Night Howl
IN THE SLEEPY TOWN OF FALLSBURG, NOBODY’S
PLAYING
DEAD . . .
Bobby loves King, his playful German shepherd . . . until the day King turns, attacking, snarling, vicious. His dog is put to sleep, but Bobby sees him everywhere . . . in the yard, on the stairs, crouching, waiting, hungry. Then the deaths begin . . . brutal, savage maulings. Terror seizes Fallsburg and doors are locked at night. Through the woods the big dog runs, eluding veteran trappers with superhuman skill, thirsting to crush hyman bonr between its dripping jaws . . .
Now, more than ever, the scientists down the road must guard their deadly secret. They have unleashed a monster no human can control. Now the beast will hunt its master, striking in the dark with the hideous, blood-drenched sound of its . . .
PRAY HE MAKES IT TO NINE. . . .
Bobby stopped at the front stoop and looked eagerly at his dog. King seemed to smile at the sight of him. He nodded his head as always, and as always Bobby thought that was his dog’s way of saying good morning.
Bobby reached out to pet him, and pressed his face against King’s strong, firm neck. . . .
The dog lunged forward, seizing Bobby just below the neck, digging his bottom teeth in and under the small deltoid muscles on the boy’s shoulder.
Bobby’s first reaction was such surprise and shock that he couldn’t utter a sound. The stinging pain from where the dog’s teeth had pierced his skin shot up and into his neck and head.
Then he screamed the loudest scream of his life. . . .
Books by Andrew Neiderman
Brainchild
Imp
Night Howl
Pin
Someone’s Watching
Tender Loving Care
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1986 by Andrew Neiderman Productions, Inc.
Cover artwork copyright © 1986 Lisa Falkenstern
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ISBN: 0-671-60634-4
ISBN: 978-1-45168-251-9 (ebook)
First Pocket Books Printing June, 1986
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H
E PAUSED AT
the base of the ridge that overlooked the south side of the lake. From this perspective he could see some of the houses situated to the east of the lake. There was something about the way they were built in relation to one another that attracted his interest. Geometric configurations fascinated him. He would stop and pause to study the way lines crossed one another and ran parallel to one another. He was intrigued with the rectangular and square shapes that resulted. He was hypnotized by the patterns in nature as well as in man-made structures. Trees and branches took on new meaning for him.
He looked behind him into the corridors of the forest and listened keenly. There was no one there; no one had been there for some time now. He had left them far behind, chasing shadows, hunting their own echoes. He had heard their curses and their cries of frustration and that had pleased him. He did not laugh in the same way they laughed, but his eyes grew brighter and his jaw loosened. He turned his laughter into a source of energy to propel him farther and farther away from them, and when he was sure that he had escaped for what he hoped was forever, he paused to howl his defiance and glee at the emerging stars. Then he hurried away from the spot, crossed over the
mountain, and came down to this ridge where he slept. In the morning he fed on a fawn that stepped unwaringly into his field of vision. Anything within that field belonged to him. The fresh meat filled him with an animal strength that made him drunk on his own ego. He had the definite impression he could fly if he needed to fly.
For now he simply stood staring down at the houses. He was so still; he was a statue of himself. The birds of the forest that had been following him cautiously remained back within the sanctuary of the height of the trees. They fluttered about nervously, watching, waiting. A brave crow circled overhead, but when he turned in its direction, it shot off and disappeared over the rim of pine trees behind him and to the right.
He could see movement around the houses. From this distance the people looked small and insignificant to him. Their diminished size seemed to fit nicely into the way he related to people now. His confidence had grown and it wasn’t only because of what he had accomplished recently. He had begun to sense something about people, to sense their deeper fears. They feared the darkness that he had come to cherish and they ran from the sounds he could make. He envisioned them clutching each other like the monkeys who had been a few cages down from him—their eyes bright with terror whenever he approached them or whenever they were brought near him.
He looked away from the houses, but all the other directions were far less enticing. There was something more here than merely the shapes of the structures. It was the territory itself. He didn’t understand the force that was driving him toward it, but he didn’t oppose it; it didn’t make him uncomfortable. On the contrary, it filled him with a new sense of purpose.
All he knew was that he wanted to be down at those houses; he wanted to be able to move freely about
them, even in and out of them. He wanted that space to be his space.
He growled instinctively before he took a step forward. It occurred to him that these houses and the land around them would not be taken easily. The inhabitants would put up a struggle. It was to be a contest, only now he didn’t shy away from combat with people. Actually, he had a thirst for it.
