The Howling

Chapter Twenty-Three

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."

She drove on. The man in the road did not move.

"I'll run you down," she said aloud. "I know what you are, and I'll run you down before I let you at me."

The muscles of her arms corded with the effort of holding the wheel straight. She steeled herself for the coming impact. At the last moment she recognized the man standing in front of her, and hit the brake pedal.

Roy Beatty.

The car lurched to a stop not an arm's length from Roy, who stood his ground without flinching. Inez let her head sag forward against the steering wheel. For a moment she was faint with relief. Now she was not alone.

Then she realized there must be something wrong at the house for Roy to be standing out here. She reached across to unlock the door on the passenger's side. Not until the door started to swing open did she realize that the face outside in the dark was not Roy Beatty's. It was not the face of any human being.

Inez Polk screamed just once, then the beast ripped out her throat. There was hardly any pain, just a bubbling sensation of drowning in something hot, and then it was over.

The engine of the Valiant continued to idle softly. The only other sound was the crunch of bone as the pale wolf fed its hunger.