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Authors: Bill Schweigart
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two of them.
They were level now and he studied her more closely. He had expected a crone. Bent fingers with talonlike hands, no teeth, warts on the nose…yet beneath the strange garb, she appeared normal. Jeans and sneakers. From glances at the parts of her face not hidden by the shadow of the hat’s brim, she appeared middle-aged, no more than fifty. She even looked familiar. No flying monkeys, no bubbling cauldron.
Just rats and a fire pit,
he thought.
Close enough.
“I’ve seen you before,” Ben said. “You were at the last couple of community meetings, weren’t you?”
Silence.
“How long have you been here?”
He dropped the beam onto the fire pit for a moment. The light revealed photographs and what appeared to be figurines—wooden carvings—scattered around its rim. He could not make them out, but he could not afford to dwell on them.
“What’s all this?”
“I’m in mourning, asshole.”
He swept the beam over her attire. “Interesting way of doing it.”
“I don’t have to explain my ceremonies to you.”
“You do when the ceremony includes pushing me down a flight of stairs.”
“I didn’t touch you, jumpy boy.” She lifted the knife slowly, pointing it at him. Her eyes were hard and shone like diamonds. “Besides, that’s the least of your worries right now.”
She mentioned a dog,
he thought.
“Come on.” He beckoned her closer. “Ring around the rosie. Nice and slow.”
“Why should I do what you ask?”
“Fine. Call 911 and report me for trespassing. We can wait together or you can save us both the headache.”
She snorted, but she followed, and together they encircled the pit, reversing positions. The rectangle of light at the top of the stairs was still faint, but brighter. He felt the stirrings of hope when something brushed against his leg. Without thinking, he jumped to the side and shone the light at the spot.
It was the cat. In its mouth was a dead rat, half its size. Gooseflesh erupted on his skin.
Laughter floated at him from the other side of the pit. “You wanted him, jumpy boy.”
He stomped his foot and the cat darted up the stairs, taking its prize with him. He started after it.
“Fine,” she called after him. “ ‘Set it free.’ Take it. You think it’ll make a difference?”
“It’s better off out there than in here.”
“Not with the cat, jumpy boy. With you.” She showed him her teeth again in a leer. Again, the smile. Again, it filled him with dread.
He shone the light into her eyes again as he mounted the steps. She blocked the light with her forearm.
“You think it’ll show you any mercy? A small kindness for a small kindness?” She laughed bitterly. “Maybe it’ll save you for last.”
He bounded for the rectangle of light.
“Have a nice day,” he called over his shoulder.
Chapter 9
F RIDAY, N OVEMBER 14
The slide projected on the auditorium’s screen was an artist’s depiction of a wolf on its hind legs, its forelegs embracing a woman’s waist. They were flanked by two men in tricornes, one with a musket, the other a spear. The wolf’s teeth were bared and its tongue protruded from its mouth as if mocking the woman’s defenders. In the background, villagers ran terrified across the countryside as another wolf disemboweled a second woman.
“So, in a three-year period, this beast—or beasts—reportedly racked up over two hundred attacks, with over one hundred kills,” said Richard Severance. “Pretty impressive stats, really.”
The crowd laughed.
As Lindsay slipped into the auditorium, the slide on the screen changed to an eighteenth-century engraving of another wolf. Severance saw her from the podium and smiled at her. It reminded her of the first wolf.
She scanned the room; no one had noticed her enter. All eyes were riveted to the speaker. When they weren’t rapt, they were cracking up. She hated to admit it, but after last night, she thought,
that
is how you work a crowd.
Severance stood at the
They were level now and he studied her more closely. He had expected a crone. Bent fingers with talonlike hands, no teeth, warts on the nose…yet beneath the strange garb, she appeared normal. Jeans and sneakers. From glances at the parts of her face not hidden by the shadow of the hat’s brim, she appeared middle-aged, no more than fifty. She even looked familiar. No flying monkeys, no bubbling cauldron.
Just rats and a fire pit,
he thought.
Close enough.
“I’ve seen you before,” Ben said. “You were at the last couple of community meetings, weren’t you?”
Silence.
“How long have you been here?”
He dropped the beam onto the fire pit for a moment. The light revealed photographs and what appeared to be figurines—wooden carvings—scattered around its rim. He could not make them out, but he could not afford to dwell on them.
“What’s all this?”
“I’m in mourning, asshole.”
He swept the beam over her attire. “Interesting way of doing it.”
“I don’t have to explain my ceremonies to you.”
“You do when the ceremony includes pushing me down a flight of stairs.”
“I didn’t touch you, jumpy boy.” She lifted the knife slowly, pointing it at him. Her eyes were hard and shone like diamonds. “Besides, that’s the least of your worries right now.”
She mentioned a dog,
he thought.
“Come on.” He beckoned her closer. “Ring around the rosie. Nice and slow.”
“Why should I do what you ask?”
“Fine. Call 911 and report me for trespassing. We can wait together or you can save us both the headache.”
She snorted, but she followed, and together they encircled the pit, reversing positions. The rectangle of light at the top of the stairs was still faint, but brighter. He felt the stirrings of hope when something brushed against his leg. Without thinking, he jumped to the side and shone the light at the spot.
It was the cat. In its mouth was a dead rat, half its size. Gooseflesh erupted on his skin.
Laughter floated at him from the other side of the pit. “You wanted him, jumpy boy.”
He stomped his foot and the cat darted up the stairs, taking its prize with him. He started after it.
“Fine,” she called after him. “ ‘Set it free.’ Take it. You think it’ll make a difference?”
“It’s better off out there than in here.”
“Not with the cat, jumpy boy. With you.” She showed him her teeth again in a leer. Again, the smile. Again, it filled him with dread.
He shone the light into her eyes again as he mounted the steps. She blocked the light with her forearm.
“You think it’ll show you any mercy? A small kindness for a small kindness?” She laughed bitterly. “Maybe it’ll save you for last.”
He bounded for the rectangle of light.
“Have a nice day,” he called over his shoulder.
Chapter 9
F RIDAY, N OVEMBER 14
The slide projected on the auditorium’s screen was an artist’s depiction of a wolf on its hind legs, its forelegs embracing a woman’s waist. They were flanked by two men in tricornes, one with a musket, the other a spear. The wolf’s teeth were bared and its tongue protruded from its mouth as if mocking the woman’s defenders. In the background, villagers ran terrified across the countryside as another wolf disemboweled a second woman.
“So, in a three-year period, this beast—or beasts—reportedly racked up over two hundred attacks, with over one hundred kills,” said Richard Severance. “Pretty impressive stats, really.”
The crowd laughed.
As Lindsay slipped into the auditorium, the slide on the screen changed to an eighteenth-century engraving of another wolf. Severance saw her from the podium and smiled at her. It reminded her of the first wolf.
She scanned the room; no one had noticed her enter. All eyes were riveted to the speaker. When they weren’t rapt, they were cracking up. She hated to admit it, but after last night, she thought,
that
is how you work a crowd.
Severance stood at the
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