Werewolf Stories to Tell in the Dark (3 page)

Tina had hoped to see Ben at school but she searched for him in the playground without success, finally being told by one of his friends that he was away from school.

‘Ben's ill,' said his mother guardedly when Tina arrived on the doorstep. ‘He might be infectious.'

‘That's all right,' Tina said reassuringly. ‘I've had most things.'

‘This isn't most things,' Ben's mother replied acidly. ‘He's got some kind of fever – that's what the doctor says.'

‘Please let me go up and see him,' pleaded Tina. ‘I won't stay long.'

Ben's mother finally gave in. ‘Don't get too near.' She sighed.

Relieved, Tina hurried up the stairs and paused. Then she opened the bedroom door.

Ben was asleep, curled up on his side, looking hot and sweaty and emitting little whimpering sounds.

Tina touched his shoulder and her cousin rolled over on his back, looking up at her, the duvet falling back to reveal his leg. Tina gave an involuntary cry of horror and despair. There was a deep bite mark on Ben's left calf.

Ben's eyes stared into hers and she could read an anguish in them that matched her own. She looked down at her hands and she knew there was no possibility of a mistake: the backs were covered in a light down that was already beginning to resemble fur.

‘
And were they hunted down?' asked Terry
.

‘
No,' said Colin. ‘But the corpses of Tina and Ben were found in the pool at Charlbury Ring. They'd been shot
.'

‘
Was anyone arrested
?'

‘
No,' said Colin quietly
.

‘
And Jureg Kalinsky? Does he still live in that cottage by the moor
?'

‘
As far as I know
.'

‘
Wow!' Terry was curious. ‘I'd love to go and see him. Find out if he
–'

‘
The trouble with you,' said Alice, ‘is that you're too curious. Just like a couple of friends of mine, and I can tell you – they suffered
.'

Danny and Mary Simmons always passed the old building on their way home from school. A dark Victorian structure with some of its windows boarded up and much of its paintwork peeling, the Institute, as it was referred to locally, was four storeys tall and had stone columns that were chipped and covered in graffiti. Nevertheless, the building was still in use, and most evenings they saw people coming and going, walking hurriedly up and down the battered stone steps that led to the front door.

Danny and Mary were often curious about the Institute, but the brass plaque that might have given them more information was at the top of the long flight of steps and they had never had the courage to climb up and see for themselves.

No one at school knew anything about the Institute except for Mrs Stevens, the school secretary, who said the place was dedicated to ‘scientific research'. She spoke dismissively: to her the local landmark was clearly boring, because she, like many of the pupils, passed it every day.

But Danny and Mary had only recently arrived at St Saviour's Middle School, which was in an area of
London that had lost much of its industry. The unemployment rate was high and many shops and factories had closed down and were boarded up. The Institute, however, was obviously still going.

Danny and Mary sometimes lingered by the building, watching the steady stream of visitors each afternoon. All of them seemed preoccupied and none of them ever smiled. Then, in November, with the twilight stealing over the streets by four in the afternoon, Danny told Mary what he was going to do.

‘I‘ll wait until there's no one about and run up the steps and read the sign.'

‘You're not going anywhere without me,' Mary told him firmly.

They hung around in the darkening street until the steps of the Institute had been empty for some time. Then they ran up, determinedly gazing straight ahead, their eyes fixed on the brass plaque, knowing that they had no excuse for what they were doing and hoping against hope they wouldn't be stopped. As the dark doorway loomed up in front of them, Mary was the first to arrive and to stand panting by the plaque, whose polish had been dulled by the town's polluted air.

‘Can you read it?' gasped Danny.

‘Only just.' She read the three words again and again, not making any sense of them at all. ‘The Lycanthropy Society. Now what does that mean?'

‘I dunno.' Danny looked at the black door and his mind went off at a tangent; it didn't have a letterbox. Didn't the Society have any mail?

Mary tried the handle of the door, which swung silently open, revealing a dark interior. She could distinctly hear the ticking of a clock.

When their eyes became accustomed to the darkness
of the hallway, all they could see was a bare and neglected space with a large carriage clock on a small, dusty table against the panelled wall. A staircase soared upwards but there were no pictures, no ornaments, no evidence of the Society's work.

‘Maybe it all happens on the next floor,' said Mary.

‘Let's go and see.' Danny's curiosity was now so overwhelming that he had forgotten to be afraid.

‘We can't do that.'

‘Why not?'

‘If we meet anyone – they'll have us for trespassing.' Mary was wavering, however, for her own curiosity had been aroused.

‘We could say we saw – we saw a dog run in here.' Danny's powers of invention were never very great. ‘And we thought it had been in an accident – hit by a car or something,' he added, warming to the theme.

‘It's a feeble excuse,' Mary replied. ‘But I've heard worse.'

Once inside, the hall smelt of old polish and disinfectant. The clock's ticking sounded even louder; not only did it seem to fill the space but it also began to beat relentlessly inside their heads. Regretting that they had ever set foot in this forbidding hallway, Danny and Mary cautiously began to climb the stairs until they came to the first-floor landing. A huge lounge with a few bits of worn-out furniture opened off it, but all the other rooms were empty.

‘Let's go back,' said Danny, rapidly losing his nerve.

‘Why do all those people come in and out?' demanded Mary. ‘We've got to find the reason. That's what we came for,' she insisted irritably. Danny was usually much braver than this. What was getting to him?

‘That clock's louder,' he said miserably. ‘It's as if our time's running out.'

They climbed a narrower flight of stairs and arrived on a landing that was in much better condition. This floor had been divided into a series of small rooms, each with a polished nameplate on the door. There must have been about twenty of them. Mr Rumbold. Mr Cranshaw. Ms Matthewson. Ms Peck. Ms Milnes-Smith. Mr Jackson. Ms Canter. And so on.

‘Do you think this is a hotel?' asked Danny.

‘It's not posh enough for that,' said Mary.

It certainly wasn't, thought Danny, the clock still pounding in his ears. Then it chimed six. The chimes were deafening. ‘Maybe it's an undertaker's,' he said. ‘With coffins behind those closed doors.'

‘Do you think anyone would come to a dump like this? They wouldn't get any customers,' Mary whispered scornfully. ‘Anyway, we've never seen a coffin or a hearse.'

Danny had to agree. But what else could this place be used for? If only he knew what lycanthropy meant. Could it have a link with the Welfare? ‘I suppose it couldn't be a hostel for the homeless?' he suggested. ‘Could lycanthropy mean some kind of charity work?' he added hopefully.

‘But all the people we've seen going in and out have been well dressed,' replied Mary, as they both stared at the closed doors indecisively. Then Danny's courage returned.

‘I'm going to try a handle,' he said.

‘Suppose there's someone inside,' Mary began, but it was too late. Danny had already gone into action.

The door of number twelve swung open and they both
breathed a sigh of relief as they saw there was no one inside. The tiny room – little more than a cubicle – contained a bed, a mirror and a clothes-hanger. There was nothing else.

‘So we're none the wiser,' said Mary in disappointment.

Then she saw something on the pillow and went inside, followed by her brother.

‘Phew,' said Danny. ‘What a stink!'

‘It's like – an animal's been in here,' she replied. ‘Something musky.'

Mary picked up the lock of hair from the pillow. It was black and thick and rough and had the same smell as the room.

‘It's very coarse,' she said thoughtfully. ‘Not like human hair at all.'

‘Let's go up to the top floor.' Danny was bolder now. ‘Now we're here, we should check out the whole building.'

But upstairs there were only empty rooms covered in dust, the ceilings stained with damp. Clearly they hadn't been used in years.

‘There's nothing up here,' said Mary. ‘Nothing at all.'

Danny grabbed her arm as many footsteps began to pound up the stairs to the floor below. Soon they could hear the gentle murmur of voices.

Why don't they go into their cubicles, wondered Danny. Minutes later, he heard the clinking of glasses and realized to his dismay that he and his sister could be upstairs for some time.

Danny and Mary were forced to keep out of sight, growing colder and stiffer every minute, until the glasses stopped clinking and the doors of the cubicles began to
open and shut. They waited until there had been absolute silence for a long time and then began to tip-toe down the stairs, knowing their parents must already be terrified by their absence and could well have called the police. But although they both realized they'd been thoroughly irresponsible, the atmosphere was so sinister that the thought of a police search was comforting.

Suppose the front door's locked, worried Mary. Suppose we have to stay here all night. Danny was thinking much the same thing.

There was no one on the landing below and all the doors of the cubicles were closed. Then Danny noticed a card lying on the floor and picked it up, reading the words in the wan moonlight that filtered through the dirty windows. The card simply read: THE LYCANTHROPY SOCIETY. IT'S GOOD TO HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON.

‘I don't understand,' said Danny.

‘Shh. They'll
hear
you.'

He lowered his voice and whispered to his sister, ‘I've got to find out what's going on.'

‘No,' she hissed. ‘We must go home. Think what a state –'

‘It'll only take a few seconds. If I don't find out
now
– I'll spend the rest of my life wondering.'

Mary knew he was right. So would she.

‘What are you going to do?'

‘Open one of these doors.'

‘You
can't
do that.'

‘No? Watch me.' Before Danny had a chance to change his mind, he went up to one of the doors and gently, very gently, began to open it, chink by chink.

Mary had joined him now, and she suppressed a gasp
as she saw the woman lying on her back on the bed. A handbag and a shopping basket were on the floor beside her.

‘Well?' whispered Mary. ‘Are you any the wiser?'

‘No.' Danny reluctantly closed the door. It was a pity that he bumped into his sister as he turned round and an even greater pity that she lost her balance and fell sprawling on to the floor. The noise seemed even louder than the relentless ticking of the clock downstairs.

Mary leapt quickly to her feet and they both froze; something – someone – was moving in one of the adjoining cubicles. A door flew open and a man in a pinstriped suit came out.

Before he could challenge them, Danny and Mary ran for the stairs and hurtled down them towards the front door. As they rattled at it in vain, footsteps began to rap out sharply on the stairs.

‘It's locked,' Mary yelled.

The clock began to strike the hour, and the noise once again pounded their ears as if it were a count-down to their eventual capture by the inhabitants of the cubicle-like rooms. Mary shuddered, her imagination running riot.

Danny was rattling and pulling now but the door remained obstinately shut. ‘It
is
locked,' he shouted, his voice shrill with panic.

‘Wait a minute!' Mary was struggling to keep calm. ‘Let me try again.'

At last the front door opened, just as a voice shouted, ‘Stop! Stop now!'

But Danny and Mary were on their way out.

The booking hall of the Underground was empty – and there was no one at the barrier.

‘We haven't got a ticket,' Mary gasped.

‘Too bad,' panted Danny. ‘We'll get them at the other end.'

‘Are the trains still running?' she demanded.

‘Should be. It's not that late.' But the emptiness of their surroundings was ominous. Then Danny vaguely remembered something he had heard on the television. A strike? A go-slow? He was just about to tell his sister when he saw a group of people standing by the entrance. The woman with the shopping bag, the tall man in the pinstripe suit, an older man leaning on a stick, a couple of young women in tracksuits, a girl in her late teens, and several others crowding behind them. Their eyes were menacing, full of anger and loathing, as they gazed at Danny and Mary with an intensity that terrified them.

For a moment both groups just stood there, staring at each other, the tepid neon lights flickering sporadically. Then, as one body, the members of the Society of Lycanthropy slowly advanced.

Mary and Danny ran down the silent, unmoving escalator.

‘I think there's a strike on,' yelled Danny. ‘There won't be any trains. What are we going to do?'

‘
Now
you tell me!'

‘We couldn't have got past them. We'll have to hide somewhere down here.'

They ran on until they reached the bottom, where all they could hear was the humming of electricity. Gazing fearfully up at the escalator, they saw the members of the Society purposefully walking down towards them. Then one of the tracksuited young women began to run, lightly, easily, the anger shining in her eyes.