The Howling (7 page)

"That's the point I'm leading up to. My interest is not exactly in wolves. You see, I've lived in Pinyon for eleven years, and with a lot of spare time I made a kind of hobby out of local history. Before long I noticed a strange pattern of occurrences in and around Drago. I was intrigued because the pattern seemed to tie in with my other hobby."

"Which is?" Karyn prompted.

Inez drew a deep breath before she answered.
"Diabolus."

"The devil?"

"You think it's an unusual study for a former nun? Let me tell you, Karyn, that a belief in God requires a counterbelief in Satan. You must know your enemy before you can defeat him."

Karyn stared in amazement. "All right, Inez," she said, hesitantly, making an effort at reason, "but what has ...
Diabolus
to do with me and Drago? Are you saying it's the Devil who is howling in the woods?"

"No, not the Devil himself." Inez Polk's eyes fell away for a moment, then returned, bright behind their lenses, to meet Karyn's gaze. "I think," she said, "that Drago has a werewolf."

Karyn stared at Inez for a full ten seconds after her shocking suggestion, waiting for some indication that she was joking.

"You're serious, aren't you?" Karyn said finally.

"Deadly serious. Karyn, before you close your mind, please hear me out. Do you know anything about werewolves?"

"Do you mean lycanthropy?"

"No, that's just what I don't mean. Lycanthropy is a disease, a form of mental illness in which the victim imagines himself to be a wolf. He acts like a wolf, losing the power of speech, running around on all fours, growling, and eating raw meat."

"But isn't that what a werewolf is, really?"

"No. A werewolf is a human being who actually, physically, changes into a wolf."

Karyn shook her head. "Inez, I just can't relate to this. We're two grown, reasonably intelligent women. And here we sit discussing werewolves as calmly as though we were talking about fruit flies." Karyn continued very slowly, reasonably. "Inez, you were a nun. As far as I know you're still a Catholic. How can you say these things?"

"Nothing I have said is contrary to the precepts of the Church. If I accept the existence of God as Good, I must also accept the existence of Evil. That's capital-E Evil. Call it whatever you want to - Satan, the Devil, the Anti-christ."

"Do you mean that werewolves and the Devil are one and the same?"

"No. The werewolf is a servant of the Devil. No one becomes a werewolf by chance. It's like witchcraft. In return you pledge your everlasting soul."

"People willingly become werewolves?"

"Once it was not at all uncommon. In the Middle Ages life could be an ugly, painful existence if you were very poor, and the price of your soul did not seem too much to pay for the powers of the werewolf."

"But today surely there can't be people still making deals with the Devil."

"Not many, I imagine. Not in the old way."

"Then where would a modern werewolf come from?"

"The curse is passed on to succeeding generations. Unless the line is wiped out, there is no end."

"So to be a werewolf, you either have to make a pact with the Devil, or have a werewolf for a parent." Karyn was trying to be sarcastic, but it did not come out that way.

"There is another way," Inez said.

"What is that?" This is going too far, Karyn thought. I must stop humoring her.

"The bite of a werewolf, if it does not kill, can infect the victim with the taint. These cases are rare, because when a werewolf attacks, he usually kills. A blessing, in a way."

"I need a drink," Karyn said. "Do you want some more wine?"

"No, thank you."

Karyn went into the kitchen and made herself a strong Scotch and water. The way Inez was talking worried her, but she did not know how to ease away from the subject. She took a deep swallow of the drink before going back out.

"I can see I'm upsetting you," Inez said when Karyn came into the room.

"I'm sorry, Inez. I'm trying to listen seriously to what you're saying. But
werewolves
."

"Why is it so hard to accept? Don't we travel to the moon? Destroy cities with the force of the atom? Transplant organs from one human being to another?"

"But those are achievements of science. What you're talking about is superstition."

Inez's expression of utter conviction did not change.

Karyn took another approach. "All right, just for now let's say that these things do exist. Why here? Why in the Tehachapi Mountains of California? Why Drago?"

"The history of the town, for one thing," said Inez. "In the sixty-plus years that Drago has been in existence there have been an unreasonable number of strange deaths and unexplained disappearances in and around the village. I have books at home. Documents, records, newspaper clippings. I would have brought them with me tonight, but I didn't know you. I didn't know if I should bring up the subject."

"You still don't know me, Inez. I don't believe in your werewolves or your Devil or your God, and I don't want to hear any more about them." Karyn stopped abruptly as she heard herself turning shrill.

Inez looked as though she had been slapped. "I'm sorry, Karyn. Please believe that I'm sorry. I had given up talking to people about this because I knew they would think I was crazy. As I told you, they already think I'm odd. I can just imagine their reaction if I told them there is a werewolf at large in Drago. I took a chance on telling you because I sensed a sympathetic feeling between us. The last thing I wanted to do was upset you."

"Shall we drop it?" Karyn said. "I don't want to talk about it anymore." She placed her empty glass firmly on the table.

"I understand." Inez looked around uncertainly. "Well ... I should be going."

Karyn walked with her to the door. "Inez, I didn't mean to snap at you. My nerves haven't been in the best shape lately. Please don't take it personally."

The taller woman touched her hand. "Really, it's all right. Goodbye, Karyn."

Karyn stood at the door watching Inez Polk walk to her car and drive away. Then she turned back and saw the books Inez had brought her from the library. For some reason she felt like crying.

As Roy Beatty approached the village of Drago, he breathed deeply of the balsam-scented air. He was relieved to be away from Karyn and her hangups, even for a little while. And because he felt relieved, he was twisted by guilt. Karyn was his wife. Now, when she was having problems, was no time for him to be making up excuses to go to Los Angeles, or to be rushing out of the house the minute somebody else showed up to take over the burden of keeping her company.

The fact that he could not get to the pulse of his feelings disturbed him. Roy Beatty had always been in control of his life. He was not a complicated man. He did not like surprises, and he did not like conflicts. For most of his twenty-nine years Roy had managed to keep his life running as smoothly as an engineering project.

And that was the way his life had gone - neatly plotted and well within tolerances - until that terrible afternoon when the shaky voice of his best friend on the telephone had brought him rushing home.

Now, just as he had begun to hope that the peace and quiet of Drago might help restore the Karyn he had loved, this business of the missing dog and the howling in the night had upset her again. When, Roy wondered bitterly, would life return to normal?

He came to the main street of Drago and turned to his right before really thinking about his destination. He had not intended to walk all the way to the village, but he had just kept walking. The logical thing to do now, he told himself, was to turn around and start back. However, a curious sense of excitement compelled him to continue down the street. When at last he came to a stop Roy had to admit this was where he had been coming all along. It was the little shop run by Marcia Lura.

He hesitated for a moment before opening the door. A kind of unnatural stillness hung over the town. He reminded himself that he was doing nothing wrong. Why should he not come to this shop? He might just find a nice little gift inside to take home to Karyn.

No, that would not do. The idea of the gift had just popped into his head, and he could not pretend to himself that it was the reason he had come. He was here because he wanted very much to see again the dark-haired woman.

He walked inside to the sound of the tinkling bell. Marcia Lura was standing in the center of the shop wearing a peasant blouse and a full, flowered skirt. She was looking at him.

"Hello," she said, "I expected you sooner."

"You knew I would come?"

"Of course. When you were in the other day I felt the attraction between us as strongly as you did. Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

Roy caught his breath. In the dim light of the shop Marcia looked criminally beautiful. Her eyes seemed to have a light of their own. An intense pale green.

"No," he said. "You are not wrong."

"Are you uncomfortable with me?"

"A little. Believe it or not, I don't usually do things like this."

"I believe you," she said. Her smile showed strong white teeth. "And besides, you haven't really done anything yet."

Roy forced a laugh. It did not come out as casual as he intended. "What I had in mind was some sort of gift for my ... my wife."

"Ah, yes. Do you see anything you like?" Marcia's mouth curled faintly at the corners. Her eyes challenged him. "What I mean, of course, is anything your wife would like."

Roy looked around in confusion. His hand closed mindlessly on the nearest object, a china figurine of a little girl in the costume of a shepherdess. It was overly cute with blue saucer eyes and round cherub cheeks. Karyn would hate it.

"How much is this?" he said.

"Is that what you really want?"

"Why not?"

"It is seven dollars."

"I'll take it."

Marcia moved toward him, stopping just before they touched.

"Do you want to go for a walk with me?" she said.

"Walk?" Roy had to clear his throat against the sudden huskiness of his voice. "Walk where?"

"Out in the back. There's a path through the woods. It's very pretty this time of year."

"All right," he said, nodding.

"Come this way." She held aside the curtain at the rear of the shop. Beyond it were a small living room, kitchenette, bedroom, and bath. The rugs and the furniture were in muted earth colors of brown, green, and burnt orange. There were cushions on the floor and candles everywhere. The air held a hint of sandalwood.

Marcia led him through her small apartment and out the back door. There the forest pushed almost up to the rear wall of the building, as it did to all buildings in Drago. A broad path carpeted with pine needles led off among the trees.

"Come." Marcia held out her hand to him. The fingers were slim and white and well shaped. Roy took the hand. The effect of the touch was like the spreading warmth from the first sip of a good martini.

Hand in hand they walked along the path through the forest. The shadows were deepening, and the afternoon was cool. Occasionally Marcia would call his attention to an unusual flower or a bird watching them from a tree. Roy would respond to whatever she said, but his thoughts were far from his words. He was acutely aware of the waves of sensation that pulsed through his body from the point where their hands touched. The green of her eyes, he saw, was darker here in the forest. Deeper. The loose black hair framed her face like softly folded wings.

"Strangely enough," Marcia was saying, "this path leads through the woods and comes out on the road by the old Fenno house." She turned the green eyes full upon him. "I should really say the Beatty house now, shouldn't I?"

That has a permanent sound to it," Roy said. "We only leased the place for six months."

"Really?"

"That was the plan. It's always possible we might stay longer." He pulled himself away from the compelling eyes, forced his thoughts down another channel. "Speaking of the Fennos, how well did you know them?"

"I hardly ever saw them," Marcia said. "They were quite old, and seldom left the house."

"What happened to them, anyway?"

"I really couldn't say." Her manner chilled markedly. "I had no interest in them."

Suddenly Roy did not give a damn about the Fennos or their fate or anything at all except the woman before him. He gripped her hand and pulled her close, feeling the surprising strength in her arm as he did so.

"Marcia, I don't want to talk about the Fennos."

She looked into his eyes. She was a tall woman and could meet him almost on a level. "I know what you want, Roy. That's what I want too."

He started to speak, but she placed two fingers on his lips to silence him.

"Not yet," she said.

"Why?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. He felt like a preadolescent trying for a first kiss.

"It's not the right time."

"When?"

"You will know." Abruptly her mood changed and the contact was broken. "Come, let's go back."

They walked back along the path toward the village. Marcia danced on ahead, humming a melody Roy did not know. He followed along behind, feeling his desire for her flow powerfully through his veins. Still, he knew somehow that she was right. This was not the time. And he knew sure as death that the time would come.

They reached Marcia's shop at the edge of the forest and went in through the back door. They crossed the living quarters and went past the curtain into the front of the shop.

"It's been awfully nice," Marcia said. "We must do it again." The playful half-smile and the spark in her eyes said the things her words did not.

"Goodbye," said Roy. He started toward the door, his eyes still on Marcia.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Am I?"

"The gift for your wife."

"Yes, I almost did forget. The little shepherdess. How much did you say it was?"

"Seven dollars."

Roy pulled a five and two ones from his wallet and handed the bills to her.