. "But tonight,
late, around midnight, I heard a, a howling."
"Uh-huh," Bob said. He glanced out the win-
dowthe
at street three storeys below.

256
 "Oh, Bob, it scared the daylights out of me!"
Her face twisted with remembered pain. "It
sounded just like a wolf!"
"There are a lot of dogs around town. I'm
sure, if you were upset, you could make it sound
like a wolf, after what I said."
"It wasn't a dog!" Lisa shouted. She punched
the couch beside her with frustration . "I know it
wasn't!"
"How can you be so sure?" Bob asked calmly.
"It was so, so unearthly, deep and hollow,
almost like an echo or something. I almost
thought it was in my head, that I might be
hallucinating or something."
"Probably just your imagination," Bob said.
"From the things I said on the phone that day."
"I just know it was more than just a dog,"
Lisa said. Tears welled up in her eyes and
overflowed. "Bob, I'm really scared!"
"Lisa," Bob began. He looked at her and felt a
wave of pity. He wanted to hold and comfort
her, but something made him hold back. "Can I
ask you a question? It's going to sound crazy,
maybe, but do you have a cross or any kind of
religious medal?"
"Yeah," she replied, and snorted loudly, "I
have a silver cross I got way back in high school,
for confirmation. Why? What are you getting
at?"
Bob twisted his hands and looked at her
earnestly. "I, I want you to promise me that
you'll wear it. All the time!" He reached into his
shirt and pulled out a chain. At its end, a small

257
gold cross dangled, reflecting light around the
room. "Now I'm not ready to get locked away.
Not yet, anyway. But I don't think it would hurt
to have some, some protection." He dropped the
cross back into his shirt.
"Some protection! Protection from what?"
Lisa asked anxiously. "Bob, do you know what
you sound like?"
"Yeah, I do." He looked out the window,
straining to see the dark sky. "But you men-
tioned
fullthemoon. I didn't. Lisa, I have to tell
you. I haven't stopped thinking along the lines
that there might be something supernatural in-
volved Ihere.
checked back to the nights that
Wendy, Frank Simmons and Alan Tate were
killed. All three were either nights of the full
moon or one night on either side of the full
moon."
"Coincidence?" Lisa asked, hopefully.
"Who the hell knows!" Bob said, slapping his
fist into his hand. "Sure it could be coincidence.
I could be a border-line paranoid who has finally
taken the plunge. Is that what you think?"
"No." She didn't dare to meet his eyes.
"I don't feel crazy. I don't think I'm any dif-
ferent.
these
But three deaths were on full-moon
nights!"
"Or one day away," Lisa said, "If it's a, a
werewolf, I thought they were only on full-moon
nights. Doesn't that blow a hole in your theory
right there?"
"No, it doesn't," Bob said seriously. "I have
been doing some reading on the topic, and the

258
time of a werewolf's transformation, at least in
some traditions, can be on nights on either side
of full. According to some legends, werewolf ac-
tivity occurs
throughout the month of February.
It's all tied in with the Roman Lupercalia and
with the severe winters that probably drove
hungry wolf-packs closer to towns in the old
days."
"I can't believe it!" Lisa said, shaking her
head. "I just can't believe that we're two adults
sitting here talking like this. It's insane!"
"No it isn't, Lisa. It may be the only explana-
tion that
fits what's been happening around
town. It scares me. The possibilities are frighten-
ing!"
"So who's the werewolf?" Lisa asked. Her
voice had an almost mocking note of humor, but
her eyes were grim.
"I think Julie Sikes is doing it. She's pretty
heavily into magic and occult things." Bob faced
Lisa intently. "You want it straight? I think
Julie's doing it —to Ned Simmons."
Lisa gasped.
"Think about it! He's a perfect target, with all
that pent-up hostility. Just as an image, it fits.
I'm convinced that the image, the legends, are
real, they're working!"
"I've always felt sort of funny around Julie,"
Lisa said seriously. "I've never liked her."
"It doesn't have to be her. It could be anyone.
For all I know, if I wanted to get really
paranoid, it could be you who's doing it." Bob
began pacing again.

259
 "You do sound crazy," Lisa said, her voice
registering concern.
"I know I do. And if you hadn't dragged me
over here at two a.m., telling me you're worried
because Jeffs not home yet, and it's a full moon
tonight, and that you heard something howling,
I wouldn't have said all this. I would have kept
it to myself and let it drive me slowly mad."
That said, Bob appeared to calm down. He
came over and sat beside Lisa on the couch.
"You want a cup of coffee?" Lisa asked after a
long silence.
"No." Bob yawned and stretched. "I have one
day of school left before Christmas vacation, and
the day after tomorrow I'm driving down to
Springfield for Amy's wedding."
"You're going?" Lisa was astounded. "You
didn't tell me."
"You never asked. I'm going mostly so I can
see Jamie. I miss that kid. I haven't seen her
since summer. So, look, if Jeff isn't home soon,
give Granger a call, send someone out looking
for him."
"I've got a pretty good idea where they should
start looking: at Julie Sikes," Lisa said morosely.
"I'll wait if you want me to."
"No," Lisa said, getting up from the couch.
"We're both getting ourselves too worked up.
You were probably right. He's got a flat tire or
has run out of gas. He'll come staggering on in
around dawn."
"I'm sure he's OK," Bob said, hoping his lie
didn't show. The coincidence of all those oc-

260
currences on nights of full moons was too much to
be dismissed. His gut feeling was that something
terrible had happened.
Bob stood up and got his coat on. He started
for the door, but before leaving, turned to Lisa
and said, "Remember your promise. Wear that
silver cross all the time!"

261
 Chapter Twelve

Friday, December 19

Bob was about an hour out of Boston, heading

west on the Massachusetts Turnpike when he
heard something on the radio that made his
stomach clench. He stiffened in his car seat as he
listened.
"Late Thursday night, the body of Mr. Jeff
Carter of Cooper Falls, New Hampshire was
found by neighbors who were snow-mobiling.

262
Earlier in the day, Mr. Carter's car had been
found abandoned off a minor road. A resident
had noticed tire tracks leaving the road. The ac-
cident occurred
late Wednesday night."
Bob's breathing came in sharp hitches as he
adjusted the dial, trying to pull the station in
clearer.
"Chief of Police Roy Granger was notified im-
mediately.
Carter,
[Link] town librarian, had
reported her husband missing earlier in the day."
"Oh, Jesus," Bob said, looking in the rearview
mirror at his pale face. His hands shook as he lit
a cigarette.
"The victim apparently died of exposure when
he tried to walk the four miles back to town
following the accident. There was no evidence of
foul play, sources said."
"Bullshit," Bob muttered, as he puffed
angrily.
"In North Conway today, workers at the —"
Bob snapped the radio off and drove silently. His
mind was whirring with thoughts.
To an English teacher, the newscaster's choice
of words seemed strange. Why, Bob thought, if
there was no evidence of foul play, did he refer
to Jeff as a victim? Was that a newscaster's
habit, after years of reporting tragedies, or was
there something else lurking behind the story?
Up ahead, he saw the exit sign for Old Stur-
bridge Village. Bob dug out his wallet and
pulled out a bill. Then he put on his turn signal
and began downshifting.
"Sorry I can't make it, Amy," he whispered as

263
he approached the toll booth. He smiled tightly
as he paid the booth attendant, then did a
U-turn and took a ticket and started driving east.
It would be an hour to Boston, and then another
two hours or so to Cooper Falls. He checked his
watch. He should get there sometime in the ear-
ly afternoon. He thought of calling Lisa to let
her know he had heard, but he decided not to
lose the time on the road.

.II.

Thurston held the phone to his ear, braced by

his shoulder, and took a quick sip of coffee. He
hated being put on hold, but he was glad he
finally got through to agent Hatch before the
weekend. He took another sip and then put the
cup down as the F.B.I, agent came back on the
line.
"Thanks for holding, Deputy," Hatch said. He
had a clipped, efficient-sounding voice.
"That's OK," Thurston replied. "So, have you
found out anything on this man, Wentworth?"
"Deputy Thurston, we have absolutely
nothing on our files about this man. You got
those photocopies of the newspaper articles?"
"Yes."
"Well, that incident with the rape charges
checks out. From several contacts we spoke
with, we determined that it was a weak case.
There was no reason to pursue it further."

264
 "You mean he was innocent?" Thurston asked
sharply.
"No. I don't. I mean that the case was never
brought to trial, so we don't have an official rul-
ing. But
from the rest of this guy's background,
he seems to be pretty level. Married and di-
vorced,
kid,onewent right into teaching after
college. Pretty straight guy."
"Ahh, when did Wentworth get divorced? I
had heard something, but I don't have the hard
facts."
"One source we interviewed suggested that the
divorce resulted from the attendant publicity
and pressure of the Landry girl's charges."
"So in your statement," Thurston said, "would
you say that this incident put Mr. Wentworth
under a great deal of strain?"
"It could have," Hatch replied. "I have no
way of evaluating that at this point. My advice
to you, Deputy, would be to keep your eye on
this guy if he bothers you. Officially, he's as
clean as a whistle, but that's no guarantee he
couldn't be involved with these murders. If your
superior requests it, we could send up an agent
to assist the investigation."
"I don't think so," Thurston replied, slightly
flustered. "Not at the moment, anyway. You
know how these hick cops are," he added snide-
ly. "They think they can handle it themselves.
I'll be in touch if we need any assistance."
"Whatever you say," Hatch said stiffly.
"If you say this guy Wentworth is clean, he's
clean. But that doesn't remove my, uhh, my

265
basic distrust of the guy. It's these quiet ones
who can snap just like that! I — "
Thurston quickly jumped to his feet when he
heard footsteps outside the office door. The door
banged open, and in walked Granger, followed
by Seavey.
"Howdy," Granger said, nodding. The sun
had set, so Granger snapped on the office lights.
"Yeah, well, thank you for your call,"
Thurston said into the phone. "I appreciate your
help with this. I'll get back to you if there's
anything else you can do." He hung up quickly,
snatched up his coffee cup, and walked over to
the coffee pot to refill it.
"I'll take one of those if you're pouring,
Granger said as he hefted off his heavy winter
coat and hung it on the back of his chair. "How
'bout you, Ted?"
"Sure." Seavey walked over and took the chair
beside the gun rack.
Thurston reached down two more cups and
began pouring. "How'd it go today?" he asked,
not looking up. "You guys have been out pretty
late."
"The usual," Granger said angrily. "Nobody
saw nothin', nowhere! Anything happen here?"
Thurston walked over and handed Granger his
cup. "Naw."
"Who were you talking to?" Granger asked,
sounding uninterested.
"No one special," Thurston answered, hand-
ing Seavey
his cup. "Just an old friend."
Granger put his cup down on the desk before

266
going over and replacing his rifle on the wall
rack. He didn't bother to run the chain through
the trigger guard, although it was standard of-
fice policy.
He came back to his desk and sat
down with a huff. "Of course, that didn't stop
half of the guys from shooting at whatever in the
hell they thought they saw."
Seavey offered a half-chuckle that was lost in
a noisy slurp from his coffee cup.
"Christ, I'm beat," Granger said as he
stretched and yawned.
Thurston frowned. "Well it's been deader 'n a
doornail around here: no calls, no complaints,
and no nothing. You should stay around here
and catch up on your sleep."
Granger snuffed. "Yeah, well, we pretty much
covered everything from the town dump over to
Lyon Hill. If there's anything out there, it —"
"We know it's out there," Seavey said quietly.
Granger nodded and said, "Yeah. The damn
problem is finding it. Hell, we can't even get a
decent trail. I'm still convinced we should get
some help from the state."
"What more could they do?" Thurston asked
sharply.
"Increase our manpower," Granger replied.
Thurston looked over at Seavey, whose expres-
sion revealednothing of what he was thinking.
"Did anyone go out on the mine road, toward
the falls? It hasn't snowed since Jeff was found.
There must be tracks out there."
"We were out there," Seavey said.
"Saw plenty of tracks, too. Problem is, they

267
were all Jeffs, ours, and snowmobile tracks. If
there was a good trail, it's long gone now."
"So we just have to keep at it," Thurston said
soberly.
Granger looked over his shoulder, out into the
darkened street. "You haven't seen Ralph and
Gene, have you?" he asked.
Thurston shook his head.
"Hmmm. They should have been in by now. I
told 'em not to stay out past dark."
The distant sound of a snowmobile made all
three men glance out the window. The wasplike
buzzing grew louder as it came down Main
Street. "Ahh, this is probably them now,"
Granger said, getting up and going to the win-
dow.
A single headlight swept down the street and
then, just outside, the buzzing machine was cut
off. Hurried footsteps sounded on the steps, and
then the door flew open. Ralph Hamlin burst in.
"Roy! You gotta come quick!" His face was
pasty gray, and the fear in his eyes alerted all
three men in the office.
"Sure," Granger said, snatching his rifle from
the wall rack. "What is it?"
"It's Chuck Doyle. It got him!"
"Is he dead?" Granger barked, pulling on his
coat and gloves. Seavey was already set to go.
"Oh Jesus, yes. Yes!" Ralph covered his mouth
with his mittened hands. The man looked as
though he was about to vomit.
"It must've happened last night! Oh Jesus!
He's, he's —" He suddenly turned and ran out-

268
side. The sound of his retching made a bad taste
flood Thurston's mouth. Granger and Seavey
raced outside and got into the cruiser. The blue
strobes started flashing as they pulled away from
the curb and sped down Main Street toward
Chuck Doyle's place.
Thurston watched from the window as the
cruiser disappeared. "And I get to sit around on
my ass and hold down the fort," he muttered,
his breath fogging the glass. After a moment, he
went outside and asked Ralph if he wanted to
come in and clean himself up.
While Ralph was in the bathroom washing
up, Thurston sat down in Granger's chair and
idly skimmed the two photocopied newspaper
clippings.

.III.

Ned watched from the bordering woods as

Julie came slowly up the path to her front door.
He heard the steady crunching of the snow
beneath her boots. In the light of the moon, just
past full, her face was washed of color. Ned
tensed as he listened to her work tLe door lock,
and as the door swung open, he stepped out of
his hiding place and raced toward the door.
Julie had stepped inside and was swinging the
door shut when Ned shouldered his way into the
doorway. Julie screamed and tried to hold the
door shut, but Ned pushed her, and finally she
stepped back to let him in.
269
 "What the hell are you doing?" she said harsh-
ly. She
backed her way across the kitchen floor
until she stood with her back against the
refrigerator.
Ned eased the door shut, stamped his feet on
the floor, and then turned to face her. He smiled
and said, "I was out for a little walk tonight and
I just thought I'd drop by to talk, you know?"
His smile widened.
Julie eyed him suspiciously as she slowly un-
buttoned
coat her
and hung it on the back of a
chair. "We've got nothing to talk about," she
said firmly.
Ned opened up his coat and took a few steps
forward. "Oh, I think we do. Aren't you gonna
invite me in?"
Julie shook her head and said, "Please, do.
Come in."
Ned nodded and walked over to the table,
where he took a seat. He slid his coat off and
draped it over the back of the chair. He stared at
her intently, glad to see that his sudden ap-
pearance
puthadher off her guard. He knew he
would have to keep that advantage.
"I think we have a lot to talk about," he said
again, fixing her with a harsh glance. "I have
some questions I think only you can answer."
Julie was still standing with her back against
the refrigerator. She was scratching her hand
with her fingernails, leaving long red lines on the
skin. "Would, would you care for some coffee or
tea?" she asked.
Ned shook his head. "Not really."

270
 "Just as well," Julie said. "It's getting late, and
it would just keep me awake."
Ned snickered.
Julie crossed her arms and regarded Ned for a
moment. "You said you wanted to talk to me.
What about?"
Ned smiled and shook his head. "As if you
didn't know."
"I don't."
t "Of course you do," Ned said with sudden in-
tensity. know
"You damn right well!" He
slammed his fist on the table. "I know that
you've been the one doing it, doing it to me!"
"What the hell are you talking about?" Julie
asked. She tried to sound mocking, but there was
an edge of tension in her voice.
"The change!" Ned said. "The transforma-
tion!"
Julie's eyes narrowed as she studied Ned. "I
haven't the faintest idea what you're talking
about."
"Don't be ridiculous, Julie," Ned said standing
up slowly. "I know you're the one who's been
making it happen."
"Are you crazy? What are you talking about?"
Ned laughed, a deep, hollow laugh. "I just
want to know, why me? Why did you pick me to
do it to?"
"Do what?" Julie shouted. "What are you
talking about?" She tried to stare Ned down, but
his eyes riveted her and she had to look away.
He took a few steps toward her. "How have
you been doing it!" The intensity in his voice

271
was like fire. "At first I thought it was, you
know, just dreams, nightmares. But I realized
pretty soon that it was real, that I was really
taking on that other shape and, and hunting at
night!"
Julie brought her hands to her mouth and
shook her head. "I didn't do anything to you."
"It has to be some kind of magic, right? I
thought for a while there that I was losing my
mind, until I knew it was really happening."
"Nothing's happening!" Julie said, edging
away from Ned as he advanced toward her.
Ned threw his head back and laughed. "Yeah,
sure, nothing's happening. Just how many
people have died this year, killed by that
mysterious wild animal?"
"I don't know anything about them," Julie
said. She had backed into a corner. Ned reached
out quickly and grabbed her arm in a vicelike
grip.
"First your husband, and then my brother
Frank. I figured you had to have something to
do with it." His grip on her arm tightened, and
Julie winced from the pain. "Of course, once I
knew it was real when it was happening, I used
it to, to even a few scores of my own. But I
know that you're the one who started it, and I
want to know why. Why did you pick me?"
Julie shook her head from side to side, and
tears welled in her eyes. "I didn't — " she gasped.
"I didn't mean for you ..."
Ned started to twist her arm back. "I want to
know why you picked me. Maybe, just maybe

272
you were interested in me." ,
"It wasn't supposed to affect you," Julie suiu,
her voice strained. "It wasn't. I was trying, try-
ing to,
to get rid of Frank." Ned twisted her arm
back further, and the pain screamed through her
shoulder. "I wanted it to affect Frank. I was, I
was using magic to, to get rid of him. He was
getting too serious, wanting to get married, and
I, I wanted to get rid of him."
"So you used me?" Ned said with a snarl.
Julie shook her head violently. "No. No! I was
trying to attract evil forces to him, to destroy
him. I tried to control his dark side, the beast in
him, and turn it against him." Her voice broke
into a braying sob. "I, I wanted him dead!"
"And you used me!"
"I didn't mean to," Julie said, pleadingly.
"You have to believe me!" It wasn't supposed to
turn on anyone else. His dark side was supposed
to kill him, no one else. But then, then once peo-
ple startedbeing killed, I didn't know how to
stop it. I thought once Frank was dead, it would
all end." She lost sight of Ned in the swimming
vision as her eyes overflowed.
"It didn't stop," Ned said evenly. "It hasn't!"
"You have to believe me, Ned, I didn't want
those other people to die! I didn't want you to be
the one who did it! I thought, I thought it was
Frank, and once I realized ijt wasn't, it was too
late."
Ned eased the pressure on Julie's arm. He
smiled and said softly, "But it's not too late."
Julie shook her head, trying to regain her com-

273
posure as the pain in her arm subsided. Ned
stepped closer to her, pressing her back. He
grabbed her by the shoulders and tried to pull
her toward him. She resisted, twisting away.
Ned continued to talk in a soft, smooth voice.
"I thought you had picked me because you, you
wanted me." His hands slid down and pulled her
closer, grinding his hips against hers.
"Get away from me!" she said angrily. "Get
your goddamn hands off of me!"
Ned smiled, holding her tightly to him. "We
can be lovers, you and I. And who knows what
we can do, now that we know each other's
secrets."
"Get the Christ away from me!" Julie
screamed.
His hold on her didn't let up. He leaned his
face closer, so close she felt his heated breath on
her cheek. "You can come with me," he said. "I
have a place where we can stay, where nobody
will ever find us. Don't you realize what we can
do? We have the power of life and death over
everybody, everybody in this town!"
She pushed at him, trying to get away. "No!
No!"
"We can be lovers," Ned said intensely. "You
can be mine!"
"I don't want you!" she said heatedly. "I don't
need you to be my lover!" His looming, sha-
dowedpressed
form her back against the wall.
She felt as though she could barely catch her
breath, but then, with a suddenness that sur-
prised her,
even she lifted up her knee and

274
caught Ned squarely in the crotch. With a howl,
he doubled up and dropped to the floor.
Julie jumped over his crumpled form and,
grabbing her coat from the chair, dashed for the
door without a glance back. She heard Ned
groaning and scrambling to his feet as she flung
the door open and raced outside. She dashed
around the side of the house and disappeared in-
to theshadows of the trees.
From a safe distance, she heard Ned hollering
as he stood on her front porch. His voice lifted
into the night and echoed back from the far
shore of the lake.
"You will be mine!" his voice boomed in the
stillness of the night. "You will be mine!"

.IV.

^Monday, December 22

The funeral for Jeff Carter was held at two

o'clock in the afternoon at Riverside Congrega-
tional Church.
It was a closed-casket funeral.
After a short eulogy and two verses of "Nearer
My God to Thee," a slow-moving procession of
cars drove out to Pine Haven Cemetery.
Bob drove last in the cortege and, as he crept
along through the fine falling snow, he kept ask-
ing himself why there had been a closed casket?
The reporter on the radio and the newspaper ar-
ticlethein Cooper Falls Eagle had reported that
Jeff had died of exposure. Bob kept glancing at

275
his fingers, clenching and unclenching them on
the steering wheel. He commanded himself to
relax, but moments later he would notice that he
was tense again.
A closed casket, and he died from exposure?
Exposure?
And then another thought intruded: Lisa!
Throughout the service, he had kept his eyes
fixed on her. She never looked up from the floor,
never looked around. The ritualistic mutterings
barely registered on Bob as he stared at Lisa's
slouched, shaking shoulders. She looked much
older, more tired and worn than he had ever
seen her.
And why was she ignoring, making it almost a
point, ignoring him? He thought secretly that
she would have been almost glad to be rid of
Jeff. Granted, it was a horrible way to die, but,
but ... He couldn't believe he let himself think
such thoughts.
The lines of cars, headlights burning feebly in
the snow, drove past the two cemetery gates on
Railroad Avenue, turned left onto Old Jepson's
Road, and finally turned into the last gateway.
Bob felt a wave of uneasiness as he drove past
the stone pillars. He raised his hand and
thoughtfully rubbed the cheek that the white cat
had scratched. Bob turned the car heater to low
and opened the window to relieve the stuffiness
in the car.
As they drove up toward the cedar grove, Bob
felt he knew why Lisa was being distant with
him. He probably shouldn't have expressed his

276
thoughts so openly when he went to her apart-
ment Wednesday night. Although he was in-
creasingly convinced
that there was a super-
natural acting
agent in Cooper Falls, she prob-
ably had
concluded that he was really crazy.
After time to think, and with the shock of her
husband's death, Lisa must have finally rejected
the idea of a werewolf, and, with it, him.
It could also be that Lisa was waiting a decent
interval before furthering their relationship.
Perhaps her shock and grief were not so deeply
felt as they appeared? Bob hoped that might be
the case, but he felt that was wishful thinking.
He also found himself wondering if Lisa was
wearing her silver cross. That would have told
him plenty!
The hearse pulled to a stop at the grave site.
Snow had been plowed aside, and a deep pit had
been dug in the frozen ground.
The deep six, Bob thought, gritting his teeth.
He put the car in neutral, pulled on the brake,
and got out. He stayed on the fringe of the
mourners and kept moving around, trying to get
a position from which he could see Lisa's face.
Reverend Alder had his hymnal open and was
reading the service for the dead. Lisa, still look-
ing down,had her gloved hands covering the
bottom half of her face throughout. She was
shaking, but whether it was from the bitter
winds or from crying, Bob couldn't tell.
"Ashes to ashes," the reverend intoned, taking
a clump of frozen soil and crumbling it in his
hand. "Dust to dust. The Lord giveth and the

277
Lord taketh away. Blessed is the name of the
Lord."
The pall bearers stepped forward and, after
hefting the casket, slowly began lowering it into
the ground. Reverend Alder scanned the group
of mourners and then asked them to pray for the
soul of Jeff Carter.
"Oh, Lord, we ask you to receive the soul of
your servant Jeff Carter ..."
As in the church service, Bob found it difficult
to listen because of the thoughts that intruded.
His silent prayer was that he was grateful Lisa
had been released from a life with a man who
must have made it pure hell for her at times.
When the prayer was over, everyone slowly
filtered across the snow-covered graveyard back
to their cars. Lisa stood alone for a moment at
the grave site and threw a small bouquet of
flowers onto the coffin. Two groundskeepers
came forward and began to shovel dirt back into
the pit. Stones and frozen earth rattled loudly on
the coffin lid.
From a distance, Bob watched Lisa. She
walked toward him through the swirling snow
and, when she was beside him, looked at him
with a cold, distant stare. Without a word, she
strode past him . Bob raised his hand and opened
his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
What could he possibly say? he wondered
frantically.
Lisa went down to her car and stood there
talking to Reverend Alder. Bob walked slowly
over to the grave site and looked down at the

278
casket. It was completely covered with dirt.
"Should've waited 'til spring to plant this
one," one of the workmen said. The sound of his
shovel scraping up frozen dirt set Bob's teeth on
edge.
The other workmen looked angrily at his part-
ner and
then at Bob. "Pity," he said, softly.
"Friend of yours?"
Bob shook his head. "No. I am — was a friend
of the family. I didn't know him very well."
"Hell of a way to die," the workman said,
turning back to his job. Bob headed back toward
his car. Reverend Adler had left, and Lisa was
standing beside her car. Bob picked up his pace
and walked over to her.
"It was a nice service," he said awkwardly.
His lips had dried out from the cold, and they
stuck to his teeth as he spoke.
Lisa kept her eyes averted but still stood there.
"Jesus, Lisa, what's the matter? Since I got
back on Friday, you've been ignoring me. Will
you level with me? What's the matter?"
She turned to look at him, her eyes bright
with suppressed anger. "I would think," she said
evenly, "that you would have a pretty damn
good idea!"
Bob reached to touch her shoulder but she
drew away. "I don't knowr what you're talking
about. Look, I can't blame you for being pretty
upset and all, but I —"
"Yeah. You!" Lisa snapped. "You just couldn't
wait, could you?" She glared at him and then
opened her car door. Sitting down, she looked

279
back up at Bob, her teeth biting into her lower
lip, making it drain white.
"Oh come on, Lisa."
"Well?" she asked grimly.
"Don't make this any harder than it already is,
or yourself or for me. You can't deny that Jeff
wasn't the model husband. I know he hurt you,
a lot. But if you — "
"He wasn't always like that!" Lisa screamed.
Her eyes glistened with tears and rage.
"That doesn't matter," Bob replied evenly.
"What matters is how he treated you recently.
No matter what you had before, that doesn't ex-
cuse what
he put you through this last year."
"You wanted him to die, didn't you?" Lisa
asked sharply.
Bob shook his head.
"Don't try to bullshit me, OK?" Lisa asked.
Her voice was sharp and cutting. Bob wanted to
hold her, comfort her, calm her down, but the
longer he looked at her, the more he felt his
anger rise.
"You want it straight? I'll give it to you
straight!" Bob yelled. "The closed casket didn't
fool me. Not for a minute. I know! I know it
was the werewolf that killed Jeff. No, don't act
surprised, you must have seen the body."
Lisa shook her head. "No, I never did."
"Jeff didn't die of exposure, Lisa. Just like
Wendy Stillman didn't get raped, and Frank
Simmons didn't get shot in a hunting accident,
and Alan Tate wasn't hit by a car!" He smacked
his open hand on the side of the car.

280
 Lisa looked up at him, her face twisting with
pain and tears streaming down her cheeks. "I, I
don't know what to think!" she screamed, chok-
ing off
with a sob. "I don't know what killed
Jeff, but you're right: it wasn't like it was
reported. I don't know! I don't know!"
"Look," Bob said softly, reaching for her.
Lisa pulled away violently. "Just leave me
alone!"
"You're too upset. You should go home and
get some rest. Maybe after the holidays, you can
think about moving in with me."
"What?" She looked at him, wide-eyed.
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"You're going to have a tough time pulling
things together. I think maybe what you need
is—
"What I don't need is to be shacking up the
first chance I get after my husband's funeral!
What in the hell do you think people will say?"
Bob was stung by her response, but he felt a
sudden, irrational anger bubbling up within
him. "What I don't care about, Lisa," he said,
keeping his voice even, "is all of this small-town
bullshit! That's always how it is, isn't it? The
small minds clicking and the big mouths flap-
ping,of
all them poking their noses into
everyone's business but their own. And when
they're through, they've succeeded in ruining
someone's chance for a little bit of happiness."
He lowered his voice and softened it. "I care
about you, Lisa. I have since I met you. I don't
want any bullshit gossip to ruin it."

281
 "Oh?" Lisa said, her voice cracking. "Really?"
"Really."
Lisa heaved a long sigh and, gripping the steer-
ing wheel,
leaned back in the car seat with her
arms straight out. "You don't have to play any
games with me, Bob. Not any more." She paused.
"I know all about what happened with you and
Beth Landry, and how you lost your last teaching
job."
It was like she had just hit him in the chest with
a sledge hammer. Bob felt the color drain from his
face, and a burning lump formed in his throat. "I,
I — how did you find out? Did you — ?"
"Things might have gone a little smoother, Bob,
if you had leveled with me from the start."
"There was nothing to hide," Bob said feebly.
He knew his voice betrayed him.
"Then you should have told me from the start,"
she said firmly.
"I don't know what you heard, Lisa, but you
should let me explain. That whole thing was a
railroad job. That student, Beth Landry, was after
me, trying to get me into the sack. When I didn't
pick up on her advances, well, I guess she figured if
she couldn't get me, she'd get me. I, I just don't see
how that affects us."
"You should have been honest with me about it.
You should have told me before I heard it some
other way."
"What other way?" Bob asked, his anger flar-
ing.
"That doesn't matter," Lisa answered. "What
matters is that you weren't honest with me and it

282
makes me wonder what else you're holding back
from me." Her eyes glistened. "You don't seem to
understand, Bob, that relationships are built on
trust, trust and honesty."
Bob stood up straight and scanned the now
deserted cemetery. Snow drifted between the
gravestones. The sky was a leaden gray. The cold
air numbed his face, making him squint. He
jumped when Lisa's car suddenly started up.
"Lisa," he called. "Lisa!"
She rolled up her window and put the car into
gear. As she pulled away slowly, he walked along
the side of the car calling her name. She ignored
him and sped up, pulling away from him. Bob was
left by the side of the road, listening to the receding
sound of her car. Snow swirled at his feet, and for
the first time in a long time, he cried.

283
 Chapter Thirteen

Wednesday, December 24—Christmas Eve

.1.

Reverend Alder shrugged his shoulders to

make sure his vestments were hanging just right.
It was minutes until the Christmas Eve
candlelight service began, and as he stood in his
office doorway he looked long and hard at Bob,
who was standing beside Lisa. Bob felt uncom-
fortablethe
under
minister's searching gaze. He
shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not
sure what to do with his hands.
"I had hoped to see you before this," he said,
with just the right combination of sternness and
welcome.
Bob shrugged.
"Well," the reverend said, warming slightly,
"I'm glad to see that Lisa finally has gotten you
to attend service." He touched her lightly on the
shoulder, gripping gently. Lisa managed a faint
smile.

284
 "And how have you been feeling?" he asked
kindly.
"I've been all right," Lisa answered quietly.
"It's been difficult."
"I know, I know." He gave his robe one final
tug and then, excusing himself, ducked back into
his office for a moment. He returned with his
hymnal in hand. Through the doorway that led
into the church, the hollow sound of the organ
began to vibrate.
Bob moved over to the door and looked out in-
to thechurch. It was completely full now. The
ushers were lining up folding chairs along the
side and center aisles. A young boy of about
twelve, whom Bob didn't recognize, was lighting
the candles on the altar.
"Well, I have to begin the service now,"
Reverend Alder said when the organ swelled
louder. Bob recognized the hymn but could not
recall the name. "Packed house. I can't keep
them waiting."
The reverend made a move to squeeze past
Bob and Lisa. Bob grabbed him by the elbow.
"Uhh, Reverend, I, uhh —" He let his voice drop
when he felt suddenly unnerved by the minister's
glance.
"Yes?"
Bob released the minister's arm and slipped his
hand, slick with sweat, into his pants pocket.
"I'd like to have a word with you. After the ser-
vice,
it'sif convenient."
Reverend Alder crinkled his brow. "Well, I do
have an appointment to visit Elm Tree Nursing

285
Home. Is it important?"
"Yes, it is," Bob replied. "It'll only take a
minute."
"Sure," the reverend said. "After the service,
come back to my office." Then he slipped past
Bob and Lisa and entered the church.
Bob stood in the doorway, watching as the
minister strode out to tend his flock. He was sure
that was how Reverend Alder saw it. As the
thundering notes of "Hark the Herald Angels
Sing" vibrated the floor, the congregation rose to
its feet singing. Reverend Alder stopped in the
center of the church, turned his back to the con-
gregation,
joinedandin the singing.
Bob felt a tap on his shoulder. "What do you
want to talk to him about?" Lisa asked, bending
close to his ear to be heard above the singing.
There was a strange look of concern in her eyes.
When he didn't answer, she held onto both of his
arms and asked, "You're not going to talk to him
about, about your werewolf idea, are you?"
The astonishment in her voice chilled him.
Bob pressed his lips together and nodded. "Get a
little professional advice," he said, trying to
lighten things up.
"I can't believe you're serious," she said. "You
really believe you're right!" It was more of a
statement than a question.
"I do," Bob said seriously. "I know what you
think, but there have been too many coin-
cidences
ignore.
to You don't have to believe it,
but I— "
He stopped when the singing suddenly ended.

286
Looking quickly out at the congregation, he
grabbed her arm and said, "Come on. Let's get
our seats."
He swung the door open and moved out into
the congregation. Their coats were spread across
one of the pews in the front row. Lisa followed a
few steps behind him and then stood silently
beside him.
As the service proceeded, Bob was actually
surprised at how much of the liturgy he still
remembered. A casual glance at Lisa's open
hymnal was all he needed now and then to bring
back whole paragraphs of invocation and
response. It all came back, just as mechanically
as ever.
Throughout the service, Bob kept looking at
Lisa. Their eyes would catch and hold, then let
go without the slightest change of expression on
Lisa's face.
When the gospel reading was completed, and
everyone had sat down, there was a brief mo-
ment
silence,
of of expectation. And in that ex-
pectant silence
there was just enough time for
Bob's stomach to gurgle loudly. He chuckled and
looked at Lisa, but she remained impassive.
Swirling the wide sleeves of his cassock,
Reverend Alder walked up into the pulpit. He
opened his Bible to where his finger marked his
place and, leaning over the pulpit, stared out at
the crowded church.
"Well," he began mildly, "I'm glad to see so
many of you here tonight. Around Christmas
time, I'm always pleasantly surprised to see how

287
many people actually live here in Cooper Falls.
Where do you hide from now until Easter?"
A nervous titter ran through the congregation.
"Our scripture lesson tonight, although not
traditionally a Christmas message, is, I think,
appropriate." Bob saw that the reverend gripped
the edge of the pulpit with a firm bird-of-prey
grasp. "It's appropriate because the story of the
seven wise virgins and the seven foolish virgins is
a story about being ready, ready for the begin-
ning!
"Christmas, the first Christmas, was the start,
the beginning of the beginning. I look at Christ's
death on the cross on Good Friday and Easter as
the end of the beginning.
"With Jesus' birth, in the dead of winter, we
are given a promise of new life to come. A
guarantee that, even though there is snow and
ice and death, the world will bloom once again.
It will grow green with new life! This!" He
raised his hands over his head in a dramatic
gesture. "This is the message that came to the
shepherds almost two thousand years ago
tonight!
"Join me in singing Hymn Seventy-three, Tt
Came Upon A Midnight Clear.' "
A thundering note sounded from the organ
Then, just before the organ burst into the hymn,
another note, piercing and discordant, shattere
the night. The church hushed as everyone silent
ly counted the regular timed blasts of the tow
fire-horn. There was a long pause. Everyon
held his breath and then the pattern repeated.

288
 "Four-five-one-one," someone to Bob's right
shouted. As if on cue, there was an explosion of
noise as people put their hymnals away and pull-
ed on
their coats. The church filled with a con-
fused babble
of voices.
"Where is it? Where's four-five-one-one?"
"I don't know!"
"Where's the fire? Where's four-five-one-one?"
"On Christmas Eve, no less!"
Bob looked at Lisa and read the fear and sur-
priseher
in face. She reached out and gripped
the crook of his arm. "Jeff was a volunteer
fireman. Four-five-one-one is out at Martin's
Lake, I think." Her voice almost broke.
Everyone was on his feet, and the men were
jostling past their wives and children to get to
the door. For a moment Bob watched, then he
scooped up his coat and quickly began to button
it.
"Upper end of Drake Road!" someone shouted
above the babble of noise.
"Martin's Lake area!"
"Can you get a ride home with someone,
Lisa?" Bob asked. "I'm going out there. Maybe
there's something I can do to help."
Before Lisa could answer, there was a loud
scream of a siren outside. The flashing red light
of the town's fire truck sent splinters of light
through the church as it raced up Railroad
Avenue. As the siren receded, Bob could hear
the cars starting up in the parking lot.
"I'll come with you," Lisa said, tugging on her
coat. "I might be able to help too."

289
 "Don't you think—? Yeah, OK." Bob started
to shoulder his way through the pack of people.
Once they were outside, as Bob fumbled to get
his key into the door lock, Lisa leaned close to
his ear and whispered, "Julie lives out on
Martin's Lake."
"I know!" The lock clicked and Bob swung the
door open for Lisa. As he got in behind the steer-
ing wheel, he added, "There are lots of other
houses out there. Let's not think the worst until
we see what's what. OK?"
"Sure."
Bob slammed the door shut and started up the
car. He had to wait for a break in the line of cars
leaving the church parking lot. The drive out to
Martin's Lake was bumper to bumper all the
way. It looked as though, wherever this
Christmas Eve fire was, it was certainly going to
be a spectator event.

.II.

"It's out at Martin's Lake," Ellie Simmons

called up the stairway to her son's closed
bedroom door.
"Really?" came a faint reply, flat and with no
emotion.
"Uh-huh. Look out your window and see if
you can see the glow. It's supposed to be a big
one."
She listened intently and then heard one muffl-

290
ed clump on the floor upstairs.
"Well?" she called, placing her hand on the
banister and contemplating going upstairs to have
a look for herself. "Do you see anything?"
"No," Ned replied weakly.
Ellie listened to the silence for a moment and
then started up the stairs. When she got to Ned's
closed door, she stopped and, pressing her ear
against the wood, listened for activity inside. She
thought she could hear faint breathing, but she
had trouble hearing anything over the pounding in
her ears from the exertion of climbing the stairs.
"Ned?" she said softly, rapping lightly on the
door. "Can I come in?"
There was no answer. She knocked again.
Finally, she heard a deep sigh, and then Ned
answered in a whisper, "Sure."
Ellie swung the door open and caught her
breath in her throat as she saw her son lying on the
bed. His hands were folded on his chest and he was
staring vacantly at the ceiling. His face was pasty,
with a pale, bluish tinge. His eyes looked like two
soot smudges beneath his brows. His body barely
made a bulge beneath the sheets.
"Ned, honey, are you feelin' all right?"
She walked over to his bed when he didn't
answer. A grunt of surprise escaped her when she
put her hand to his forehead and felt that it was
ice-cold. "You're sick, boy."
'"I'm all right. Just a little worn out, that's all."
"Well, I don't think so. I'm gonna give Doc Stet-
soncall."
a She made a move to go, but Ned
reached out and grabbed her dress.
"No! Don't call Doc. I'll be all right. It's just a
touch of flu or something."

291
 "You sure?" She leaned over and placed her
hand on his forehead. "Let me^ get you some
water."
"No. I, I just need, need some rest," he said with
a moan . His hand dropped to the floor, rapping his
knuckles against the hardwood. Ellie took a quick
step backward, still keeping her eyes on her son.
"I hope you're all right," she whispered,
fighting to control her voice. "You're all, all I have
left, now. I can't lose you too."
There was no reply from her son, but his even,
shallow breathing was some reassurance. She
backpedalled out of the room, easing the door shut
behind her with a dull click. "Call if you want
anything," she whispered through the door. "And,
and Merry Christmas," she rasped, as tears
coursed down her cheeks.
An hour later, after a few phone calls, she went
to the foot of the stairs and called up to Ned's
room, "The fire's out at Julie Sikes' place." She
wasn't sure if he heard her. She went into the
living room and pulled the plug to the Christmas-
tree lights. Leaving only the two Christmas
candles burning in the window, she went quietly
off to bed.

.HI.

The approach to the lake was slow. Cars were

backed up almost a mile. The closer Bob and
Lisa got, the more people they saw crowding the
road.

292
 "It'd better be a big one, or this crowd's going
to be disappointed," Bob said cynically. He
looked over at Lisa and smiled. Her expression
remained fixed as she stared out at the long line
of cars parked along the roadside.
"Shouldn't we park back there and walk?" she
asked.
"There," Bob said suddenly, pointing off to the
right. Above the jagged line of trees, the sky
glowed a deep, flickering orange. "It looks like a
big one, all right!"
Bob jockeyed his car into a small space between
two other cars and turned the ignition off. Up
ahead, he could see the burning timbers of the
house and the three fire trucks that surrounded it.
Misty sprays of water arched into the blaze but
seemed to have no effect on the tongues of flame.
As they sat and watched, people rushed past them,
making their way toward Julie's burning house.
Bob loosened his tie and slipped it off. "Well, do
you want to get closer?"
"I, I don't know," Lisa answered, her eyes
darting nervously at the leaping flames.
"I think I will." Bob twisted around and
reached into the back seat. "I think I have an old
sweater back here. Ahh. Here it is." He wiggled his
coat and sports coat off and then pulled the
sweater on over his head. "No sense ruining my
Sunday best." He got out and stood beside the car,
leaning through the open door.
"Maybe I'll wait here a bit," Lisa said softly.
"yYu sure?"
She nodded, then shifted uncomfortably in her

293
seat and said, "Aww, well. I might as well come."
She snapped open her door and just about had to
scale the shoulder-high snowbank before she got
around the car to the road. Bob leaned out over the
car hood and offered her a helping hand, but she
ignored it.
They pushed their way close to the fire. The
deep snow had already been trampled flat, so the
going was easy. They walked past small groups of
people who stood facing the blaze. As they got
closer, the crackling of the fire and the hissing of
the water hoses grew louder until it drowned out
everything else.
A sudden shower of sparks exploded into the air
and a collective gasp went up from the crowd as
part of the roof caved in . The flames intensified for
a while, then steadied down again.
"I wonder where Julie is?" Bob said, cupping his
hands to Lisa's ears so he could be heard above the
noise. They were standing beside one of the fire
trucks. Bob was leaning against the front fender.
Lisa stood with her hands in her pockets and her
shoulders pulled up tight.
"I hope she's all right," Bob said.
Lisa didn't reply.
Bob's face was beginning to prickle from the in-
tense heat,
and he was thinking about pulling back
when one of the firemen bumped into him as he
ran to the back of the truck and grabbed an axe. As
he was heading back to the fire, he snagged Bob by
the shoulder. "Hey," he said, his face glistening
with sweat, "you could make yourself useful. Keep
your eyes on this length of hose and make sure it

294
doesn't coil up. That'd cut off the water. Keep an
eye out for sparks, too."
"Yeah. Sure/' Bob said, but the man had
already rushed away.
Lisa came up close to him and said, "I think I'll
get going now."
Bob nodded.
"Are you going to stay?"
Bob nodded again.
After a pause, Lisa said, "Could you use some
coffee?"
"Sure."
"Why don't I see about making some up. I'm
sure the other guys could use some too. I'll go back
to the church and get the big coffee urn."
Bob started when suddenly the hose pulled
away across the ground, leaving a deep furrow in
the trampled snow.
"Coffee'd be good. Take my car." He handed
her the keys and then walked over to the hose,
kicking it once for good measure. It felt as though
the water in it had frozen.
Julie's house was already a complete loss. Only
skeletonlike studs remained standing, black lines
against the raging wall of flames. The trees around
the house were safe from catching fire. They had
been soaked down and, anyway, were covered
with thick snow.
Bob jumped when he felt a rough tap on his
shoulder. Turning, he saw Granger. The fire
danced wildly in the police chief's eyes.
"Wicked, huh?" the policeman said.
"Especially on Christmas Eve. Do you think it

295
was from the tree lights?"
"No way of telling yet."
"How about Julie?" Bob asked anxiously. "Do
you know? Was she home?"
Granger shrugged. "No one's seen her. If she
was home, she's still in there." He nodded toward
the inferno. "I sure hope to hell she was visiting a
friend or something."
Bob tried not to think about it. "Lisa's gone for
coffee."
"Good," Granger said with a sigh. "It's gonna
be a helluva long Christmas Eve. Christ, if it isn't
one thing it's another!"
The breeze suddenly shifted around, sending a
billow of smoke and steam over the crowd. Bob
covered his face with his forearm and stifled a
cough. The smoke made his eyes sting.
What if she's in there! his mind screamed. What
if she didn't get out!
He thought about what a friend of his had
once said: that burning to death is probably one
of the most painful ways to die. As soon as you
open your mouth to scream, or even to breathe,
your throat and lungs get fried. You don't have
any vocal cords left to scream! After that. . . .
He shook his head and focused as best he
could on the thick canvas hose snaking along the
ground.
The last standing timbers fell, pitching out on-
to thesnow with a fiery shower of sparks. Some
of the charred wood fell onto the hose, and Bob
rushed forward, stamping out whatever embers
he saw. This close to the fire, the heat prickled

296
his skin, making it feel tight. Again the thought
of dying by fire entered his mind. He hoped the
strangled whimper that escaped his throat was
lost in the noisy confusion.

•IV.

By dawn, the house was leveled, the fire was

out, and everyone who had stayed the night was
cold and exhausted. Most of the crowd had left
after the first few hours, once the roof had fallen
in and the fire was certain to be contained.
Now, only the chimney remained —a tall, jag-
ged black
tower standing out sharply against the
pale blue sky. The rest of Julie's house was a
blackened pit in the ground surrounded by soot-
smeared snow and ice. Charred timbers lay scat-
tered about
on the snow. Steam still hissed up from
the burned-out cellar where three firemen wear-
ing hipboots
were prodding the wreckage.
Bob was sitting on a blanket some distance from
the destroyed house. He leaned his head back
against the cold bark of the tree and looked up at
the sky. His hands cupped an empty coffee mug.
Lisa stood beside him, watching the firemen as
they milled about the ruin. She looked down at
Bob, her face an unmoving mask.
"Would you like some more?" she asked.
"I'm going to be awake for a week after all the
coffee I've had tonight. Sure. Fill 'er up." He
handed his cup to Lisa and tried, for a moment, to
close his eyes and rest.

297
 "I wonder where she is?" he said, half to
himself. "I mean, if my house was burning, I'd
sure as hell want to stick around and — "
"How do you know she was around?" Lisa asked
sharply, startling Bob, who thought he had been
talking to himself.
"She might have been away, visiting relatives or
friends for the holiday."
"Let's hope so," Bob said, reaching for his cup
again. "Let's just hope so." With a groan, he got to
his feet and started over to where the men were
sifting through the rubble. Lisa remained beside
the tree, and Bob was just as glad; she still wasn't
acting all that friendly to him.
He walked over to Granger and mumbled a
greeting.
"Well," the police chief said, straightening up,
"it looks as though she wasn't home. Least, so far
we haven't found a body." He took a few quick
puffs from the cigarette that dangled from his
mouth and then let it drop to the ground. He
crushed it out with his heel.
"That's a relief," Bob said. "There's more coffee
over there."
"In a bit," Granger said as he resumed prodding
the frozen ashes with a shovel. He reminded Bob of
a derelict dump-picker. Watching him, Bob had
to hold back his laughter.
He was just turning to go back to Lisa when the
toe of his boot struck something under the snow.
He glanced down and was about to step over it
when he saw the edge of a book sticking out of the
snow.

298
 Bob scooped the book up, glancing to see if
anyone was looking at him. The book had been
burned badly. The flames had sliced it almost
neatly in half from top to bottom, leaving a tall,
thin volume. He wiped it on his pants leg. On the
top of the black leather binding, on the spine, he
could barely make out the spidery letters of the
gold-stamped title. He brushed the book again
with his hand and read: Witchcraft: Forms and
Functions.
Reflexively, Bob snatched the book to his
chest, covering it with his forearm as he let the
shock register and then subside. His heart was
pounding in his ears, and his mind was racing
wildly over dozens of logical steps to an illogical
conclusion. His knees started to feel watery, and
there was a bad taste in the back of his mouth
that was growing stronger.
Sliding the book into his coat pocket, he
walked over to the edge of the cellar and looked
down inside. The men were still raking the ashes
into piles and then poking through them. Their
soot-smeared faces made them look like demons.
Granger was standing in the center of the
cellar, where there had been a small, central
room. There was just a low doorway in the stone
wall now, probably indicating where the root
cellar had been. Granger ducked into the little
room. Bob started back toward Lisa.
"Hey," he called. "Check this out." His voice
was low and intense as he eased the burned book
out of his pocket.
"Yeah?" Lisa squinted, trying to make out the
title.
299
 "This is it," Bob said assuredly. "This is Julie's
book of magic." He thumped it authoritatively.
"So." Lisa was either unimpressed or very suc-
cessful
masking
at her reaction. "She had a lot of
books like that. I told you, she was always taking
out occult books from the library. What does
that prove?" She folded her arms across her
chest.
Bob tried to keep his voice from sounding too
eager. "You don't think it might add a little
weight to my theory? Look." He flipped through
the pages rapidly. "It's loaded with spells and in-
cantations
stuff."and
"Bob, Julie wasn't a witch!" Lisa said firmly.
"Just because she was into reading that kind of
stuff, doesn't mean she, she practiced it and
turned herself into a werewolf!"
"Ssshhh! Will you keep it down?" Bob looked
over at the working men to see if they had heard
them. He continued to speak in a whisper. "This
is just one more coincidence, huh? Is that it?"
Lisa shrugged and looked down at the book.
Her teeth ran across her lower lip. She took the
book from Bob and flipped through the pages,
each one trimmed on the edge with a jagged
black line of ash that flaked off and dusted the
ground. "I don't know," she said distantly, and
handed the book back to Bob.
"Yeah, well, I plan to check this out later,"
Bob said, sliding it back into his pocket.
"Hey, Wentworth!" Granger's voice shouted
from the cellar. "We're trying to move this piece
of flooring. Are you here to help or to socialize?"

300
 "Be right there," Bob called. He started back
toward the cellar.
"I hope you don't find anything," Lisa said
weakly. She smiled at Bob as he stood on the
edge of the cellar about to jump down inside. It
was the first smile he had seen on her face in
days, and it warmed him more than the dozen
or so cups of coffee he had consumed since the
interrupted church service.
"I guess I'll head on home and get some
sleep," Lisa said.
"Sure. You could use it, I bet."
"Hey!" one of the men shouted suddenly,
making Bob look down into the cellar.
"What the fuck!"
Bob couldn't see what was going on because of
an obstruction, but he heard a loud scrambling
sound and then a babble of voices.
"There it goes! Over there!"
"I can't — son of a bitch!"
Bob raced along the edge of the cellar, peering
down, trying to see what was going on. He
heard a loud, spitting hiss that sounded like
water hitting something hot, but it also brought
back an instant memory of the night in the
cemetery at Cedar Grove.
"I can't get it! Jesus!"
"There it goes!"
Bob stood in amazement as he saw the cat, the
white cat, scramble up the side of the burned-
out cellar and then, with a loud yowling, dash
off into the surrounding forest.
"D'you see that?" Granger shouted up to Bob.
"D'you see that fucker go?"
301
 Bob stood in silent amazement, unable to
move.
"How the hell did that bastard get in here?"
one man asked, shaking his head from side to
side.
"Christ!" Granger answered. "It couldn't have
been here all along, could it? It would have
fried!"

Bob got up from his chair, took a nervous puff

from his cigarette, and began pacing back and
forth across the kitchen floor. He kept rubbing
the back of his neck to relieve the stiffness he
had gotten from bending over while reading.
The partially destroyed book he had found at
Julie's house lay open on the counter. Every time
his pacing brought him back to the counter, he
would glance down at the book. The series of
half -sentences was maddening.
He sat back down in his chair, propped his
chin on his hands, and started reading again,
trying to make sense of the passage. To help
complete the thoughts, he started reading aloud.

Trials in medieval Germany in which se

were accused of "going out at night in
wolves), seizing and devouring the bodies
until they were satiated, whereupon they
removing the fur pelts from their waists a
three times counterclockwise (widdersh

302
 Witches were not, of course, rest
wolves. They could assume the shape of
often to travel many miles to a coven
worshipped the Man in Black (that is, S

The fragmentary book continued like this for

page after frustrating page. Bob puffed angrily on
his cigarette as he pondered what the missing
words were. What he could understand fit quite
well into the pattern Bob had seen developing, and
that made what was left out all the more in-
furiating.
slammed
Bob the book shut with a loud
thump and resumed his pacing.
Was the pattern really there? he wondered, or
was he forcing it? He walked over to the Christmas
tree he had set up in the living room and ran his
fingers lightly through the tinsel. It sent glimmers
of light dancing.
Maybe Lisa's right! Maybe he was way off
track! What had she said? That paranoia is just
seeing coincidences and patterns in life and ascrib-
ing them
to evil. Evil!
"Just an overactive imagination," he whispered
softly, letting his breath sway the tinsel. "Just
having too much time to think." He was trying to
convince himself to drop it all, to start thinking
along other, more fruitful lines, but he couldn't
shake the gnawing, creepy feeling he got whenever
he looked at the remains of Julie's magic book.
So why was he so convinced that it was witch-
craft, magic,
at work in town? The evidence he
had would never stand up in a court. He knew
that. It would be thrown out as circumstantial, in-

303
admissible. He snickered to himself and said softly,
"Hell, Beth Landry had a better case."
Walking over to the living-room window, he
bent down and looked outside. The sun was shin-
ing brightly,
glaring off the snow that stretched
out to the forest. The sky was a rich, deep blue.
The beauty and serenity made Bob's thoughts
seem absolutely ridiculous and even laughable,
but he wasn't laughing.
He thought again of giving Reverend Alder a
call. He had missed his appointment with him
after the Christmas Eve service because of the fire.
He knew he should talk to him. If anyone in
Cooper Falls was going to believe his werewolf
theory it would have to be the reverend. It was his
job to believe in the supernatural.
A sudden, loud knock at his door made him turn
around. Somehow, he wasn't surprised when he
looked and saw Deputy Thurston standing on the
porch. He forced a smile and opened the door.
"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" Thurston said
upon entering.
Bob shook his head, forcing himself not to tell
the truth. "You guys work even on Christmas
Day?" Bob asked.
Thurston didn't say a word as he walked over to
the counter and sat down. "Have to," he said, zip-
ping coat
his open.
Bob walked over to the stove and filled the tea
kettle with water. "I didn't see you out at Julie's
house last night," Bob said, glancing over his
shoulder.
Thurston shrugged. "Had to stay at the office,
for calls and such."
"You missed a big one."
304
 "I know. I was out there this morning with
Roy."
Bob tensed when Thurston shifted in his chair
and his elbow bumped against the burned book.
Thurston glanced down and placed his hand light-
ly on
the charred cover.
"So," Bob blurted out, "you don't have any time
to spend with your family, huh? Out on duty all
day?"
Thurston drummed his fingers on the book
cover. "I'm not married," he said.
Somehow, that didn't surprise Bob. He came
over and sat at the counter opposite Thurston. He
shook a cigarette from his pack and lit it. He
wanted to meet the deputy's eyes, but he kept look-
ing down
at his hands.
"This book's pretty badly burned," Thurston
said evenly. "You get it out at Julie's last night?"
Bob nodded and exhaled. He tensed when
Thurston flicked the burned edges of the pages,
and ashes sprinkled to the counter top.
"Huh," Thurston said, picking up the book and
glancing at the title. "Witchcraft." He slid the
book back toward Bob.
Thurston leaned back in his chair and sighed.
"You know, Wentworth, I've been wanting to
have a talk with you for quite some time. Ever
since our little chat last fall, really."
Bob tried to maintain an even stare at Thurston.
"What about?" he asked. In his ears he heard a
distracting whooshing sound.
"Ever since Wendy Stillman got killed by that
dog or whatever," Thurston said. "Do you recall
that I mentioned that she had had sexual relations
before she was killed?"

305
 Bob nodded.
"And you know, it's been bothering me all this
time. I mean, I've been wondering if those rela-
tions were
voluntary."
Bob shifted uneasily. "You know," he stam-
mered, "since
we spoke then, I, well, I kind of
remembered that there was something I forgot to
tell you."
"You forgot?"
Bob told him that he had seen Wendy together
with someone else, probably Alan Tate, in the
lighting booth the night they had decorated for the
Halloween party.
When he finished, Thurston was frowning.
"That's a pretty significant detail to forget,
wouldn't you say?"
Bob shrugged. "I was pretty upset about what
had happened to Wendy. It just slipped my
mind."
"Yeah, well, it makes me wonder. And now this
Sikes girl. She's missing."
"She hasn't come back yet?" Bob asked, sur-
prised.
Thurston shook his head. "It's kind of weird,
don't you think? She seems to have vanished like
smoke. I was wondering if you might be able to
help me out a little."
"I don't know," Bob replied. "I was out there
last night at the fire, but I — "
"You forgot what I consider something pretty
important relating to Wendy Stillman's death. I'm
wondering if, maybe, you're forgetting something
you know about Julie Sikes, something that might
help us figure out what happened to her. You
know, usually if someone knows something and
306
doesn't tell the police, it's usually because he's got
something he doesn't want to talk about,
something in his past."
Oh, Jesus! Bob thought.
Thurston's hand slipped into his coat pocket and
produced two pages of photocopied newspaper
clippings. With a smooth twist of his wrist, he
placed them on the countertop in front of Bob like
a winning poker hand.
Bob's eyes darted over the headlines as a burn-
ing lump
began to form in his throat.
Thurston said softly, "I thought you might have
some idea where this Sikes girl has gone, that's all.
It seems like you knew more about the Stillman
girl than you were willing to tell me."
Bob clenched his fists in his lap. For a flickering
moment, he considered hauling back and punch-
ing Thurston.
The smug self-assurance galled Bob,
but he forced his fingers to unclasp slowly.
Too many times, he thought, too many times,
I've jumped too fast, and it usually makes things
look worse.
"I just thought if you saw these newspaper
stories, you might, well, jog your memory a bit
more. You understand?" Thurston smiled with
satisfaction. "Well, you don't want me to have to
come right out and say it, do you?"
"That's blackmail," Bob said through clenched
teeth.
"I just want you to know that if there's
something you should be telling me, and you
don't —well, you never know whose desk these
might end up on." Thurston rose from his chair
and started toward the door, zipping up his coat.
You son of a bitch, Bob thought angrily. He now
307
knew who had told Lisa about his problems with
Beth Landry. She must have believed that he was
innocent because she had been slightly, not much,
but slightly warmer to him. But Bob knew that it
would be futile to argue his innocence with
Thurston. The man obviously had a grudge
against him. The only thing about the whole damn
situation that felt good was that Bob had just as
strong a dislike for the deputy.
"I'm glad you're leaving," Bob said, holding the
door for Thurston. "I wouldn't want to have to ask
you to leave."
Thurston smiled slightly and started toward his
cruiser.

.VI.

"Doc Stetson, I'm awfully sorry to be callin'

you on Christmas Day, but I have to talk with
you. I'm worried sick about Ned."
"What's wrong?" the doctor asked, his con-
cern registering
in his voice. "Just relax and tell
me what the problem is."
"It's Ned," Ellie Simmons blurted out, close to
tears. "He ain't been well at all!" She sniffed
loudly.
"Yes?" Doctor Stetson said patiently.
"He don't look well. He don't eat right. Lord,
he's losin' weight and he's so pale. I swear to God,
his eyes are bloodshot bright-red, like he's, like he's
been taking drugs. Is that it? Could takin' drugs
make him so sick?"
Stetson paused. "Well, I can't say, not without

308
seeing him first. Why don't you call my office
Monday morning and make an appointment to
bring him in?"
"He looks so poorly," Ellie said, her voice break-
ing. "He
ain't eatin' right or nothin'. He stays
awake all hours."
"Yes, Mrs. Simmons. If you'll make an appoint-
ment then
and we can — "
"You can't see him sooner?" she broke in. Her
throat tightened.
"Mrs. Simmons, I understand your concern, but
I'm quite busy right now. The best thing for you to
do is to bring him in Monday morning. I'll check
him over. And stop fretting!" he commanded.
You'll just make yourself sick."
Ellie nodded her head in agreement as though
the doctor was there in the room with her and
could see her.
"All right?" Doctor Stetson said.
"Yes, Doctor," Ellie said softly. "Thanks, and,
and Merry Christmas."

.VII.

Ned smiled down at Julie's upturned face and

combed his fingers through her hair. Her face
glowed with an orange dullness in the flickering
light of the kerosene lamp. They were deep in
the mine shaft where it was warm and silent.
"Everything will be all right," Ned whispered,
close to her ear. She remained immobile,
unblinking, with her eyes fixed on the ceiling of
the mine. "Really, it will."

309
 Ned shifted and lay down beside her, pulling
her close. He gently pressed his lips to hers in a
long kiss.
"Ohhh, you feel so cold," he said, pulling
away. "Are you warm enough?"
There was no reply. Julie's gaze was still fixed
on the ceiling.
Ned's fingers hovered over Julie's face and
then slowly moved down to her throat. "Oh,
Julie," he groaned as he began to work on the
top button of her blouse. "You don't know how
much I've wanted this." The button opened, and
he ran his hand down to the next one.
"I'll keep you warm," he said, opening the last
button and spreading her blouse open. Sliding
one arm under her shoulders, he lifted her up
and started to work the blouse off. All the while,
he kissed her cheeks, forehead, lips, and neck.
Still holding her away from the musty mattress,
he unfastened the catch to her bra and pulled it
off with a quick motion. He lowered her back
down.
"Oh, Julie," he moaned, lowering his head
and kissing her breasts. He glanced up at her
motionless face.
"It won't be like this for long. You can stay
here with me for a while and then, pretty soon,
I'll take you to my house. You can stay there
with me. I'll treat you real good."
He moved his head down, kissing her stomach
as he worked to unfasten her pants. The snap
came open and then the zipper slipped down.
Again, he looked up at her passive face. Then

310
he tugged on her pants, working them down her
legs. They were tight-fitting, and he had to pull
hard to get them over her hips. When he gave a
sharp tug, Julie's hand slipped from beside him
and flopped onto the dirt floor. Ned looked at
her hand for a moment, lying there with its
fingers stiffly opened. He gave the jeans a final
yank, threw them onto the floor, and then took
Julie's hand and laid it on her chest. It looked
like it was reaching for her throat.
"There, there," he whispered, sitting back on
his heels and running his hands over her body. "I
just wish you had listened to me. We could have
done so much! We have the power and can use
it!"
He stared at her face for a long time, feeling a
deep glow of contentment. Then he slowly, lov-
ingly rolled
her panties down. With the thin gar-
ment hanging
loosely in his hand, Ned stood up
and regarded Julie. He was transfixed by her va-
cant, glassy
stare. Then, slowly, he undressed
and lay down beside her.
"Oh, you're so cold, so cold," he whispered,
pulling her to him and glorying in the feeling of
their naked bodies pressed together. "You need
to get warm. I can make you warm. I can give
that to you now."
When he lifted her up and hugged her close,
her head fell backwards and her mouth gaped
open, expelling a wave of putrid gas as Ned's
hug compressed her stomach. Her arms were
beginning to stiffen, and he had to bend each at
the elbow until they encircled his waist.

311
 A low, rumbling groan escaped his throat as
he rolled Julie onto her back, pressing his weight
against her. With his knees, he spread her legs
wide and entered her.
"We could have done so much together with
the power!" he said between grunts as he began
to pump his hips.
Tears welled in his eyes when, vaguely, he
realized what he was doing, realized that Julie
was dead. But he was swept up in a raging,
spinning desire, and he held Julie's corpse tightly
until he shuddered and spent himself.

312
 Chapter Fourteen

Thursday, January 15

.1.

Ted Seavey sat on the edge of his chair, his

feet laced through the rungs. He pressed his head
against the cold glass of the kitchen window,
which was opened about two inches. A cold
draft made the lace curtains billow in and out.
Ted squinted his eyes with concentration as he
listened to the clamor coming from his henhouse.
His fingers were drumming on the stock of his
Winchester rifle, which lay across his lap. He
cocked his head around and asked, "Hey, Edna,
did you call?"
"He said he'd be right over," Edna answered
from the next room. Ted shifted his gaze back to
the window. Edna, a slouching, graying woman
walked into the kitchen and rested her hand
lightly on her husband's shoulder.

313
 "Christ, I wish he'd get here," Ted muttered.
His fingers were still dancing along the edge of
the gunstock.
Edna was about to reply when a sudden, ter-
rified squawking
sound came from the henhouse
and cut her off.
"Lord God Almighty! It must be tearing the
place apart," Ted said, not looking around at
her. He could see her faint reflection in the win-
dow. She
had one hand raised, covering her
mouth.
There was a loud crashing sound; boards
splintered and chicken wire tore. Hens clucked
wildly. Even at this distance from the house, it
was almost deafening.
"I hope you told him I wasn't goin' out there
alone," Ted said.
Edna drew up a chair beside him, sat down,
and said, "I told him."
"Get a sweater on if you're gonna sit here by
this open window," Ted snapped. "You want to
catch a cold or something?"
Edna got up and went into the living room,
returning soon wearing a cardigan and holding
out a sweater for Ted.
"Did Roy say when he'd get here?"
"As soon as he could," Edna replied patiently,
sitting back down beside her husband.
"Ummm."
There was another, even louder explosion of
wood from the henhouse. The clamor continued
without pause as Ted and Edna sat listening
tensely.

314
 .II.

It was after eleven o'clock before Granger

pulled into Seavey's yard. Coming into the
driveway, his headlights swept across the face of
the barn, cutting the shadows in a wide arc as he
turned around in the driveway and stopped the
cruiser. Only one light, in the kitchen, was on.
The pale blue glow of the full moon washed the
roof and the snowy field behind the house.
Granger sat for a moment and scanned the
darkness. He rolled his window down before
snapping on the spotlight and running the thin,
intense beam over the barnyard. The beam of
light darted about the face of the barn, cutting
the darkness like a heated knife.
Everything was quiet now, but Granger could
see that the henhouse had been almost totally
destroyed. All of the wired windows were torn
out, and the door was hanging on one loose
hinge. There were feathers arid what looked like
blood all over the ground.
For a moment, Granger thought Seavey had
gone to bed. Then the back porch light snapped
on and Ted stepped out into the cold. He leaned
forward, hanging on the door, and waved
Granger in.
Granger shut off the headlights and the
spotlight, and killed the engine. He debated
leaving his shotgun in the cruiser, but then
picked it up before opening the door. He left the
box of ammunition on the front seat.

315
 "I didn't see much — moving, that is," Granger
called out as he came up the pathway shoveled
out of the drift of snow.
"You should Ve heard it half an hour ago,"
Seavey said, stepping back as the police chief
entered the house. He cast an apprehensive
glance at the destroyed henhouse. "It's been
quiet now," he added, almost under his breath.
Granger stepped into the toasty warm kitchen
and nodded a greeting at Edna.
"It sounded like there was a whole pack o'dogs
out there," Edna said.
"You didn't see anything, though, huh?"
Ted and Edna both shook their heads. "If you
think I was gonna go out there and take a look,
well ..." Ted said.
"Well, let's go take a look now," Granger said.
"I've got a flashlight in the cruiser, and ammo."
As they left the house, Ted let Granger lead
the way.
When they returned half an hour later, Edna
met them at the door. The tension didn't leave
her face until they were both inside and the door
was closed and locked. Then she smiled weakly
and walked over to the stove to heat up some
coffee.
"You wouldn't believe it!" Seavey said, look-
ing his
at wife with amazement on his face. "It
looks like a bomb went off in there. Dead
chickens everywhere. None of 'em left alive. The
coop's about good for firewood, that's all."
"You didn't see the animal?" Edna asked.
"Nope."

316
 Ted took the bullets from the chamber of his
rifle and then stood it up in the corner beside the
refrigerator. Granger sat down heavily at the
kitchen table, placing his shotgun and flashlight
in front of him.
"Saw some pretty good tracks, though,"
Seavey said, shaking his head. "Some damn big
ones."
Granger sighed and scratched his head.
"Course, it might be deceptive. Those tracks
might look bigger in the snow than they really
are. Still . . ."He whistled through his teeth.
The pot on the stove began to boil, and Edna
reached down two cups. Seavey was over by the
window, still staring out at the moonlit snow.
"No. No coffee for me, thanks," Granger said,
rising slowly to his feet. He hiked his pants up
and bounced on his heels. "I don't want to be up
all night. I just might take a swing out around
the loop, though. See if I can see anything." He
zipped his coat up and made for the door.
"You want me to come along?" Seavey asked.
"Naw." Granger swung the door open. "I
doubt I'll see anything. 'Sides, it's after mid-
[Link]
Yousome sleep. But drop by the office
tomorrow, OK?"
"Sure."
"Good enough. Goodnight Ted, Edna."

317
 .III.

As Granger drove away from the Seavey's, he

scanned both sides of the road carefully for any
sign of the animal. Looking out at the still, calm
night, he found it difficult to believe that
somewhere out there was a killer, an animal that
had killed four residents of Cooper Falls. It was
out there in the forest somewhere, and Granger
knew with a gut-wrenching dread that he would
have to find that beast and kill it, soon.
He reached out and picked up the radio
microphone. He pressed the button to talk, but
then remained silent. No sense in calling in when
there was nothing to report. He placed the
microphone back on its clip as he turned onto
Farthling's Loop Road.
He drove slowly, watching the high sides of
the snowbanks, stopping now and then to scan
the woods with his searchlight whenever he saw
what might have been tracks. He kept thinking
about the amount of damage done to Seavey's
henhouse and the size of the tracks in the snow.
If the tracks were any gauge, he figured the
animal must weigh close to a hundred and fifty
pounds. The paws had measured close to six
inches across.
"One hell of a big fucking animal," Granger
whispered softly.
He came to where a fire road branched off to
the right, just about at the point where the Loop
Road began to curve back toward Bartlett Road.

318
The [Link] were flattened down where
snowmobiles had crossed the road. The fire road
headed east out toward Martin's Lake, about a
mile away.
Granger stopped the cruiser and got out. He
had his shotgun clutched in one hand, his
flashlight in the other. Puffing, he climbed up
onto the snowbank and took a look around.
The wind moaned deeply in the pines, sending
ghostlike sprays of snow sifting down from the
branches. Granger's pencil-thin flashlight beam
danced in and out of the shadows, revealing
nothing. His grip on his shotgun loosened slight-
ly. The
peace and stillness of the night remained
unmarred. Granger sighed to relieve the tension
he felt building, then turned back down toward
the cruiser.
Once he was sitting behind the steering wheel
again, Granger felt safer. He took a pad of paper
from the console and jotted down: "Farthling's
Loop. 12:35 a.m. Not a damn thing." He put the
pad of paper down and picked up the radio
microphone.
"Rick, this is Roy. You got your ears on?
Over."
He waited, tapping the steering wheel as he
listened to the static of the radio and the faint
chatter of a trucker out on Route 43. Thurston
did not respond.
"Rick, you there? Over."
His eyes darted from the radio to the
snowbank as he waited.
Suddenly, as though it had moved into place

319
in the time it took him to blink his eyes, he saw
it: the animal standing at the top of the
snowbank. It squared its shoulders and looked
down at Granger with a cold, hard green glint
in its eyes.
"Holy ole Jesus Christ," Granger muttered,
letting the microphone drop to the floor. It con-
tinued
sputter
to static.
Granger couldn't take his eyes away from the
animal as it stood tall and proud, the wind puff-
ing pale
its gray fur. The animal threw its head
back and let loose a long, wavering howl.
Moving slowly, Granger went to pick up his
shotgun, but then he realized that he would
probably have a better chance of dropping the
animal if he used his service revolver. He knew
damn well that the .38 was no good for a distant
target, but with the beast no more than fifteen
feet away from the cruiser, Granger wasn't con-
cernedgetting
with any closer before firing. He
drew his pistol and was just bringing it to bear
on the wolf —
Christ, yes! Granger thought. I know a wolf
when I see one! —when the animal disappeared
behind the ridge of snow.
"Come on, you fucker," Granger said angrily.
He sat counting the seconds with slow precision
as he cocked the pistol's hammer back and held
it close to the window. He debated swinging the
spotlight around, but before he could, a streak of
silver off to his right caught his attention. He
twisted around to look, scanning the side of the
road anxiously.

320
 It's close! he thought. It's coming in close!
He leaned across the seat and tried to pierce
the darkness, but all he could see was the ridge
of snow and the forest beyond. Just then, a
massive weight slammed into the driver's side of
the car. The cruiser rocked on its suspension.
Granger turned around and reflexively shielded
his face as the window glass shattered. Granger
saw the wolf no more than six inches from him,
snarling loudly as it battered with flailing paws
the spiderweb patterns of the broken window.
"Cock-suck-er!" Granger shouted, waving his
hand at the animal. The revolver in his right
hand was momentarily forgotten, until he felt its
weight. Teeth flashing, the wolf was punching
at the window with its snout until a small hole
appeared in the center of the spiderweb. Then it
reared back and pressed against the window
with its full weight.
Granger swung the revolver up just as the
window exploded inward. Flying fragments of
glass lacerated Granger's face. The gun dis-
charged
a with
hollow, thundering blast. The
bullet tore through the door and ricocheted from
the frozen asphalt. Granger's face stung with
dozens of slices from the glass, and it took him a
few deadly seconds to realize that he hadn't hit
the wolf.
The animal thrust its head into the cruiser. Its
foam -flecked jaws opened wide and grabbed
Granger by the shoulder with a vicelike grip.
Granger yelled as searing pain flooded his
body, splashing along his nerves like acid. Again

321
the gun exploded, this time ripping off the
spotlight.
The strength quickly drained from Granger.
After the second shot, his revolver dropped to
the floor. He felt himself being dragged jerkily
toward the door as the wolf pulled viciously on
his shoulder. The throaty growling of the wolf,
although almost at his ear, was sounding fainter,
as though at a great distance. His eyes, fixed on
the glow of the headlights on the snowbank,
began to lose focus. The light grew brighter and
brighter in pulses, and the view grew less
distinct until it began to recede, like the view
through the wrong end of a telescope.
Granger became aware, dimly, of a hollow,
thumping sound beneath the angry growling of
the wolf. When the sound came in conjunction
with stinging stabs of pain in his head, he real-
ized that
he was being pulled roughly through
the broken window. His head banged repeatedly
against the roof of the cruiser. His body jostled
wildly in time with the savage pulls of the beast.
Just before Granger sank down into merciful
unconsciousness, he heard a grating, crunching
sound, and then the long, drawnout echo of
someone screaming.

.IV.

The wolf dragged the flopping body of the

police chief out through the window and up over

322
the snowbank. Once out of sight from the road,
the animal settled down and ate its fill.

.V.

Bob's mind clicked rapidly. Whenever Mr.

Jack Summers called you into his "inner sanc-
tum"aonFriday afternoon and asked you to
make yourself comfortable, you could be damn
sure he wasn't going to ask you how you liked
the new carpet that had been installed in the of-
fice.
No, Bob thought, aware of the tight grip he
had on the arms of the chair, that isn't what he's
going to do.
Summers leaned out of the office and said
something to his secretary, then eased the door
shut and took his seat at the desk. Except for a
manila folder in the center of the ink blotter, the
desk was clear.
"Well, Mr. Wentworth. May I call you Bob?"
Bob nodded.
"Bob. We haven't really had much of a chance
to talk, you and I, have we?"
Bob shook his head, feeling stupid and
awkward. "Uhh, no. We haven't."
"Too bad, too bad," Summers said, leaning
his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers.
He gave Bob a cold, hard look before continu-
ing. "Well,
you see, the reason I've called you in
today is, well . . . ." He searched the ceiling as

323
though he had lost his place on a cue card. "I've
been hearing some vague stirrings, some rum-
blings,might
you say, that have me quite con-
cerned."
"Oh?" Bob managed to say, hoping to keep
this a dialog.
"Yes." Summers leaned forward slightly and
stared into the pyramid of his fingers. "Now it's
quite difficult for me to believe that what I've
heard is true. But what I've heard, and the peo-
pleheard
I it from, have me concerned and,
well, I thought we both might benefit from a lit-
tle [Link] understand."
He knows! Goddammit, he knows! Bob
thought. The casual tone didn't fool him. He
knew he was being manipulated, expertly
manipulated. He knew he would have to keep
his guard up.
"What I've been hearing, from more than one
source, I might add, is that you have not been
quite prepared in your classes lately; that for the
last two months or so you have, shall we say, let
things slide." He leaned forward even more and
arched his eyebrows.
That isn't all you've heard, I'll bet, Bob
thought. A sour taste filled his mouth. "I, I
wouldn't say so," he said softly, irritated by the
weakness in his voice.
"Really?" Summers' eyebrows went up further
"Of course, I wanted to speak with you first, to
hear what you had to say about it before I said
too much. But, as I said, these reports have come
from a number of sources. Your last evaluation

324
was not the best ajljd—" He tapped the manila
folder with his fofefinger. "And your lessons
plans have been skimpy at best."
Bob shifted back in his seat and loosened the
grip on the chair arms. Don't let him get to you,
he thought.
"I wonder," Summers went on with a more
menacing tone in his voice. "I can't help but
wonder exactly how much you are getting done
in your classes."
"I've been having some personal problems
lately," Bob said, "but they have not affected my
teaching."
Take it easy. Don't let him get to you!
"You leave your personal problems outside the
door as soon as you walk into that classroom,
Mr. Wentworth," Summers said firmly. "I am
concerned only with your performance in the
classroom, nothing else."
"My performance in the classroom has been
just fine," Bob said, forcing himself to remain
cool. "But there have been things going on in
this town that have, have me concerned. For one
this, this wild dog or whatever. There have been
four unexplained deaths in this town, and that
bothers me."
"I don't see how7 that affects your teaching,"
Somers said dryly.
"Because one of them was a student of mine,"
Bob said, his anger flaring. "That bothers me!
I'm not just a teacher, I'm a member of this
community, and these recent deaths have me
greatly concerned."

325
 "Indeed," Summers said, shaking his head and
clicking his tongue. "These deaths are horrible,
but I would think that it would not affect your
job."
"It's not affecting my job!" Bob said, trying
hard not to shout. "I would just like to help, if I
could."
"A fine sentiment, indeed, but I think you'd
be best off leaving this matter to those people
whose job it is to deal with it. You were hired to
teach English, not to get involved in other
peoples' responsibilities. This —" Again he tap-
ped the
manila folder. "This tells me that you
are not doing the job you were hired to do."
Bob leaned forward and was about to reply
when his eye caught an edge of a piece of paper
that was sticking out of the folder. It looked like
a photocopied newspaper clipping.
That bastard does know, he thought. He's toy-
ing with
me.
"Where did —"he started to say, but then cut
himself off. He knew immediately that Thurston
must have given those clippings to Summers. He
slumped back in his chair feeling defeated.
"I think a word to the wise is sufficient, don't
you?" Summers said softly, his voice like oil. He
rose and extended a hand to Bob. As they shook,
Summers added, "My advice to you, Bob, is that
you concentrate a little more on your job and let
other people handle this, this problem in town."
"Sure, sure," Bob said, as he turned and
headed for the door. "I'll do better in class." He
left without closing the door behind him.

326
 .VI.

Bob drove with one hand draped over the

steering wheel, the other resting lightly on the
gearshift. Lisa's hands were clasped in her lap.
She had said all of two words since he had
picked her up after work.
The car was having trouble making the grade
of the cemetery hill. The spark plugs misfired,
and Bob had to downshift to make the rise. He
looked over and saw that Lisa was biting her
lower lip.
"That's all you heard?" Bob asked as they
drove alongside the cemetery.
"Uh-huh."
"After Granger left Seavey's house last night,
he hasn't been seen or heard from," he said. It
was more a statement than a question. They
came to the intersection and, instead of turning
left onto Old Jepson's Road, Bob went straight,
up the Bartlett Road.
"That's all I know," Lisa said distantly.
"Christ! You know what I think."
Lisa's gaze remained fixed on the road.
Bob sighed. "And what the hell is Thurston
doing about it? Sitting on his hands?"
"Bob."
"Huh! He probably sees this as his chance to
become police chief."
"Bob!"
"Well," he grunted. The sun had set, and pur-
ple clouds
were closing in on the bright bands of

327
light in the western sky. Cold shadows reached
across the road, turning the snowbanks deep
blue. Lisa shivered, so Bob turned up the heat in
the car.
After a moment, Bob said, "You know, this is
Thurston's big chance. Maybe he will wear the
star."
Lisa flared. "Bob! I really don't think you're
being fair. Just because he —"
"He blackmailed me! That's what he did. He
told Summers about those charges. I know he
did. I'm telling you, Lisa, he's a lot more devious
than you realize, or will admit." He didn't dare
look at Lisa, so he kept his gaze fixed on the
shadowy road.
"He's just doing his job, Bob," Lisa said mild-
ly. "He
has to check out any angles there are."
"Hmmmmp." After a moment of silence, Bob
pointed up to the sky off to the right. "Look.
The moon's full tonight." A large silver disk had
just risen above the horizon. A cold, pale face.
"Come on, Bob. Don't start that." There was
an edge in her voice that told him she was still
afraid to consider that possibility.
"Granger is missing!" Bob said emphatically.
"The only thing is, I was hoping that once Julie
was gone, things wouldn't happen."
"Bob, please! Drop it!"
"You don't think this is all pretty strange? Her
house burns down. She's nowhere to be found.
And now Granger's missing."
"Yes, I think it's strange," Lisa snapped. "But
I still just can't accept your idea that it's a
werewolf killing these people. I mean, come

328
on!" Her teeth ran over her lower lip.
Bob snorted and drove in silence.
"Did you get all your homework graded?"
Lisa asked after a moment.
Bob shook his head. "No, I didn't. It always
seems so much easier to leave it until Sunday
night. I do my best under pressure." He con-
cludedawith
tight laugh.
They drove along the twisting turns of Bartlett
Road. The car had stopped backfiring and was
now humming smoothly as it took the bumps in
the road with a pleasant sway. Bob snapped on
the headlights, and this made it look as though
they were driving down a long, twisting, snow-
covered tube.
"Have you had supper?" Bob asked, when a
low rumble in his stomach reminded him that he
hadn't eaten since breakfast. The little chat he
had had with Summers had ruined his appetite,
but now he felt it returning.
"Not yet," Lisa replied.
"Well, let's drive out to that restaurant,
Horsefeathers. I've heard it's supposed to be
pretty good. Then we could find a bar with a
band and do a bit of dancing."
Lisa didn't answer.
"What d'yah say?"
"I, I really don't feel like it." Lisa kept her
eyes averted. They had come to the end of
Bartlett Road and stopped at the intersection of
Route 43. Bob backed the car into a cleared-out
space beside the road.
"Hey, Bob. I don't want to be a spoilsport. I

329
just don't feel like eating out, that's all," Lisa
said apologetically.
"Sure. Sure. It's OK by me," Bob said. He
jockeyed the car around and headed back down
Bartlett Road.
"Well, we don't have to call it a night," Lisa
said. "I don't want to ruin your evening."
"Ruin my weekend? Hey. It's OK. I just
thought that a little something different might,
might, I don't know, loosen us up a bit, that's
all."
"We don't have to go right back," Lisa said. "I
wouldn't mind driving around for a bit. There.
There's the turnoff for the Loop Road." She
brightened up as she pointed at the turn coming
up on the left. "Let's take the long way around
going back, at least."
Without reply, Bob snapped the steering
wheel to the left and turned onto Farthling's
Loop Road.

.VII.

Doc Stetson carefully folded his glasses and

slipped them into his breast pocket behind a row
of multi-colored pens. He shifted his eyes from
the blood-stained sheet that covered his examina-
tion table
to the two men who stood in his office
doorway. He rapped the clipboard he was
holding with his knuckle and then dropped it
onto his desk. He looked back at the mounded

330
shape of Roy Granger's body.
"Well," he said, sounding tired, "that's it.
Same thing. That wild dog killed him."
Thurston and Seavey exchanged anxious
glances. Thurston said, "You said that both of
them found him, right?"
Doc nodded as he sat down in his chair and
rubbed his face with the palms of his hands.
"Yes. They were driving out on the Loop Road
when they found his cruiser. They stopped and
looked around and found him. Of course, I
didn't ask too many questions. I wanted to get
the preliminary examination done right away."
"We'll be wantin' to get statements from
them, huh?" Seavey asked, looking at Thurston.
"Of course we will," Thurston snapped. Then
he locked eyes with the doctor. "But Mrs. Carter
said that she was with Wentworth the whole
time?"
"Yes, yes," Stetson muttered. He took the clip-
boardstared
and vacantly at the report. "It's dif-
ficult
getto an exact time of death, but I can
place it roughly at sometime early this morning.
He's been dead at least twelve hours for sure.
Once we do the full autopsy, we'll know more
exactly what the time of death was."
Seavey shifted closer to Thurston and
whispered in his ear, "You know, Rick, this
means you're police chief, at least until a new
one's appointed by the town council."
Thurston grunted. "Yeah. I guess so." He was
still watching Stetson, who was writing
something on the report.

331
 "You haven't been out to the scene yet, have
you?" Stetson asked.
"Just briefly. We're heading out there now, if
you don't need us. Can you drop a copy of that
report off at the office in the morning?"
"First thing," Stetson answered, not looking
up from his writing. "And you guys be careful
going out there now, for Christ's sake. That
animal's probably still around."
"Don't worry. We'll be careful," Seavey said.
Then both men departed, leaving Stetson alone
with the body of his friend.
The doctor sat for a long time, staring blankly
at the sheet-draped form. His fingers tapped
steadily on the autopsy report on his clipboard.
It was the worst form he had ever had to fill out.
In all his thirty-odd years as physician in Cooper
Falls, he had never been more shaken by a
death, never.
Must be getting on in years, he thought. See-
ing the
mutilated body of Roy Granger, one of
his closest friends, stretched out on his shiny
aluminum examination table had sounded the
death rattle in his own ears.
Horrible! Horrible way to die!
"I can finish tomorrow," he whispered, sliding
the clipboard back onto his desk. He let out a
hissing sigh and reached to snap off his desk
light. Just before he did, his eyes rested on
another report that was on the desk.
Feeling a vague shudder in his stomach, Stet-
son pickedup the report and scanned it for what
must have been the tenth time that day. He had

332
gotten it from North Conway General Hospital
that morning.
It was a simple blood test for a patient of his:
Ned Simmons. He had been admitted overnight
on Wednesday, two days ago. Upon admittance,
the patient's hematocrit had been low: thirty
percent. Stetson had decided to prescribe an iron
supplement for the boy and take another blood
test in a few weeks to see how it was working.
The following, morning, though, Ned had
seemed quite rested, had lost most of the pallor
in his face, and was anxious to be released. What
was curious was that, when the hematocrit was
repeated that morning, it came out forty-five
percent: high, if anything. That was more than
unusual. But after a quick check, Ned was
released Thursday afternoon with a clean bill of
health.
There was no way Doc Stetson could account
for such a dramatic change in" the patient's
hemoglobin count. Blood composition just could
not change that fast. The only thing Stetson
could think of was that the first test had been a
lab error. It had happened before.
He took the report on Ned Simmons and
placed it back on the desk, beside the autopsy
report on Roy Granger. He clicked off his desk
light, made sure the front door was locked, and
left his office. It had been a long day, full of
pain and confusion.

333
 .VIII.

"I don't know about you," Bob said, "but I

sure could use a stiff drink right about now." He
swung his front door open and stepped back to
let Lisa enter. Before he followed her in, he
glanced back over his shoulder at the jagged line
of trees that ringed his back yard. Stars winked
in the cold sky. Silence swept over him like a
chill wind.
When he got inside, he hung his coat in the
hall closet. Lisa was already crinkling up
newspaper to start a fire in the fireplace. He
watched her work for a moment and then went
into the kitchen for two glasses and a bottle of
Cutty Sark. When he returned with two tall
drinks, the flames were already licking up
through the sticks Lisa had piled up.
"Where'd you learn to make a fire?" Bob
asked.
"Girl Scouts," Lisa said, reaching for the of-
fered drink.
"Thanks. How'd you mix it?"
"Straight," Bob replied, taking a sip and purs-
ing his
lips. He stared at the rising flames. He
felt vacant, washed, drained.
"That's a pretty deep frown you've got," Lisa
said. "Try not to think about it, OK?"
"Yeah," Bob answered, unable to push away
the mental image of Roy Granger dead and par-
tially eaten.
He sat down beside Lisa and started
rubbing her shoulders. She sat still for a mo-
ment, then
leaned forward and placed a larger

334
log on the bed of snapping kindling.
"Don't you think we should contact someone?
The F.B.I, or something?" Her voice was wire
tight.
"What could they do?" Bob asked.
"I don't know," Lisa said emphatically, "but
something's got to be done. People are being
killed!" Her voice almost broke.
"I know," Bob replied coolly. "Every month
people die. It just happens to be on the night of
the full moon."
"Something's got to be done," Lisa repeated.
"I know Thurston and Seavey and the other
men have been trying," Bob said. "But they
won't succeed. I know they won't, not until
they— "
"Bob, please. I don't want to hear about any
werewolves." She leaned forward and threw two
more logs onto the blaze.
"I see you took my suggestion, though," Bob
said smugly.
"Huh?"
"The cross. You're wearing a cross," he said,
pointing to the small crucifix that dangled from
her neck. Lisa reached to her throat and grabbed
the cross. She twisted it around, letting the silver
reflect the light from the fire.
"I, I wear my cross a lot," she said, sounding
defensive.
Bob snorted and, leaning his head back, took a
deep swig of whisky. He gasped and then put
the drink down between his legs.
"You better take it easy with that stuff. I am

335
going to need a ride home a little later."
Bob started to stand up, grunting from the ef-
fort. "Not
necessarily," he said with a laugh, and
then went into the kitchen to refill his glass.
"So," he shouted from the kitchen, "I guess
Thurston got the job as police chief, at least for a
while."
"Yeah. Guess so."
"I can hardly wait," Bob said, laughing. "His
first official act will probably be to organize a
posse to tar and feather me. Maybe burn me at
the stake. Child molester! Accused rapist!"
"Don't talk like that, not even joking," Lisa
said, sounding hurt. "You're being silly."
"I sure hope so," Bob said, leaving the kitchen
and turning off the lights before he sat down. "I
sure as hell hope so."
"What is it between you two, anyway?" Lisa
asked.
Bob held up his whisky glass and studied the
flames through the amber liquid before answer-
[Link]
"I can't say, for sure. I just know
that, from my point of view, I've never liked the
guy, not since I first saw him. There's just
something about him that rubs me the wrong
way."
"Must be that he feels the same," Lisa said.
Bob noticed that she hadn't taken a sip of her
drink, and he gestured at it.
"I mean," Lisa said, "why in the heck would
he give those newspaper articles to Summers and
threaten your job? It's almost like he has an axe
to grind or something."

336
 Bob shrugged. "I don't know. I never crossed
him, not that I know of, anyway. I'm not wor-
ried,"
concluded,
he and then took another long
drink.
"You should be," Lisa said worriedly. She
shifted closer to him and placed her hand on his
leg. She leaned forward and kissed him on the
mouth. "But I believe you."
Bob smiled, trying still to force the image of
Roy Granger from his mind as he held Lisa close
to him.
"What was that?" Lisa asked suddenly, pull-
ing away
from him and looking around. Her
eyes were wide and glistening in the fire light.
"Just the sound of my little heart going pitter-
pat pitter-pat," Bob said good naturedly.
"I heard something!"
"I didn't," Bob said, trying to pull her close
again.
"No! I swear I heard something!"
"Will you just calm down? God! It's just
the—"
This time, Bob heard it too, a low gritty
sound, like someone scraping. It came from the
darkness of the kitchen. Bob sprang to his feet
and stared into the darkness as the sound was
repeated. "I don't think the mice in the walls
have hammers and saws," he said, fighting the
tension.
"I think it's at the door," Lisa whispered
hoarsely. "Is it locked?"
"I can't remember," Bob said, taking a
cautious step toward the kitchen.

337
 Both of them jumped when they heard a
heavy thud followed by a rapid scratching at the
door. Bob edged his way into the kitchen and
peered down the short hallway that led to the
door. The shade was pulled but, faintly, he
could see a shadow, a silhouette on the curtain.
"Christ," he whispered, his eyes trying to
distinguish the shape. The only thing he was
sure of was that it was not human.
He jumped with a start when Lisa put her
hand on his shoulder from behind. He hadn't
heard her come up close. They exchanged ner-
vous looks
and listened to the snuffing sound out-
side the
door. Bob took another few tentative
steps closer to the door.
"Do you have a gun in the house?" Lisa
whispered harshly.
"No I don't, dammit!"
The sniffing and scratching sound got louder,
and then the door began to rattle. Bob flattened
against the wall and cautiously inched his way
forward. His breath caught in his throat like a
wad of phlegm. Hand shaking, he reached out
for the curtain drawstring. He was afraid for a
moment that he would be unable to grasp the
string, his hand was shaking so badly. But he
took it, held his breath, and snapped the shade.
The shade flipped up, fluttering noisily, but
the sound was drowned out by Lisa's ear-
piercing scream. Staring at them through the
pane of glass was a huge wolf. Its eyes burned
with a cold, evil green fire. It pressed its nose
against the glass and snarled viciously. A circle

338
of fog blossomed on the glass from the animal's
heated breath.
Bob's stomach clenched like a fist. Sweat
broke out on his forehead as he backed away
from the door.
"Oh my God! Oh my God!" Lisa screamed as
she grabbed at Bob.
"Get into the living room. Get the hell out of
here," he yelled, not daring to take his eyes away
from the animal. He was transfixed by the cold
gleaming of the wolf's eyes. The widespread,
foam-flecked jaws seemed to form an almost
human smile, and the eyes, the eyes glared at
him with whaT looked like more than animal
cunning.
"Go on!" Bob shouted to Lisa. "Get in the
other room!"
The animal lifted its front feet up and pressed
them against the glass. The door rattled loosely,
threatening to break under the wolf's weight.
The paws flattened out under the pressure as the
animal pressed harder. Then with a loud crash,
the window exploded inward.
Bob jumped back, knocking into Lisa, who
stood rooted to the spot. He spun around and
stared at her, eyes wide with fear. The sound of
the animal crashing and tearing through the
door filled the small kitchen. Bob was about to
push Lisa back when his eyes caught the glint of
her silver cross. Without a word, he snapped the
chain from her neck and turned to face the wolf.
The front half of the wolf was inside the
house. Its paws scrambled wildly, trying to pull

339
forward. With a low, guttural growl, it looked
at Bob and widened its jaws.
Bob took a step closer to the wolf, holding out
the crucifix, dangling from the length of silver
chain. "Get! Get out of here, you bastard!" he
shouted. The wolf pushed the rest of the way in-
to thehouse and stood squarely on its four feet
glaring at Bob.
"Go on, you bastard!" Bob shouted. The chain
swung back and forth in wide arcs and — was it a
trick of his eye, or was the silver cross beginning
to glow with a dull blue? The wolf crouched,
growling, preparing to leap.
"Go on. Get the hell out of here!" Bob pressed
forward.
"Are you crazy?" Lisa shouted, her voice
breaking.
"Go back to hell!" Bob shouted, taking
another step closer. "I know who you are, and
you're not going to get us. Now leave!"
The wolf seemed to shy back. And, yes, the
cross was shining with a deep blue glow.
"I command you to go! In the name of Jesus!"
There was a short, pained yelp, and then the
animal bolted forward. Bob didn't have time to
react, but the dangling cross of silver hit the
animal on the nose as it sprang. There was a
crackling explosion of blue fire, and the wolf was
thrown backwards, landing in the pile of broken
glass and wood. The choking smell of burning
hair filled the hallway.
"Holy God!" Lisa cried out.
Bob reached forward and again let the cross
touch against the animal. Again there was a

340
shattering explosion that sent the wolf flying
through the door and onto the porch. In the brief
flash of light, Bob was positive he saw that the
beast now had human hands. Saying the name of
Jesus must cause it to change back to human form,
Bob thought.
"What does it take to kill you?" Bob shouted, his
throat ragged. The wolf snarled ferociously, but it
no longer sounded like an animal. There was a
pained, almost human quality to the sound.
"Come on! Come on!" Bob taunted, stepping
out onto the porch and reaching out to let the cross
touch the animal again. The cross was glowing
with a ghostly light that flickered and wavered like
it was on fire. It cast shadows that wavered back
and forth in wide, sickening circles.
The animal suddenly turned and ran toward the
woods. Bob stood on the porch and watched as the
beast made its way across the snowy field. He
wasn't sure, but just before it entered the woods, it
looked as though the animal was running on just its
hind legs, like a person. The shadowy trees reached
out and engulfed the form. Bob was left standing
on the porch alone with the cold wind blowing into
his face.
Lisa came up behind him and wrapped her arms
around him . She buried her face into his back and
sobbed. "Oh God! God! I can't believe it! I can't
believe it!"
Bob shivered and looked out over the field
toward the forest. From far off came a sound
that rose slowly until it filled the night. It was
the sound of someone, a person, screaming with
pain.

341
 Chapter Fifteen

Monday, February 2

.1.

The sky was overcast, and it was starting to snow

as Bob swung his door shut and locked it. He still
cringed inwardly whenever he remembered the
night, three weeks ago, when the werewolf had
come crashing through the door. He was convinc-
ed now
—no doubt left at all —that the beast was
supernatural in origin. The effect the animal's
presence had on the cross, making it glow with
blue light, and the reaction the mere touch of the
silver cross had was too convincing. It couldn't be
attributed to coincidence or paranoia any longer.
Bob walked down to his car, thick, wet
snowflakes hitting him in the face and melting. He
had hoped last night, when he had heard that the
storm was coming, that it would snow enough
through the night so school would be cancelled. It
was with a curious sense of resignation that he
started his car and drove down the driveway.
He had woken up late this morning and

342
hadn't taken time for breakfast. His stomach was
churning when he pulled into the parking lot
and saw that the schoolyard was empty. He was
late again. Quickly, he parked the car, grabbed
his briefcase from the back seat, and raced into
the school just as the first warning bell rang,
signalling homeroom.
He saw, at a distance as he approached his
room, that there was a small envelope taped to
the door. He reached for it, tore it open, and
read quickly: Please stop by the office before
homeroom. J.S.
"Oh, shit," Bob muttered, folding the paper in
half and stuffing it into his pocket. He took off
his coat and folded it over his arm before going
to the office. The hunger knot in his stomach
was getting tighter.
He entered the office, placed his coat and
briefcase on the floor, and took a seat after giv-
ing LeonaGleason, the secretary, a quick nod of
greeting. He fiddled with his tie a few times
before lighting a cigarette, but after two or three
puffs, he put it out. It wasn't helping his unset-
tled stomach
any.
The late bell sounded and then, after a mo-
mentsilence
of while the rooms said the pledge
of allegiance, Leona began to read the morning
messages over the intercom. The last item she
read made Bob look up, startled.
"Mr. Wentworth's first period literature class
is to report to study hall with Mrs. Winslow."
Leona clicked off the intercom and looked
over at Bob.

343
 "What's this all about?" he asked anxiously.
Leona's mouth twisted as though she wanted
to say something, but she remained silent and
shrugged her shoulders. Looking down at the an-
nouncements
her hands,
in she finally said,
weakly, "I haven't the faintest."
Bob could tell that she did have the faintest
but couldn't say. The tightness in his stomach
was burning now. He got up and walked over to
Leona's desk.
"Is Summers on the warpath?" he asked, jab-
bing
thumb
a over his shoulder in the direction
of the principal's closed door.
Leona's eyes revealed that she didn't want to
say a word; a battle between loyalty and con-
fidence creased
her face. Finally, she said, "I
think so, he and Barry have been talking for over
half an hour."
Trouble, Bob thought, with a fainting feeling.
Big trouble.
Just then, the office door swung open and
Summers stood in the doorway. "Please come
in," he said, with just the right touch of com-
mand
hisinvoice to irritate Bob.
As he entered the office Barry LaFleur rose
from his seat and nodded. "Morning, Bob."
Bob merely nodded. He had never liked the
assistant principal, and throughout the school
year they had gone head to head on quite a few
issues. Bob sensed the stiff formality in both men
and knew that he was in for a tough morning.
He sat down beside Summers' desk without a
word and folded his arms across his chest.

344
 Summers shut the door firmly and walked
over to his chair. He marked the end of any
social amenities by clearing his throat as he sat
down.
"Well, Bob," Summers began, "Fm sure you
have some idea why I called you in this morn-
ing." eyes
His sparkled with a coldness that did
nothing to relieve Bob's tension.
"No, sir," Bob answered. "Fm afraid I don't."
He rubbed his sticky palms together. Looking
briefly at LeFleur, he had the flickering impres-
sion that
the assistant principal was a clinical
psychologist observing the interaction from
behind the safety of a two-way mirror.
"I spoke with you a while ago and expressed
my concern about several issues," Summers said.
"It's been brought to my attention that these
matters have not been corrected; that matters
have worsened."
"My performance in class has been fine," Bob
said, making an effort to sound professionally
detached.
"To the contrary," Summers said, interrupting
him with a wave of his forefinger. "Your work
has not improved. Mr. LaFleur's last evaluation
of your classroom work indicates that you have
not been prepared for class."
"A brief look at your lesson plans is enough to
convince me that you are not coming to class
prepared," LaFleur interposed.
Bob glanced angrily over at the man, whose
small, dark eyes bored into him. The stare remind-
ed Bob
of a rodent.

345
 "In the past two weeks, Bob, you have been late
for school five times. Such a record with a student
would call for immediate disciplinary action,"
Summers said.
Bob wanted to say something, anything, even
lie in his defense, but he remained silent.
"This, in conjunction with your romantic in-
volvement
Lisa with
Car — "
"My what?" Bob shouted suddenly, his anger no
longer contained.
Summers coughed and leaned forward in his
chair. "Your not very discreet affair with Mrs.-
Carter seems to be impinging on your work. As a
teacher in this community, you are expected to
present a moral example for your students."
"My personal matters don't concern this school
or you," Bob said evenly, fighting to control
himself.
"Since I spoke with you last, your attitude has
steadily deteriorated," Summers said. Bob glanced
over at LaFleur, who was sitting back smugly in
his seat.
"Mr. Wentworth," Summers said, "I called you
to the office to inform you that your contract for
next year is not going to be renewed. You have a
choice: you may either resign or, when the con-
tractsdiscussed
are at the school board meeting, I
will recommend that you not be hired."
Bob immediately remembered what Lisa had
said to him that night last September, when he had
first met her at the B&B: "Well, I don't have a
school board to please. Especially a school board
like the one we have. They're a cross section of a

346
typical, small New Hampshire town. They wear
red-white-and-blue underwear."
"What I do and who I see on my own time is of
no concern to anyone," Bob said tightly.
"Your performance in class is," LaFleur said.
"If you have some legitimate complaints about
my work, Fd like to see them in writing and I'd like
the opportunity to respond to them," Bob said,
glaring at LaFleur. The small man sat looking at
him, unblinking.
Summers shook his head with mock sympathy.
"I'm afraid, Bob, that the decision has already
been made. I would like a letter of resignation
from you before you leave school today. If not,
your name will be — "
"Like hell!" Bob stood up and pounded his fist
on the desk. "You can't pull this shit on me. You
have to have legal, legitimate grounds not to
renew a contract. The teachers' union will be
behind me on this."
Summers shifted in his chair, leaning back and
holding his folded hands in front of his face. "In
the privacy of this office, strictly off the record, I'd
say that you could take this to the union, to the
court, if you have to, and you would probably win
a contract renewal. But . . ." Summers tapped his
forefinger on the desk and, for the first time, Bob
noticed the photocopied newspaper clipping in the
desk tray. "There are some things in your past
which, if known, would hurt your credibility."
Bob stood there beside the desk, open-
mouthed.
"I can assure you that even with a court order

347
to renew your contract, you wouldn't last long in
this school system. My advice to you, Bob, is to
make it easy all the way around. Don't make
waves. Just write out a brief letter of resignation
and— "
"That's blackmail!" Bob shouted.
"Do you want your students to know that in
your last job you were accused of raping one of
your students?"
Bob swallowed hard, feeling a throbbing
pressure in his head. "You can take your god-
damn contract
and stuff it!" he said, firmly,
evenly. "As far as I'm concerned, last Friday was
my last day on the job."
He strode to the door and flung it open.
Without a word, he picked up his coat and brief-
case and
left the school by the front door.
"Go ahead," he muttered as he walked out to
his car. "Try to sue me for breach of contract.
I'd love to bring that one to court."
He drove away from the school. His stomach
was on fire. He considered going straight home
and starting to pack, but then decided to go
downtown and see Lisa first.

.II.

Ellie Simmons was pushing a grocery cart

down the ice-covered sidewalk, heading toward
Pomeroy's I.G.A. The loose front wheels of the
cart rattled and jittered. Lisa was walking up
the sidewalk in the opposite direction, so she

348
stopped and stepped up onto the snowbank to
allow the old woman to pass.
When Ellie was beside Lisa, she stopped,
looked up at her, and said, "Morning, Mrs.
Carter. Surely looks like more snow, don't it?"
Lisa nodded, said, "Yeah," and stepped down
onto the sidewalk behind the old woman. Ellie
turned around and looked at her, making her
feel extremely uncomfortable.
"And how have you been, Mrs. Simmons?"
Lisa asked, aware that the interaction was going
to continue.
"Gettin' along," Ellie said, shaking her head
and pulling at her coat collar. "Gettin' along."
"Ummm," Lisa said, wanting to be on her
way. Then, automatically, she said, "And how's
Ned been feeling?"
"Better, now, thank yah. The Doc says he's on
the mend. But the bill from just a few tests 'bout
set us back a full week's wages."
"Times are tough," Lisa said sympathetically.
"Still 'n' all, it's good knowin' everything OK."
"I didn't know Ned was sick," Lisa said.
"When was that?"
"Couple of weeks ago. He had to spend a
night at the hospital."
"In North Conway?"
Ellie nodded. "Yeah, but he's better now. Got
his strength now."
Lisa was going to wish her well and depart
but just then Bob drove up and called out to her.
"Hey, Lisa. I've got to talk with you."
"Just a minute," she called back. Then she

349
turned to Ellie and said, "Well, nice talking with
you. I'm glad to hear Ned's feeling better. Have
a nice day." She watched as Ellie departed,
pushing her rattling cart in front of her.
"Lisa," Bob shouted impatiently.
"That wasn't very nice of you," Lisa said,
walking over to the car. "You could have been a
bit more civil."
"Well, I—"
"That poor woman's got it tough. You could
have said something to her. She isn't feeling
well, and Ned just got out of the hospital. The
least you could have said was hello to her."
"Sorry," Bob said agitatedly. He paused and
then said, "Well, it happened."
"Huh? What happened?'
"Summers and LeFleur. They dropped the axe
this morning. I'm no longer a teacher at Cooper
Falls High School."
"You're kidding!"
"For once in my life I'm glad I'm not," Bob
said. He reached over and clicked open the door.
"Hop in. I'll fill you in on all the gory details."
As they drove toward the library, Bob related
the incident of the morning. He was just
finishing when they pulled into the parking lot
behind the library. They got out and walked
toward the back entrance.
"Well, don't you think you could take it to
court?" Lisa asked, unlocking the heavy oak door
and swinging it open.
"Sure. Sure I could," Bob said, slapping his
fist into his open palm. "Jesus, those bastards.

350
Especially that little shit, LaFleur! But Summers
has photocopies of those newspaper clippings."
"You really think they'd use them?" Lisa
placed her hand on Bob's elbow and looked at
him, wide-eyed. "You really do?"
"I don't know." Bob shrugged. "But even if it
gets out, I mean, it'd sort of ruin my credibility
don't you think."
"Not if it isn't true," Lisa said, not too convin-
cingly.
Bob looked at her with a tight grin. "Yeah.
Not if it isn't true. Just like it didn't hurt me
with my job in Dorchester."
"I think you ought to make a case out of it, if
only to show them that they can't pull that kind
of stuff."
Bob grunted.
"Summers isn't the sweetheart of the school
committee. There are a few members who aren't
satisfied with his work."
"Come on, Lisa. Not in a case like this."
"Well, you won't be the only one who comes out
looking bad, Bob."
"Oh, gee. Thanks a lot."
"You know what I mean," Lisa said angrily. "I
don't think Summers would have his guts to bring
out your dirty laundry, not unless —"
Bob laughed out loud, and Lisa was surprised
that he could find humor in the situation.
"No pun intended, I assume," Bob said, still
chuckling.
"What?"
"The girl's name, the one who accused me. Her
name was Beth Landry."
351
 Lisa didn't even smile as she went to the closet
and hung up her coat. She slipped her snow-
crusted boots off, then went over to the sink and
started filling the tea kettle with water.
"So," Bob said, letting his palms slap his thighs,
"I've decided to leave town."
"Huh?" Lisa was stunned. She turned around.
"You're what?"
"I'm leaving town," Bob repeated simply.
"You aren't serious," Lisa said.
"Oh, yes I am," Bob said, nodding his head. He
looked at her intently. "I'm serious and, and I want
you to come with me."
"Do you know where you're going?"
"I'm not sure. I was thinking it might be nice to
spend the rest of the winter in Florida."
"Just like that?" Lisa snapped her fingers. "You
want me to leave my job and everything and come
with you to Florida?"
Bob nodded. "Yeah . What the hell do you expect
me to do? It feels to me like Cooper Falls would just
as soon spit me out. I'm not gonna let it chew me
any more! They can have the damn job. And as for
this, this werewolf, or whatever, I've had it!" He
cut the air with the knife edge of his hand. "I'm not
going to wait around until this beast gets me! This
isn't my home town. I've got no responsibility."
"Well I do," Lisa said with an edge in her voice.
"It's my home town and I don't think I can just, can
just give up on it and leave. After what we've seen
and what we know, don't you think we have to do
something or tell someone or try somehow to stop
it?"

352
 Bob's resolve suddenly strengthened. He walked
over to Lisa and took her arms with a firm grip.
Fighting to keep his voice steady, he said, "I have
had it! Fm leaving by noon tomorrow. If you want
to come with me, you can. But I'll be goddamned
if I'm going to spend another full day in this town!
I'll give you a call tonight."
With that, he turned and left the library.

.III.

Bob was up in the attic, digging out his suitcases,

when the telephone began to ring. He stuck his
head down through the trapdoor and glared at the
phone as it jangled again.
"Damn!" he whispered harshly, shifting his
body around so he could drop down to the floor.
He hurried because he figured it was Lisa call-
[Link]
It perfectly timed; as soon as his feet
hit the floor, the phone cut off in midring.
He stared at the silent phone for a minute,
then went to the kitchen for a cigarette before
heading back up into the attic. The phone
started ringing again, and Bob dashed over to it
quickly and picked it up.
"Hello," he snapped, exhaling smoke into the
receiver. He was expecting to hear Lisa's voice,
so he was surprised when Amy said hello.
"Oh," Bob stammered. "Hi. How you doing?"
"I'm just fine," Amy said. She sounded happy,
and Bob wondered if it was real or put on.
"And how is married life treating you?" Bob
asked. "This time."

353
 There was a long silence, and then Amy said,
"Fine."
"Did you try to call just a second ago?" Bob
asked.
"No," Amy replied.
"Hmmm."
"So, how have you been doing? The winter's
not too tough for you, is it? You never did like
snow," Amy said.
"It's, it's OK."
"And teaching's going well for you?"
Bob inhaled from his cigarette and debated
whether or not he should tell Amy that he had
quit —been fired. "It's going OK, I guess."
"Well," Amy said, "the last Jamie and I heard
was a Christmas card with a pretty short note. We
were wondering if you had forgotten about your
promise."
"My promise?"
"Jesus, Bob, you know, Jamie's your daughter
too. You could show a little more interest in what
she's been up to. You don't remember that you said
you wanted her to come out there and stay with
you for February vacation?"
"Oh, shit," Bob muttered, looking down at the
floor. He knew now that there was no way of get-
ting around
it. He would have to tell her what had
happened.
"You've made other plans?" Amy said, her voice
taking on the harsh edge he remembered.
"No, I, uhh ..." His eyes darted around the kit-
chen. not
"I'm sure that's a good idea right now,
I—"

354
 He looked at the door, at the window looking out
onto the snowy night, and for a brief flash, he
thought he saw a shadow shift through the
darkness outside.
"Bob? You there?"
"Yeah, uhh, what I was saying was that, well,
things have been going on here and I'm not sure I
want Jamie around right now."
"Who are you shacking up with?" Amy asked
snidely.
"No, no. It's nothing like that." His voice was
shaking. The cigarette in his hand had burned
down to the filter. "It's, well, I'm not teaching
anymore."
There was a stunned silence at the other end
of the line.
"I, uhhh, I had a little bit of trouble with a
few of the administrators and I, uhhh, I re-
signed.
today,
Just in fact."
"Jesus, Bob!"
"It's a long story, but I'm packing. I'm going
down to Miami or Orlando for the rest of the
winter."
"You haven't even seen Jamie since last
August, Bob," Amy said pleadingly. "Don't you
think you could just stay around for that week so
she could see you? I want her to know she does
have a father, too."
"Yeah, well, that, that's not all. I—" he
stopped himself before he told Amy about the
series of deaths that had plagued the town. He
didn't even want to mention a wild dog in the
area, much less a werewolf. She'd think he was
cracking up for sure.

355
 "Well?"
"Well, there's been some trouble out here. No
one's really sure what's going on, but it looks like
there's a wild dog or something that's been at-
tacking people."
"Really?" Amy sounded surprised, but there
was an edge to her voice that suggested that she
suspected Bob was making up the story just to
get out of having Jamie come to visit.
Bob felt a twisting in his bowels, and he ran his
fingers through his hair. "I just don't think this
would be a safe place to be, that's all."
"I haven't seen anything about that in the
papers," Amy said.
"Yeah, well, they're trying to keep the whole
thing under wraps, you know?"
"I know there was that story about the student
nurse in North Conway who was killed by a wild
animal, but I hadn't — "
"What?" Bob shouted. "What are you talking
about?"
"You didn't hear about it?" Amy asked. "It must
have been, oh, two weeks ago or so. It was in all the
papers down here. It must have been in the Sunday
paper, because that's the only one I get to read. A
student nurse at General Hospital was attacked
and killed by a wild dog."
"Holy shit!" Bob looked out at the doorway
again and his mind replayed the sound of smashing
glass and wood as the beast crashed its way into the
house. He shivered. "They said it was a wild dog?"
"I think so. I just skimmed the article."
"You don't remember if it said that there were

356
any eyewitnesses, do you?" Bob asked agitatedly.
"Anyone else who saw the, the animal?"
"I don't recall it mentioning any," Amy said
distantly. "Of course, that doesn't mean there
weren't."
"Jesus," Bob said softly. He held the phone
tightly against his ear. Glancing at the wall
calendar, he ran his fingers across the dates. He
went back two weeks, and his fingers stopped on
Thursday, January 15. At the top of the dated
box was a picture of a full moon.
"Could it have been on Wednesday or Thurs-
day?"
asked
he excitedly.
"I told you, I can't remember. It was about
two weeks ago. Why, why do you ask?"
"Oh." Bob glanced again at the kitchen door.
"It was about that time that I saw a dog, a
stray, sniffing around my house."
"I think you might be right, Bob," Amy said
at last. "I think we can wait a while before
Jamie comes out to visit."
"That's a damn good idea," Bob replied. "I
have to get packing. I'll give you a call once I get
down there and let you know my new address."
"Sure. Bye."
"Bye. Thanks for calling," Bob said, and then
hung up.
He was still standing beside the phone, con-
templating
Lisa,
calling
when a sudden thought
hit him. When he had seen Lisa earlier that day,
hadn't she said that Ned Simmons had been in
the hospital?
"Oh, Christ!"

357
 He thought back, trying to remember. He had
been so worked up about getting fired that he
hadn't really listened to her, but as he dredged
through his memory, he was sure Lisa had said
Ned had been in the hospital. And the only
hospital in the area was in North Conway!
He had to find out when Ned had been in North
Conway, he realized with a deep urgency. Some
intuitive glimmer told him that it would coincide
with the night the student nurse had been killed.
And if it did ....
"It wasn't Julie Sikes at all!" Bob said aloud. "All
this time I've been thinking it was Julie Sikes, and it
wasn't! All this time it's been Ned Simmons!"
He knew. The final piece had fallen into place
with the click on the end of the line as Amy had
hung up. He knew!
He lifted the receiver and started dialing Lisa's
number. "Well," he said, listening to the phone
ring, "if she's coming, she's coming now."

.IV.

Monday, February 16

Bob held the envelope in his hand, turning it

over and over as he walked down the wide steps of
the Miami Post Office. He kept reading the
postmark each time it came around: Cooper Falls,
N.H. February 14, 11:17 a.m. The return address
was Lisa's.

358
 He sat in his car and took a deep breath before
sliding his finger under the envelope flap and ripp-
ingopen.
it Enclosed was a single sheet of blue sta-
tionery,folded.
neatly As he opened the letter, a
small newspaper clipping dropped onto his lap . He
snatched up the clipping and glanced at the
headline. It gave him a quick chill in spite of the
warm Florida sun. He quickly read the letter.

Dear Bob, Friday nite

I'm writing this in a hurry. It's almost
twelve and I've got to get to bed and sleep,
if I can. I know you said you wanted to
write first, but I thought you'd better know
about Sue. I hope you'll drop her folks a
note. I know you didn't have her in any of
your classes, but a note would be ap-
preciated.
know what
I you're thinking!
The official story from Thurston, still, is
that it's a wild dog. I just don't know what
to think! I can't accept your idea, but after
that night at your house, I don't know what
else could explain what happened.
I want to make it clear to you too that I
understand why you were so upset the
night before you left. I wish neither of us
had gotten so angry, but none of my
reasons have changed. I love you, Bob. I
really do. I miss you a lot, and I wish you'd
reconsider what I said. If you don't do
anything, who will?
It's been a real hard winter. You wouldn't
have believed the last storm we had!

359
 Almost two feet a day for two days!
School's been cancelled for three days, and
we're just getting dug out now. Did they
mention the storm on the news down
there? It's been real bad.
One more thing. You've got me paranoid
enough so I checked out when Sue was kill-
[Link]'t
It come close to the night of the
full moon. Sue died on Wednesday, the
11th, and the full moon wasn't till Sunday,
the 15th . Doesn't that screw up your idea? I
don't know. I'm so confused. All I know is
that a friend of mine, someone I loved and
worked with, has been killed and I'm
scared! I wish to God this would stop
soon!!! Please write. Let me know what's
going on with you. So far, all I've got was a
post-office-box number in Miami. Com-
municate!!!
Love, Lisa

Bob's eyes began to water as he read the arti-

cle aboutSue Langsford's death. Lisa was right;
the official story was the same. She was also
right that Sue had died four days away from the
full moon. His shoulder shook with a wild shiver
as trickles of sweat ran from his armpits and
down his side.

.V.

"I sent him a letter a few days ago," Lisa said,

360
smiling as she looked at Mrs. Miller. "He should
have gotten it by now." She paused, then added,
"I'm sure he'll send his regards."
Mrs. Miller carefully placed Lisa's purchase
into a bag and stapled it shut.
"Well," Lisa said, making a point of counting
her change when Mrs. Miller handed it to her,
"have a nice evening."
"I'll be closing soon," Mrs. Miller said, nod-
ding past
Lisa toward the fading evening light.
"Until this wild animal's caught, I'm closing
before dark."
Lisa wrinkled her eyebrows and said, "I don't
blame you in the least." There was a knot of
uneasiness in her stomach.
"Specially after what happened to the
Doyles."
"What?" Lisa reached for the countertop for
support.
Not again! she thought. Not again!
"You hadn't heard?" Mrs. Miller asked, sur-
prised. tapped
She the top copy of the
newspaper on the counter. "Right here."
"Cooper Falls Couple Found Dead," the
headline read; and below that, "Mystery Animal
Strikes Again."
"I swear," Mrs. Miller said, shaking her head
solemnly, "I swear, it's the curse of God."
"Good Lord, no," Lisa said distantly. Her
head began to hurt with a distant throbbing.
They must not have had a silver cross, Lisa
found herself thinking. They must not have had
protection.

361
 "Dearie, are you all right?" Mrs. Miller asked.
"You look a bit peaked."
"I'm, I'm all right," Lisa said, shaking her
head to clear it.
"Dear me, I didn't mean to frighten you,"
Mrs. Miller said with genuine concern. "I
thought you knew."
"No I didn't," Lisa said. Her voice was
strained.
They must not have had protection!
"Can I get you a glass of water?" Mrs. Miller
said, rushing around the counter. "Here. Sit
down for a minute."
"No. Really. I'm all right," Lisa said weakly.
"I just got a bit dizzy for a moment."
"I'll be closing soon. Can I walk you home."
"You don't have to do that," Lisa said, feeling
suddenly foolish. "My car's right outside. I'll be
OK."
"You sure?"
I m sure.
They must not have had a silver cross!
"Good night, Mrs. Miller." Lisa started
toward the door.
"You take care of yourself," Mrs. Miller called
out. "And if you need anything, just let me
know."
"I will."
When Lisa got back to her apartment, she
dialed directory assistance and asked for a new
listing for Mr. Robert Wentworth in Miami. She
was surprised when the operator didn't tell her,
"Sorry. There's no listing under that name,"

362
and, instead, gave her the number. Lisa wrote it
down on the chalkboard beside the telephone.
For almost half an hour, she debated whether
or not she should call Bob and tell him about the
Doyles. Would he want to know about it, or had
he had enough? she wondered. Instead of calling
Bob, she went into the kitchen and made herself
a cup of tea.
Just before she went to sleep, around eleven
o'clock, she saw the flashing red light of the town's
ambulance swing across her ceiling as the
emergency crew raced up Main Street.

.VI.

Thursday, February 19

"I had just been with her last night," Lisa said
hoarsely, her voice breaking with tears. "I was pro-
bablylast
the person to see her alive!" Her voice
broke off in a choking sob.
Groping for words and finding none, Bob listen-
ed to
Lisa's sobbing. Finally, he said, 'There
wasn't anything you could have done. How could
you have known?"
"I know! I know! It's just that, that — " Again her
voice broke off into crying.
"Just take it easy, will you, Lisa?" Bob said pa-
[Link]'s
"For sake."
"It's just," Lisa sniffed loudly. "It's just that
whatever killed her was, was right there outside
the pharmacy. Right when I was talking to her,
363
maybe. It could have, could have — "
"Do you think that might be why you got that
fainting feeling?" Bob asked calmly. "If I'm right
and it is a werewolf, maybe it was exerting some
kind of psychic force that you picked up. Maybe
subconsciously you were aware of its being
nearby/'
"I don't know. I don't know," Lisa said,
whimpering. "I think it was just from the shock
of hearing about the Doyles."
"Maybe it was more than that," Bob said
evenly. "Maybe the werewolf —"
"How can it be a werewolf?" Lisa said sharp-
ly. "How can it be when there have been four
people killed this month, and none of them has
been killed when the moon is full?"
"Well—"
"There's nothing supernatural, and there's no
werewolf!" Lisa shouted, so loudly that Bob had
to pull the receiver away from his ear.
"Not necessarily," Bob said after a moment.
There was a long silence at Lisa's end of the
line. Finally, she said softly, "What do you
mean."
"I mentioned it to you before, but you prob-
ably don't
remember. Also, I've been doing a bit
of research on werewolves since I've been down
here and, if most of the legends are correct, it's
during the month of February that werewolves
are most active. Most accounts say they're active
for the whole month, and don't need the full
moon during February."
"Come on!"

364
 "I'm just telling you what I've read, what the
legends are. Of course, most of the folklorists
who try to dispel the werewolf legends say that
it was during the dead of winter that the wolves
in the wild would prowl closer to town. An
especially harsh winter, when food was scarce,
would drive them right into the towns and
villages. I forget what year it was, but there's a
documented case of a pack of timber wolves
right in the streets of Paris in midwinter."
"But those are real wolves," Lisa said.
"I know," Bob replied, "But like a lot of myths,
there might be more than a grain of truth in all of
this. If there is a werewolf, if Ned or whoever is
transforming, he would be able to do it for the
whole month of February."
"That's ridiculous, Bob. I mean, what —"
"After what you've seen?" Bob said, angrily.
"After what you've seen for yourself, you can say
it's ridiculous?"
"And you won't do anything about it," Lisa said
harshly. "If you're so damned convinced, why
don't you do something?"
"Well," Bob said, swallowing hard, "I told you
what I think. I think you should come down here."
"You know I can't," Lisa replied. "I told you
why."
"And neither can 1. 1 can't come back to Cooper
Falls. I can't do anything about it! I just wish you'd
get out of there before, before something
happens."
"Bob!"
"Well, it's the only thing that worries me. I

365
could give two shits for Cooper Falls!" He was
tempted to hang up right then, to leave her with
that final, bitter thought, but he resisted the temp-
tation. only
"The reason I'd come back to Cooper
Falls," he said, "would be to pick you up and get
you the hell out of there!"
"Yeah," Lisa said, sounding defeated. "You're
probably right. There's nothing you can do about
it. See you."
"I love you," Bob whispered, but he wasn't sure
if she heard him. There was a loud click at the
other end of the line, and he was left with the
wavering buzz of the dial tone.

.VII.

Friday, February 20

"Damn it all!" Thurston said, roughly placing

his 30-30 shotgun and a box of shells onto the desk.
He looked over at Ted Seavey, who was standing
by the doorway with one foot up on a chair.
Thurston's newly appointed deputy shrugged his
shoulders and said nothing.
"You'd think that after this goddamned long a
time we'd have got the bastard!" He picked up the
shotgun, snapped open the barrel, and peered
down the inside. "Something. Anything!"
"It ain't for lack of tryin'," Seavey said.
"No!" Thurston shouted. "But it ain't 'cause this
fuckin' animal is makin' itself scarce either! Christ!
Four people within a week! And anyone who ever

366
sees the fucker doesn't live long enough to tell
anyone." He blew down the gun barrel and then
snapped it shut.
"We're doin' what we can," Seavey said softly.
"But why is it us? Why is it only around here?"
Thurston asked, pained. "There haven't been any
reports from any other towns of any trouble with
this wild dog."
"There was that nurse in North Conway a
while ago," Seavey said, shrugging. "I don't
know. Maybe they're keeping it quiet like we
are. Who knows? Maybe the bastard is running
the whole county. It seems like he's here for a
while, a couple of nights or soi then he disap-
pears. Maybe
he has a whole circuit he runs."
"If the situation wasn't so damned serious, I'd
laugh at that," Thurston said. He opened the box of
shells and put a handful into his cokt pocket. Glan-
cingthe
at clock on the office wall, he said, "It's
getting dark. We'd better get out to the ridge and
check that line of traps . See if we got something this
time."
Seavey put his foot back onto the floor with a
heavy clump. "I'll tell yah, Rick, that bastard's just
too damn smart to go for a trap or poisoned bait.
We gotta see it and shoot the fucker if we're gonna
stop him."
"Let's go."

.VIII.

Saturday , February 21

Ellie Simmons had a huge pot of baked beans

367
bubbling away in the stove, just like she did
every Saturday night. A blast of hot air slammed
against her face as she opened the oven door,
satisfied herself that they were ready, then put
on her thick cooking mitts and pulled the pot out
onto the oven door. With a puff of breath, she
blew away the strand of hair that was dangling
in front of her face. She was just putting the pot
of beans up on the countertop when she heard a
loud bang from outside. She jumped, emitting a
high, mouselike squeek.
" 'S that you Ned?" she asked hopefully, looking
over at the kitchen door. Through the door she
could see the darkening blue of the snow as night
approached. Then a familiar form stepped into
view.
"Ned," she said, "you're just in time for supper."
Instead of moving toward the door, she reached
up into the cupboard for their plates. The kitchen
door swung open, and Ned, with barely a grunt of
greeting, walked in and sat down at the table fac-
ing his
mother. He sat slouched in his chair, his
chin resting on his chest.
"You feelin' OK?" Ellie asked, concern in her
voice.
"Yeah. I'm OK."
" 'S gettin' dark in here. Snap on the light and
fetch us some silverware." She looked at him
carefully, squinting in the dim light. His pale face,
creased with deep lines, almost frightened her. He
was breathing shallowly, barely moving.
She scooped some beans onto a plate.
"Goodness, son, you look a fright. Why don't you
go wash up. I'll set the table."
368
 She continued scooping out beans. Glancing
over her shoulder, she saw that Ned had not
moved. "Ned? Are you sure you feel OK?" she ask-
ed. "Thedoctor said that—"
"I'm OK," Ned snapped, his voice sounding
with a ragged edge. He shifted his shoulders un-
easily,
Ellie
andthought she heard a low, guttural
moan.
"Ned?" she said, louder and with more alarm.
She was thinking that Ned must be either drunk or
stoned. In the dim light of the kitchen, he appeared
to be sinking down in his chair, slipping toward the
floor. His breathing was louder now, raspy and
bubbly.
"Go clean yourself up now," she repeated. She
looked out at the deep purple sky, the long stretch
of blue snow. A sudden wave of chills made h^
teeth chatter. She looked back over at her son.
"Ned?"
Was it the dimness of the kitchen? she won-
dered. Maybe
just getting old, eyesight's going.
She wasn't sure what it was, but Ned looked like
he was sliding down to the floor and he
looked —thicker, was the first word that came to
Ellie's mind. The gathering darkness was playing
tricks on her eyes, making Ned's body look like it
was shifting, changing subtly.
"Ned?" she said again, softer. She wanted to go
over to him, but something held her back.
Ned suddenly collapsed and dropped onto the
floor, landing in a crouching position on his hands
and knees. Ellie heard a low grumbling sound. She
found that her mouth had suddenly gone dry, and

369
she licked her lips to no avail. Horrified, she stared
at her son, crouching on the floor in the darkened
kitchen. His body seemed to shift, elongate, grow
sleeker.
"What the devil?" Ellie said.
A low, steady growl began to build, pulsing in
rising waves. The spoon Ellie had been using to
scoop beans clattered to the floor. With that sound,
Ned suddenly snapped his head up and glared at
his mother. His eyes were two burning green coals.
His body, Ellie now realized with mute horror,
really was changing.
"Help me," Ned managed to say with a rumbl-
ing growl
in his throat. "I don't want to hurt you."
His voice broke off in what sounded almost like a
bark.
"I must be losing my mind," Ellie said blankly.
Suddenly, Ned threw his head back, and Ellie
could see that his face now looked like a dog's, a
wolf's! Ned stretched his neck out and howled
wildly. The kitchen was filled with wave after
wave of ululating howls. Ellie stood frozen, lean-
ing againstthe counter unable to move.
"God have mercy," she whispered, her throat
feeling like sandpaper. The longer she stared at her
transformed son, the more his body shifted, lost its
human shape, and took the form of a wolf.
Ellie's hands moved blindly behind her. Her
elbow knocked over the pot of beans, and there was
a quick hissing sound as her fingers were scorched.
The pot rolled to the edge of the counter and then
crashed onto the floor, spilling beans everywhere.
Ellie glanced down at her legs. They were burn-

370
ing painfully from the splattered bean juice. When
she looked back up at Ned, he no longer retained
any of his human form. A large wolf stood in the
dark kitchen, glaring at her, panting with its
mouth open. The wolf bared its teeth with a snarl-
ing hiss.
"Oh, Oh," Ellie mumbled as her legs gave way
beneath her. She slid to the floor, and ended up sit-
tingthe
in steaming pile of beans. She watched
with numbed, fascinated horror as the wolf — she
could no longer believe that this was her son — coil-
ed back
on its haunches and then, jaws wide, leapt
for her throat.

.IX.

Friday, March 19

The dinner shift was over at the Ebb 'n Flow,

and the supper crowd wouldn't come for another
hour or so. The pots and pans were washed and
stacked to dry, so Bob had time to go to the post of-
fice and
pick up his mail. He hadn't been there for
over a week, so he expected something would be
there. He felt a strange mixture of joy and nausea
when he saw the thin letter with the Cooper Falls
postmark. He leaned against the row of mailboxes
as he tore the letter from Lisa open . There was no
accompanying letter, just two newspaper clip-
pings.

371
 Cooper Falls, N.H, Tuesday, March 16
The body of Richard Pomeroy , manager
of a local grocery store, was found this
morning in the parking lot behind the store
by one of the store's employees. This is the
most recent in a series of mysterious deaths
which have plagued this small New Hamp-
shire town
since last September.
Police Chief Richard Thurston states
that his department, recently assisted by
the National Forest Service, is following
every possible avenue in an attempt to
track down and destroy the animal respon-
sible. Local
dog owners are asked to keep
their pets confined. Citizens are asked to
stay at home or in well-lighted areas after
dark.
There have been no authenticated eye-
witness reports,
but numerous towns-
people interviewed
report hearing wolflike
howling in the surrounding forest. Judging
by the tracks found at several locations,
Thurston says that they are looking for a
large canine, probably a wild German-
shepherd. Rumors in the area persist that
the animal is, in fact, a timber wolf.

Bob swallowed hard and noticed that the article

had come from The Boston Globe.
"Word's getting out," he muttered, turning to
the next clipping.

372
 Eleanor T. Simmons
Cooper Falls — Mrs. Eleanor Thomas
Simmons, 63, widow of Everett Simmons
of Bartlett Road, was found dead last
Thursday at her home. Cause of death was
reportedly heart failure.
She had lived all of her life in Cooper
Falls, the daughter of Henry and Margaret
Thomas. She attended local schools,
graduating from Cooper Falls High School
in 1936. She was active in local church and
community affairs until the death of her
husband.
She is survived by her son, Ned Alex-
ander Simmons.
There are no other
members in the immediate family.
Funeral services will be held at 2 p.m.
Monday at St. Jude's. Interment will be in
Pine Haven Cemetery.

Bob's fingers shook as he folded the clippings

back up and stuffed them back into the envelope.
All through the evening rush at the Ebb 'n' Flow , he
worked slowly, sullen and uncommunicative.
When, at nine o'clock, his boss asked him if he was
feeling all right, he lied and said that he thought he
was coming down with a flu or something. He
punched out early and went to his small apart-
ment.

.X.

"Planning on doing a little skiing this winter?"

373
the late night newscaster asked, arching his
eyebrows sharply. "You may want to reconsider
when you hear the next news story when News
Center returns after these messages."
Bob swung his feet to the floor and sat leaning
forward anxiously as he watched a string of com-
mercials
aspirin,
for deodorant, and dog food. He
reached out blindly, grabbed his cigarettes, and lit
one without taking his eyes from the small screen of
his black-and-white portable TV. The first puff of
smoke was drifting toward the ceiling when the
news announcer returned.
"If you have reservations for a ski weekend in
New Hampshire, you just may want to cancel
them. There has been a series of brutal deaths, all
of which have been attributed to a wild dog in the
area of the small town of Cooper Falls, a communi-
ty on
the eastern edge of White Mountain National
Forest."
A blocklike profile of New Hampshire with a
dog's head superimposed over it appeared on the
screen behind the newscaster.
"Authorities are baffled. Sheriff Richard
Thurston insists that the deaths are due to one wild
dog. He and a group of local residents have been
hunting the animal to no effect since the incidents
began last September.
"But townsfolk have a different story. Rumors
are circulating that the town is being ravaged by a
timber wolf. Many people claim to have heard
howling in the woods. For a full report, we switch
to Michael Fleischer, in New Hampshire."
The map of New Hampshire disappeared, and

374
the studio closed in on the screen behind the an-
nouncer.
screen
The burst into a shifting snowy
pattern. The cigarette wedged between Bob's
shaking fingers, grew long and then dropped to
the floor unnoticed. The snow on the screen con-
tinued unabated
for a few seconds longer, then
the camera slowly pulled back. The announcer
rubbed his neck with embarrassment.
"Well, we seem to be having some technical
difficulties with that report," he said, looking
over his shoulder at the screen. "We'll try to
have that report for you on our noon newscast
tomorrow. That's it for News Center 12 tonight.
The Johnny Carson Show is next."
As Doc Severenson's blaring trumpet filled
Bob's apartment, Bob stared vacantly at his
burned-out cigarette.
I could have warned her, he thought. Her
own son, and I could have warned her!
He looked up and stared, unseeing, as Johnny
strode out onto the stage and began his
monologue. Bob reached out numbly and
snapped the TV off.
If I don't help, who will? he wondered.
He rose quickly from his chair, dropping the
cigarette stub into the ashtray. He had already
decided that he would return to Cooper Falls.

375
 Chapter Sixteen

Tuesday, April 6

.1.

Bob pulled into the parking lot of the Howard

Johnson on Interstate 95 in Portsmouth at a
quarter past five in the morning. The sun was
edging its way up over the horizon.
During his stay in Florida, Bob had forgotten,
or at least gotten used to not having, snow. He
was glad to see that spring had made some head-
way this
far north. In the restaurant parking lot,
there was just a brown-stained ridge of snow left
by the snowplows.
Bob got out, locked the car, and, patting the
book he had in his coat pocket, leaned his head
back and drew in a deep lungful of clean, crisp
air. That was one thing New Hampshire had
over Florida: the air was much better.
As he entered the restaurant, he looked longing-
ly atthe empty newspaper rack. He wanted
something to read other than the book he was
carrying. Anything, even a copy of yesterday's
376
Union Leader. He patted the book in his coat
pocket again and took a stool at the end of the
deserted counter.
"Just a coffee and a plain donut, please," he
said to the waitress, who stood in front of him,
tapping her pencil on her order pad. Her eyes
were red-rimmed and watery, and he didn't
want to take the chance of having her confuse a
more complex order. Besides, his stomach was
feeling a bit upset.
"That'll be all?" the waitress asked, sounding
very tired.
"Yeah." Bob closed the menu and placed it
back between the salt and pepper shakers. A few
seconds later, the waitress set the coffee, donut,
and bill in front of him.
Bob took a tentative sip as he slid the book
from his pocket and placed it on the counter
beside his elbow. The book had a black edge
where fire had seared away about half of it. Bob
opened the book and began to read, tracing each
word with his forefinger and mouthing each
word like a person learning to read.

were active only during phases of the fu

Greece and Turkey, they also prowled
when the
new. In more northern climates,
werewolf ac
continue throughout the month of
Februar
remnant of the ancient Roman rite celebr
Lupercalia, held on the fifteenth of Feb
the god Fannus, often associated with th
footed Pan.

377
 "More Coffee?"
The question startled Bob, and he looked up
at the waitress wide-eyed. Then he glanced
down at his almost full cup.
"Uhh, no. No thanks," he mumbled, shifting
his arm to cover the book. He picked up his
donut and bit into it.
"Well, let me just warm that up for you," the
waitress said, pouring coffee into his cup until it
threatened to spill.
"Thanks," Bob said, as he watched her walk
away. He wondered if she had a quota of coffee
she had to use up every hour. When he saw her
disappear back into the kitchen, he pulled the
book back out and continued reading.
He had puzzled over this book nearly every
night he had been away from Cooper Falls. By
now, he was familiar with every page. He still
found its incompleteness maddening in places.
He could guess at the meaning of most pages,
but some key passages remained unclear.
He thumbed past the chapters on the theory
and rituals of werewolfery and finally stopped at
the chapter titled: Destroying the Werewolf.
He read carefully, trying to piece it together.
There are, as would be expected, many
ways
rid of a werewolf, both religious and
quasi-
most common way, of course, is to shoot
the
silver bullet; but this has not always been

378
 A person can be cured of lycanthropy if
he
three times. In order to prevent the ret
werewolf, most folk customs require that
the
Otherwise there is the possibility that the
wer

pire.
It went on from here, breaking down the
various customs of different countries for
destroying the werewolf. Bob was satisfied at
this point, though. He had decided to use the
most common, the Hollywood method of
shooting the beast with a silver bullet.
The only problem he could think of, other than
getting in a position to shoot, was how he was going
to get a silver bullet.
Leaving his brim-full cup of coffee and his donut
with one bite out of it, Bob paid his bill at the
register and went out to his car. He wheeled
around the rotary, got onto Route 16, and, with
the sun rising behind and to the right, sped toward
Cooper Falls.

.II.

When he pulled into town two hours later, Bob

drove slowly down Main Street. The view ab-
solutely astounded
him. It looked like he had been
away for years and, in that time, the town had
died. Cooper Falls had never been a thriving town,
but now, at seven-thirty in the morning, it looked

379
as though the town was in a state of siege.
The plate glass windows of the pharmacy were
starred with holes. Plywood covered the bottom of
the windows. Every store window along Main
Street was either boarded or soaped over, or had its
blinds drawn.
Bob pulled over to the side of the road beside the
library and looked up at the cold stone and bricks.
It seemed like years, lifetimes ago, that he and Lisa
walked up those stairs holding hands. Now there
was a thin covering of dirty snow on the steps. Bob
shivered as he looked up at the thin, skeletal trees,
not yet budding. He lit a cigarette and drove the
length of Main Street toward Lisa's apartment
building.
Like the rest of the town, Lisa's building looked
asleep or deserted. Bob realized with a start that he
hadn't seen anybody on Main Street. There should
have been someone — a milkman or a paperboy or
someone!
Bob pulled up to the curb in front of Lisa's apart-
ment looked
and up . He felt his spirits rise when he
saw the curtain billowing in and out with the
morning breeze.
He raced up the steps two and three at a time up
to the third-floor landing. His hand was shaking as
he reached out and pressed the buzzer beside the
door.
No answer.
He put his ear against the door and pushed the
buzzer again, listening to it sound within the
apartment. After a moment, he heard a faint
scuffing sound. Then the door lock was being
worked.
380
 "Who is it?" Lisa called out, her voice still thick
with sleep.
"Me," Bob replied simply.
The lock clicked and the door swung open, then
Lisa's surprised face filled the opening. She stood
there in the doorway for a moment, then she col-
lapsedhis
into arms and burst out sobbing.
"Oh God! Oh God! I can't believe it. It's really
you!" she sobbed, her voice muffled by his
shoulder.
Bob patted her on the back, then held her away
at arm's length. "Well," he said, forcing a smile,
"aren't you going to ask me in?" Then he kissed her,
long and deep.
They went into the apartment and sat down at
the kitchen table.
"I can't believe you're here," Lisa kept
repeating. "Why didn't you call or write? Oh,
God. Are you here to stay or are you passing
through."
Bob could tell that she was trying hard to
restrain any emotion that might show in her voice,
but she was doing poorly.
"I'm not sure," he said calmly, locking her with
his gaze. "I'm really not sure."
"So," Lisa said, smiling weakly.
"So," Bob said, nodding his head. "I got all your
letters." He watched Lisa, who sat looking from
him to the table cloth to him again. "I can't believe
what's happened to the town. Why didn't you say
something in your letters, when you wrote?"
Lisa shrugged. "I don't know." She sighed and
looked up at the ceiling, fighting tears. "It's been

381
terrible. Lots of people are scared, lots have left
town for good. It's been terrible."
"I can't say as I blame them for leaving," Bob
said. He noticed that Lisa's face paled. "They've
got plenty of good reasons."
Lisa was gnawing at her lower lip.
"Yes, Lisa," Bob said, reaching across the table
and taking her hand. "I've come back to, to do
what I have to do to stop it."
The tears streaked down Lisa's cheeks, and fear
registered in her eyes. "Bob! You don't — I can't — "
He squeezed her hand tighter, reassuringly. "I
know what it is. I know who it is. And I know what
I have to do to stop it," he said intensely.
"Not now, Bob," Lisa said, eyes overflowing.
"Let's not talk about it now. Later."
"Sure." Bob said, getting up and walking over
beside her. He grasped her by the elbow and,
guiding her gently, led her into the bedroom.

.HI.

"I don't think we should be doing this ," Lisa said

as Bob stopped his car at the foot of the Simmons'
snow-filled driveway. The late afternoon sun
threw out a slanting ray of light that illuminated
the house, making it stand out in sharp relief
against the dark forest behind it. The weather-
worn shingles,
the crumbling masonry of the
chimney, and the boarded-over windows stood out
with such sharp detail that Bob felt as though he
was looking at a painting.

382
 "What?" Bob said. "We're just stopping by
to —
"To break the law, that's what/' Lisa snapped as
she pointed to a sign tacked to the gatepost. No
Trespassing. Police Take Notice.
"The house has been boarded up for over a
month now," Lisa said. "I don't think we have any
right to be prying around."
Bob snuffed loudly and, feeling his resolve build,
reached into the back seat for the two flashlights he
had brought. He held one out to Lisa and said,
"Look, you don't have to come up. If you want to
wait in the car you can. I want to take a look
around."
"Inside?"
"Yeah, inside. If what I read was right, there
must be some evidence in the house. If Ned was do-
ing any
kind of magic, there would have to be some
signs of it, some implements or something. Do you
want to stay in the car?"
"Are you kidding? Stay here alone?" She bit at
her lower lip. She hefted the flashlight in her hand
and switched it on and off a few times. The beam
made a pale circle on the glove compartment.
"Don't worry," Bob said, "they're brand new
Ever-Readys." He glanced once more up at the still
house and said, "Come on."
They stood at the bottom of the driveway for a
moment, silently surveying the gently sloping
land, the house, and the towering ridge behind the
house. Then they started trudging through the
snow. The going was harder than Bob had ex-
pected,
before
and they were halfway to the house,
they were both puffing for breath.
383
 "Looks spooky, doesn't it?" Lisa said. "It almost
looks like a ghost ship riding waves of snow."
"You wax poetical," Bob replied, breathing
rapidly.
The sun was lower in the sky, and the slanting
gold lighting brought out darkening purple
shadows. The ridge loomed taller, darker, more
threatening.
"Bob," Lisa said suddenly, surprising him.
"Don't you think we should go back. We shouldn't
be out here. I mean, if there's any investigating to
be done, let Thurston do it."
"Oh, sure. I'll just give him a call tomorrow and
say his troubles are over, all he has to do is arrest
Ned Simmons. He's a werewolf. He's the one who's
been killing all these people. They'd throw the net
for sure, Lisa."
"Maybe you could approach it a little more ra-
tionally,"
said Lisa
defensively.
"How can you be rational about something
that's so irrational?"
"I don't know," Lisa said, looking down at her
feet. "Maybe you could say that there are hippies
or someone living out here and he ought to check it
out. Anything. I just think we shouldn't be out
here."
"I'm going to have a look around," Bob said
firmly. He turned away from Lisa and continued
walking toward the dark, silent house.
One end of the porch had caved in from the
weight of the snow. The floor boards creaked
underfoot. Bob and Lisa stood at the door, looking
nervously at each other. Wind whistled in the

384
eaves, loosening snow that had accumulated there.
"After you/' Bob said, in a deep, Boris Karloff
voice. He swept his hand in a grand gesture toward
the door.
Lisa was unamused. "Let's take the boards off
the door first, OK?"
"Sure," Bob replied. He grabbed the No
Trespassing sign that was nailed to the door and
ripped it off.
"Bob!"
He shrugged and slid his gloved fingers under
one of the rough planks. Grunting loudly, he gave
it a quick tug. The board squeaked loudly as it
began to give. Bob braced his foot on the side of the
house and pulled again. The dried-out board sud-
denly snapped
in half. Arms windmilling wildly,
Bob fell backwards over the porch railing and
landed flat on his back in the snowbank.
"Bob!" Lisa screamed. "Are you all — " She
stopped and smiled when she saw that he was
laughing.
"Jeeze, we're off to a flying start," he said,
standing up and brushing himself off.
He mounted the steps and started working on
the boards again, this time more carefully. The
rest of the boards pulled away easily. When he
was finished, Bob looked at Lisa quickly and
then reached for the doorknob. He was surprised
to find it unlocked. Hinges complaining, the
door swung slowly inward.
"God! What a stench!" Lisa said, covering her
face with her mittens.
"You just can't get good help these days," Bob

385
said, wrinkling his nose. He was smiling, but
careful not to take a deep breath of the noxious
air in the house. "It'll air out soon enough and,
besides, we'll get used to it in a minute."
"You can get used to it," Lisa said.
Bob clicked on his flashlight and let the beam
dance around in the hallway. After a moment,
they both stepped inside.
"The power's off, no doubt," Bob said, flicking
a useless wall switch.
"What could make this place smell so bad?"
Lisa asked.
"Just being closed up so long," Bob said, walking
further down the hallway. His light beam il-
luminatedcobwebs
wafting and flickering dust
motes.
When nothing unusual appeared in the hallway,
Lisa seemed to relax. She snapped on her flashlight
and began scanning the floor and walls.
"You know, you haven't really told me what
we're looking for," she said. She was breathing
shallowly through her mouth , and her voice sound-
ed weak.
Bob walked over to the living room door and
leaned inside. The wall creaked from the pressure
of his weight. His throat felt tight from the stale
air, and he had trouble speaking. "Well, I told you
that I've done a bit of reading about werewolves,
lycanthropy. That book we got, the one burned at
Julie's house, wasn't much good because half of it
was burned."
"Oh," Lisa broke in, "I forgot to tell you. I
ordered a copy from the publisher for the library.
It came a few days ago."
386
 "Oh, good/' Bob replied. "Anyway, I read some
other books and, well, if someone want to turn into
a werewolf, he — "
"Or she, right? A woman can do it too?"
"Oh, yeah, sure . But the person has to have some
magic implements. You know, potions and all
that. As it turns out, most of the witches' potions
were organic hallucinogenics. A lot of scholars
think those old witches were just tripping their
brains out. When they were flying, they were real-
ly just
stoned."
"So what does this all have to do with your
werewolf?" Lisa asked sharply.
"Well, for becoming a werewolf, the primary
drug potion used contained belladonna. Also, the
person had to have a piece of wolf fur. Usually it
was a belt that they wore while doing the
ceremony."
"You think we'll find one here? That Ned really
is doing magic?"
"I'm not sure," Bob said. "You see, people could
become werewolves either voluntarily or involun-
tarily. Now,
if Ned was doing it on purpose, he
would have to have something like that wolf pelt.
The other thing I'm thinking is that Julie Sikes
might have been doing it to Ned, that, for Ned, it
was involuntary. In that case, what we're looking
for probably burned with Julie's house. We prob-
ably won't
find anything here."
"Except maybe a warrant for breaking and
entering," Lisa said. She walked back to the front
door and looked down at the car parked at the bot-
tomthe
of driveway. The sun had set, but she

387
could still see the wavering line of tracks they had
made through the snow.
Bob snuffed and entered the living room. All of
the furniture was covered with sheets. The chairs
sat like hunchback ghosts in the gloom of evening.
The clock on the mantelpiece had stopped at ten
past ten. As Bob looked around, Lisa followed
closely behind him.
"You said that Ned hasn't been seen around
town for a month or so, huh?" Bob asked as he
got down on his hands and knees and peered
under the sofa.
"At least," Lisa said. "No one's sure when they
saw him last, but it was quite a while ago."
"Does Thurston think he was killed by the
wild dog and just hasn't been found yet?"
"I guess so. After Ned had been missing for a
week or so, they came out here and boarded the
house up."
Bob stood up and wiped his hands on his pants
legs. "You could start looking around too, you
know."
"Sure." Lisa walked over to the TV and pulled
it away from the wall. She shined her light
behind it but found nothing. She wasn't even
sure she'd know it if she found anything impor-
tant, she
but kept looking.
For a few minutes longer they poked around
in the living room. Then, as if by unspoken
agreement, they both went into the kitchen and
continued their search. Suddenly, Lisa scream-
ed. She
heard a wild scrambling sound behind
her. She spun around and trained her flashlight

388
beam on the walls and floor but saw nothing.
"Did you hear that?" she asked nervously.
"Your scream? Yeah."
"No, I — " Again, the scratching sound came.
This time she was ready for it, and she pin-
pointed
with ither beam.
"In the walls," Bob said, "it sounds like. Prob-
ably just
mice in the walls."
"Whew!" Lisa wiped her forehead and loos-
ened her
coat collar.
In the kitchen, they looked behind everything:
pulling the refrigerator away from the wall,
looking inside the cupboards, shifting everything
around. They even knocked on the walls in
hopes of locating a hidden hollow place. They
finally concluded that the kitchen would yield
nothing.
They were heading into the hallway when
Bob suddenly slipped and fell. He landed on one
knee and bumped his head against the counter.
His flashlight clattered to the floor and went out
as it rolled away.
"Aww, shit!" he yelled, rubbing his head with
one hand and his knee with the other.
"You OK?" Lisa asked. The beam from her
light hit his eyes, making them hurt.
"Yeah. Yeah. I saw that before but stepped in
it anyway." He groped in the darkness for his
flashlight and found it. He sighed with relief
when he snapped it on and it worked.
"What? What did you see?" Lisa asked.
"That." Bob pointed his light at a dark brown
stain on the wooden floor. He touched it ten-

389
tatively and found that it was sticky and had
begun to moulder.
"Something spilled here," he said, studying
the brown ooze. "Probably from the stove."
"Look here," Lisa said, training her beam a
little to Bob's right. There was another, deep
rust-colored stain on the floor.
"Looks like dried blood to me," Bob said.
Lisa gasped softly, then said, "I think they
reported that Ellie was found dead in the kit-
chen."
Bob snickered. "Well, you don't find blood
like this if someone dies of heart failure."
Bob got up slowly, keeping his light on the
brick-red stain. "I just thought," he said, stopp-
ing Lisa
from heading down the hallway. "I
didn't check in the fireplace. A classic hiding
place, as long as they didn't use it."
"After you," Lisa said.
Bob went into the living room and, getting
down on his hands and knees, peered up into the
fireplace. The narrow flue was crusted with
thick soot. It looked empty. Shifting into a better
position, he held his flashlight with one hand
and gingerly reached up behind the damper. He
ran his hand along the edge, reaching as far
down back as he could.
"Hmmmm. Nothing. Wait a minute." He
grunted as he stretched up into the chimney. "I
felt something." He reached, then dropped back
with a sigh. "Christ," he muttered, rubbing his
face with his soot-smeared hand. "That can
work up a sweat. I don't know how the hell San-
ta Clausdoes it!"
390
 He smiled and angled his body around to
reach again.
He was breathing rapidly as he shoved his arm
up over the damper and grabbed for what he had
felt. "It's furry, all right," he grunted. "Just a little
bit —Got it!" His fingers closed on the bundle of
fur.
He withdrew his hand slowly so he wouldn't
scrape it on the corroding damper. A shower of
soot rained onto his face as he pulled his hand out
triumphantly and shined his flashlight on his find.
Lisa screamed and, in a quick reflex action, Bob
tossed the object away, "Key-rist!" he shouted,
looking down at the partially decomposed body of
a large rat. He wanted to laugh at his surprise, but
the way the dead rat's eye absorbed the light like a
chip of black marble made his stomach do a quick
flip-flop.
"Must have gotten caught up there," he ma-
naged
say,toonce his pulse had slowed.
"Sure as hell isn't a pelt of wolf fur," Lisa said
grimly.
"Let's check the rest of the house."

.IV.

Seavey and Thurston sat in the idling cruiser not

speaking. The spotlight on the side of the car was
fixed on the rear license plate of the car they had
found parked at the bottom of the Simmons
driveway. Thurston took a clipboard from the con-
sole and
jotted down the plate number. "For

391
later," he said, not particularly to Seavey.
"You're sure it's Wentworth's car?" Seavey
asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Of course I'm sure," Thurston snapped. He
tapped his pen on the edge of the clipboard.
"Well, don't you think we ought to go on up
there and see what the hell he's up to? We've got
the place posted."
"I don't know," Thurston said, rubbing his
nose with his gloved finger. "I think I'd just as
soon leave him alone for now."
"How long you s'pose he's been back in
town?" Seavey asked.
"Good question." Thurston looked over at
Seavey and then leaned forward to stare up at
the house. "I had no idea he was here until
tonight. All we gotta do is ask around a bit.
We'll find out."
"Do you think he might have had something
to do with Ned Simmons' disappearing? As far as
we knew, Wentworth was supposed to be in
Florida."
"I told you," Thurston said evenly, as though
to a child, "that I've never trusted that guy.
Something makes me think he knows more than
he's telling. Once I found out about his
background, that he had raped a girl, well —"
"I thought that had never been proved,"
Seavey said. "That it had never gone to court."
Thurston spoke as if he hadn't heard Seavey.
"And if he raped a girl once, why, who's to say
he would do it again, and then maybe kill."
"And you don't think we should go up there and

392
check it out?" He turned and looked up at the
house. It stood out like a soot smear on the dark-
ened [Link] shivered and looked back
at Thurston. "What could he be up to?"
"Look!" Thurston said suddenly, pointing up at
the house. "In the window to the right."
"I don't see anything."
"It's gone now . But there was a light in one of the
windows. He's in the house."
"Come on, let's go back to the office," Seavey
said. "This place gives me the creeps."
Thurston dropped the cruiser into gear and
slowly pulled into the road beside Bob's car. Then
he started driving down Bartlett Road slowly, star-
ing into
his rearview mirror more than at the road
ahead.
"I wonder what he's doing up there," Seavey
said softly as they drove back toward town.

The door leading to the cellar was bolted

tightly. Even by throwing his full weight against
the door, Bob couldn't budge it. All he got was a
sore shoulder. He grasped the door knob and
rattled it furiously. "Goddamned thing!"
"We've come up empty handed, Bob. Let's go
back. We're not going to find anything." Lisa's
voice was almost a whine. Bob looked from the
cellar door to her and back to the door.
"We may as well finish our search," he said
with exasperation. "Let's see if we can find
something to get this door open with."

393
 They went back into the kitchen and looked
around. In the anteroom, Bob found a rusted
tire-iron. "Just right," he said, hefting the heavy
metal bar. "Let's give it a go."
Back at the door, Bob shoved the end of the
iron in by the lock. He gave the bar a few light
shoves, then with a fierce grunt, he threw his
weight into it.
"If — I —can —just —spring— it."
His face flushed, and he could hear his heart
thundering in his ears.
"Just— get— it— to— "
Suddenly, the door kicked open, swung away
from him, and banged against the wall. He lost
his grip on the tire-iron, and it fell to the floor
with a bang.
They had gotten used to the stuffy, noxious air
of the house and had forgotten about it. But
now, as the cellar door swung open, another,
stronger wave of putrid air hit them in the face.
"Whew! Now we know where it's coming
from," Bob said, staggering backwards. Both he
and Lisa had their hands up over their faces.
Lisa started to retch but controlled it. Heaving a
little sigh, she winked at Bob over her mittened
hand.
"You don't have to come," Bob said, his voice
muffled. He trained his light on the stairway
leading down.
"Ummmm, I think I'll wait up here, if you don't
mind," Lisa said from behind her mitten. She
stepped back and leaned against the wall opposite
the open cellar door.

394
 "Sure. Be just a second," Bob said as he placed
his foot on the top step. The stairway creaked
under his weight, and he cast one quick look at Lisa
before starting down.
The awful smell got stronger as he took a few
steps down. 'Til be right up," he called. He paused
on the steps and fished his handkerchief from his
back pocket. He tied it outlaw fashion across his
face. That would keep one hand free to hold the
light and the other free, if he needed it.
He walked the rest of the way down the steps,
letting the thick, clammy air of the cellar embrace
him . He felt as though he were walking into a dark,
murky pool of water.
At the foot of the stairs, he stopped, adjusted the
handkerchief on his face, and looked back up to
where he could see the glow from Lisa's flashlight.
It reassured him as he turned and began to scan the
cellar.
"Bob?"
Lisa's voice sounded far away, and the impres-
sionhad
he that he was submerged under water
came back stronger. He tugged at the mask,
wanting to pull it aside and take a deep breath to
dispel the drowning feeling. He knew, though,
that the putrid odor would gag him if he did.
"Bob! Did you find anything?" Lisa shouted.
"Just a second. I'm looking." The handker-
chief damp
was and clung uncomfortably to his
face.
Bob swung his flashlight around in a wide arc.
The low wooden beams, rough-cut and rotting,
were draped with cobwebs. They hung mo-

395
tionless in the still, stifling air. The dirt floor was
damp. Mold grew in the corners and up the sides
of the walls. Black earth clung to his shoes as
Bob walked over to a long-unused tool-bench.
The tools were corroded brick-red; like the blood
on the floor upstairs, he thought.
He walked past the stairs over to the thick
bulk of the chimney. For a moment, he scanned
the crumbling masonry, streaked with lime and
cement. He picked at a loose brick that fell to
the floor with a dull plop.
"Anything?" Lisa shouted from the top of the
stairs.
"No."
"Come on up, Bob."
He didn't answer as he moved around the
mass of the chimney to the back of the cellar. "I
guess I'll — " He stopped short.
"Bob?"
4«J 99

"Bob! What is it?"

He moved his mouth to answer, but all that
came out was a strangled sound.
"Bob!"
He heard her at the top of the steps. He knew
that if he turned around he would see her
flashlight beam reaching down into the cellar's
darkness. But his eyes were held by the sight il-
luminated
his flashlight.
by He staggered back
and bumped against the chimney, pressing his
back against the crumbling bricks, hoping their
solidness would ground him in reality.
The stairway creaked as Lisa started down. Bob

396
turned quickly and ran to the foot of the stairs.
"No!" he shouted, holding up his hand to block
her way. "Stay up there!"
"What is it, Bob!" Lisa yelled, panic coloring her
voice. She was poised in mid-step.
"Get upstairs!"
When he saw her take a quick step backwards,
he aimed his light into the corner behind the
chimney, thankful that he could see it from there.
He raced up the steps three at a time. Once he was
in the hallway, he turned Lisa around roughly and
pushed her toward the door.
"Let's get the hell out of here!"
It wasn't until they were back in the car with the
doors locked and the motor idling that he told her
what he had seen down in the cellar. He knew that
from then on, for the rest of his life, he would be
haunted by what he had seen. In the corner of the
cellar, the mummified body of Julie Sikes was lying
face up on the dirt floor. Her head, hands, and feet
were all touching a point of the pentagram that
had been dug into the cellar floor. What most hor-
rified Bob
was that there had been a wide smile on
her face!

397
 Chapter Seventeen

Sunday, April 11 (Palm Sunday)

.1.

Lisa stood at the side of the church, watching as

the congregation filed slowly out the door follow-
ing the
early morning Palm Sunday service. She
was nervous and shifted continually from one foot
to the other.
There was a clatter behind her as the acolyte
snuffed out the altar candles. She looked around,
saw him eyeing her suspiciously, and gave him a
curt nod. Sighing, she sat back down in the pew.
She hadn't really intended to speak with
Reverend Alder. But when she had arrived for
church, he had commented that she looked pale, or
worried, and asked if there was something he could
do. A valiant effort not to let her emotions show
failed, and he had asked her to wait for him after
the service.
Snatches from the service that morning kept
echoing in her mind as she waited. She crossed her
legs and folded her arms across her chest. Reverend
398
Alder's sermon had been on guilt: just what she
needed to hear. It had dampened the bright spring
morning. Although the connection had never been
made explicit, Lisa was sure the reverend had
meant for the congregation to see the parallels be-
tween Jesus'
suffering on the cross and the town's
recent suffering.
Both were dying, Lisa thought with a shudder.
The old spiritual the choir had sung also hit
home.

Whose hands were drivin' the nails, O

Lord?
Whose hands were drivin' the nails,
Lord, O Lord?
My hands were drivin' the nails, O Lord!
And I did crucify my God!"
Tears welled in Lisa's eyes, threatening to spill.
She wiped them until they began to sting. The
spiritual kept changing in her mind to:
Whose fangs are destroyin' the town, O Lord?
Whose claws are destroyin' the town, Lord, O
Lord?
A hand came to rest gently on her shoulder. Lisa
was surprised that, feeling as keyed up as she was,
she didn't scream and jump. She looked up at the
smiling face of Reverend Alder.
"Can we talk here, or would you like to take a
walk?" he asked softly. His bushy white eyebrows
came together over the bridge of his nose.
Lisa shrugged. When she made no move to
stand, the reverend sat down beside her. He put

399
his arm on the back of the pew almost touching her
shoulder. Again, Lisa was surprised that she didn't
pull away. She felt reassured that there was some-
one she
could talk to.
With watery eyes and a voice that threatened to
crack at any second, she told Reverend Alder
everything. She told him about her relationship
with Bob; Bob's idea about what was killing the
people of the town; even, although she had pro-
mised
to,not
about Bob's discovery of Julie Sikes'
body in Ned's cellar. The whole time she spoke,
the reverend sat, silently nodding his head
whenever she paused.
"And that's it," she said at last. Her constricted
throat was barely able to get the words out. "The
whole thing is driving me crazy, and I don't know
what it's doing to Bob!" She did feel a measure of
relief just for having said it to someone besides
Bob.
Reverend Alder sat for a minute with his hands
folded in his lap. His eyes were fixed on the cross
on the altar. Finally, he cleared his throat and
spoke. "You know, Lisa, this past winter has been
without a doubt the most difficult time of my life.
That included when I was a chaplain in World
War II. There, at least, the deaths had some sense
of purpose. The senseless deaths this past winter
leave me feeling hollow."
"I know," Lisa said, sniffing. "Sometimes it
seems as though God is so cruel."
"No. No." the reverend said, gripping Lisa's
shoulder. "Not God! It isn't God who's testing
us. It isn't God who's killing these people. It's

400
Satan, the Enemy. He's the one who brought
this to oar town."
"You mean," Lisa said, looking up, "you mean
that you think Bob might be right? That there is
something supernatural, a werewolf who's doing
this?"
A trace of a smile twitched at the corner of the
reverend's mouth.
"Well, perhaps not quite that literally, Lisa.
But, yes, in a way I think Bob might have,
well . . ."He leaned back and craned his neck,
rubbing his hands vigorously together. "There
might be an element of truth there. Like God,
Satan can work in mysterious ways, ways we
mortals cannot discern."
"That night at Bob's house, when that, that
animal came through the door. You wouldn't
have believed it! I still don't believe what I saw,
but my cross was the only thing that stopped it,
my silver cross!"
Reverend Alder said nothing.
"And all that stuff about Julie Sikes doing
magic. Bob found one of her magic books in the
ashes of her house the night it burned. It was
pretty badly damaged, but he pieced enough of
it together to find some of the incantations she
might have used."
"People have been known to engage in some
rather bizarre practices," Reverend Alder said.
"And for them, a lot of times, they seem to work."
Lisa gasped.
"I said seem to work," he repeated, looking at
Lisa intently. "You and I know that there is a lot of

401
wrong in the world. A lot of people delude
themselves into thinking —"
"But it's more than that!" Lisa said sharply. "I
saw! That night at Bob's house, I saw! There is
something in Cooper Falls, something super-
naturalkilling
that's people!"
"You missed the point of my message this morn-
ing, didn't
you?" the reverend said, patting Lisa's
shoulder.
Lisa looked at him quizzically.
"It's Palm Sunday, the day Jesus rode into
Jerusalem, knowing that he was going to his death.
But winter and death are behind us now, Lisa.
Easter is not a celebration of death, it's a celebra-
tionlife.
of The promise of spring. The eternal pro-
cessnew
of life coming from the old. Our Lord
said, 'He that believeth in me shall not perish, but
have eternal life.' "
Lisa sat wringing her hands in her lap. They
were slippery with sweat.
"But Julie Sikes' body! Ned had it there in his
cellar, inside the magic pentagram. Reverend
Alder!" Lisa sat forward and gripped the
reverend's arms. "If what you say is all true, that
means there can be eternal death too!"

.II.

Wednesday, April 14
Bob sat at the kitchen counter, feeling like
Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny as he
tumbled three bullets from one hand to the

402
other. These bullets were not ordinary. Where
most bullets would have been dull lead, these
were, instead, brightly polished silver. Bob
looked at them and rattled them like dice.
"I felt like such a damn fool, asking that guy
in the gunshop to make them for me," he said,
looking at Lisa. "Finally I told him that a friend
of mine was a Lone Ranger fan and that these
were for his birthday. That seemed to satisfy
him, and he finished making them without any
more are-you-crazy looks."
Bob glanced down at the partially burned
book that lay spread open on the counter.
"I wish you had remembered to bring the new
copy with you," he said.
"Sorry."
"Oh, well." He dropped the bullets one by one
into the crack in the spine. As they landed, he
half-expected to see them glow with a dull blue
light like the cross had the night they had been
attacked.
"I just can't believe that this is really happen-
ing," Lisa
said distantly. She shook her head and
bit her lower lip.
Bob snickered and picked up the bullets. He
started passing them from hand to hand again.
"And you're sure this will do the trick?" Lisa
asked. "That this will destroy the werewolf?"
"It's probably the most traditional way. I
mean, you have to assume that there were
werewolves long before gunpowder was in-
vented,
thereso must be other ways. It isn't
mentioned that often in the book." He tapped

403
the charred pages. "But that night at the house
here, when the werewolf came through the
door, I don't think it was the cross that drove
him away."
"Huh?" Lisa said, surprised. "I thought a
religious symbol would always protect you." She
looked worried.
"Against vampires, yes," Bob said. "But not
for werewolves. They operate on a much lower,
more bestial level than vampires. No. I think it
was the silver in the cross that made the explo-
sion when
it touched the animal."
"But you feel that you can depend on the
silver bullets?"
"There are plenty of other ways," Bob said
with a tight laugh. "But if it's good enough for
Hollywood, it's good enough for me."
"Some recommendation," Lisa muttered.
"It depends on which country you check, but
there are other ways to reverse the spell and
destroy the werewolf. I guess it all comes down
to whether you want to kill it or just have it
resume its human shape."
"Are there any other, safer ways?" Lisa asked.
"Well, you can rap the beast on the head with
a stick, three times between the ears. That's sup-
posed
reverse
to the spell. Or you can repeat the
person's Christian name three times. That is sup-
posed
reverse
to the change. Or you can just
draw blood."
"Sounds like just about anything will do it,"
Lisa said.
Bob chuckled and thumbed the charred edges

404
of the pages. "I think I've got enough out of this
to do the job."
"You're sure," Lisa said after a moment, "that
you don't want to go to Thurston and tell him.
After all, there is a body in the cellar up there.
The police should know."
"Thurston would probably just love it if I
came in and told him where to find the body.
He'd have me locked up, either there or in the
looney bin, and throw the damned key away."
"You don't have to be so melodramatic," Lisa
said.
"Yeah, well. . ." Bob replied. He shifted
uneasily in his seat when the image of Julie's
smiling face rose in his mind. He shook his head
to clear it away, as if the image was water in his
ears.
"I mean it, Bob. You're acting as though
you're the only person involved in this. Think of
the other people, the ones who have died, the
families. Ned! Think about what Ned must be
going through!"
"Well, that all depends on whether Ned is do-
ingon
it purpose or not." He shifted again. "I
know, Lisa. Really. I feel it a lot more than,
maybe, I let on. It's just that I think, I'm sure
that unless I do this — " He indicated the silver
bullets. "Unless I do this, there's no hope." His
mouth twisted into a hard grimace.
"But there is hope, Bob." Her eyes were water-
[Link]
"I in you, and I believe you're right. It
contradicts everything rational I've ever learned,
but I'm convinced there's something supernatural
going on."
405
 "Well . " Bob shrugged his shoulders . "At least I'll
have company in my rubber room." He felt better
when Lisa's mouth spread slowly into a smile.
"Then you'll talk to Thurston?"
"I didn't say that!" He clenched his fist holding
the bullets and pounded it on the counter top . "No!
I've got to do it this way!"

.III.

Ned had seen them as they came up to the house.

He had seen them and recognized them. He had
been hiding behind one of the pine trees in the back
yard. After they had broken through the front door
and entered, he had crept around to the edge of the
porch and crouched there. He caught snatches of
what they said as they went from room to room.
Once the sun set, he could see the glow of their
flashlights through the slats covering the windows.
He had wished violently that he could have had his
other shape then!
He sat now beside the small campfire in the
abandoned mine, thinking about what he would
have to do. His upper lip tightened into a grimace.
He snapped a wrist-thick branch in half and threw
it into the blaze. Tilting his head back, he waved
his hands over the fire and watched the shadows
wash over the dirt-and-stone ceiling. A laugh built
slowly in his chest.
He knew that he could never go back to his house
now. Even if they hadn't found his secret in the
cellar, he was just as pleased to get rid of that house

406
forever. It reminded him of his humanity —the
weaker part, the part he rejected. He longed for his
other shape.
What he also knew now was who he would have
to find next, when the change came. He didn't
have to go outside to know that the full moon was
near. He could feel the strange, subtle pulling that
began in his groin and slowly spread out to his
stomach and limbs.
Soon! The time is soon! Not yet. Soon!
He stood up and made his way along the twisting
tunnels to the mine-shaft mouth. He walked with
long, sure strides.
Soon!
As he neared the mine opening, he felt the pull-
inghis
in groin grow stronger. The power was ris-
ing!
From the ledge, which hung some fifty feet
above the abandoned-mine office-building, he
could look out over the surrounding forest. The
glow of light from the town shone just above the
thick black line of trees. The night air was filled
with the rushing sound of the falls. The winter ice
had broken up, freeing the river once again. Ned
looked to his left at the misty spray rising from the
falls. It looked like a dense silver cloud, obscuring
the further shore.
Behind him, the nearly full moon threw his
shadow along the ground and out over the edge of
the cliff. As he focused his gaze on his shadow, the
brilliantly lit ground in front of him seemed to
grow brighter, more distinct.
The other shape's eyes! he thought with barely

407
contained pleasure. I'm getting the night animal's
vision. It will be tonight, later!
He turned around, looked up at the pale silver
disk of the moon, and raised his arms as if to em-
brace it.
The urge, the power stirred deeply in his bowels
as he opened his arms to the moon. The light grew
brighter, making him squint. The moonlight seem-
ed almost
to pierce him, right through his body as if
he had no substance left, or as if he were changing
into another substance.
A low sound beneath the hissing of the falls made
him start, turn around, and drop to his hands and
knees in one swift motion. Down below, on the
road by the old office, a car was pulling to a stop.
He skinned his lips back across his teeth. A low
rumble came from deep within his chest. With his
altered night-vision, Ned could clearly see the
black-and-white police cruiser.
Ned watched, coiled with tension and ready to
sprint off into the mine if he was seen. He wished
anxiously that the change would come faster. Then
he would know how to take care of the people
down below!
Thurston opened his door and got out. Ted
Seavey stepped out on the passenger's side. The
headlights were still on, shining onto the office
building. Above the roar of the falls, Ned, with
his acute animal hearing, could hear the buzz of
their voices.
"Uh-uh. Not me," Seavy said, shaking his
head and looking up the face of the cliff. "I ain't
going up there. Not after dark. Footing would
be too risky."
408
 "We ought to check that line of traps up
there." Thurston said. They both stood for a mo-
ment, looking
up at the cave mouth. Ned was
sure they couldn't see him.
They don't have the power! They don't have
the vision!
Thurston turned, said something Ned couldn't
quite make out, and then they both got back into
the cruiser. Before driving away, Thurston
directed the spotlight across the side of the cliff.
The circle of light darted back and forth across
the mine opening. Ned pressed his body close to
the ground until he heard the cruiser driving
away. The tension in his body slowly unwound
as he got up and brushed himself off.
He looked back up at the moon, smiled, and
then walked back into the mine to his campsite.
The fire had burned low, but it had made the
cave warm enough for comfort. Ned quickly un-
dressed
layand
down on the musty mattress. He
felt a deep ache in his joints, as though his bones
and muscles were tightening, twisting, re-
forming.
forced
He himself to relax and let the
change come. He fixed his eyes on the vaulted
ceiling of the mine and let himself drift.
Soon. Soon.

.IV.

"You're sure you don't want to come along?"

Bob asked for the third time. 'Tt'd be kind of nice
just to relax a bit, maybe have an early breakfast at
a truck stop out on the highway."

409
 "No," Lisa said. "It's too late to be running
around. You should go home and get some sleep."
"You think I'd be able to sleep?" Bob asked.
"Besides." He glanced at his wristwatch. "It's only
eleven-thirty. We should do something different
to, to take our minds off it."
Lisa paled. "You're going to start the hunt
tomorrow night?"
Bob nodded.
"You could stay here. Have an early breakfast
with me," Lisa said.
Bob shook his head. "No. We'd spend the whole
time either dwelling on it or talking around it. I
have to do something different, so I won't think
about it so much." He put on his jacket and started
toward the door. "I think a nice long drive will
help clear my head. Tomorrow night's the full
moon, you know."
"Will you stop reminding me," Lisa snapped.
"Anyway, I think I'd rather get some sleep,
especially if I had some company," she added
demurely.
Bob chuckled and shook his head. "Don't tempt
me, woman!" he said with mock anger. "I have
business to tend to first!" He realized that his at-
tempt
humor
at was not cutting the tension, so he
added, "I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon, before I
start hunting."
He put his hand on her shoulder, and she tensed.
"Yeah. OK."
"See you tomorrow," he said, kissed her quickly.
And then he went down the steps.
"Yeah, see you," Lisa said to the door as she

410
swung it shut. She locked it and stood there for a
moment with her cheek pressed to the wood.
She forced herself to go through her usual mo-
tionspreparing
of for bed: brushing her hair,
washing her teeth, washing her face with Noxema.
She finally admitted to herself that she was kid-
ding herself.
She stood in the bathroom, staring at
her pale reflection in the mirror. She shuddered
and then walked over to the bathroom window
and looked out on the street below.
The quiet street was bathed with bright
moonlight. She couldn't see the moon from where
she was, but she knew that there was a small, im-
perceptible
missing
rindfrom the left side of the
moon's face. That thought and what it meant to
her and Bob brought tears to her eyes.
The sudden knock on her door made her jump.
She snatched a square of toilet paper and dabbed
at her eyes as she started for the door.
"Who is it?" she called, hoping that Bob had
decided to come back after all.
"Thurston, Mrs. Carter. May I come in?"
Lisa clasped one hand to her throat as she un-
bolted
door.
the "Is something the matter?" she
asked anxiously, thinking something might have
happened to Bob. Lisa stepped back to let
Thurston and Seavey enter.
"Evening," Thurston said, tipping his hat.
Seavey nodded and remained silent, standing by
the open door.
"Is something the matter?" Lisa repeated. "Has
something happened?" Her hands twisted
together.

411
 "No, no. Take it easy, Mrs. Carter. Nothing's
wrong."
"Then isn't it a little late to be making social
calls?" she asked sarcastically. She glanced at the
wall clock and saw that it was after midnight.
"Well. ..." Thurston hitched his belt impor-
tantly, glanced
at Seavey, and squared his
shoulders. "We've been out to your boyfriend's
place."
"He's all right, isn't he?" Lisa asked. She felt a
stomach-wrenching wave of fear, even though
Bob had left no more than half an hour ago.
"I dunno," Thurston said slowly, cocking his
eyebrows and glancing toward the bedroom
door. "We've been out there looking for him,
you know, just wantin' to talk to him about a
few things. He wasn't there. We just thought we
might find him here." He finished the last state-
ment with
a suggestively rising inflection that
galled Lisa.
"He's not here," she said coldly, swinging her
arm wide to indicate the empty apartment. "Ob-
viously."
"Hmmm. Well."
"If you have a message for him, I could give it
to him." She paused, then added, "Provided you
don't intend to drop by later tonight."
Thurston shook his head thoughtfully. "Not
really. I just wanted to —"
"To ask him what he was doin' out at the Sim-
mons place
a couple 'a nights ago, for one,"
Seavey piped in.
Thurston turned and glared at his deputy.
"The Simmons place," Lisa said weakly. She
412
looked down and saw that her hands were trem-
bling. She
clasped them behind her back and
bounced on her toes in an attempt to conceal her
agitation. "I, I have no idea."
"You don't?" Thurston looked at her sharply.
"Well, we were just anxious to talk with him, saw
the lights on, and figured we wouldn't be disturb-
ing you."
"Actually," she said, feigning a yawn, "I was
just getting ready for bed, so if that's all . . ."
"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Thurston said,
touching his hat.
"Good night," Lisa said. She started to close the
door on the two policemen. "I'll tell Bob you were
by."
"You just do that," Thurston said, looking at her
harshly. He stood with one foot poised over the
steps. "You just do that. Evening."
Lisa shut the door firmly and listened as the two
men went down the stairs. Her throat was dry, and
a trickle of sweat ran down the back of her neck.
When she heard the door at the foot of the steps
close, she went into the living room, switched off
the lights, and sat huddled on the couch. Sleep
came an hour later.

.V.

Thurston flattened himself against the wall of

the house when he saw the bouncing headlights
coming up the driveway to Bob's house. The motor
stopped and the lights winked out. He heard the
car door open and slam shut, footsteps crunch on
the gravel walkway, the key jitter in the lock, and
then the door open and close.
413
 Cautiously, he peeked around the edge of the
house and saw that the car was Bob's. When a light
came on in the kitchen window, Thurston flat-
tened back
against the wall.
So where the hell has he been? Thurston
wondered. He glanced at his watch and saw that it
was a little after four in the morning.
He pressed his ear against the house and tried to
distinguish the sounds he heard from inside. There
was a steady banging sound, then a loud clump.
Crouching low, Thurston ran away from the
house, making sure to keep out of the light that
spilled from the window into the back yard. He
made his way over to a sheltered position behind a
tree, from which he could see into the kitchen.
Bob was standing near the window, back-to,
drinking a cup of coffee. The early morning chill
made Thurston shiver as he thought about how
good a cup of coffee would taste. He rubbed his
arms to drive away the chill; there would be time
enough for coffee as soon as he checked out what
Bob was up to.
After several minutes of watching, Thurston
started to get impatient. It looked as though Bob
was staring at something, either on the table or the
floor in front of him.
Won't learn anything standing out here freezing
my balls off! he thought angrily. Ought to just go
in and talk to him.
He glanced again at his watch . It would be light
soon. He thought about making his way back to
where he had left his cruiser parked, about a mile
through the woods on Route 43.
Suddenly he saw Bob raise a rifle to his shoulder,
bend over it, and take a quick practice aim. Bob
414
turned around, facing out the window, and
pointed the rifle again. Thurston panicked for a se-
cond, thinking
Bob had seen him and was going to
shoot. He cringed back into the darkness under the
tree and didn't relax until, after several tense
seconds, the shot didn't come.
Who's he going to hunt? Thurston wondered. If
it was the wild dog, why did he think he had any
better chance than the rest of them?
"I always thought he knew more than he was
saying," Thurston whispered to himself with
satisfaction.
What if he has another target in mind? Not the
wild dog at all.
Thurston watched with held breath as Bob
snapped open the barrel of the rifle and sighted
down its length. He lowered the gun, studied it in
his hands, then placed it on the counter. The light
in the kitchen blinked off, and Thurston was left
alone in the dark.
"Have to talk to him in the morning for sure,"
Thurston whispered. Then he turned and started
making his way back through the woods to his car.
The silence of the forest seemed to intensify as
Thurston trudged through the snow. It was deeper
here in the cover of the woods, and he found the go-
ing tough.
He was grateful that the moon was so
bright, helping him find his way more easily.
He was at the top of a ridge, looking down at the
thin span of woods, beyond which he knew his car
was parked, when he heard a soft rustling sound
behind him. There was no wind; it couldn't have
been the trees. He turned and saw the black
shadow bearing down on him . He didn't have time
to draw his service revolver. He didn't even have
time to scream.

415
 Chapter Eighteen

Thursday, April 15

Bob was in the bathroom shaving when he heard

someone coming up his driveway. He wiped the
shaving cream from his face and, looking out the
window, saw a battered Chevy pickup truck stop
at his front door. The truck door opened and Ted
Seavey stepped out. Bob's immediate impression
was that he looked nervous, distraught. He kept
glancing over his shoulder as he came up to the
door and knocked.
Bob went to the door and opened it. His initial
impression was confirmed as Seavey pushed his
way into the kitchen. The deputy stared at Bob for
a moment, ashen-faced.
"Good morning, Deputy," Bob said warily.
"What can I do for you?"
"Last night," Seavey stammered. "Did you?
Thurston was killed, out by 43." He stopped, gulp-
ing furiously.
air
"What?"

416
 "Sure as shit," Seavey said. "That fuckin' wild
dog killed him. God! His face was missing!"
His own face had paled considerably, and Bob
was afraid the man might faint.
"Out by 43? Nearby?"
Seavey nodded his head violently. "He dropped
me off last night, 'bout one in the morning. Said he
was gonna swing by here. Wanted to talk to you.
We was looking for you. You didn't see him?"
Bob shook his head slowly. "No, I was out until
pretty late. I didn't get home until almost dawn."
"Christ, it's terrible! We have him over at Doc
Stetson's now. He, he — " Seavey tried to continue
but his throat closed off.
"Here, let me get you some water." Bob walked
over to the sink and filled a glass. He handed it to
Seavey, who took a deep swallow. Water dripped
down his chin.
"We found his cruiser out on 43 early," Seavey
continued, once he had calmed down slightly. "It
was pulled over to the side of the road. It didn't
look good right away. We circled the area and
then, then I found him."
He took another deep drink of water.
"Jesus," Bob muttered, shaking his head as he
paced the length of the kitchen.
Last night wouldn't have been too soon after all,
he thought bitterly. He smacked his fist into his
open palm.
"You're sure you didn't see or hear anything?"
Seavey said anxiously.
"I was out pretty late. I came home about an
hour or so before dawn and went straight to bed.
Didn't hear a thing."

417
 He walked over to the kitchen window and
looked out into the backyard. There was still a thin
snow cover there, and what he saw made him
gasp. He could plainly see the footprints that came
from the trees, angled over to the side of the house
just below the kitchen window, and then swung in
a wide circle, disappearing again into the forest.
He had been out there last night spying on me,
Bob thought.
"I went right to bed," he repeated as he turned
and walked back over to Seavey. "Can I get you
some more water?"
Seavey shook his head, apparently calmed down
now. "What I can't understand is what he was do-
ing out
there, parked on the side of the road like
that." Seavey scratched his head, perplexed.
"Maybe he saw that dog and went after it."
Bob suddenly felt any sympathy he might have
felt for Thurston disappear.
That bastard was snooping around here spying
on me!
"Maybe that's what happened," Bob said softly.
"Only it got him."
"Shit!" Seavey stamped his foot on the floor. "I
just don't know what I'm gonna do. I guess I'm
police chief now. I don't wanna be police chief.
Hell, now it's gonna be up to me to organize the
hunt. I ain't so sure I can hack it."
He looked at Bob with a sorrowful, pleading
look. Bob did feel sympathy for him. "You'll do
all right. Just keep doing what you've been doing
all along. Rick had a plan, didn't he?"
Seavey nodded. "Yeah. We were setting out

418
traps and poison bait, 'n' checking 'em on a
rotatin' basis."
"Well," Bob said, "just stick to that, for now."
"It ain't been the best thing goin', you know,"
Seavey said. "I mean, it's been over six months
since that Stillman girl was killed. We've had a
lot of sightings and a lot of evidence since. But,
Christ! I don't know one man who's got off a
clean shot at that bastard and lived."
"All you can do is keep trying," Bob said grim-
ly. "Maybehis time has come."
"Let's just hope to God it has," Seavey said.
He moved toward the door. "Sorry to bother
you. I had to check, you know."
Bob nodded.
"I'll, I'll probabh be by later for a statement,"
Seavey said at the doorway.
"Sure," Bob said. He swung the door shut
behind the deputy and watched him drive away.

.II.

The sky was darkening as Bob and Lisa pulled

into the church parking-lot. The snowman some
children had built on the front lawn had melted
and was now little more than a shapeless slush-
ball.
Bob looked at the melting snowman and felt
glad that at least not all life in the town had
stopped. He noticed, though, that now that it
was dark there were no children out playing.
Bob looked up at the church, at the dim light of

419
the candles filtering through the stained-glass
windows.
"Please? Won't you come in with me?" Lisa
asked, her voice edged with worry. "Reverend
Alder will understand."
Bob lit a cigarette and exhaled noisily. "You
know I can't, Lisa."
"Even after what happened to Thurston? No
one's safe out there." She looked at him intently.
"There must be someone who could go with you.
Bob, you could get killed!" Tears glistened in her
eyes. "Please, don't go."
"It's already too late. I have to go tonight!"
He was surprised by the intensity in his voice.
Reaching across in front of her, he snapped open
her car door. "The time for talking is over."
With a wrenching sigh, Lisa swung her legs
out of the car. Before she stood up, though, she
leaned close to Bob and said, "I'll be praying for
you." She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Stop worrying."
Bob started the car, put it into reverse, and
slowly backed up. Lisa stood in the glare of the
headlights, shoulders slumped, her head cocked
to one side. She looked defeated. She raised one
hand and waved.
Bob stuck his head out the window and
shouted, "I'll stop by later tonight when I get
back." Then he shifted the car into gear and
slipped out onto the road. He hit his horn one
quick beep and drove away.
As he drove down the road, something within
him made him want to scream, to shout, to cry

420
out. His emotions were twisted and confused. He
reached into the back seat and picked up the ri-
fle he
had there. Laying it across his lap, he
gripped the stock, and the ruggedness of the rifle
helped steady him to his purpose. He drove up
Railroad Avenue, heading toward the Simmons
house.
"We've all suffered enough," he whispered,
glancing at his pale reflection in the rearview
mirror. His voice sounded like gravel to him.

.III.

When Lisa stepped out of the car in the

church parking-lot and watched Bob drive
away, she was surprised that her mind was func-
tioningclear
along and precise lines.
The man she loves is driving away from her.
In his backseat is a rifle.
In his pocket are three silver bullets.
He is going out to kill a werewolf.
She had to talk to Reverend Alder again. That
was why she had Bob drop her off at the church.
Her feet crunched the ice on the sidewalk as
she made her way to the front door of the
church. At the top of the steps, she paused and
looked out over the quiet street. Everything
looked dead. The earth was covered with a layer
of ice that the warming spring sun had not yet
penetrated. She wondered if it ever would.
She swung the heavy door open and quickly
stepped inside. The church was dark except for

421
the glow of the candles on the altar. Lisa inhaled
slowly, deeply, letting the quiet emptiness o'f the
church calm her nerves. She could hear the
blood rushing through her ears. She flicked the
light switch and the church filled with light.
"Hello," she called softly. She stood with her
hand resting on one of the pews. "Reverend
Alder?"
Her call echoed dully from the front of the
church. Cautiously, she walked up the aisle,
aware of the floorboards creaking underfoot.
Her attuned hearing magnified the sound, mak-
ing her
feel uneasy.
At the front of the church, she paused. Look-
ing over
at the door to the reverend's office, she
could see that the room was dark. He had said
he'd meet her but had probably forgotten, she
figured.
She was about to turn and leave when the
lights overhead suddenly blinked out, plunging
the church into darkness. Slowly, Lisa's eyes ad-
justed
the tofaint candlelight. She stood beside
the altar railing, both hands covering her mouth
to hold back the scream that threatened.
Then, from the stairway leading to the base-
ment,heard
she heavy footsteps.
Could that beast have gotten in here? she
wondered frantically. No! It could never enter a
church. Could it?
Her throat closed with a gagging spasm.
This is a holy place! she thought. It should be
safe!
The footsteps came to the head of the stairs

422
 and paused. Lisa's lungs began to hurt as she
held her breath, waiting.
It could never enter a church!
She wondered if she should cry out for help.
Would anyone hear her? Her eyes widened with
fear as a shapeless shadow moved across the far
wall.
Run! Get out of here! her mind screamed, but
her body remained tense, unable to move. Her
throat made a clicking sound as she inhaled
deeply. She looked longingly at the reverend's of-
fice door.
She knew she could get out that way,
if only her body would obey the commands of
her mind.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the
back of the church. Lisa let loose a shattering
scream that filled the church. Overhead, the
lights flashed on. Around the corner, Lisa saw
the startled face of Reverend Alder peering at
her.
"Lisa? Lisa," he said, striding rapidly toward
her with his arms open wide.
"Oh my God!" she muttered weakly, feeling
her knees buckle. She caught herself on the altar
railing.
"I'm so sorry," the reverend said as he came
up to her and gripped her by the shoulders. "I
had no idea you were waiting for me up here. I
saw the lights on and thought I had absent-
mindedly left them on."
Lisa whimpered softly as she brushed her hair
back from her face and tried to compose herself.
"I'm sorry I gave you such a start. Clumsy me,

423

.
I dropped my briefcase when I stumbled in the
dark."
"I was — Bob dropped me off. I wanted to
talk," she said, and then she began to cry.

.IV.

Bob stood in the darkness at the foot of the

steps, looking up at the Simmons front door. He'
felt a sudden tightening in his stomach. The
haunting, death-still face of Julie Sikes floated
through his mind. He imagined her standing
there, ghostly, in the open doorway, beckoning
to him.
Right down there! he thought, glancing at the
black cellar window set in the stone foundation.
She's waiting. Right down there!
He shook his head and took several steps
backward, but the feeling was strong; it was as
if there was something pulling him toward the
house.
Should I go down there and check? he
wondered.
He wanted to convince himself that he had
imagined seeing her corpse there. Perhaps his
overwrought imagination had fabricated it that
night from a discarded burlap bag or pile of
trash or something. She wasn't really down
there. She couldn't be! But he knew better.
She's right down there, waiting.
"She's dead. She's dead," he whispered softly,
rubbing the length of his rifle with his gloved

424
hand. But that thought gave him no comfort as
he scanned the moon-washed side of the house.
Raising his gun to his shoulder, he walked
gingerly over to the ground-level cellar- window.
Bending down low, he squinted, trying to pierce
the night- washed pane of glass. His heart almost
choked him. At any second he expected to see
Julie's white, desiccated face press against the
glass, staring at him, beckoning him.
Right down there!
The grip on his rifle tightened until his hands
began to hurt.
"There's nothing there," he said firmly. But he
was bothered by the feeling that it was more
wishful thinking than fact. Cautiously, his eyes
riveted to the cellar window, he backpedaled
away from the house. When he was about fifty
feet away from the house, he turned and trotted
across the field toward the distant woods.
As he entered the forest, he was surprised to
find that he felt more secure in the closeness of
the trees. The wind whistled in the pines. The
full moon flooded the woods with a soft, blue
light. Before he plunged too far into the woods,
he took one last look at the Simmons house,
standing alone and silent and waiting.

Tonight he had intended to climb the ridge

behind the Simmons house, hike out to the falls,
and from there cut north along the river up to

425
Martin's Lake. Now that he had the Simmons
house between himself and the falls, Bob de-
cided
follow
to the fire roads west, instead. He
would walk out by the old Cushing place, loop-
around until he hit Old Jepson's Road, and then
call it a night.
Tomorrow night, he decided, would be time
enough to go out by the falls.
Hefting his rifle to his shoulder, he bent low to
avoid the low-hanging tree-branches and started
walking west. He felt great relief to leave the
Simmons house behind.
The deeper he got into the woods, the deeper
the snow got. Quite a few times in the next hour
he wished he had taken Lisa's advice and
brought snowshoes. He kept sinking, up to his
knees in spots, sometimes with every other step.
It slowed him down considerably. He knew that
if the beast came after him in the deep woods,
he would have to count on the silver bullets to
stop it; there would be no other escape.
Sweat formed on his forehead and ran down
his face from the effort of hiking, but he had to
laugh at the picture he must be presenting. He
must look like he was drunk on his ass.
The silence of the night was broken only by
the sounds of his labored breathing and walking.
He paused now and then to catch his breath and
listen intently. At any moment, he expected to
hear a long, wavering howling in the distance.
But if the animal was out hunting, it was keep-
ing its
presence a secret so far. Bob kept
remembering a line from countless adventure

426
movies: "It's too quiet out there. It makes me
nervous."
Puffing for breath, he pushed on, making a
wide arc that would eventually bring him out of
the forest.
At last, he came to a wide clearing; there Bob
decided to take a moment to rest. He checked,
making sure there was at least twenty feet clear
all the way around, before he hunkered down on
his heels and lit a cigarette. He kept his rifle
across his lap as he smoked, thinking that was
just how a frontiersman would do it.
As the smoke from his cigarette wafted away
on the night breeze, he kept turning his head,
trying to watch the forest edge. He didn't want
to be surprised and taken. He kept reminding
himself that it wasn't just him hunting the
werewolf. Like last night, it would be out hunt-
ing too!
With a sudden flick of his wrist, he sent the
cigarette butt tailspinning off into the darkness.
He rose, scanned the circumference of the forest
clearing again, and headed off into the woods.
He plunged deep into the woods. The thick,
crowded trees blocked out most of the moonlight,
and the going got increasingly difficult. Thick, in-
ky shadows
shifted gently in the wind. Every sense
was on edge, hair-triggered to spring at the
slightest sign of anything. Bob felt confident that
he would react in time if he was attacked.
After another hour of wandering through the
woods, the trees began to thin out and, distantly,
Bob could hear the hiss of traffic. He glanced at his

427
watch and was surprised to see that he had been
out for over two hours. He was exhausted and
grateful that he had come to the road. He was also
a bit irritated that he hadn't had even a sign of the
werewolf.
As he came out onto the road, Bob realized that
he had wandered quite far off track. He was up too
far north on Route 43. He figured he was about
three or four miles from Old Jepson's Road. He
decided not to hitchhike, figuring he'd have trou-
ble explaining
what he was doing out at night with
a gun when it wasn't hunting season. He struck off
into the woods again, hoping that with any luck he
would come out at his house. He had covered a lot
of ground and was extremely tired.
After walking for another half hour, he saw the
silver surface of Pemaquid Pond through a break
in the trees. His house was still on the far shore of
his approach, but he felt relieved that he was
almost through for the night. Lisa said she would
be home. He figured that once he got to his house
he'd give her a call and ask her if she would drive
him out to the Simmons place to pick up his car.
After that, all he wanted was a hot shower and
some sleep.

.VL

Friday, April 16 (Good Friday)

"No one died last night?" Bob asked, amazed.

It had been late afternoon before he got out of

428
bed and came over to Lisa's apartment. They sat
together on the couch drinking coffee.
Lisa looked over his shoulder at the darkening
sky. "No, thank God," she whispered. Her
apartment filled with silence as she and Bob
stared at each other. Between them on the floor,
was Bob's cleaned and oiled rifle. Lisa wondered
if it was loaded now.
"I've been reading in this," she said, in-
dicating
new,thewhole copy of Witchcraft: Its
Forms and Functions. "The one I ordered for the
library came in and I thought I'd glance through
it."
"I half-read it," Bob said smiling. Lisa
chuckled at his attempted joke.
"It's interesting, but cripes, it all sounds so, so
wacky," Lisa said. "I mean, if you really believe
in this — "
"Julie Sikes believed in it," Bob said sharply.
"And look what it got her!"
Bob shivered as the mental image of Julie's
corpse rose in his mind.
Lisa said nothing as she fixed her gaze on the
open book on the coffee table. Still, deep inside,
she rebelled at the idea that a werewolf was kill-
ing the
people of the town. But she had also seen
enough that night at Bob's house to convince
herself that the cause of so many deaths in town
was not entirely natural, either. Her talk last
night with Reverend Alder had done nothing to
settle her mind. Still, there was no denying that
the cross, her silver cross, had glowed with blue
light and had exploded when it touched the

429
animal. She had wondered, briefly, if maybe the
whole episode that night had been fabricated by
Bob as a practical joke or something, but she
dismissed it.
"You know," she said weakly, "it says in here
that if someone is just bitten by the werewolf, that
he too will become a werewolf."
"I didn't read that part, I guess," Bob said. He
leaned over and picked up his rifle.
"Yeah. It's like with vampires. One can make
another."
"Yeah, well, it's getting dark," Bob said, stand-
ing up
and putting on his coat. "I've got to get
going."
"Do you want the snowshoes tonight?" Lisa
asked. She made a move toward the closet.
"No. Not tonight. This is the last chance I'll have
this month. If I have to go out next month, the
snow will be out of the woods. I was planning on
staying pretty much on the roads. I figure the
animal has to come pretty close to town now. It
must realize that people are scared now and stay-
ing close.
"Take them, just in case," Lisa said.
"No, really," Bob said, hefting his rifle. "I'm
just going to drive out to the falls, look around,
and then swing around by Martin's Lake, where
Julie's house used to be."
"Bob, please be careful."
"Don't worry, OK?" he said smiling. "I'll do
everything I can to make sure it's him, not me,
that gets it. Well, I guess I'm ready."
He turned and walked to the door. With one

430
last glance, he winked at Lisa, then shut the
door firmly behind him. Lisa sat on the couch
and listened until she heard his car start and
drive away, then she let her held breath out
slowly.
She picked up the witchcraft book from the
coffee table and idly flipped through it. She
paused to read the titles at the top of the
chapters, then opened the book and began to
read in the chapter titled, "Destroying the
Werewolf."
After several minutes of silent reading, Lisa
gave a startled gasp and sat bolt-upright on the
couch. The book was clamped shut on her index
finger, which still marked the paragraph she had
just read.
"No," she said softly, intensely. She looked
about herself strangely, as if unsure she had
spoke aloud. Her face flushed, and she felt a ter-
rible twisting
in her stomach.
Her hands trembled as she slowly opened the
book again and read the page out loud.
There are, as would be expected, many
ways of getting rid of a werewolf, both religious
and quasi-magical. The most common way, of
course, is to shoot the animal with a silver
bullet; but this has not always been effective. A
person can be cured of lycanthropy if he is ad-
dressed
his byChristian name three times. In
order to prevent the return of the werewolf,
most folk customs require that the fur be burned
entirely. Otherwise, there is the possibility that
the werewolf will return as a vampire.' '

431
 Her eyes were stinging as she closed the book
and put it down on the coffee table.
Does Bob know this? she wondered, feeling her
panic rising.
According to the book, the werewolf can't be
killed — completely — unless the fur is burned!
The silver bullets won't end it! her mind
screamed.
"Most folk customs," she whispered hoarsely,
her eyes darting out at the darkening evening sky.
It might not be important; it might not matter; but
this was the book Julie used! And if Julie used the
book to create the magic, wouldn't the remedies in
the book be required to stop it?
She jumped up, raced into the kitchen, grabbed
her coat, and raced down the steps to her car. She
had to find Bob and tell him!
She stopped before getting into the car, a sud-
den thought
slowing her down.
"If you need fire to kill it —gasoline!" She raced
back into the apartment building to the workroom
where the apartment-building manager kept his
tools. Maybe there would be gasoline there.
"Damn!" she shouted, when she saw that the
door was locked. She stood back with frustrated
anger for a moment, staring at the padlock on
the door. Looking to her left, she saw a fire ex-
tinguisher.
grabbed
She it, raised it over her
head, and smashed the padlock. The door was
old and rotten, and the padlock didn't hold. The
door flung wide open, and Lisa ducked inside.
She reached blindly for the light switch, found
it, and snapped it on. Frantically, she searched

432
for a can of gasoline and, over in the corner
beside the snowblower and the lawn mower, she
found it. Two gallons. Full.
She raced out to her car and drove off.

.VII.

Bob left his car down by the deserted mine-

office. The road to that point had been rough
enough, and he didn't want to take a chance of
bottoming out his car on the rutted road up to
the falls. He walked over to the edge of the river
and looked at the swiftly moving water. The
river was swollen with the spring flood.
Looking up toward the falls, he saw the
billowing plume of spray illuminated by the
light of the full moon. The roar of the falling
water was deafening, and Bob realized that he
would have to be doubly on alert.
He turned and started up the road, past the
mine offices, to the top of the falls. He knew that at
the top was an old footbridge. He had decided to
cross over there and follow the river downstream
on the opposite shore until he could cross back on
the Old Mill Bridge, about two miles downstream.
The road up to the top of the falls was steeper
than it looked, and by the time he had made it to
the top, Bob was just about out of breath. He
stopped and rested, leaning against the rusted hulk
of an old tractor that had been deposited about ten
feet from the edge of the cliff. To his left, he could
see the footbridge; down below, about thirty feet,

433
he could dimly see his parked car and the
abandoned mine-buildings.
Suddenly, faintly, he became aware of a sound
rising from beneath the hissing of the falls. He
frowned, listening with concentration, trying to
distinguish the sound. It was faint and hollow, but
then —he heard it clearly —the wavering, rising
howl pierced the night.
It's nearby! Bob thought, squeezing his rifle. His
thumb flicked off the safety catch, and he walked
cautiously to the cliff edge and looked down.
Something is out tonight! Something is hunting!
A sudden panic rose in him, and Bob thought he
might be safer if he made it to his car. It would
offer him some protection, and would be better
than standing out in plain sight at the edge of the
cliff. It would also be a quick means of escape if he
needed it.
He crossed his rifle over his chest and started
down the steep incline. He had taken no more
than a dozen steps when the howling rose again
on the night wind. It swelled, eventually drown-
ing out
the sound of the falls.
Bob stopped short, almost falling down. His
breath came in ragged gulps as his eyes darted
about, trying to fix the direction of the howling.
It would help to know from which direction the
beast was coming, but with the roaring of the
falls and the echoing ravine, it was impossible to
tell.
The sound was closer; of that Bob was sure.
The rifle with the three silver bullets didn't give
him as much reassurance as he had hoped it

434
would. Suddenly, Bob felt very vulnerable.
Some primitive alarm warned him that he was
now the hunted!
Looking down at his car, he saw a rapid,
shadowy motion. It was the beast! He watched
as the animal ran over to where his car was
parked, sniffed at the tires, and then threw its
head back and howled. Bob crouched above,
watching.
Judging from the direction the animal had
come from, Bob figured that it had to have come
from the mine. That was the only answer. He
almost chuckled at the irony of a werewolf using
an abandoned silver-mine as a lair.
The werewolf glared up at Bob, then howled
again. This time the sound rose clearly on the
night, wavering wildly, like a siren.
Bob snapped the rifle to his shoulder, drew a
bead, and fired. The rifle exploded, slamming
back into his shoulder painfully. Bob knew he
would have a horrible bruise there, if he was
alive in the morning.
The shot cut short the animal's howling, but
Bob knew he had missed because the beast
dodged easily to the side. It crouched down
beside Bob's car, staying hidden in the shadow.
Suddenly, the werewolf rose to its feet and
turned on the car. A steady growling sound rose
as the beast savaged one of the tires. Bob saw the
car suddenly shift to the side, dropping down on
the flat tire.
Now that it had prevented his escape, the
werewolf turned and started stalking up the rut-

435
ted dirt road to where Bob waited, crouching
with his rifle in his lap.

.VIII.

Lisa's mind was clicking fast and furiously. In

an effort to calm herself, she switched on the
radio. A song by the Eagles "Hotel California,"
was playing. Lisa had always liked the song, but
she had never listened to the lyrics. This time,
she heard some lines that made her freeze.
She turned the radio off and stepped down
harder on the accelerator.
Suddenly, a winking blue light reflected in her
rearview mirror, hurting her eyes. She pulled
over to the side of the road.
"No! No! No!" she whined, banging her fists
on the steering wheel. She squinted every time
the revolving blue light hit her eyes. Then she
heard a tapping on her window and looked up to
see Ted Seavey leaning down. She rolled the
window down and nodded a wordless greeting.
"Evenin', Mrs. Carter," Seavey said. "Just a
bit late to be out drivin' like a bat outta hell,
ain't it?" There was more than a trace of
mockery in his voice. "Now what's the rush?"

436
 Lisa looked up at him but was unable to
speak.
1 'S there a fire somewhere we don't know
about?" Seavey said.
"It's Bob, Bob Wentworth. I've got to find
him." She knew she was disguising the agitation
in her voice. "It's very important."
"Important enough to be drivin' through town
at least twenty miles over the posted speed
limit?"
"Yes," Lisa said. "It is."
" 'N just what would that something so all-fire
important be?" Seavey asked with a grin. Lisa
suspected that he thought the fire was in her
pants.
"It's personal," she said. She glanced on the
floor of the car and saw the two-gallon can of
gasoline. She pushed it back with her foot, hop-
ing Seavey
hadn't noticed it.
You have to burn the werewolf! she wanted to
yell.
"Personal, huh?" Seavey said. "Well, Mrs.
Carter, now I know you're an honest, tax-paying
citizen, but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to write
you out a ticket. The law is the law," he said
with a firm, scolding tone. "Now if you'll just
hand me your license and registration."
Lisa opened her purse, took out her license,
then snapped open the glove compartment and
got her registration. She handed both to Seavey.
Fuming, she sat drumming her fingers on the
steering wheel as Seavey went back to his cruiser
and wrote her out the ticket. Her eyes kept

437
glancing at the two gallon can of gasoline.
Only fire will stop the evil!

.IX.

Bob watched tensely, stood up, and took a few

steps backward as he watched the werewolf stalk
up the road toward him. He vowed to make the
next shot count, to have it lined up perfectly
before using his second silver bullet.
As the beast advanced slowly up the hill, Bob
saw in the moonlight that its face was split with
a wide grin. Long, shiny teeth caught and
reflected the moonlight. Carefully, Bob snapped
the lever back and let the second silver bullet
enter the chamber. Above the roar of the falls,
he could hear a low, steady growling. Bob kept
backing up the hill, watching, waiting. The
closer the beast got to him, the slower it moved.
It was toying with him, he was sure.
"Come on, you bastard," Bob said with a
sneer. "This is your last —" something sharp
jabbed into his back, cutting him with a quick,
tearing pain. He wheeled around and saw that
he had backed up into the rusted fender of the
derelict tractor.
He realized that if he hadn't hit the tractor, he
might have backed up right over the cliff edge.
He sighed softly. A trickle of blood ran down the
small of his back.
"Come on, you bastard!" he shouted, waving
the rifle at the animal. "Come on!" The echo of

438
his voice bounced back from the distant cliff side
and then faded beneath the hiss of the falls.
The werewolf raised its hackles but still ap-
proached
a slow,
at menacing pace. Bob
scrambled around the tractor, using it as a
shield. He crouched and took a careful steady
aim. The werewolf was about twenty feet from
him. He held his breath and squeezed the trig-
ger.
With the crack of the rifle, the werewolf
leaped wildly to the side. Bob saw the bullet hit
the ground, kicking up a clod of dirt. With an
ear-piercing howl the beast charged.
The jump carried the werewolf over the side
of the tractor. It turned and jabbed at Bob, its
jaws open wide. The beast jumped on him,
pressing Bob to the ground. He was engulfed by
a flurry of slashing claws and teeth.
They kicked and scrambled in the dirt, rolling
back and forth, too close for either to seriously
harm the other. The animal was twisting, trying
to fasten its jaws on Bob's throat. Bob fought
against the crushing weight of the animal, trying
to get clear or at least to get enough room to fire
the last silver bullet.
The beast's jaws shagged Bob's jacket, and
then the needle sharp teeth raked his flesh, tear-
ing his
coat and his arm from the elbow to the
wrist. Warm blood gushed over him as he kicked
the animal in the belly.
Finally, he managed to get his foot firmly
planted just under the beast's ribcage and,
grunting loudly, he heaved up with everything

439
he had. The snarling beast went flying through
the air and hit the ground with a pained yelp, its
legs crumbling beneath the impact.
Bob rolled over and got to his feet. He felt diz-
zy from blood loss as he dashed up the slope
toward the wooden bridge. He gripped his rifle
as though it was his last hold on life. It was.
His feet clattered on the loose boards, and the
old structure swung wildly, threatening to fall
apart with every step. Bob looked down at the
dizzingly swift water. Before he gained the op-
posite shore,
he expected to feel the weight of
the werewolf bring him down, to feel the jaws
clamped on his neck.
Miraculously, the werewolf didn't rush into
the attack. It stood at the foot of the bridge,
panting. Its teeth glinted with moonlight and
saliva. Bob felt a measure of relief. At least there
was the swift river between them. He looked
down at his left arm, torn and hanging uselessly
at his side. The pain was not yet too intense. Bob
knew he would have to kill the beast before he
passed out from loss of blood.
Bob thought of what to do next. Keeping his
eyes fixed on the werewolf, he began to tear at
the bridge's support boards. If the beast couldn't
get at him, he figured, he could take his time for
the third and final shot. If he missed that ....
The nails in the bridge were rusted and re-
fused
give
to to his efforts. With his good arm,
he swung the butt of the rifle at the boards,
hammering them loose. One board loosened and
dropped into the water. It was quickly swept
away.
440
 Bob looked up and saw the moonlit shape of
the beast at the foot of the bridge, preparing to
spring. Beyond the wolf, down by the aban-
doned office-buildings,
Bob saw headlights com-
ing up
the road. The car jostled wildly, bounc-
ingthe
in ruts, and then pulled to a stop beside
his parked car. Someone got out and started run-
ningthe
up slope of the hill.
The werewolf turned, saw the new intruder,
and snarled. The animal bared its teeth, then
looked back at Bob. The steady rumbling of the
beast rose up above the roar of the falls.
"Come on and get me, you bastard!" Bob
taunted. Whoever this person was who had ar-
rived, Bob
wanted the werewolf to keep his at-
tention
him.
on
"Ned! Ned Simmons! I know that it's you!"
Bob shouted. He looked beyond the beast and
felt a sudden sinking in his stomach. Lisa was
running toward them, carrying something in one
hand.
"I know it's you, Ned," Bob shouted, hoping
to keep the werewolf distracted.
"Fire!" Lisa shouted as she ran up to them.
"Bob! Fire!"
The werewolf started across the bridge. The
growling rose steadily, breaking now and again
into a sharp barking sound.
With his good arm, Bob raised the rifle to his
shoulder. He had trouble aiming; the rifle kept
sweeping in wide circles as he tried to draw a
good bead on the beast.
Lisa was at the other end of the bridge now,

441
holding up whatever it was she was carrying.
Bob couldn't see clearly enough. He was growing
faint from loss of blood.
"Fire!" Lisa shouted again, waving the object
in her hand Bob saw now, it looked like a
gasoline can. Lisa bent down and screwed off
the top of the can. The werewolf, caught be-
tweentwo
the people, one at either end of the
bridge, looked back and forth from one to the
other, snarling.
"Well, you bastard," Bob said with a hiss. He
pointed to the river. "It's either that or this." He
shook his rifle.
Lisa stepped forward cautiously, splattering
the bridge with gasoline. She got close enough to
splash the werewolf.
Bob wondered why the beast didn't turn and
attack Lisa. He had the gun. She was unarmed.
"All right!" Bob shouted, when he saw that
Lisa was holding her silver cross in one hand. It
was glowing with blue light.
"Ned," Bob shouted, feeling a wave of pity for
whoever, whatever the beast confronting him
was. "Ned! I don't want to do this!"
The werewolf snarled loudly and suddenly
leapt into the air. The rifle shot split the night,
and the silver bullet slammed into the beast,
stopping it in mid-flight. It landed, crumpled,
on the bridge, laying on its side.
"Stand back," Lisa shouted. She dodged for-
ward, Bob
saw, with a lit match in her hand.
She touched it to the beast, and an orange ball
of flame roared into the sky. The animal's

442
pained howl filled the night. The wooden slats
of the bridge caught fire too, lapping with
flames.
The wounded beast scrambled across the
bridge, trying to get at Bob. Bob stepped for-
ward and
with one strong swing of his rifle,
knocked the werewolf over the side of the
bridge.
The animal held on, its claws digging deeply
into the burning, rotting wood. The snarling
beast was consumed with flames, yet still it
struggled to hold onto the bridge. Its flailing
claws removed large chunks of wood as it tried
to regain its footing.
Lisa had backed away. She was standing at
the foot of the bridge, watching, horrified as
Bob stepped closer to the burning animal. It
looked up at him with death-clouded eyes and
whined with pain. Its fierce rage was gone. Now
it was just a suffering animal, about to die.
"Ned," Bob said, watching as the animal
grasped, weaker now, at the burning bridge.
"Ned."
Bob stepped back, shocked, when he heard a
deep, gravely voice say, "Help, help me."
With sudden anger, Bob swung the rifle butt
again. "Die! God damn you!" As he hammered
at the gripping paws, Bob slowly became aware
of the physical change that was gradually taking
place.
The paws —thin, cruel, wolfs feet —were get-
ting thicker,as if the fire that engulfed the
animal was burning away the gray fur. Soon,

443
they were no longer animal paws at all, but
human hands trying desperately to hold onto the
bridge. The flesh turned black and began to
bubble. The flames billowed, roaring, consum-
ing the
wooden beams of the bridge.
"Help —me. help —me —please."
Bob looked down into the animal's eyes, glow-
ing dimly
with dying green fire. The face was
shifting, changing, becoming more human.
With one wrenching scream, Bob swung the
rifle butt and hit the beast squarely in the face.
There was a loud crack as bone shattered. The
rifle butt splintered and fell off. The hands
released their grip and the now almost complete-
ly humanshape of Ned Simmons dropped into
the water trailing flames. Bob and Lisa watched
as the twisting black shape rushed toward the
edge of the falls and then disappeared.
They looked at each other. The blazing bridge
was between them. Lisa held her arms out to Bob
and shouted, "You did it, Bob! You did it!" Tears
streamed down her face, which was glowing
brightly as the flames consumed more of the
bridge.
Bob's knees buckled and he almost fell. He sat
down heavily at the end of the bridge and let it all
hit him. He had done it! He had stopped the evil!
He watched as the charred timbers and planks of
the bridge collapsed and fell hissing into the rag-
ing river.
"We did it!" he said, softly but loud enough for
Lisa on the other side to hear him. "We did it!"

444
Epilogue: Sunday, April 18 (Easter)

"One last thing to do, and then we can be

sure," Bob said. He and Lisa were standing
beside the abandoned mine-office, looking up at
the open mine-shaft. Lisa's hand gripped Bob's
elbow.
"You don't have to," she said softly. "It's over
now. I know it is." She looked up at the clear
spring sky and inhaled deeply.
"I have to be sure," Bob said. He patted the
.45 revolver that was cradled in the sling that
supported his wounded left arm. The cut was
healing fast, but it still throbbed with a deep
pain.
"You have the fire burning," he said. "If I find
anything, we'll have to burn it to destroy it. If
there's the slightest chance that Ned survived the
fall from the bridge, he'll have his magic im-
plements
in here
the mine. If we destroy them,
he'll be powerless."
"Be careful." Lisa whispered hoarsely.

445
 "I will." He started up the slope to the open
cave-mouth and, with one backward glance,
entered the thick darkness.
He was surprised at the numerous twists and
turns of the mine. As he trained his flashlight
beam along the mine floor, however, he could
see a clear path in the dirt that Ned had made
going into and out of the cave. Bob followed this
path along the dark, echoing corridors.
Suddenly, he halted, staring. Up ahead, he
saw a flickering light. It illuminated the walls
and ceiling with a dull, cheery glow. He
snapped off his flashlight, stuck it into his back
pocket, and took the revolver from his sling.
Cautiously, he stepped forward.
He entered a small room and knew im-
mediately
this that
was Ned's campsite. In the
warm glow of a low burning fire, he saw the
mattress spread on the floor, the folded up sleep-
ing bag,
and the remnants of several meals. The
room smelled of rotting food and garbage, and
more.
He wondered how the fire could still be burn-
ing sinceFriday night, and concluded that, this
far into the mine, there were no drafts that
could have put it out or fanned it to burn fast.
Suddenly he froze, his eyes darting about
when he heard a faint, shuffling sound.
There's someone hiding over there, he
thought. Over there!
He pressed his back against the cold wall and
waited tensely for the sound to be repeated.
There was enough light from the campfire to

446
see, so he didn't want to chance turning on his
flashlight and revealing his presence. As he
listened intently, the sound repeated. His heart-
beat almost
stopped as he saw a shadow on the
far wall shift. Then, from the far end of the cor
ridor, out walked Julie Sikes.
"God! No!" Bob whispered.
She was naked, and her body had somehow,
miraculously regained its youth. Her full, firm
breasts and smooth belly were lit from the glow
of the fire. She smiled at Bob with a vacant stare
as she walked slowly toward him.
Bob remembered the revolver, hanging
uselessly in his hand, and he raised his arm, tak-
ing careful
aim. He squeezed the trigger once,
twice, three times. The roar filled the mine as
the pistol spit orange flame. The bullets hit Julie,
making her body twitch slightly, but she con-
tinued walking
toward him. Walking through
the burning fire, scattering embers on the
ground, she stiffly raised her arms toward him.
With a choking gag, Bob's hand opened, and the
revolver dropped to the ground. A thin smile
spread across Julie's face as she got closer to him.
Her thick black hair framed her pale face, empty
of emotion.
"Ahhh," she said, coming up to Bob and en-
circling
waisthiswith her arms. She pulled him
closely to her body and held him tightly. The
bone-deep cold of his wounded arm spread
through his body at her touch. She tilted her
head back and drew Bob's face closer. "I knew
you'd come."

447
 Bob tried to pull away, gasping for breath. "I,
I. How can you be? How . . . ." The cold of her
touch penetrated him, drawing his strength from
him.
Julie looked up at him with deadened eyes.
Her smile widened, displaying her pearly,
pointed teeth. "You don't understand?" she
asked softly.
Bob shook his head, trying -to find air enough
to scream.
"Don't you understand? Feel your arm, the
one that was bitten by the beast. You should
understand. More than anyone else in town, you
should understand. But if you don't, if you
don't." She moved her face closer until Bob felt
her frozen breath on his face. "You will. Within
a month, you will."
His scream was cut off as she pressed her cold,
dead lips against his mouth.

448
 Cooper Falls is a small, quiet Mew Hampshire
town, the kind you'd miss if you blinked an eye.
But when darkness falls and the full moon rises,
an uneasy feeling filters through the air; an
unnerving foreboding that causes the skin to
prickle and the body to tense.
Because faintly from across the water, a low
moaning howl begins to rise and a massive black
shadow with burning green eyes stalks the night
It is part man, part beast— a victim of the past
a creature of evil— who hungers for flesh, thirsts
for blood and lives to kill... again and
again and again...

0 0 7 0 2

1 268"00275

ISBN []-flTDfl3-705-3