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The Werewolf
We had just turned the corner of the street when we spotted a rather frightened-looking young lady, whose hair was dry without life and clutching her arms against herself. We quickly stopped to help her out.
She slowly walked to the window, her arms to herself, with an appalled look on her face. She didn’t speak as we rolled it down to greet her.
“Hey… is there something wrong? Do you need a lift? You don’t look so good…” I said.
She could hardly speak. Her breaths were rapid, like the furious beating of a heart, or as if she had seen a ghost.
“Dead… ripped… mutilated…” she spoke.
“What?” Samantha wondered.
Shivering in uncontrollable tremors, and her face chalk-white under the moonlight, she pointed towards a small, blue car.
“What is it?” I asked.
“She’s pointing to that car…” Samantha pointed out.
We exited the vehicle to investigate.
A gory scene entered our eyes as parts of entrails and various organs splattered with blood painted the darkened pavement below us. An arm lay ripped apart to the side, and a cold, emotionless head with eyes wide open lay on top of a greatly marred neck.
“Oh… no” Samantha said, turning her head away from the view, and holding her hand over her mouth. I heard a spatter of fluid hit the ground below.
“You best be careful about that mess laddie and lassie…” A strange voice called out from nowhere.
“It is best to be dead by a werewolf than survived through one.”
An old man with a black top hat and a blue coat and brown cane came out from the distance. He had earless bifocals in front of his eyes.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“The name’s Scrooge Potluck. I’m from Scotland. I moved to Luckburg a long ways back. And I’m familiar with the modern myth of the werewolf.”
“The werewolf?” I wondered.
“Yes, ‘tis a tragic tale really. ‘Tall started a few days ago. There was a young man backpacking with his friend in Scotland who seemed to have encountered one of these dreaded beings. They were found to be attacked by the wolf themselves. One died… the other escaped. He fled back home, to these city streets. However, what he didn’t realize, ‘twas that he had carried a long-living curse from the past to here. He’s a werewolf now. He may or may not know it, but he is.”
“What… what does that mean?” Samantha asked.
“If you’re asking how he can be cured… he can’t. He can only be killed. Only then will the curse end. And those who were killed by him cannot come back until he does.”
“Are you out to…?”
“Kill him? Why yes, I am. ‘Tis the only way, sorry to say.”
“And there’s no other way?” I asked.
“Aye, no other way,” he replied.
“Excuse me,” Samantha said in a serious tone. She slowly approached him. “Can I get an interview?”
“I don’t think any little news article of yers could help calm the fears of the public,” Scrooge answered.
“But the public has the right to know…” Samantha argued.
“Aye, that’s why I have to get him tonight… Before he can hide himself as a human again and escape. He can’t be held responsible for any more lives…”
“And what are you going to do? Beat him to death with your cane?” Samantha smartly stated. “Don’t you need some kind of silver bullet?”
“Aye, silly girl. Where do you get yer idears from? A simple revolver would do the trick… maybe multiple times I suppose. Of course…” he continued, picking up his cane. A small, pointed blade was unsheathed at the end of the looped cane. “There is a a coating of wolf’s bane atop this blade from my cane.”
“Oh, and I suppose that’s specific for werewolves of this type,” Samantha deduced.
“Wrong again, Miss journalist. ‘Tis just a poisonous coating of herb that is bound to slow him down.” He set the cane upon the ground once again.
“Now I suggest you move along now and get that poor girl home. She’s experienced too much for one night.”
I looked toward the ground in stern thought. I then looked upward and came to a decision.
“Samantha, bring the girl home. I’m counting on you. Bring her to a safe place. I want to help Scrooge,” I said to her.
“What, are you crazy? You’ll get mauled! You just want the scoop for yourself! Even I’m not foolish enough to go on a wolf-hunt like that!”
“I’ll be fine,” I said.
“Are you sure, lad? It’s a very dangerous task indeed. One swipe, one droplet of infected blood, and you could be branded a werewolf for life,” Scrooge explained to me.
I stepped forward. “Well, so could you. And I don’t see anything stopping you.”
Scrooge stroked his chin for a moment, ruffling the feathers. He adjusted his bifocals, and came to a decision. “Hmm, I may need a bit of help with this. You’re in.”
“Alright, let me just get my stuff from the car…” I answered, as I ran to retrieve my belongings.
Scrooge looked toward the two women. “Take the young woman home, now. She needs to rest. It’s been a long night.”
Samantha nodded, and grabbed hold of Julie’s arm. However, she wouldn’t budge.
“Wait,” she spoke, after having not done so in a long while.
Scrooge raised an eyebrow at the young girl.
“You said… you said that there was a young man. He… was backpacking in Scotland?…With a friend? This boy… what was his name?” Julie asked, fixated on the subject.
Scrooge removed his bifocals and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “His name… was Jon Tibbitt, I believe. His friend… Allen Wakeman, the boy who was mauled. I suppose you know them?”
Julie looked toward the ground, pondered slowly, and looked back up.
“Jon Tibbitt… was my boyfriend.”
4
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