Cycle of the Werewolf
DECEMBER
It is almost midnight on December 31st, New Year’s Eve. In Tarker’s Mills, just like in the rest of the world, the year is almost over. Some things have changed over the last year. Many people in Tarker’s Mills are dead, including Brady Kincaid, killed by the Beast while he was flying his kite.
But some things stay the same. And in Tarker’s Mills, Marty Coslaw, who used to sit behind Brady in school, is still in a wheelchair. And this year is ending just like it began - there is a terrible snow storm blowing outside. And the Beast is around. Somewhere.
As midnight gets closer, Marty Coslaw and his uncle Al are sitting in the Coslaw home, watching a New Year’s Eve special. Uncle Al is on the couch. Marty is sitting in his wheelchair in front of the TV. There is a gun in Marty’s lap. It is a .38 Colt Special.
There are two bullets in the gun, and both of them are pure silver. Uncle Al has asked a friend he knows to make the bullets for him. Al’s friend, after some protests, has melted Marty’s silver medal he received during his First Communion ceremony.
“I don’t guarantee they’ll work,” Al’s friend has told him, “but they probably will. What are you going to kill, Al? A werewolf or a vampire?” “One of each,” Uncle Al says, smiling at him. “That’s why I asked you to make two. They’re for a nephew of mine. He loves monster movies, and I thought the bullets would be an interesting Christmas present for him.”
In fact, Uncle Al is not sure what is going to happen. His sister, Marty’s mother, is still angry at Al for buying Marty the fireworks. “You stupid asshole! You could’ve killed him!” But Al thought the fireworks saved the boy’s life. It didn’t matter. Marty’s mother was not talking to Al right now. Then, early this month, Marty called.
“I have to see you, Uncle Al," Marty said. "You're the only one I can talk to." “I don’t think that’s such a great idea. Your mom is still real mad at me,” Al answered. “It’s important,” Marty said. “Please. Please.”
So he came over to see Marty. His sister was not happy at all on that cold December day. Al took Marty for a drive in the car. And Marty talked while Al listened. He listened and became more and more worried as Marty told the story.
Marty began his story telling Al about the night of the amazing bag of fireworks, and how he had blown out the creature’s left eye with the Black Cat firecrackers. Then he told him about Halloween, and the Reverend Lowe.
Then he told Uncle Al that he had begun sending the Reverend Lowe letters, anonymous letters…anonymous until the last two. Marty sent these last letters after the death of Milt Sturmfuller, at the motel outside of town. Those letters he signed with his own name, just like he learned in English class at school: “Yours truly, Martin Coslaw.”
“You shouldn’t have sent the man the letters, anonymous or not!” Uncle Al said in an angry voice. “Jesus Christ, Marty! Did you ever think that you could be wrong?” “Of course I did,” said Marty. “That’s why I signed my name on the last two. Ask me what happened. Ask me if the Reverend Lowe called my dad to complain that I had sent him the letters telling him to kill himself.”
“He didn’t call your father, did he?” Al asked. He knew the answer already. “No,” Marty said quietly. “He hasn’t talked to my dad, and he hasn’t talked to my mom, and he hasn’t talked to me.” “Marty, there could be a good reason he didn’t…” “No. There’s only one reason. He’s the werewolf. He’s the Beast. It’s him, and he’s waiting for the full moon to come for me.”
“When he is the Reverend Lowe, he can’t do anything. But as the werewolf, he can do anything he wants. He can shut me up. He can silence me. He can kill me.” Marty sounded like a mature adult as he spoke. And Uncle Al was almost convinced. “So what do you want from me?” Al asked.
Marty told him. He wanted two silver bullets, and a gun to shoot them with. And he wanted Uncle Al to come over to his house on New Year’s Eve, the night of the full moon. “I will do no such thing,” Uncle Al said. “Marty, you’re a good kid, but I think you’re going crazy!”
“Maybe I am losing my mind,” Marty said. “But imagine how you will feel if you get a phone call on New Year’s Day saying I’m dead in my bed, that I was chewed to pieces. Do you want that on your conscience, Uncle Al?” Al started to speak, but then he closed his mouth.
They arrived back at Marty’s house. Al had fought in and survived the war in Viet Nam. He had even won a couple of medals there. He had also had many relationships with women, and he had avoided getting married to them. But now he felt caught, trapped like an animal, by his ten-year-old nephew. His ten-year-old nephew who couldn’t even walk!
Of course he did not want to be responsible for Marty’s death. And Marty knew that. Marty also knew that if Uncle Al thought there was even a small chance he was in danger, he would help him. Four days later, on December 10th, Uncle Al called Marty.
“Great news!” Marty said to his family, as he rolled into the living room in his chair. “Uncle Al’s coming over for New Year’s Eve!” “No, he is not!” his mother says in a very cold voice. Marty did not give up. “Sorry, mom, but I already invited him,” he said. “He said he was going to bring some party-powder for the fireplace.”
His mother had no choice. She allowed Al to come over, and that was the most important thing, but she was angry with Marty for the rest of the day. And as the day moved on, the winter snow storm became stronger. Marty’s mother was not sure if Al would come for New Year’s Eve in this snow.
Marty was worried, too. But at about eight o’clock, Uncle Al arrived. By eleven-thirty, everyone in the family has gone to bed, except for Marty and Al. This is what Marty was expecting. Even though Uncle Al is still complaining that the whole story seems a little crazy, he has brought not one, but two pistols: one for him, and one for Marty.
He gives the pistol with the two silver bullets to Marty. He does not say a word. The other pistol has normal bullets, lead points. But Al thinks that if a crazy man is going to enter the house tonight (as the night passes and nothing happens, he begins to doubt it more and more), the .45 Magnum will stop him.
On the television, they are showing images of the lighted ball in New York City, in Times Square. The year is almost over. The ball begins to drop, and the crowd on TV cheers in anticipation.
“Marty, I don’t think anything…” Uncle Al begins saying, and then the big window in the living room blows inward with flying glass and freezing wind. Swirls of snow enter with the wind…and the Beast. Al is frozen for a moment, completely and totally frozen with horror and disbelief.
The Beast is huge. Its head almost touches the ceiling, even though it is leaning over, with its front hand-paws almost touching the carpet. Its one green eye (just like Marty said, Al thinks to himself, just like Marty said) looks around the room. It stops and fixes on Marty, sitting in his wheelchair.
It jumps at the boy, screaming a howl of victory from its dark, red mouth and white teeth. Calmly, his face does not change, Marty raises the .38 pistol. He is very small in his wheelchair. His legs are like sticks in his jeans. His fur slippers cover his feet that have never felt anything in his whole life.
Incredibly, over the noise of the Beast’s terrifying howling, over the noise of the freezing wind blowing in the storm, over the chaos of the thoughts in his own head, over all of this Al hears his nephew say, “Poor old Reverend Lowe. I’m going to set you free.”
And as the werewolf jumps, its shadow a dark spot on the carpet, its arms reaching with its claw-hands, Marty fires the pistol. The bullets are not the most powerful bullets, and the gun makes an almost absurd “pop” sound. It sounds like a toy gun.
But the werewolf’s howl of anger rises higher. It is a lunatic roar of pain now. The Beast crashes into the wall and its shoulder makes a giant hole through to the other side. A painting falls off the wall and breaks on the Beast’s head. The werewolf turns. Dark red blood flows from its hairy, savage face.
Its one green eye rolls in its head, confused. The Beast moves toward Marty, growling, its claw-hands opening and closing, red saliva falling from its mouth. Marty holds the gun in both hands, like a small child holds its drinking cup. He waits, waits…and the werewolf jumps again. He fires.
The beast’s other eye explodes. Almost magically, the green light goes out like a candle in a stormwind! It screams again, and steps backwards toward the window. It is now blind. The frozen wind blows the curtains and twists them around the Beast’s head. Blood begins to appear on the white curtains.
The sounds from the TV are loud. The ball is almost at the bottom of the pole. The werewolf collapses to its knees as Marty’s dad runs into the room. The .45 Magnum is still in Al’s lap. He has not even touched it. Now the Beast falls to the floor…trembles once…and dies.
Mr. Coleslaw looks at it in complete disbelief. His mouth is open and his eyes are wide. Marty looks to Uncle Al. The gun is still smoking in his hands. His face is tired, but at peace. “Happy New Year, Uncle Al,” Marty says. “It’s dead. The Beast is dead.” And then Marty begins to cry.
On the floor, wrapped in Mrs. Coslaw’s best white curtains, the werewolf has begun to change. The thick hair that was covering its face and body begins to pull in. The lips, tight in an expression of pain and anger, relax and cover the teeth, which now look human.
The claws melt magically away and become human fingernails. Fingernails that are broken and cracked. The Reverend Lowe lies there on the floor, wrapped in the bloody white curtains. Snow blows in through the window and falls on his naked body. Uncle Al goes to Marty and comforts him.
Marty’s mother enters the room. She is holding the neck of her robe. She is terrified. Al hugs Marty tight, tight, tight. “You did good, kid,” he whispers. “I love you.” Outside, the wind howls and screams against the dark sky, and in Tarker’s Mills, the first minute of the new year becomes history.
DECEMBER
