A Lunatic Moon: Chapter 11 - Homecoming and Mike's knife.

He felt a bit like a celebrity. Bobby and James were excited and full of questions, while Danny reacquainted himself with his room upstairs. He hadn't been gone all that long. Just ten days, but it felt like months. They plopped on his bed, bombarding him with questions about the food, the rules, the people, pretty much every aspect of the PAC. So he sat at his little desk and did his best to bring them up to date. He told them about the food in the dining hall. How they were locked in their rooms all night. The nasty orderlies and nurses and the Meds line. He told them about the big storm and the fight in the cafeteria. They were fascinated with his description of some of the people he'd been detained with.

He left a lot of the good stuff out, though. He felt that what he shared with them was enough to satisfy their basic curiosity about the PAC, without scarring them with the unpleasant details. Honestly, it was bad enough describing Clay and Tom, Tito and Red with their electric cattle prods and handcuffs. None of the Ferguson boys had ever been in trouble with the law. So it came as a shock to hear that Danny had been handcuffed. Twice! Bobby looked really sorry for his older brother at this real-world revelation. So he told them a bit about Doctor Rickert instead and how the patients and orderlies called him Doctor Dickhead. They thought that was funny.

After entertaining them for a good hour, regaling them with tales of the PAC, the cafeteria food with salt petre in it, the weirdos and the fights, Clark and his euchre crew. He ran out of stuff to say. He didn't tell them about Benji and felt a little bit guilty, as if he were disrespecting Benji's memory somehow. He couldn't tell them about Benji, though, without telling them what he was in there for and then how he was almost killed. How do you tell your little brothers that the only friend you made in custody, for killing his parents, got beaten up and stomped almost to death, without telling them about Freddie, Ronnie and Rich? So he left Benji out of it. Danny thought he might understand. What could he do about it anyway? As he told them how it was there, he found himself having to pause and censor his next comment every now and then. Some of the details were just too graphic or personal. He didn't want them to treat him any differently, as if he were diseased, marred, or scarred permanently somehow. All in a ten-day stay at a psych ward for violent offenders. He just wanted them to see him as he still was, or how he used to be. Just their big brother, Danny. Who went away for a week and a half after getting in some trouble.

He didn't want them to think him some kind of monster. Eventually they got tired, the excitement wore off and he ran out of safe stories to tell them anyway. Half the time Kevin stood in the hallway leaning against the doorframe, listening with a little smile on his lips. After they left, Kevin came in and took their place on Danny's bed. Danny turned on his record player, quiet enough for them to be able to talk, but also loud enough to mask their conversation. Danny knew Kevin had something to say to him. In fact, Kevin had something to show him as well. He couldn't quite get it without standing so he stood up and dug around in his front pocket and pulled out Mike's knife.

"I found it at the bottom of the TV aerial. I guess you dropped it the night you snuck out."

"Aw, that's great!" Danny reached for it, stunned, but Kevin held it back.

"Wait. Why do you have Mike's knife? I know it means something, I wanna know what. So what happened?"

He sat down on the bed and looking glum, turned the knife over and over in his hands. He looked up at Danny and Danny was surprised to see his eyes glistening. Kevin was stoic he wasn't a sentimental kind of guy, but he had also been very close to Mike, too. Mike had a lot of friends; he had been that kind of guy. Kevin was that kind of guy, too, so Danny supposed he shouldn't be surprised if Kevin was feeling the loss of Mike, just like he was.

"You gotta tell me, Danny. How did you get Mike's knife?"

"Okay, Kev, but you can't tell anyone." He swallowed hard and tried to figure out how to explain this without disclosing his secret. "Okay. When I found Mike's body, I also found his knife on the tracks. It must have gotten knocked out of his pocket as he was hit by the train. I kept it to remember him by."

Kevin frowned at him and scoffed, "You're fulla shit. I know there's more to it than that...there's blood on the blade..." He whispered just loud enough for Danny to hear.

Then Danny's heart leaped into his throat as Kevin opened up the blade to show him... just don't cut yourself, Kevin!

"See? Blood all along the blade and all over the handle too..." He looked up at Danny, waiting for the truth.

"Okay, I'll tell you."

This time, when he reached for the knife, Kevin gave it to him handle first. He took it carefully so as not to accidently knick him with the sharp blade and closed it with a snap.

"The old guy. The one I beat up and got sent away for. I think he killed Mike and Julie Gifford, too. When I found Mike on the tracks, the knife was open and covered in blood. He'd stabbed something, or someone, before he got killed. I think it was the old guy. His name is Jean Duhamel. He lives down the tracks past the woods in a little house. When Mike was coming home from partying that night, Duhamel saw him and attacked him. Mike stabbed him once, I guess. Must have got him good though huh?"

Kevin sat with his mouth agape, staring, amazed and shocked. He finally found his voice.

"Why...Mike? And why would he kill Julie too...why do that?" He was gripping his knees, white knuckled. Leaning forward. Straining to comprehend.

Danny spread his hands. "Bro, I don't know. Cuz he's a psycho killer!"

"Huh? Why do you even think that?"

"Because when I saw his body, it didn't look ike he was hit by a train at all. It looked like he was mauled by animal...or, attacked by someone crazy. When I went all the way back to where the old guy's house is beside the tracks, I asked him if he knew anything and he was really suspicious. He grabbed my arm, and he's really strong. You should see this guy Kev. He's a freak...scary."

"Is he really big or something?"

"No that's the thing. He's not big and he's old, but his muscles are like iron."

"And you fought this guy?"

"Kevin I broke both his wrists! I was trying to kill him...it was self defense, but I went apeshit on him. I found Julie's arm in his yard and the guy attacked me."

"What? What do you mean...you found her arm?"

"Shhhh!" Danny warned quiet, palms down. "Keep it down. This is between you and me okay? You cannot tell Bobby and James. Promise? The only other people who know, are mom and dad and the cops...and now you."

He got up for a second and peeked out into the hall. Satisfied, he sat down to continue.

"Yeah, I found Julie's arm in a field behind his house. I was spying on him while the cops were there, asking him about her murder. When they left, he threw it way out into the weeds. At first I didn't know what it was, but obviously he had something to hide. The guy's demented, I don't know why he had it Kev. But I went back, that was the night I snuck out and got caught."

" Didn't you tell the cops about that? About her arm?"

"Oh yeah. One of the first things I did, but I don't think they believed me."

"And that's why they put you in the loonie bin? Cuz you beat up the old guy and they thought YOU were crazy? So what happened last night at the PAC Danny? Who got killed and why?"

Danny was surprised that he already knew. "Holy shit Kevin, how much do you know?"

"Well it was all over the news. Mom and dad were freaking out. Why do you think they got you out of there so quickly? They even thought you might of had something to do with it at first, until we heard they arrested some guy called Frederick something?" "Freddie." Danny said softly. "Yeah Freddie killed this guy Rich." Lying through his teeth to his brother and straight faced...shame. "Rich the one who was hassling you right? Fuck Danny, I'm just glad you're out of there! So now what are you gonna do about that old guy? What's his name? Dewie or whatever?" "Duhamel." He said tonelessly. He couldn't believe his parents thought he might have had something to do with the murder in the PAC. Well, he did, but still...He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Jean Duhamel. Nothing right now. I'm tired. I can't think anymore. I don't know Kev, but we should stay away from Duhamel. Don't ever go back there okay? It's not a good idea." "Don't worry about that, but don't you go back there either Danny." Kevin stood up to leave but fixed him with a good hard stare. Weary, Danny shook his head, but said, "Hey thanks for finding the knife Kevin...and for not saying anything about it too." Kevin stopped in his doorway and lowered his voice, "Listen, if that guy Duhamel killed both Mike and Julie...and he's still out there, running around, that's unfinished business. You should talk to the cops again." Danny looked up at his brother and with all sincerity said, "Don't I know it. I've talked to them twice now and told them about Julie's arm, about Duhamel...everything. I've done all I can for now..." Kevin left Danny to his Clash record. Finally alone and with his old bed to himself, he flopped on his clean bedspread, exhausted, relieved, a little happy, a little sad and oddly triumphant. He expected Mike-boar to join him at any second, but the guy was nowhere to be found. Sleep was dark. It was deep and soundless, it was a cave, it was a hole with a black serpent coiled snugly around him keeping him without sensation. Biding it's time. A long damned time it seemed, yet it was merely moments until the morning Sun crept up. Like a thief in the night, breaking the Black Mamba's back along the horus, in countless and infinite places of it's muscled spine and releasing Danny from his velveted, death-like slumber to a new day. He practically leaped out of bed and thundered down the stairs to the empty kitchen. His brother's all still sleeping, his dad at work and his mother out getting groceries, he had the place to himself for the moment. He looked around for the newspaper and saw that it hadn't been collected from the porch yet. He opened the door, bending down to scoop it up and saw with surprise, Gord Bennett standing on the sidewalk in front of their house watching him. "What are you doing Gord?" He called. "What are you doing Danny? Can I come in?" "It's a little early for visitors Gord. My brothers are still sleeping." He started walking up the driveway a sly smiile on his fat face and Danny felt himself getting annoyed. This guy doesn't take a hint does he? "So wake em up. I'm up, you're up, maybe they should get up." "And maybe you should leave Gord. I haven't even eaten yet." He stood there smiling with his chubby hands jammed in his pockets. "I don't mind." Danny couldn't believe it. "Not right now Gord. Go on. Scat!" And he shut the door on Gord Bennett. He half expected to see his face appear in the window, but Gord thankfully walked on. Danny went and grabbed some cereal and sat down at the table to check out the paper. His good mood temporarily interrupted, but he reminded himself that the world was full of 'em. Some people just arent...quite right. They have a special knack of rubbing you the wrong way. He recalled the day at the cemetery. How disrespectful of the dead Gord had been. Why would he be expected to have any respect for the living then? That made him smile again. He opened the paper, already knowing what the lead story would be and he wasn't disappointed. The front page featured a full colour photo of the front of the PAC facility. In the left margin were four small black and white photos ranking in importance to the reader. Doctor Rickert, Doctor Lawrence, Frederick (Freddie, aka 'The Big Stink') Jerome, the killer and lastly, Richard Lowe, the victim. The working title of the feature was 'Bad luck PAC', although luck had nothing to do with the happenings of those last 12 hours. The writer had tied in Doctor Lawrence's unfortunate accident in the mental health lab with the killing of Rich. The PAC had a leak it seemed. Someone had slipped this reporter some dirt on Doctor Lawrence. Suggesting his less than ethical techniques of treating 'troubled teens' might be doing more harm than good. Apparently, Richard Lowe's killer had been 'amped up' on shock treatment recently, causing him to 'blow a fuse' and murder another patient. Sensational and sickening. It went on to say that Doctor Lawrence had also been blinded the night of the murder, after an accident while using an 'archaic and outdated device beyond it's capacities'. It didn't name which patient the device was being used on, leaving the reader to draw the conclusion that it had been Freddie and not Danny sitting in the chair when the generator blew. The writing was terrible, the story even asked if it could have been, 'coincidence, bad luck, or perhaps a little Karma mixed in that caused the explosion, leaving the infamous Doctor Lawrence with third degree burns to both hands and blind in one eye.' The story continued by,'... questioning the state of aging mental health facilities. Especially ones responsible for the legal custody and treatment of our troubled youth. provincial authorities and inspectors were continuing to investigate...' Danny skipped over the rest of it. After putting his bowl in the dishwasher he took Mike's knife out and washed it in the kitchen sink using lots of Comet, dishsoap, hot water and a scrub brush. Satisfied when the water finally ran clear, he dried it with a paper towel and put it away. He had an idea for it. Later. In the meantime he wanted to go out for a walk before his brothers got up or his mom got home. Instinctively his first stroll of freedom took him to the railway crossing. He found himself standing there unwittingly and looked up. Someone was a few hundred yards down the tracks with their back to him. Immediately his heart started kicking against his ribs. They were by themselves and not moving. Just a solo, black silohuette against the morning sun. It was creepy and wrong, but he found himself being pulled in that direction nonetheless. Ah shit. He thought.What the fuck am I doing? Who the hell is that? He shot his mind out to try and see, but missed entirely. Still a mystery. Still walking. And why? Why don't I just say fuck it and turn around, go back? He pulled his cigarettes out nervously, lighting without stopping. Whoever it was hadn't heard him yet, although he was drawing close. His heart just kept banging away, matching the pace of his stride now. Why am I feeling fear? Who the hell is this? He tried again, another miss. Finally, just fifty feet away they heard his feet crunching on the bedstones and the occasional ring off a rail. They turned around and he stopped dead. His body flooded with emotion, draining his fear from the top of his head and down through his feet, leaving him feeling cold and wet with relief. He saw who it was. Carrie. Mike's older sister. He managed, "Hello." Either she didn't hear him or didn't bother, she stood looking at him. He walked a little closer and tried with "Uhhh..." She ignored his attempts, demanding, "So where'd you find him Danny? I wanna see where." "Um okay." By now he was within a few feet of her and could see her eyes flashing something. What was it? Anger? She was impossible to read. She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, impatiently waiting for Danny to show her. She was in jean shorts and a blue flannel shirt, her dirty blonde hair tied back in a pony tail with a dark blue piece of ribbon. To Danny she looked very pretty in the morning light. But there was a heavy stone in his gut right now, so he averted his eyes, shrugged and led the way. She fell into place beside him on the outside of the tracks while he walked down the middle. Every now and then he saw her glance over at him. He had nothing to say and just smoked his cigarette. You know, what are you gonna say. Right? Your best friend's beautiful older sister and you're leading the way to where you found his body? He couldn't think of a damn thing. So he smoked. She broke the silence. "I heard you went away for a while. What's up with that?" He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. "My parents thought I could use some time talking to a shrink." "Did it work?" He choked back a crazy laugh, but she was deadly serious. "Uh yeah, I guess. It helped a little bit." She was looking at him and he felt self conscious. Suddenly he stopped, pointing. "Here." He said. "Just up here. You see the old telegraph pole? He was right there in the middle of the tracks." She started walking again and he watched her, following slowly. The image of that day still burned into his head like an acid etching. They stopped together in the spot where Danny had found Mike's body. They stood there in silence looking around and at the ground. She spread her hands. "Where? How?" Her brusque tone was becoming irritating and he glared at her. Pointing in different areas he said, "Here, here and here. He was cut in half and his arm was over the rail." He looked at her and she was looking at where he'd pointed frowning. "Hey you wanted to know." "Yeah, yeah I know. So..." He continued, "He was torn up pretty bad and if we're being brutally honest here, one thing I thought was strange, his throat was torn out." She put a hand to her own neck. "His throat?" "Yeah he was a mess Carrie. I'm glad I found him and not you." He looked at her again and saw that her eyes were misting over. For some reason he took her hand. Normally he'd never have the courage. It was limp, but cool and dry. "Look I'm sorry..." "No it's okay! I wanted to know..." She took a deep hitching breath and sobbed, her head drooping. He took her in his arms and held her fiercely. Again he was surprised by himself. She didn't pull away, or complain, in fact she actually leaned against him. He couldn't believe he was doing any of this. He'd always liked Carrie, but this was hardly the time and place for this. Or was it? Maybe it was the exact right time and place to be holding her. He was just comforting her after all and didn't have any other inclinations, not here and not now at least. It just seemed so...grown up. He guessed he'd done a lot of that lately. Growing up. She rubbed her cheek dry on his shoulder and stood back sniffling. She flicked a strand of loose hair out of her face and cleared her throat. "Okay. Tell me again, cuz I don't get it. I wanna know everything. How did you find him and what do you mean he was cut in half? By the train?" "Carrie..." She looked into his eyes, searching. "What?" "Umm...I don't know if it was a train. I know that's what the cops said and maybe it was, but I don't think so. Not from the way he looked. I don't think a train would have done that. He was all scratched up and ... well, torn up more like and his throat and the way everything was scattered around, right here, not like thrown into the ditch over there..." He swept his arm trailing off, realizing he was babbling. Her eyes flicking about, trying to understand. He knew she was struggling, so he sighed and got to the point. "Look. I think something else got him. Like an animal, or a man...I don't believe the train story.""You mean someone or something?" He corrected himself. "Right. Someone, because there's one more thing." He figured he'd come this far. He'd already told Kevin, the cops knew what he thought and so did his parents. If he couldn't be truthful with Carrie, then it just felt like he was short changing her. Not being honest with her was probably the worst thing he could do, he thought to himself. Besides how was he going to explain the knife? "When the cops brought me back here to show them where he was, I found something." He pulled Mike's knife from his front pocket and handed it to her. "I think you should have this." She turned it over in her hands, examining it. Her mouth turned downward like she might start crying again, but she took a deep breath and straightened herself out. "Mike's knife." She said softly. "Yeah. It was open on the ground and covered in blood. He stabbed something before he died." She put a hand on her hip and fixed him with a look. "Why do you keep saying something? Do you think an animal got him, or was it a man? Which is it Danny?" "I think a man attacked him. A psycho killer." "Ha! And cut him in half? How?" "I don't know. Really I don't. Maybe he cut his throat first and cut him in half after. I don't know! Maybe the guy just went nuts on him...a lunatic." He looked down the tracks and back toward the village. He lowered his voice. "Okay, the reason that I went away is because there's this old man that lives down the tracks. He's fucking nuts alright? If you met him you'd know what I mean. I don't think he's no ordinary man and I think he's the one who killed Mike...and also Julie Gifford." "Julie Gifford?" "Yeah. I think this same guy killed both of them, so I went to confront him and got in a fight with him. The cops just happened to show up while we were fighting and I got arrested. That's why I went away. I got sent to a psychiatric hospital." "Why did the cops come all the way out here in the middle of the night when you were fighting him? So...so who's the crazy one then?" "Oh, oh, not me! I honestly don't know why they were out here that night...I...I don't. " He stammered and took a step towards her. She took a step back. "Honest. I'm fine Carrie. He's the crazy one." Tense as if she might run, but then her shoulders sagged and she sighed. "Why do you think he killed Julie? I was friends with Julie!" "Yeah I know you were." He said. "I don't know, but he's the only psycho around here I can think of. He lives just off the tracks in a shitty little house. Maybe Mike said something to him when he was walking home from partying in town. Maybe Mike was being loud and it woke him up. It pissed the guy off and he chased Mike all the way here and killed him. I don't know why he killed Julie. For fun? Beats me..." He jammed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. She looked down the rails and squinted her eyes. "So he lives back the tracks huh?" Danny stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder. "Yeah just past the woods, through the tunnel of trees on the left hand side." He pointed. "So let's go!" She said abruptly. "I wanna talk to him!" Danny took her by the shoulders and before he realized what he was doing he shook her roughly. "Oh no! No way! You can't! We can't! I can't go there, I'll go to jail. Besides he's dangerous! Promise me you won't go by yourself Carrie. Swear?" Panicked. He could only imagine what he might do to her.She was shocked and a little angry and shrugged free of his grip. "Do you mind Danny? I won't okay? I promise. Jeez..." "I'm sorry I did that." Awkwardly, he reached out and hugged her, but gently this time and she let him for a second. "Please promise me. Don't ever go back there. The guy is bad news." She laughed nervously, pulling away. "Okay, okay! I said I promise. I won't." They stood there for a minute in silence. Looking around on the ground and at each other. She spotted something on a railway tie. "Is this his blood?" And she pointed at a stain with the toe of her sneaker. "Yeah probably." He said quietly. "Look. Here's some more on these rocks. I guess it hasn't rained yet." "Oh poor Mike." She looked at his knife then stuffed it in the front pocket of her jean shorts. "Keep that knife on you at all times okay? Just in case." Danny said. "I'm not sure if this guy knows who you are, but it's better to be safe than sorry. He killed Julie for no reason after all and since you're Mikes sister...well you just never know. Don't take any chances. If you think you're being followed, go somewhere safe and well lit. If he tries to attack you...use the knife, it's really sharp." "I remember him sharpening it. Thank you Danny..." She looked as if she might say more, but instead turned towards the village. They walked back without talking and simply waved to each other when they parted ways at Danny's house. Both deep in thought, working things out. The next day Danny tacked a cheap calendar from some real estate group to his wall. The calendar was poorly made and featured the smiling face of some unknown real estate guy with the caption, 'Todd Walker will buy your house...if he doesn't sell it first!', most importantly though, it showed the dates for full moons. He drew an X over the last, called the 'Sturgeon Moon' and looked ahead for the next one. 'The Harvest Moon.' Nothing strange about having a calendar on your wall right? Lots of people used calendars. Especially grownups and he was feeling more grown up than ever these days. He sat on his bed and thought for a while. He had a lot to sort through and more to think about. He wondered how he was going to keep his monthly transformations under wraps. He wondered how he was going to keep the urges of that beast satisfied without hurting anyone he cared about. He wondered what he was going to do about Jean Duhamel. Duhamel was still out there. He was still a threat. Danny felt his skin start to tingle and a fire began burning in his gut. He hadn't felt much from his 'new self' since he'd been home and was almost startled by the ferocity of his anger. He needed to come up with a plan. He knew he had to confront Old and Ugly once more, but he wasn't sure how. Then he thought about Carrie. Her blonde hair that smelled like her shampoo. Mike's knife in the front pocket of her jean shorts. He hoped she would be okay. Now why was he thinking about Carrie?----------------------------------------------- Sam made his way from his personal vehicle, an old silver Cavalier that needed much more than just brake work, to the front door of the police station. As he mounted the front steps he looked up to see his partner coming out. They stopped on the stairs. Cliff was holding a handful of file folders and a large manila envelope. "Cliff! Where you going?" "Just up the road to 'Robin's' to get us a couple of large coffees. The stuff in there is giving me an ulcer." "Tell ya what. Why don't you fly on up there, get us the coffee and meet me back here. I'll be ready to roll by the time you get back." Sergeant Cliff Bell nodded, "Sounds good. There's something I want to talk to you about." "There's something I want to talk to you about too!" "We can talk on the way into Hamford. I made an appointment with that animal specialist I told you about, supposed to be a doctor or something. He knows all about animal bites and stuff, so I'm bringing the autopsy photos for both Vansickle and the Gifford girl. Get his two cents worth." Sam gave him a thumbs up and turned away to go in and throw some stuff in his locker, winking at Denise on dispatch as he walked past. In fact, he more or less just wanted to lay eyes on her, than bother putting anything in his locker. He dropped another wink that made them both laugh on his way back out. It was only a matter of minutes before Bell pulled up in the cruiser with the coffees. Sam climbed in and picked up his coffee from the drink holder. He took a sip and was about to talk, when Bell spoke up. "Alright let me go first..." Sam held up his hand and cut him off. "It's about Jean Duhamel right?" Bell smiled, a rare sight these days. "Yes Sam. That's why you're my partner. So here's what we're gonna do about our friend Mr. Duhamel..." The cruiser pulled away from the curb with a squeal of tires. Bell cranked the wheel hard, doing a fat U-turn in the middle of traffic and sped off towards the city of Hamford.------------------------------------ Duhamel sat at his table picking at some white bits of plaster stuck to his arm after he'd peeled the casts off his wrists the day before. The only reason why he had left them on for so long, was for the benefit of the cops. Just in case they came sniffing around again with more questions. The doctor had told him that he would need to leave the casts on for at least four weeks. He'd been loathe to leave them on for longer than four days. They were bulky, clumsy and unnecessary. His wrists had healed within twenty four hours after that brat, Danny had broken them. The kid was a problem and something he was going to have to deal with soon. Obviously the kid had gotten cursed from somewhere. Not from him as far he could remember, so from where? He wasn't in the habit of leaving his victims alive. The last thing he needed was another wolf-beast in the same town as he. Nope, Danny was going to have to go. But the kid was strong, very strong and it had nothing to do with his age. That's not the way it worked. In fact, the longer you live with the curse the stronger you get, not the other way around. The longer you live, the more it takes over your body, you develop certain skills over time too. He had developed those skills and abilities and it had taken years, decades, centuries even. That's what made him so strong and quick to heal and able to tell when someone is about. The boy had just jumped into it somehow and was already incredibly strong and that just didn't make any sense. He was going to be a problem. Even though his own skills had been honed and he was the superior hunter and fighter, Danny had bested him and could have killed him. Under normal circumstances he would have welcomed that, but his hatred of the boy was stronger than his deathwish. He wasn't about to let a child wrench his head from his body. He had a feeling the boy would come to him and probably very soon too. The next full moon was fast approaching and the boy would probably use it to confront him. He wondered what the boy had done on the night of his first full moon. Duhamel didn't receive the newspaper, or watch the TV so he had no way of knowing what had occured at the PAC. He himself had killed a cow the last full moon to satisfy his bloodlust. It wasn't very satisfying, but was probably best to avoid killing any people, as long as the police had such a keen interest in him. He had resorted to killing animals during full moons plenty of times, both domestic and wild. It was satisfying to hunt and kill a wild animal as a werewolf, but nothing was as satisying as killing a human. Especially young attractive females.------------------------- Bell and Sam drove from Eastbrook, down into the city of Hamford and over to the central hospital. Bell had made an appointment to meet with a professor and pathologist there. Doctor Chevy Goldblatt specialized in his career in the narrow field of wild predator attacks. Bell had brought the police files and coroner's reports for both Michael Vansickle and Julie Gifford with them, including the autopsy photos. He wanted Doctor Goldblatt's opinion of the wounds inflicted on both bodies. Bell had been busy contacting people at the Royal Victorian Hospital, Hamford University, as well as Canadian National railway. He had been told by a local freight manager for CN rail that there had been no train between the two cities along the line running through Glen George, on the night in question. There had been a freight earlier in the evening, but nothing in the wee hours. It paid to do your homework and follow up with investigations, because now, the official report that Mike Vansickle had been killed by a train while walking the tracks drunk, was heavily flawed. With no train to run him down, then how did he die? The theory that he'd been mauled to death by a wild animal was looking more likely. If so, he was hoping Doctor Goldblatt might be able to help in determining what kind of animal could have done that kind of damage. The Lion Safari hadn't had any escaped cats and all were accounted for. That he had been killed and dismembered by the same psycho killer, as the one who killed the Gifford girl was disturbing, but also plausible. Hopefully Goldblatt's expertise would help shed some light on the two cases. If they were connected, then it would become one big case and that would free up Bell and Sam to continue investigating them together. It would also provide them with access to a range of resources reserved for major crimes. If it was in fact a serial killer at work here, then it wouldn't be long before they killed again. Something Bell would like to prevent, if at all. If it were a serial killer, there was also a very good chance the case would be handed off to a team of big city detectives and he and Sam would be back to breaking up teenage 'bush parties'. Doctor Goldblatt received the two cops indifferently. Although his office was roomy it was jammed full with boxes of files, old books and even older equipment. Half of an office wall was devoted to shelves filled with animal skulls, jawbones and plaster casts of various predator's teeth. It took a couple minutes to clear some space on the surface of his desk, so that he could spread the autopsy photos out and examine the file notes. Sam took a wooden chair against the wall while Bell leaned over the photos, his palms flat on the desk. The pathologist frowned at Bell and gestured towards a chair. "Please, have a seat, you'll be more comfortable. I don't want to feel rushed." Bell laughed a little nervously and sat down in a padded armchair in front of the desk. He'd always been a little socially awkward, especially with the 'brainy' types. He was a deep thinker himself and knew his job, at the same time though, no one had ever accused him of being 'book smart'. One look about the room told him that Goldblatt was incredibly book smart. "Yes, I'm sorry." Bell coughed into his fist. "I'm just a little anxious. Nothing is adding up here." Goldblatt was sitting and flipping through the file on Mike Vansickle. "Uh huh. I understand the official manner of death for this, Vanickle, was accidental. Misadventure? Death by train. Am I right?" He didn't bother looking up. Bell shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Yes that's right. That's what the coroner believes at least. But we've recently determined from speaking with CN rail, that a train was not scheduled to go through there that time of night. Could an engineer have taken a locomotive for a joy ride? That's highly unlikely. A locomotive isn't anything like a company car right? There would be a record of something like that taking place. So the original manner of death is in doubt." Goldblatt rubbed his lips like an old drinker and hummed and hawed for a bit. "Coroner's have been known to be wrong...Right?... Wow, transected at the waist. Essentially, a hemicorporectomy...with no compression of the surrounding tissue, or intestines...that's definitely not a train death." Bell got to his feet and poked at one of the photos showing the wound to Mike's throat. "Yeah and take a look at this one." Goldblatt looked up from the file, gazing at Bell over his glasses. "Mr. Bell, Sergeant is it? Sergeant Bell, if you would please just sit for a minute and I will get to the pictures. For now I can get a much more detailed description of the wounds with what I have here." And he rattled the papers in his hand. "I understand you are in a hurry. If you would like to leave, I can send you my report later this week, or you can sit patiently and we can discuss this here. Now. Today." He glanced over at Sam. "What'll it be gents?" Sam nodded and spoke up for his partner. "Here. Now. Today. Yes please, doctor. You have to understand, my partner, Cliff, is excited to get your opinion. We have kids out there that are dying and we have to know why and more importantly how. If it's a killer out there, we need to know about it...Yesterday. So if you get my drift...This...?" He waved his hand about the room at the numerous bookcases, compendiums and tomes. "All this is your world." He stabbed a finger at the gruesome photos spread across the doctor's desk. "That. All that is our world right now. So forgive if us if we seem hasty. We need your help." Goldblatt sighed and closed the file. He folded his hands across his belly and looked at Bell. "I apologize Sergeant. I seem to have forgotten what it is like to assist the police in an active investigation. Of course you are in a hurry. Shall we start again? Let's see what we have here..." He stood and began looking at the autopsy photos, pushing each one into a line on the desktop. "Right away, it doesn't look, or sound like this fellow has been hit by a train. If it had been travelling at any speed above ten miles an hour, it would have just knocked his body into the ditch. If he'd been laying on the tracks it wouldn't have cut him in two, sever an arm and gouge out a section of his throat all at the same time. If CN rail was trying to cover up a fatality on their tracks by lying about the schedule, that would leave them open for a serious law suit, don't you think? I doubt they're that stupid. There would be a dozen or so witnesses. Besides just the throat wound alone is suspect...as you were about to suggest. See here?" He was tapping at a closeup shot of Mike's throat and turned the photo around for their benefit. The wound was deep and ragged and didn't fit anything you might receive from an impact with a train. He covered most of the wound with his hand, except the leading edge. "If this were an animal bite, you'd expect to see this pattern here." He pointed with his other hand. "This would be where the upper corner incisors, or canine teeth if you will, began by puncturing the skin. The bite tears a furrow through the throat, severing major blood vessels, tendons and the cartilage of the windpipe. The animal or victim bleeds out and sometimes they drown in their own blood. Death comes quickly after the carotid artery is severed." He moved around some of the other photographs on his desk, pushing several of them together. "These other wounds appear to be post mortem, since there is so little blood associated with them. The majority of the victim's blood has pooled beneath their head. Why, or better yet, how your victim was cut in half is beyond me. That takes an enormous amount of strength without proper tools. Essentially you would need a large circular saw for such a clean transect. The severed arm? It appears to be pulled from it's joint by force. I do not see any marks on the denuded bone. That also takes an incredible amount of force. I can understand why your coroner might suspect these injuries were caused by a train. A locomotive has all the power needed to inflict these injuries. However, in my opinion, Michael Vansickle was mauled to death by a large predatorial animal. Something like an Alaskan brown bear, or a Grizzly." He leaned back in his chair and shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, beaming at Sam and Bell, waiting for them to say something. Bell picked up the picture of Mike's throat wound at looked at it thoughtfully. When Sam spoke up, his voice was small and seemed to come from a long ways away. He was also grinning like an idiot. "Hey Cliff you ever see any grizzly bears out Glen George way?" Doctor Goldblatt immediately caught the foolishness of his theory and scrambled to his feet grabbing an autopsy photo to study in an effort to save face. "Ahhh. Maybe the African Lion Safari? Usually they send out an alert when one of their big cats escape though. Have you spoken to them?" "We did. We spoke to them before putting this meeting together, but you're right, they put out notices if even a zebra gets loose." Sam said. The doctor sat down heavily and rubbed his mouth again. "This has all the characteristics of a large predator, not a train. Let's have a look at Julie." He put all the Mike Vansickle pictures back into the folder and opened the Gifford file, spacing the photographs across his desk one by one. "Wow." He said, "Decapitation...where's her other arm by the way?" He looked up at Sam. Bell was pale and silent. Sam shrugged. "We, uh, never found it." "Never found it?" Doctor Goldblatt asked astonished. "Her head is there but not her arm?" Bell and Sam were silent. The meeting with the esteemed Doctor Goldblatt appeared to be a washout. He looked up from the photos and asked again, but still didn't get an answer. "You never found her arm? That's strange...almost as if it were carried off..." He was looking up at the ceiling now thinking, when Sam interrupted his thoughts. "Doctor is it possible for a man to inflict these injuries?" Goldblatt brushed something from his sleeve and cleared his throat. "I'm sure you are aware of Man's capacity for extreme violence, however... I have never heard of anyone physically capable of pulling another person's head off with their bare hands. I just don't think that's possible, or an arm for that matter. The man would have to be very large and incredibly strong and maybe even under the influence of methamphetamine, or some other powerful stimulant. Without being able to examine the condition of the missing arm, I can't be sure. Even still, it's highly doubtful." He tilted back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach and continued. "The proximity of these two deaths, combined with the youthful age of the victims, suggests that they are indeed connected. As I am sure you have already ascertained. Your question seems to be, 'is this man or animal?' and it is my opinion that you should be looking for a large predator and not a human being. Again, something in the neighbourhood of a grizzly bear, or even a lion." He spread his hands. There you have it. And started to collect the autopsy and crime scene photos for Julie Gifford. "If the African lion safari continues to deny losing any of their animals," He said. "There is a small possibility that the creature is privately owned. I doubt the owner will make any attempt to recapture it. It's simply too dangerous and besides they wouldn't want to draw attention to themselves, since it is illegal to own a bear, or a lion. I'm afraid gentleman, you need to start looking for this animal...there is a term we use for large predators that kill people. We call them man eaters. So this creature needs to be found and soon..." Looking at Sam, he raised his eyebrows and cracked a grin that was almost apologetic, but not quite. "...as you say, Yesterday! I hate to give you the bad news, but I'm sure you already know, it will kill again." They walked from the hospital complex across the parking lot, Sam was shaking his head. "Okay so you heard the man, a large animal. Now how the hell does Duhamel fit into this?" Bell shrugged and handed the two thick files to Sam, so he could fish for the keys to the cruiser. He was irritable and not terribly impressed with Goldblatt. Book smart or not, Cliff thought he was a pompous, overstuffed shirt. He did his best to share his thoughts with his partner though." "Does he figure into this at all though?" Bell asked. "Maybe this 'large animal' happened to drop Julie's arm on his property while passing through." "Sure. Maybe." Sam conceded. "But you don't believe that for a second do you?" Bell just shook his head and slid behind the wheel closing the door. Sam picked up his cold coffee from the drink holder and took a sip making a face. Bell leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool steering wheel and muttered, "No Sam I do not." Sam drank some more cold coffee and chuckled. "You do not...what?" "I do not believe that a large animal just happened to drop Julie's arm in Duhamel's yard, while just passing through. I don't know what to believe, but I am loathe to believe in a coincidence like that." He sat up straight and started the engine. "At the same time, I don't understand how that tiny, smelly, wrinkled old man could have ripped those two kids apart either. But I'm not about to go looking for a grizzly bear around the town of Glen Thomas without taking a good hard look at Jean Duhamel first. That guy is hinky." "Like a three dollar bill, right?" "Like a three dollar bill Sam. Just like." Exasperated. The tires squealed as they turned out of the parking lot. Standing at the window of his office Doctor Chevy Goldblatt watched them go. In his hands he held a book titled Bite Force Quotients of Predatory Animals, his thumb holding it open to the chapter regarding Timber wolves.------------------------ His third morning back from the PAC and Danny sat in his room by himself, talking to Mike-boar. His brothers understood, without being told, that Danny needed a little bit of time for himself to decompress. These were the final days of summer and the last half of his holiday from school had been a disaster. He was desperately trying to get his head around all that had happened, while dreading everything yet to come. That good old, 'Fear of the unknown'... He'd given up trying to deny the fact that he was abnormal and gone to Mike-boar for comfort. Some of that comfort came in the form of answers. When he was with Danny in the PAC, he'd provided answers for almost everything Danny asked. Unfortunately the boar wasn't able to provide answers for ALL the questions he had, but his prescence was comfort enough. So he sat and they talked. There were some pretty serious issues at hand. Some of them needed addressing sooner than others. That little business of 'fear of the unknown' was number one on his list. If he'd been any other male teenager going through a crisis such as he'd been, he would have sought that comfort from his family, or friends, a counselor. He would have sought comfort from his girlfriend. He couldn't though. Not without telling them everything, in it's entirety. If he did, he would seem completely crazy and it would just make matters worse. So instead here he was talking to an imaginary boar, ghost or vision of some kind, that spoke in a human voice. Ah...what was that they say in French? Jean Duhamel would know this one... C'est la vie! The clearing in the woods took shape. The shadows, the trees, the deer ever present, gazed at them as if waiting for instruction. Mike-boar was larger than life tonight. Danny could even smell him. A sweet pungent barnyard smell that was not unpleasant. He was busy rooting in the earth and under leaves as usual. He dimly became aware of Julie and her raspy breathing. It was as if he was no longer sitting on the edge of his bed but standing in the woods with his shady friends. The vision was that real for him. He no longer needed to be dreaming to conjure Mike-boar. Mike boar looked up, snuffling. Damp, black earth and bits of moss clung to his snout. He was chewing something crunchy, saliva ran from his mouth, mingling with the soil in his bristles. ...so here we are...old friends just hanging out in the woods...I told you you were getting out soon... Yes Mike you told me many things. You told me that I'd kill too and I did. ...I told you to use control and you did... I did. I had control, but I didn't. ...Oh, now you're the one speaking in riddles huh?... Yup...No... I mean there was two of me. There was me-me and then there was beast-me, that didn't really seem like me. Mike boar snorted laughter, blowing bits of tuber into Danny's face. He winced, wiping it with the sleeve of his shirt. ...oh that was you alright...why don't you think you are capable of killing?...everyone is capable of killing...it comes easier to others...look at Old and Ugly...he has the hang of it... Danny felt his skin prickle with heat. "Yeah, he's also insane. And that's why he's gotta die Mike. I just don't know how to kill him. I don't know if I should wait for a full moon so I can have the beast do it." Mike-boar snorted more laughter blowing fresh chunks Danny's way. You have to quit that. It's gross and annoying too. What's so funny this time? ...Danny you act like this beast thing inside of you is someone else...like you can call on it for favors...don't you understand that it's you?... It's not me. Danny said plainly. ...yeah and there's a river in Egypt...called da Nile...You become it and it becomes you...it's too late to take it back...it's a curse Danny. A virus...wake up, you're cursed, cursed...you're sick and on full moons you become a beast and the beast kills...that beast is you. Danny sighed, defeated. He knew Mike was wrong, he just didn't want to argue with a stubborn old boar anymore. When he bit out Rich's throat and tore off his manhood, he had done it deliberately, sure. What lawyers would call 'Malice aforethought', or murder one. but he had given the wolf permission to do it... He didn't understand how Mike couldn't see that it had everything to do with the 'Control' he'd been going on about. What Danny had been practicing in the PAC. If he'd given the wolf free reign to do whatever it wanted, who knows what might have happened. He had wanted to separate the two and make the beast responsible for the killing, but outwardly it had been Danny. In a way the wolf was similar to a tool and he was the one who wielded it. Like a weapon, a knife or a gun. The wolf was not just tool, nor a simple animal either. What he was gradually learning, was that the beast had been a powerful entity for a very long time. To the wolf, Danny and the world he lived in was just as alien as the lands that it stalked were to him. It knew it's ancient name and from where it was from. It came from a land of near constant night, blasted with deadly windchills. Where food was so scarce, man and animal hunted each other and it paid to hunt your food in a hunting party, or a pack. Only the strongest hunted alone. Even then, it was possible to fall prey to this wolf. The rule was simple yet exact... Don't hunt alone. It had a history that was as old as time and killing was one of it's specialties. Hunting was it's other. Danny's wolf hunted those who hunt alone and now they were joined as one. Whether they liked it or not...Every full moon they were enjoined. The only thing that separated him from the killings was the moon. ...when you kill Old and Ugly you have to do it on the next full moon... Why so soon Mike? Mike shifted his enormous bulk and passed gas. It sounded an awful lot like a motorcycle stuck in a bog, it smelled like pickled eggs in sauerkraut. Julie just stood there in the shadows gurgling away. The deer looked nervous. Danny felt a strange sensation of being lifted, floating, he knew Mike was going to show him something. He wasn't sure he wanted to see. Something that was going to be bad. He felt completely buoyant now, like a helium ballon with a small propeller and he floated away towards Glen George. Slowly at first, then gradually more rapidly, until he was flying over the village. His first stop was Gord Bennett's house. Danny groaned when he saw the bodys of Gord's parents lying on the lawn. Scattered in parts. Bloody organs shining and open, in full view. The air was thick with smoke. Something was burning. Gord himself stood there, or what was once Gord. Impossibly, now a beast himself, from a deep wound across his stomach. His fat grinning face, a mien of deadly, drooling fangs. Gord was running rampant, tearing through the door of the house next door in search of the two young children inside. Meanwhile down the road... ...Next stop, Mike's house. It was burning too. Carrie was half in, half out of the back door in a bloody nightgown. Shattered glass on the ground reflected orange flames. Her face was pale and lifeless, but she wasn't dead yet and started to rise... Somewhere inside her house, her parents were obviously dead though, bled dry and dismembered. Slaughtered by Duhamel, who had left already, crossing the street, to Danny's own house. He floated over, just in time to hear his twin brothers screaming. Two adult forms, presumably his parents, lay still on the front lawn. Their clothing shredded. Flames were shooting from the windows on the top floor...Bobby and Jame's room... Kevin must already be dead... Danny cried, Enough! That's Enough! He was pulled back into his body. Reeled back in like a fish on a line. As he flew backwards towards his body he saw the town from a bird's eye view. Houses were burning, bodies lay in the road. He could see other creatures, werewolves roaming, searching for hidden prey. The people in their closets didn't stand a chance. He could hear the occasional shotgun blast as the villagers tried in vain to defend themselves. The lead shot completely ineffective. It was a dizzying effect as he flew backwards faster and faster, the village shrinking from view, but he was relieved to be back in the cool of the clearing. But all was not right here either. Mike-boar's eyes were glowing a furious red and his voice had changed. It was the voice of Jean Duhamel now, his French accent thickened by booze and anger. "If you don't meet me, I will come for you and I will destroy your little town. I will kill everyone in your family. I will raze Glen George to the ground. I will slaughter your neighbours and your friends. I will leave some alive...it will be my final act." Danny furious with his own rage now, cut him off. "Shut up. You're a failure. King's guard? Ha! You had your chance and instead you got a boy killed. I know why you failed you dirty old bastard. You were afraid. You froze and Francois died and you got cursed. So you can just shut up, because I'm not afraid of you. Not at all. I had you once and I'll have you again and next time it's going to be your head rolling on the ground." His heart pounding, felt like it would burst from his chest. There was a bitter taste of metal in his mouth His skin burned like a thousand fire ants, blood was roaring in his ears. Just as quickly as it had begun it was over. The roaring in his ears faded and it was good old Mike-boar in the clearing again. And the good old deer, mama and two babies still there for whatever reason. Good old Julie wheezing away with her head tucked under her arm. Danny was gasping for breath. Mike what the hell was that? What did you just show me? Why would you show me that? Especially when you can't tell the future? The boar looked sad and slowly rocked from side to side. ...if you don't go to Duhamel, he will come to you and he hates you madly...he knows his time is coming to an end and will make sure that he destroys everything in his path to reach you...including your family... How do you know this though? How could you possibly know all that? ...because he touched me...he left part of himself with me...with us... Meaning the deer and Julie and whoever he killed. ...I don't know why and I don't know how...I just don't know...but I know that much...what I just showed you...because it comes from him...I have no idea what comes from you Danny or what's inside you...but you need to face him on the full moon when the two of you are werewolves, because one of you will die and one will live...I don't know who and I don't know why...I only know that you were touched differently...whether it's natural law or something else, I don't know... Great more riddles and gobbledy-gook. Then suddenly a voice from just outside his door. "Who are you talking to? Can I come in?" It was Bobby. "Yeah come on in." Danny said. Bobby looked around his room smiling. "Who're you talking to?" "Oh I was just talking to myself. I'm going crazy dont'cha know?" "Yeah I know!" Bobby said grandly. "That's why mom and dad sent you away!" "Oh, you don't know the half of it." Danny muttered, making room for Bobby on his bed. "Come on. I was just joking." Then suddenly, without guile, as only little brothers can manage, he said, "I love you Danny!" And threw his arms around his neck in a fierce hug. Danny hitched back a sob and Bobby looked at him more closely. "Hey. You okay?" "Yeah I'm fine. I love you too little bro." Danny put him in a gentle headlock and gave him noogie with his knuckle. "Oof! Fuck off!" Bobby protested. Danny pushed him back on the bed and stood up. "Watch your mouth Bobby. That's language unbecoming! If Mom heard you say that, you'd be fucked. I'm going out for a bit. I'll be back in a couple hours." "Can I come with?" His brother asked. "Negative. Not this time. Where's James?" Bobby shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not my brother's keeper." Danny raised his eyebrows. "Oh no? You'd better be Bobby. People are getting hurt out there. I want you two to stick together. Just for a little bit." "Okay. He's downstairs watching TV." "Yeah, I'm just gonna go talk to Carrie." He pulled on a fresh t-shirt and rubbed some speed stick under his arms. "Do you like her? Are you two going together?" "It doesn't matter if I do or not, I'm sure she doesn't like me that way." Bobby just shrugged again and left for his room. By the time Danny got downstairs, he wasn't sure if he wanted to go talk to Carrie after all. He didn't know what he wanted to do these days. There was always that one thing hanging over his head, what to do about Old and Ugly. He needed to get that straight in his head before he could think straight about anything else. Like for instance, what to do with the rest of his summer holidays. He started to pull on his shoes when Louise appeared with her purse and car keys in hand. "Oh, hello Danny. I'm just about to go into Misener to the library to return some books. Did you want to come along and maybe take something out?" At first Danny almost said no. He had no interest in going to the next small town over. Even if Misener was twice the size of Glen George and had a library, a skating rink and a combination hotdog and ice-cream stand. He didn't know anyone in Misener and didn't want to have to answer any delicate questions during the car ride from his mom about his current mental state. Then again, the library might actually have some books on how to kill werewolves. Not just silver bullets. As far as he knew that was hollywood movie cheese. What if you didn't have a gun or any silver bullets for that matter? What did people do to kill werewolves before guns were even invented? On second thought, maybe some research into the matter might be a better way to spend his day than moping around, pining over Carrie Vansickle. He finished putting on his shoes and said, "Sure. Why not? I could use a good book." Louise Ferguson looked relieved and ruffled Danny's hair as she walked past him. The ride into Misener was pleasant enough. his mom didn't ask him once how he was feeling. Nor did she feel the need to compensate for his recent trip to a psychiatric hospital. It was all very normal and the conversation was mild and neutral. At the library he was pleased to find three different books about werewolves. Two of them looked especially promising. They were older and not of the storybook variety, the third was a little more fantastical and was simply called, 'Ghosts, UFO's and the Supernatural'. The first one he had selected was titled 'Wolves and Magicke (a guide to practical lycanthropy)', The second book was a complete mystery, it looked like it had been handbound and was about a hundred years old. He would have passed it over if it hadn't contained first hand accounts of mysterious disappearances of children, livestock and sightings of a large cryptid creature from that very region. The mystery book was bent and dog-eared with penciled, hand written notes and dates in it's margin. It was, as he'd thought, just under a hundred years old, according to it's printing date and was simply called, 'Sordid Accounts of Death and Disappearance in Rurual Misener County'. He noted the obvious spelling mistake of 'Rural', but just figured the author may not have enjoyed a higher education. Probably a local pastor or community leader of some sort that wrote it. It was just over two hundred pages, compiled of eyewitness stories interspersed with crude sketches and diagrams of property boundaries and woodlots, with locations of the bodies. He had a terrible chill run up his spine and knew that what he held was pure gold and worse... absolutely terrible. The librarian couldn't even find a title card for it in her system. She thought it was probably the only copy printed, nonetheless she marked it down and taped a fresh card in the back cover. Danny's name was the only one to appear on the 'due date'. When his mom asked him what he'd borrowed from the shelves, he only showed her the one on UFO's and laughed it off. She didn't seem to really care too much either way. She was mostly relieved to see Danny interested in something that would keep him out of trouble. When they got back from the library, Danny sat on the porch reading. He was able to learn some important stuff about werewolves in the first hour. The book titled, 'Wolves and Magicke (A Guide to Practical Lycanthropy)', was pretty decent. He'd been wrong about the silver bullet though, it wasn't Hollywood cheese after all. According to 'Wolves and Magicke', it had been commonly used to kill suspected werewolves for a long time. Dating back as far even as 1640, when the German town of Greifswald was said to be infested by werewolves. A boy around Danny's age suggested that they melt down silver buckles, buttons and goblets to make silver balls for their muskets. That was how Greifswald was rid of it's werewolf problem. Why did it take a kid to figure out how to save the town? Danny thought it was a rather interesting tidbit. The fact that silver was so effective in killing werewolves was a much more valuable piece of information though. Apparently it had a similar effect as garlic, or holy crosses did for vampires. They could sense it coming in the form of a weapon and even getting grazed by a silver bullet would cause a 'fearsome injury'. Before that though, silver tipped canes, or blades were used as protection against them. Danny thought that it would be a lot easier for him to come by a silver blade than a gun and some silver bullets though. That put his mind at ease too. He imagined lashing a silver steak knife to the end of a long stick. He doubted a silver plated knife would do the trick. It probably had to be pure silver, he wasn't going to take any chances facing Duhamel with a silver plated steak knife. He had never seen any actual silverware in their house either, but he thought it might be something he could find at an antique shop. Then again, if he went to kill Duhamel as the beast, he couldn't be sure if the beast would yield it accurately, or even want to hold it for that matter. Using the beast to pry open a door with the handle of a stainless steel serving spoon is one thing, relying on the beast to stab another werewolf through the heart during battle was another thing entirely. The next best, surefire way to kill a werewolf was by decapitation, or total destruction of it's head and brain. He knew how tough Old and Ugly had been when he was fighting him and neither of them had been a werewolf at the time. He closed the 'Guide to Practical Lycanthropy' and picked up the last book with the unassuming title, 'Sordid Accounts of Death and Disappearance in Rurual Misener County'. Looking in the back pages where there was information on the printing, he also discovered that he'd been correct about the author. It had been a local Pastor, Reverend Charlie Campbell, who had compiled the accounts based on earliest incidents to the latest and which town they occurred in. They were all local, sugesting that the crimes were committed by the same person, or persons. The very first account recorded was for twenty year old William Hurst, who had been walking home from the tavern in Misener, by the light of the full moon. His body was discovered behind some bushes at the crossroads, his throat had been viciously slashed and his body 'ravaged by wild animals'. Sure it was...The next entry was the disappearance of a 16 year old girl coming home from choir practice a month later...obviously another full moon... He flipped to the end of the little battered book and saw the last incident recorded was for Friday, August 31st 1888, when a well to do family's youngest daughter was reported missing from her bedroom in nearby St. George. He didn't have any way to determine if it were a full moon that night, but had a good idea it had been. Her 'terribly mutilated corpse was discovered three days later, in a dense group of willow trees beside a small creek at the back of their woodlot'. The local police struggled to find a suspect. One week later, local blacksmith reportedly an, 'Alcoholic and unabashed lecher, Uwe Teiss - was arrested and hung for her death.' Other murders, livestock deaths and disappearances were all put down chronologically in the slim volume. Probably no simple feat either. There was a surprisingly large amount of them for such a small community. The Reverend Campbell would have had to travel by horse, or horse and buggy to the various farms and churches throughout his community and the surrounding towns to interview grieving families and gather information. Obviously, for some reason, he had felt compelled to make an accurate record of those horrific events. The majority of sightings would have come from farmers, seeing as they were the ones who spent much of their time outdoors. They would be privy to seeing all kinds of wildlife at any hour of the day, including late evenings and very early mornings. They would also know how to distinguish the normal wildlife from an aberration, or something they had never seen before. He would have had to pin down each farmer or person with something to tell. A lot of times farmers would be busy in the field or away at market. Sometimes the farmers wouldn't want to talk about what they had seen and the Rev had to rely on a second hand telling from the farmer's wife. The rest of the stories came from an assorted population of townsfolk. Distraught mothers describing the disappearance of their child, or the town drunk walking home late from the one and only tavern in town, to the village idiot with a tale so strange it was hard to tell if it was real, or only attention seeking 'make-believe'. But they were all at night, or so early in the morning, the sun had not yet risen. They had all fallen on a full moon. The Reverend compiled everything, in the desparate hopes that it might aid in the capture of the man, or creature responsible.Danny wondered what happened after August 31st 1888. Did the creature suddenly stop killing? Were the months that followed, peaceful and safe on each of the full moons? Had it been the alcoholic and 'unabashed lecher' Uwe Teiss all along? Was one of the town's blacksmiths a sadistic and psychotic serial killer? Or had the killer moved somewhere else to a different county? A different province even? Gotten away scot free? Or simply changed his tact and method, so as not to bring anymore attention to themselves? Danny flipped through the last pages of the book again and almost missed it. The second to last leaf in the book had a hand written paragraph, penciled in by someone other than the Reverend. The old graphite printing was very faint and hard to make out, but it showed Reverend Campbell's full name, birth date and death date. Apparently his body had been found in the rectory of his small church. It was thought to be a suspicious death, however there were no details of it and it didn't say if anyone was ever charged with a crime. All the entry said was, 'Rev. Charles Michael Campbell - Misener Methodist Church, Apr. 5th 1838 - Sept. 13th, 1888, Aged 50. Found in rectory, broken objects, large qty. blood, police investigated as a suspicious death.' He'd been killed just days after Uwe Teiss was arrested and taken away to be 'hung by the neck until dead.' He closed the book and held it tightly in his hand. After skimming a handful of incidents, he was afraid to read more. They had all occured once a month and were similar to each other in every way. The lead weights tumbling around his gut suggested they were also, all the work of Old and Ugly himself. Roaming the countryside every full moon, choosing victims far enough from his own home to prevent suspicion by his neighbours, but that was impossible wasn't it? If Duhamel had anything to do with it, that would mean he was well over a hundred years old. Unless there was one before Duhamel and he was the successor. Maybe it had been Uwe Teiss and Duhamel had survived an attack by him, so as to pass the curse along. You can't kill a werewolf by hanging them though... He'd be mostly immortal, if he were a werewolf, he could easily live well past a hundred years. Obviously, Duhamel had learned how to alternate between human victims and either wild animals like deer, or domestic livestock, so as not to attract too much attention. Still, a bare minimum of 12 victims a year for a hundred years? Twelve hundred victims! Even if just a quarter of those victims were human, that was three hundred people from the immediate area, brutally murdered. How would he be able to get away with it for so long? He had to be stopped. No matter what. Danny stood and gathered the books to bring up to his room. He was done reading for now. He wasn't going to try to find a pure silver blade to run through Duhamel's black and withered heart anytime soon, or a scythe to sever his hideous head from it's neck. No. he'd use his bare hands, or claws if that were the case, to tear it clean off and pitch it as far into the woods as he can. Just the thought of it made his skin hot and prickly. He was already disturbed after reading the Pastor's log book from 1888. Thinking about what he was going to do to Jean Duhamel at their next encounter was having a strong effect on him. Frozen, he stared out across the summer lawns in the village of Glen George, imagining how it would be to crush the bastard's skull using the beasts claws... This single hateful thought had it's own connector, a black skein, a net of destruction, a dangerous lariat of ensnaring fell power, maybe beyond his control. His hate for Duhamel was the sole path to it. To the ugly truth. For now at least.