Night of the Werewolf (5 page)

Just then a weird, wailing sound was heard.

Chet gulped. “What was that?”

The sound came again faintly.

“Seemed like a wolf howl!” exclaimed Joe.

He and Frank dashed out of the cabin, followed less enthusiastically by Chet, but the boys could see nothing in the moonlit darkness. Nor was the sound repeated.

“Maybe it was just the wind,” Frank concluded.

Shortly before eleven o‘clock, the boys put on warm lumberjackets and climbed into the Hardys' car. With Joe at the wheel, they took the river road and headed toward the Tabor estate.

Parking their car in a grove of trees some distance from the drive, they approached the house on foot. The windows were not yet dark, and from time to time they could glimpse moving figures inside, one of whom was recognizable as John Tabor.

“Good. So we know he's home,” Frank murmured. One by one the lights went out, and presently the whole household seemed to be wrapped in slumbering darkness.

“Okay, get settled, you brawny North Woodsman!” Joe said to Chet.

The Hardys lent their shoulders and hands to their stout chum to help him clamber up into the crotch of a tree, where he managed to prop himself firmly against the trunk. From this point he had a full view of the house.

“If John Tabor sticks his nose out, you follow him,” Frank instructed Chet.

“Right. Leave him to me, fellows! If he thinks he's going to flash his fangs around Hawk River tonight without being spotted, he has another thing coming!”

Waving good-by to their friend, the Hardys started out toward the village on foot, leaving their car where it was. A breeze had sprung up, bringing a chilly hint of the crisp fall weather to come. The boys were glad they had their lumberjackets and caps as they trudged along. The mountain scenery loomed all around them, looking more magnificent than ever in the daylight.

The village of Hawk River consisted of one main business street, which ran parallel to the water, with several side streets and unpaved dirt lanes crossing it. Beyond them the houses straggled off toward outlying farms and orchards.

Frank and Joe roved about quietly, seeing no one. They had brought flashlights, but had little need of them due to the bright full moon. Soon they heard the town-hall clock chime midnight.

“The witching hour!” Joe chuckled.

They reached the end of one of the side streets and decided to continue into more open country. Minutes later both boys stiffened as a distant howl echoed through the night, then another!

“Come on!” cried Frank. “That must be the real thing!”

They ran in the direction of the sounds and presently saw a figure dashing toward them out of the darkness. It proved to be a boy their own age, obviously scared out of his wits!

“What's the matter?” Frank called out as the youth came closer.

“I just saw a wolf back there!” the boy panted. “It came right at me, and the thing glowed in the dark!”

Having seen such a beast themselves, the Hardys were not inclined to laugh at the youth's fantastic story. He was so terrified that he would have kept on running had they not each taken him by an arm and calmed him.

“Look, no werewolf's going to get you,” Joe assured him. “Not if we stick together. Whatever the thing is, it'll think twice before tackling all of us!”

To back up his promise, he broke off some thick branches from a windfallen tree nearby. Keeping one as a club to protect himself, he passed out the other two to his brother and the frightened teenager, who said his name was Bob Renaud.

When no wolf creature appeared, Bob plucked up his courage and accompanied the Hardys in search of the glowing phantom. But the boys found no sign of the beast.

“It must have gone that way,” Bob surmised, pointing to a fork in the road. “I dodged through the trees when I got this far, trying to shake it off, so it may have missed my trail.”

“Tell us how you first sighted it,” Frank asked.

“Well, I was out on a date with my girlfriend. I dropped her off at her house just after eleven-thirty and started driving home, when all of a sudden
bang!
I got a flat tire.” Bob related that after pulling off the road, he had gotten out and jacked up the car in order to change the wheel.

“Then I heard a bloodcurdling wolf howl,” he went on. “I looked around and saw this snarling thing coming at me, all glowing like a ghost! Boy, I'm telling you, I dropped everything and took off!” Bob shook his head, still a bit jittery at the recollection. “I hope you don't think I'm making all this up.”

“Don't worry, we believe you,” Frank assured him.

He and Joe escorted Bob to his car. By now, the boy had recovered his nerve, and he finished changing his tire. Then he waved good-by to the Hardys, who hurried back in the direction Bob had indicated.

“By now that critter could be a mile away,” Joe mumbled.

“Maybe so, but let's keep looking,” Frank urged. “It might howl again and give us an idea which way it's gone.”

The words were barely out of his mouth when the breezy nighttime silence was shattered by an echoing shotgun blast. It was immediately followed by another as the unseen gunner let go his second barrel!

A startled look flashed between the Hardys. Without a word, they speeded up their pace, sprinting around a bend in the road just ahead.

A farmhouse loomed in the moonlight not far away. As Frank and Joe approached it, an angry-looking farmer burst out of the driveway gate, clutching a shotgun in one hand. He wore an old coat flung over a pair of long underwear, and rubber boots. Evidently he had pulled on the first thing that came to hand before charging out of his house.

“What happened?” Frank called out.

“That doggone werewolf!” the farmer fumed. “I heard it attacking my livestock in the barn, so I grabbed my gun and went after it!”

“You actually saw the creature?”

“You bet I did! It musta heard me comin‘! Went boundin' outa the barn just as I ran through the back door toward the yard. I gave it both barrels, but the thing got away!”

“What did it look like?” Joe asked.

“Big wolf-dog! And its fur glowed fiery white. I'm not jokin‘, boys!”

Frank nodded. “We believe you. We just met another guy who saw it before it came here!”

“Which way did it go?” put in the younger Hardy.

“It leaped clear over this gate and went into them woods.” The farmer pointed across the road.

Frank and Joe accompanied him as he probed about among the trees, lending their flashlights to the search. But the ghostly beast had disappeared. They finally said good night to the farmer and headed back to town.

A number of people in Hawk River had been wakened by the distant wolf howls. None of them, however, had glimpsed the prowling creature itself.

“I've a hunch that farmer was the last one to see it tonight,” Frank remarked to his brother.

“Same here,” Joe agreed. “Let's go and find out what Chet has to report.”

As they approached the driveway of the Tabor estate, their ears were assailed by a strange, grating noise.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Joe asked.

“I'm afraid so,” Frank replied. “But let's hope we're wrong. ”

Unfortunately they were not. The sound they had heard proved to be low, rumbling snores. Chet was slumped sound asleep in his snug tree perch, with his chin on his chest.

“Wake up, Strongheart!” said Joe, reaching up to tug the stout boy's ankle.

Chet twitched nervously and awoke with a violent start that almost sent him tumbling out of the tree into the arms of the Hardy boys.

“Wh-what happened?” he stuttered, clutching at the branch for support.

“Don't panic, the battle's over.” Frank grinned. He and Joe related the night's sensational events.

“I don't suppose you'd know whether John Tabor sneaked out of the house?” Joe inquired.

“We-e-ell, actually no, I don‘t,” Chet confessed shamefacedly. “But I sure didn't see any sign of him before I dozed off.”

“Which was probably seconds after we left,” said Frank. “I think we'd better wake up the Tabors.”

Chet swung himself out of the tree and accompanied his pals up to the front door of the house. Frank decided not to ring the bell, hoping a knock or two might be less alarming.

Soon Karel Tabor himself appeared at the door. “Come in, boys,” he said. “Is anything wrong?”

“The werewolf's on the prowl again, Mr. Tabor,” Frank explained. “I hope you won't misunderstand our reason for coming here, but it might be a good idea to check if John's home in bed.”

“Good thinking,” the architect nodded. “I'm glad you came. Assuming John is upstairs, sound asleep, you fellows will be able to bear witness that he has nothing to do with this werewolf scare!”

Despite his words, the boys could tell from Mr. Tabor's expression and voice that he was far from confident that this was the case. He invited the Hardys and Chet to sit down while he went up to look in his son's room,

When he returned a few moments later, the young detectives knew at a glance that the news was bad.

“John's bed hasn't been slept in,” the architect announced in a husky voice.

“That still doesn't prove he's the werewolf,” Frank said, hoping to provide some comfort. “Have you any idea where he might have gone?”

“None.” Mr. Tabor shook his head gloomily, not trusting himself to say any more for fear his voice might tremble.

“In that case, I'd like to wait here with Joe and Chet till he shows up,” Frank suggested. “If our presence in the house won't bother you?”

“Not at all! Do stay, by all means. I'll be glad of any help you can give us.”

Mr. Tabor asked Pocahontas to make coffee, and she went off with a glowering expression, shaking her head and mumbling to herself in Mohawk.

Presently Alena came down in her robe and slippers, having heard her father and the boys chatting in low voices.

“Is something wrong?” she inquired anxiously. An alarming thought flashed through her mind. “Dad,” she added, “Has anything happened to John?”

Karel Tabor took his daughter's hand into his own. “He seems to have gone off somewhere, my dear,” he said, “and the so-called werewolf just paid another visit to Hawk River.”

“Oh, no!” Alena's face showed her distresss. “Isn't there anything we can do?”

“Nothing, except wait for John to come home.”

“We don't mean to intrude,” Frank said uncomfortably, “but we'd like to be on hand to question your brother when he does return.”

“Of course, please stay!” Alena replied. “Dad and I appreciate having you here to help.”

The atmosphere eased somewhat when Pocahontas brought in the coffee. The group chatted as well as they could under the circumstances, and the Hardys reported what had happened during their nocturnal expedition in and beyond the village.

As their vigil lengthened and time dragged by, everyone's spirits drooped. The boys found it hard to keep their eyes open. However, they snapped wide awake when, soon after three o‘clock, footsteps were heard outside and the front door opened.

“It's John!” Alena cried in relief. She sprang up from her chair and hurled herself into her brother's arms.

If she expected an equally cordial response, she was doomed to disappointment. Instead of greeting his sister with a smiling remark, John merely stared at her, his face blank and expressionless. He did not return the embrace, either.

“Where on earth have you been, Son?” his father demanded.

“Where have I been?” John echoed. Dull-eyed, he raised one hand and scratched his head slowly. “Search me. I haven't the faintest idea. In fact, I don't even know where I am now.”

“John! Don't you recognize your own home?” Alena shook her brother impatiently. “Why did you go out tonight? Tell us where you've been!”

The young architect did not reply. He shrugged off her questions in silence and started toward the stairway leading up to the second floor. But Alena grabbed him by the arm.

“Dad, something's wrong with him!” she cried. “He's acting so weirdly. Oughtn't we call a doctor?”

Karel Tabor hesitated before replying. “No, I don't think so. Whatever's wrong with John, he'll probably sleep it off. Calling a doctor would only provoke scandal and gossip. Don't you think so, boys?”