The Howling (17 page)

"Sure." Roy continued to fight down the irrational anger. "Now that it's settled, why don't we have a drink?"

"Are you sure it will be all right for you?"

"Hell yes. There's nothing wrong with me."

"I'll mix them. Are martinis all right?"

"Sure, fine." Roy had not taken a drink since his experience in the woods. He had no desire for alcohol now. But having a drink had seemed like a good way to get off the subject of leaving Drago. The raw smell of gin burned his nostrils as Karyn stirred the cocktails out in the kitchen.

She brought in two icy glasses and handed one to Roy. He took a sip, swallowed, and the liquor tore at his throat like broken glass. He fell into a coughing spasm.

Karyn, quickly putting down her own glass, came to his side. "Are you all right?"

It took several seconds for Roy to get his breath back to answer. "Some of it went down the wrong way, I guess."

"Maybe you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach."

Roy sniffed at the glass in his hand and his stomach turned over. "Maybe you're right." He set the glass down and moved away from it, trying to mask the overpowering revulsion he felt.

"I'll start dinner," Karyn said. "What would you like to eat?"

"It doesn't matter. The truth is I'm not very hungry."

"You really should eat something. You've barely touched your food the last two days."

"Cut it out, will you? You're starting to sound like a Jewish mother."

What Roy could not tell his wife was that he
did
have a hunger. A bone-deep gnawing need for something, he didn't know what.

"I only asked what you wanted for dinner," she said.

"I don't give a damn," he snapped. "Cook anything you want to."

Karyn looked up at him quickly. The hurt in her eyes made him want to reach out for her, but he could not. She turned away and went into the kitchen.

For their dinner she prepared pork chops with baked potatoes, creamed carrots, and a green salad. Roy barely picked at the vegetables. He knew his stomach would not accept them.

"Is something wrong with the food?" Karyn asked.

"It's fine. Too bad you burned the pork chops, though."

"They aren't burned, Roy. They're done the way I always do them."

"Then you always burn them."

Karyn chose her words carefully. "You have to cook pork well. You know that, Roy."

He slapped his napkin down and left the table. "I don't want to argue about any stupid pork chops."

For the rest of the evening Roy pretended to work while Karyn pretended to read. At last it was time to go to bed. Roy got in next to his wife and lay rigidly still, not wanting to touch her, praying that she would not touch him. The aching in his joints was the worst yet. After a very long time Karyn's breathing eased, her features softened. She was asleep.

Roy relaxed. Through a gap in the window curtain he could see the moon. He could not remember ever seeing it so bright. The light of it kept his eyes open and made sleep impossible. He got out of bed and walked over to the window. He meant to close the curtain, but when he looked out he was stunned by the beauty of the scene. The full moon suffused the forest with a pale silver light that made everything magical. Roy could not stay inside on a night like this. He gathered his clothes and carried them silently into the living room. There he dressed rapidly and went out.

He plunged at once into the deep shadows of the forest, but had no trouble seeing the path. The combination of bright moonlight and his improved night vision made the going easy. He inhaled and savored the tangy scent of the evergreens. The air was deliciously cool. Roy felt he was embraced by the night.

The tiny things that lived in the darkness - the rodents and the night birds - froze in the shadows as Roy approached. But he saw them and smiled. He was a part of their world.

The cramps in his joints grew suddenly worse. Roy slowed down and rubbed at his shoulders. There was a twisting ache in both his knees. He stumbled into a clearing, and the pain was too great for him to go on.

He recognized the clearing. It was the place where he had come upon Marcia Lura the night he had gone looking for Karyn's wolf. It seemed so very long ago, yet it was less than a week.

Breathing became difficult. Roy tore at his collar. It was loose at the throat, yet it choked him like a noose. He pulled the shirt open all the way down the front and peeled it from his back. Better. The cool night kissed his flesh. He eased into a sitting position and pulled off his shoes and socks. The grass was like velvet against his bare feet. The cloth of his pants rasped against his skin, and he pulled them off too. Roy pulled himself erect, naked in the clearing. He bathed in the clean night air.

Then a violent muscular spasm seized him and he lost control of his body. He dropped to the ground, his hands braced out in front of him. As Roy stared at his hands a growth of short yellowish hair spread over the backs. The fingers shortened and grew claws. The palms thickened into pads, and the hands were paws. Simultaneously, thick pale fur covered his body, his arms and legs twisted into new shapes, his ears grew points, his face lengthened into a muzzle. He flicked his tongue over the new cruel fangs in his mouth.

As his body changed, so did the mind of Roy Beatty. The logical, rational, well-ordered human consciousness was crowded into a far corner of the new intelligence. The mind that now controlled the body was wild and cunning. The mind knew - Roy Beatty knew - what had happened to him. He had become a wolf.

Tentatively at first, then with growing confidence, he tested the new body. He marveled at the way the four legs worked in effortless rhythm, bearing him swiftly over the ground. He turned his head to look down along the thickly furred back. He could see the long muscles moving smoothly under his pelt. And there was the fine thick tail that provided balance for this graceful creature he had become. The delight he felt at his transformation was beyond anything in Roy Beatty's experience. There were no words for it in the human vocabulary. He wheeled once around the perimeter of the clearing, then bounded off into the darkness of the forest.

He disdained the paths, moving easily through narrow openings in the underbrush. The powerful legs carried him swiftly along, the keen eyes and nose following faint animal trails. On he plunged, growing careless of the protruding twigs and branches as he discovered his body was protected by the thick covering of fur.

As he crashed through the undergrowth the big pale wolf became aware of hungers that squeezed his belly like a giant's hand. The craving was for food and drink, and other things. The need was powerful, but the spark of human intelligence that remained still fought it.

The wolf loped on. The satisfying stretch and pull of his muscles filled the consciousness of the beast and, at least for a while, kept out the dreadful hungers.

Then in mid-bound the wolf tensed and jammed to a stop. A sound from far away in the forest stabbed into the animal's brain. He froze, slowly turning the great head this way and that, sampling the air, listening.

The sound came again. A high-pitched wail of unearthly beauty. The howling. It spoke to the pale wolf, called to him. No steel-jawed trap could have kept the pale wolf that night from the one that howled.

The beast raised his muzzle to the night sky and gave his own answering call. Then with an unerring sense of direction he wheeled and ran back through the night.

It was in the same clearing where Roy Beatty had left his clothes that the pale wolf found her. A lithe she-wolf with sleek fur blacker than the shadows of the night. Her eyes reflected the pale moon in twin green sparks. Her lips drew back from the sharp strong teeth and the she-wolf gave a soft, taunting growl.

The nostrils of the pale wolf distended, filled with the wild, musky scent of the female. He stopped in front of her, feet braced wide, neck fur bristling, and gave an answering growl, low and harsh. The she-wolf switched her tail and moved away from him in slow, sidling steps.

He sprang at her, but the wolf bitch leaped nimbly aside and he came down on empty grass. The green eyes of the female burned into the darker eyes of the male. Roy Beatty the man had never known such overwhelming lust as now consumed the pale wolf. Again he lunged for the bitch, and again she sidestepped just enough to elude him.

The animal mind of the pale wolf understood the game then. He feinted another leap and the she-wolf moved to one side. Instantly he changed direction and sprang upon her. Their legs became entangled and they rolled together on the grassy carpet of the clearing. Their flashing teeth caught each other wherever there was loose flesh. They bit hard enough to hurt, but not to injure.

Abruptly the she-wolf broke off the mock battle and moved a short distance away. She turned and looked over her shoulder, offering herself to him. The pale wolf was on her in an instant, and took her with cruel animal haste. The climax was sudden and explosive. For a moment the two wolves stood locked together. Then the bitch pulled free and sank to her side. The male wolf dropped beside her, his tongue lolling, his ribcage working like a bellows.

At last they both lay quiet. The male told in soft growls and whines of the other hunger that was still unsatisfied. The female answered him in murmurs that said,
Soon.

As the moon sank behind a ridge of mountains, the black she-wolf rose suddenly and slipped into the forest. Without a sound she was gone. The big pale wolf got unsteadily to his feet. The animal mind was becoming confused. Images faded and broke up, human and bestial thoughts intermingled.

The wolf's muscles twitched and jerked convulsively. Its eyes rolled wildly. With its graceful movements turned awkward, the wolf staggered toward the untidy pile of Roy Beatty's clothes.

The black night sky was smudged with charcoal at the eastern rim of mountains when Roy Beatty came back to the house. He let himself in and walked straight to the bedroom. In the bed Karyn slept uneasily. Or pretended to sleep. To Roy it made no difference now.

He was deadly tired, but he did not want to get into the bed without bathing. He had to get the dirt of the forest off him. And the smell of the she-wolf.

He cleansed himself under the shower and came back into the bedroom, not even bothering to be quiet. Karyn's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. She did not speak. Roy crawled in beside her and dropped instantly into a dreamless sleep.

He slept the day through. When he finally awoke in the evening, his mind was clear, but oddly out of synchronization. Karyn was in the living room when he went out. She made no attempt to speak to him, for which he was thankful. He wanted no intimacies now, physical or verbal, with his wife.

As it grew darker outside the night called to him. He fought against the call as best he could. The portion of his mind that was still Roy Beatty cried out its warning, but its voice was small and far away. Still he made an effort. He built the fire high and sat before it shivering as he fought to stay where he was. And what he was.

Perspiration soaked through his clothes. Every bone in his body ached. The night forest called out to him, and finally it would not be denied. He could not even wait until Karyn was in bed. The hunger was in him and there was no resisting.

He sprang to his feet. He looked at Karyn, and for a brief second his face mirrored the agony of his soul. Then he ran out the door and was lost in the night.

Inez Polk sat alone in her tidy little house in Pinyon. She was surrounded by her books of werewolf lore and the yellowed clippings she had saved for years. The glasses kept slipping down her long thin nose as she bent over the maple desk.

In the two days since she had driven away from Karyn Beatty, Inez had kept herself constantly busy. At school she had volunteered to take the classes of a sixth-grade teacher who was ill. At home she had read over and over these volumes that she already knew so well.

At first her purpose had been self-prescribed therapy to keep her from thinking about Karyn, about what almost happened to her. By total concentration on her reading and note-taking, she had been able to fall exhausted into bed sometime after midnight the night before.

Tonight, however, as she carefully read and reread the several versions of the legend of Dradja, something began to tug at her mind. Thoughts of sleep were forgotten as the adrenalin of discovery began to flow.

The people of the old village of Dradja, even when subjected to unspeakable tortures, refused to give up one of their number to the mob.

Why?

Again and again Inez read the words before her. Like a cold draft from an open winter window the truth swept upon her. She knew at last the secret of Dradja. And the secret of Drago.

"God forgive me," she said aloud. "We were such fools to ask, 'Who in the village is the werewolf?'"

Without bothering to put her books away, Inez hurried to the closet to get her coat. She rushed out of the house and got into her car, firing the engine with an impatient twist of the key. If she was too late ... if anything had happened to Karyn ...

Inez did not let herself complete the thought. She gave her full concentration to driving. Soon the lights of Pinyon were behind her and she was on the road leading to Drago.

Overhead, ragged clouds slid across the moon. The night was alive with shadows. Just beyond the swash of light from the headlamps a hundred pairs of eyes seemed to watch. Inez gripped the wheel harder and drove grimly on.

The main street of Drago was empty and dark. Inez slowed the car as she neared Karyn's turnoff. At the entrance to the rutted lane she braked and turned off the blacktop. She had gone only a few yards when the headlights picked out something moving at the side of the road up ahead. Inez tensed as the cold hand of fear came down on her back. The brush parted and a figure stepped out into the road. A man. He raised his hands toward the oncoming car, commanding her to stop.

"No you don't," Inez said through clenched teeth. "You will not stop me."