High Moor (14 page)

The werewolf recovered in seconds, and threw itself against the metal cage. The iron creaked and started to bend. The monster swung its arm through the gap between the bars, slashing at empty air as it strained to reach the two children. John pulled another firework from the bag and then realised that he'd dropped the lighter. It lay outside, barely five feet away. It might as well have been on the moon for all the good it would do them now.

The bars creaked in protest as the werewolf threw itself against them again, bending slightly to extend the monster’s reach by another inch.

***

Steven was doing eighty miles an hour as he reached the entrance to the estate. He'd driven like a man possessed through the streets of High Moor, siren blaring. Drunks had staggered out of his path, yelling curses at the police car as it sped away.

Carl spoke into the CB handset. “Constable Phillips, respond. Pick up the goddamn radio.”

Static.

Steven’s face was locked in a grim mask as he hit the brakes and slid the car sideways through the gates into the estate. He saw flashing blue lights further down the road.

“Steve, over there. Stop the fucking car.”

Steven's legs turned to rubber as he looked through the woods to where Carl pointed. The strobe lights illuminated the mausoleum and the beast hurling itself against the bars in what appeared to be slow motion. Two boys huddled against a granite tomb, while the werewolf thrashed against the iron railings, its talons mere inches from the children.

The car ground to a halt, and Carl leaped from the passenger seat, pistol in hand. He rested his arms against the top of the police car, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

***

A shot rang out. The werewolf stopped and stood up with what could have been a puzzled expression on its blood-drenched face. Another bullet slammed into it, throwing the creature back against the metal cage; then two more in rapid succession. The werewolf slumped forward onto the earth, a glistening black pool forming beneath its prone body. Two more bullets slammed into it. White hair withdrew into the body. Bones twisted and snapped. Within seconds, the monster was gone and the naked body of an old woman lay on the ground.

John watched two men walk forward, weapons pointed at the naked corpse.

“Is it dead, Carl? Did we kill it?”

“I think so, Steve. Otherwise it just had the mother of all bikini waxes.”

Steven shot the old woman in the face. Carl looked at him. Steven shrugged. “No harm in making sure.”

Steven ran over to the mausoleum. John sat with his back to the granite tomb, with Michael in his arms.

“Son, are you hurt? Can you move?”

John stared at the old woman’s corpse. The adrenaline that had fuelled him was spent, and he could feel the hot blood of his best friend soaking through his clothes onto his shaking body.

“Son, can you hear me?”

John looked away from the corpse and into Steven’s face. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“My arm’s sore, but my friend’s hurt. He’s hurt really bad.”

“What’s your name?”

“John Simpson. My friend is Michael Williams. Is it dead? Did you kill it?”

Carl stood by the corpse and rolled the old woman onto her back. Black, dead eyes stared up at the full moon.

“Yes, we killed it. You’re safe now.”

***

Carl leaned over the body. His brow furrowed. There was something familiar about the dead woman. As if he had seen her before. A memory flashed into his mind. A dark-haired, young woman, sleeping next to him, her face peaceful.

“Oh God, Mirela.”

“So you recognise her then, Mr Schneider?” said Joseph, as he walked out from behind a tree, his arms raised. He was completely naked.

Steven raised his pistol. “Get on the ground, right fucking now.”

“How do you know me?” said Carl.

“My mother spoke of you often. She never blamed you for what you did. After all, she had already taken what she needed from you.”

“Taken from me? You mean…?”

“Why do you think you were spared? A closed community like the Pack occasionally needs some…fresh blood.”

“So…does that mean?”

Joseph ignored him and turned to Steven.

“I have come to claim my mother’s body so that I can bury her properly. I will leave here with her, and you will never see me again. You have my word.”

“Bullshit. Your mother was a monster, and she’s evidence. The body’s not going anywhere.”

“Are you sure about that, Sergeant?”

Carl lowered his weapon and put his hand on Steven’s arm. “Steve, do as he says. Put the gun down. Slowly.”

“Like fuck I will. The body’s going in a meat wagon, and this fucker is coming down the station to answer some burning questions I have.”

Carl nodded his head at the tree line. Over a dozen of pairs of reflective green disks stared back at them. “Seriously, Steve. Put the fucking gun down or I’ll shoot you myself. We can’t win here.”

Steven’s shoulders sagged, and he lowered the pistol. Two more naked men walked from the forest and gathered up Mirela’s body then vanished into the undergrowth. Joseph looked at the mausoleum and the two boys within.

He pointed to the boys. “You have a problem, gentlemen. That one will not survive, his wounds are too great. The other one however, will live. He is the problem. It would be for the best if you let him come with us, where we can help him manage his condition.”

“Like you managed your mother?”

“Mirela was old, and she could not control herself anymore. If the child is left as he is, then he will end up like her. Caught halfway between man and beast. I can help him.”

“Excuse me for not handing an injured, traumatised boy over to a naked gypsy in the middle of the bloody night. The boy stays. Now I suggest you piss off before I lose my patience.”

Joseph shrugged. “It’s your decision, of course. Good luck, gentlemen. I would suggest that you don’t try to find us. I am unlikely to be as civil if I feel I am being hunted.”

He stepped back, melting into the shadows cast by the trees, until all that was visible were a pair of shining green eyes. Then he was gone.

Steven turned to Carl, his face ashen. “Is that it? Is it over?”

Carl looked at the two boys and shook his head. “No, Steve. It’s not. Not by a long shot.”

End of Part 1

24th May 1986. Fenwick Hall, High Moor. 00:30.

The woods were filled with light and movement. Blue strobes from the ambulances and squad cars flashed across the trees, the staccato effect diminished by the white headlights of the vehicles. Torch light danced through the undergrowth as police officers tried to locate the boys that fled the onslaught. Distorted voices and crackling static from the radios filled the air, the nervous calls of the search party members and barked instructions from the paramedics tending to Michael.

Steven leaned against his squad car and lit a cigarette. He offered one to Carl, who shook his head, but then took one anyway. He inhaled half of the cigarette in a single drag and coughed into his hand.

“Dirty fucking things. They’ll be the death of me, I swear. Five years on the wagon, and now I’m letting them get their claws into me again.”

“There are worse ways to die,” said Steven, and nodded his head at the tarpaulin that covered what was left of Constable Phillips.

“You know we should have let it finish them, don’t you? We didn’t win here tonight. We made things worse.”

“Could you have sat back and watched that fucking thing tear those two boys apart? Really?”

“No, Steve. I couldn’t. Doesn’t change the situation. Were there any others injured?”

Steven shook his head. “No, there were three dead boys in the tent, plus the two scout leaders. It looks like these two got its attention before anyone else was hurt. Did you know the younger one is the brother of the first victim? I don’t envy the poor bastard that has to break the news to the family.”

“The news that their kid is in the hospital, or the news that he’s going to grow hair and fangs at the next full moon and kill everyone in the house?”

“Did you see the state of the poor little bugger? He’ll be lucky to live till the morning, let alone until the next full moon.”

“And if he does? What then, Steve? And what about the other one?”

Steven lit another cigarette. “Christ only knows. Are you sure that he’s going to change? That he’ll be like the woman was?”

“Hell, I don’t know. That naked gypsy seemed pretty damn sure, but those boys are the only ones I’ve come across that ever survived an attack. They could be fine, or…”

“Grow hair, fangs and kill everyone near them. I get it. What I don’t get is what the hell we do about it.”

“Not many options, I’ll grant you. We could talk to the parents, but they wouldn’t believe a word we said until it was too late. We could hang around outside the house on the full moon, but that wouldn’t save the families inside, and there might be a few questions asked if we shot two young kids full of holes. We could walk away and leave things in the hands of God, but I don’t think either of us could live with that. You got any bright ideas?”

Steven dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it into the earth. “Yeah, maybe. Come on.”

“Where we going?”

“We’re going to talk to the kid.”

The two men walked across the crime scene to the first of two ambulances. A paramedic sat in the rear of the vehicle, stitching John’s arm. He looked up as Steven and Carl approached.

“How is he?” said Steven.

“He’ll live. He’s pretty shaken up, but the wounds don't look infected. We’re going to take him to the hospital and shoot him full of antibiotics, just in case, but he should be OK.”

“Any chance we could have a word with him?”

The paramedic frowned. “You lot don’t hang around. You should probably wait until his parents are present before you conduct an interview.”

Steven took a cigarette from his pack and offered it to the medic. “It’ll be strictly off the record. We’ll only be a minute.”

The man took the cigarette and stepped out of the ambulance. “Five minutes, and not a word about this to my boss. Clear?”

Steven nodded. “As crystal.”

John stared out of the ambulance with a vacant expression on his face. He didn't seem to notice the two men as they climbed in beside him.

“John? How are you doing?”

“I keep seeing it, over and over again. It’s like when you get a song stuck in your head and it won’t go away, no matter how hard you try.” He raised his head and looked into Steven’s eyes. “Why haven’t they taken Michael to hospital yet?”

“They need to make sure that he’s stable enough to move. If they don’t do that, it might make things worse.”

“You mean he could die?”

Steven nodded. “Do you know what happened here tonight?”

“Yes. I mean, I think so. It was a werewolf, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, son, it was,” said Carl.

“So, does that mean I’m going to turn into one as well? Like in the movies?”

Carl shook his head. “I don’t know.”

John thought about this for a moment. “Will you shoot me as well, when I change?”

“If we have to, then yes. I'm hoping it won't come to that.”

“What about me mam and dad? If I change, will I hurt them?”

Steven nodded. “You might. If they are there and you change, then you might.”

Tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, and for a moment he struggled to breathe through his racking sobs. After a minute, he brought his tears under control and looked up, an earnest expression on his face.

“Then you should shoot me now, just to be safe. I…I couldn’t hurt my mam and dad. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did.”

Steven put his hand on the boy's arm. “We can’t, John. We could be wrong, and you might be fine. There’s just no way that we can know.”

“Until it’s too late?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

John burst into tears again, and Steven put his arm around the boy’s shoulder until his sobs subsided. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and turned to Steven.

“You’re a policeman. What should I do?”

“I don’t know, John. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know. We just thought that it was important that you knew. What happens next is going to have to be up to you. Do you understand?”