Werewolf Stories to Tell in the Dark (7 page)

Just after the trial the Parker family moved to the country, where Tim's father had found a job as caretaker to a school. A tied cottage went with the appointment – a far cry from the Grove Estate. Tim never saw Angie or Mrs Bishop again, but he often thought about them, trapped in their gloomy prison on Floor Ten. For the rest of his life, Tim reckoned he would wonder whether Malcolm Hayes
had
committed the murders – or whether there was more wrong with Angie and her mother than they admitted. He also realized he would never know.

There was a long silence after the story
.

Eventually Talin, a girl from Eastern Europe, said quietly, ‘In my country, werewolves are part of the folklore – part of our lives. They are not so much of a rarity
.'

Rolec was a small, isolated village in the depths of the Carpathian mountains, penetrated only by a few hikers. The area hadn't changed in centuries, and barbaric traditions of the past were still occasionally practised, obscured from national and even regional authorities. Things happened – dark things – that people would never accept in the rest of Europe.

Pliska Natek shivered in the bitter cold of the Transylvanian night. Black ice gleamed on the road that led to the village square, which was banked by piles of dirty frozen snow. A thin, sharp wind blew down from the mountains, darting unpredictably here and there, its searing coldness penetrating Pliska's heavy coat.

‘Mother,' she said softly. ‘Mother – can you hear me?' On the other side of the snow-bound square, two men were hunched over a glowing brazier. They were guarding Elena Natek, ensuring that no one approached her until she was burnt at dawn. But they relented for Pliska. After all, she was barely twelve and Elena's daughter – and they only had a few hours left together.

‘Mother,' repeated Pliska. ‘Please speak to me.'

‘What is there to say?' Elena was a small, delicate woman who had continually suffered from ill-health.
Her husband had been killed long ago in a skiing accident, and Pliska was her only child. ‘That this should happen in the twentieth century …' her mother continued. ‘There are laws to prevent it now.'

‘Not in Rolec,' said Pliska.

Pliska could just remember another burning; she had been four at the time but the horror had remained with her. No doubt her mother could remember others.

‘They're ignorant fools,' said Elena, her voice a little fainter. ‘If only they had a proper religion to cling to. That's what they need. Not all this superstition.'

Because her mother had stayed alone for so long – most widows remarried almost at once – Elena had often been suspected of being a witch, but over the last few months another wave of fear had hit the community. Some of the local people had been attacked and bitten, and last night Pliska's home had been raided by the vigilante committee and incriminating blood had been found on Elena's lips. Pliska knew that the blood came from the ulcer her mother had been suffering from for so long, and the doctor knew it too, but he was ignored because the blood group of the two recent victims matched that found on her mother.

Dr Taklin had protested that the group was a common type but there was nothing he could do in the face of local belief.

The police had become low-profile and were nowhere to be seen tonight. It was rumoured that they had gone into the mountains, purportedly to search for an escaped convict from another district, but Pliska knew that the officers would only return when all trace of the pyre containing the ashes of the corpse had been removed. They would then regard Elena as a ‘missing person' and
Pliska would be taken to the orphanage in the next town. Officially, her mother's death at the stake would never have taken place.

‘Leave me now,' Elena said. ‘Just leave me.'

‘I'll never do that,' replied Pliska. ‘Never. Why do they refuse to believe you …' She began to sob.

Recently a large wolf had attacked her mother just behind the house one twilit evening. Elena had fought the thing off with a spade, but the creature had scratched her face in the struggle and to the locals this was final proof. Elena Natek
had
to be a werewolf.

‘I'll not let you see me burn.' Her mother choked back her grief. ‘As to the wolf – it's what they
want
to believe and they'll go on believing it.'

‘Why don't they
search
for the wolf?' Pliska raged. ‘The blood on your lips came from your ulcer. They
all
know that.'

‘They have to find a scapegoat,' replied Elena. ‘Then they can live at peace with each other again.'

‘They're hundreds of years behind the times.' Angry tears began to well up in Pliska's eyes again. ‘There
can't
be many wolves left,' she said. ‘Not now.'

‘There are a few. Deep in the mountains. We've had a hard winter and they're hungry.'

‘Then why can't they accept that's what happened?' Pliska raged again. ‘Igor and Stanislav were attacked by a wolf – a real wolf – not a human being.'

‘It's just the superstition,' replied her mother wearily. ‘Human beings are vulnerable. Don't forget they all also believe that a werewolf
must
be burnt to death at the stake or it'll become a vampire and prey on them for ever.' She laughed miserably.

‘Another lie –'

‘But it's the truth to them.'

‘Then I'll
give
them the truth,' said Pliska with sudden determination.

‘What are you going to do?' For the first time there was alarm and not resignation in her mother's voice.

‘Find that wolf.'

‘It's too late.'

Pliska looked at her watch. ‘I've got four hours,' she said.

‘Find the wolf in four hours?' Her mother laughed brokenly. ‘You must be out of your mind.'

‘No,' said Pliska firmly. ‘It's the people of Rolec who are out of their minds. The wolf's hungry – it's bound to be around somewhere.'

‘How on earth are you going to find it?'

‘I don't know,' admitted Pliska, ‘but anything's better than standing around in this God-forsaken square waiting for dawn.'

Pliska searched for at least two hours around the edge of the small village, but there was no sign of any wolf and she soon realized that, in her desperation, she had been very foolish. Looking for a wolf in the twentieth century, even in Transylvania, was like looking for gold dust.

Another half hour passed and, with the frantic knowledge that time was slipping away from her, Pliska returned home. Running around in circles was not the answer; somehow she must attract the thing.

In the kitchen Pliska found half a chicken and some sausages. Would the smell of roasting meat bring the wolf to the cottage? She knew she had to try. Frantically searching for the barbecue, Pliska eventually found it in an outhouse. Her eye also alighted on a rusty axe and she snatched it up. Glancing at her watch yet again, Pliska felt a surge of deadening panic, for she knew she
had just under an hour before dawn and her task seemed ludicrously impossible. But to give herself something to do, to keep busy at all costs, Pliska lit the barbecue and started a bonfire, much to the consternation of her neighbours, who were watching from behind their curtains. But at least they made no attempt to interfere with her preparations.

With only half an hour to go before dawn, the chicken roasting, the sausages burning and the flames of the bonfire beginning to die around her, Pliska gave way to her emotions and began to sob for the life of her mother – the life she knew she could no longer save.

Suddenly she heard a slight scuffling. When Pliska gazed out into the darkness she thought at first she could see one of the village dogs approaching, but then she realized it was too large – and too lean.

The wolf leapt, not at the chicken and the sausages, but at Pliska. She ducked, knowing that she had been incredibly naive. Of course, the food had only been an invitation and the dying flames were no longer sufficient protection – if they had ever been a protection at all. The wolf had been prowling, biding its time, and now she could see the savage delight in its eyes.

The wolf's claws were within centimetres of her face, but it overshot Pliska and rolled on the ground beside the fire, the twisted snarl on its face filling her with loathing and horror. Snatching up the axe, Pliska lifted it high above her head and brought it down. The wolf twisted to one side and the axe caught its foreleg, slicing it off. As the animal writhed on the ground, Pliska seized the limb and, knowing that her time had almost run out, dropped the axe and raced back towards the
village square as the first pale light of dawn began to silver the night sky.

Gasping for breath, she held her gory trophy high above her head, hoping against hope that it would be enough to release her mother from the stake.

The square was almost full when Pliska arrived, holding the still warm and bleeding limb, and the crowd fell back in surprise and disgust. She could sense the raw fear in them.

When the mayor saw the limb and listened to her explanation, he was amazed. ‘We'll go and see this wolf of yours first,' he announced. ‘We need to see the whole animal. You could have filched that limb from anywhere.'

‘How could I have done that?' she demanded, but the mayor was adamant.

‘What have you done?' whispered her mother fearfully, as the procession set off from the square.

‘What I had to do,' muttered Pliska. ‘I only hope it was enough.'

The man on the ground was instantly recognizable as one of the policemen who had taken to the mountains. He was still stirring. What was more, the limb Pliska held was changing – changing to a shoe and a sock and a foot and an ankle and – She dropped it with a choking scream of disgust.

‘Now are you satisfied?' she asked the mayor. As she spoke, Pliska realized that the villagers' suspicions had been correct in one way at least: werewolves, like wolves, still existed and this one had been living among them.

Elena and Pliska were allowed to return home, but Pliska noticed sadly that her mother looked deeply
troubled. Was she still in shock, she wondered? Elena put the kettle on to boil and then sat down with her daughter at the scarred wooden table. ‘I have to tell you something,' she said, gently taking her hand.

‘Yes?'

‘The thing attacked me and drew blood. It did the same to you. Fortunately they didn't see the graze in the dark. You know what that means, don't you, Pliska?'

Pliska nodded, suddenly realizing the implications but hardly able to take them in.

‘According to the old superstitions we could be infected, so we must leave and leave now, before they remember and take us both back to the stake.'

‘But where can we go?' asked Pliska desperately.

‘To Goritzon. We can come as strangers. Start a new life there.'

‘But that's miles through the mountains,' said Pliska.

‘Yes.'

‘We'd never make it. We'll die out there.'

‘Better out there than on the pyre,' said Elena, and with a sinking heart Pliska had to admit she was right.

‘
Did they ever make it?' asked Anne
.

‘
Yes,' said Talin. ‘They made it to Goritzon. But even so, they'll never be free of the taint
.'

Matt had got to his feet, his face tense in the firelight
.

‘
The cold in those mountains …' he said. ‘I know what it's like. I went to the Antarctic last year with my parents. We couldn't know what was going to happen
…'

My parents are geologists and we had come as a family to live and work at a base in the Antarctic. It was spring, and we were all amazed by the beauty of the place, with the ice breaking up into floes and gigantic bergs which shimmered a kaleidoscope of colours in the sunshine. They were an incredible sight on the deep blue water, making a hollow booming sound as they majestically drifted south.

The base was sophisticated – a round metal building that had a micro-climate inside, a carefully controlled seventy degrees which made the outside temperature, despite the sun, something of a shock. We even had a swimming-pool in there, as well as a games room and a video lounge, so conditions weren't exactly what Captain Scott had to put up with.

But it certainly wasn't cushy. My parents were intrepid and we went for long journeys into the interior, studying rock formations emerging from the glaciers. Because I was taking a term off school I had to do some studying, but as I wanted to be a geologist too I was finding our work in the Antarctic fascinating. Until that awful day.

‘Here's a big berg coming up, Matt.'

I can still see us now. My mother and I were standing by the shore, taking turns staring out into the sound through her binoculars while Dad checked over some equipment in the base. As usual we were surrounded by raucous penguins, and the stink of guano, their droppings, was enhanced by the on-shore wind.

The berg had drifted into the bay, right up to the slowly melting ice floes. It was as tall as a four-storey building and had the most incredible electric blue sheen to its gleaming, translucent surface.

‘Wait a minute.' Mum handed me the binoculars, her voice shaking with excitement. ‘There's something in that ice.'

I soon saw what she was on about. Frozen into the ice was a giant wolf.

‘It's enormous,' I whispered.

My mother nodded. ‘And old.'

‘Old?'

‘Could be neolithic,' she said hopefully. ‘The wolf might have been in the ice for centuries. This is a real find.'

‘What are we going to do?' I asked, wondering if my mother was getting carried away.

The berg was drifting nearer now in the strong breeze, and as I stared at it through the binoculars I could see that the eyes of the giant wolf were open; for a moment I had the foolish but uncomfortable feeling that it was watching us.