The Demonata 1-5

A wolf’s bared jaws flash at me! I gasp — raise my hands to protect myself — almost topple out of my chair —

Then laugh hysterically as I realise it’s just the cover of a book under the one I picked up. I need to get a grip. Freaking out over a picture — seriously uncool!

Laying the upper book aside, I open the one with the picture of a wolf on it. The words in this are also indecipherable, but there are many pictures and drawings — most of creatures which are half-human, half-wolf.

I study the photos and illustrations in troubled silence. The paintings are wilder — men with perfectly normal upper halves, but the lower body of a wolf; women with ordinary bodies and twisted wolfen heads; babies covered in hair, with ripped lips and jagged fangs. But the photos are more disturbing, even though they’re less grisly than the paintings. Most simply depict malformed humans, with lots of hair, distorted faces, sharp teeth and slit eyes.

The reason they’re so unsettling — they’re real.

The paintings could be the work of an artist’s vivid imagination, but the photos are genuine. Of course I’m aware that it’s a simple matter in this day and age to forge photographs and warp reality, but I don’t think these are the result of some lab developer’s sick sense of humour. This book has the look and feel of an ancient tome — though some of the snaps are in colour, the colours are dull and splotchy, like in very old photos. I don’t think the people who put this together had the technical know-how to produce digitally enhanced images.

The creatures in the book don’t look familiar, though I study their faces at length. If there are Gradys or Garadexes in there, I don’t recognise them.

Closing the book, I pick up another lying to the right. This one’s modern. Glossy photos, mostly of dead human-wolf beasts, showing them cut open, their insides scooped out. I can’t read it, but I know what it is — an autopsy manual. Somebody’s undertaken a study of these wolfen humans and published their findings.

I grin shakily as I imagine what would happen if I went into a library and asked if they had any books on werewolf autopsies!

As I lay the autopsy book aside, my eyes fall on a thin volume. Loose sheets, held together by a wrinkled brown leather folder. Opening it, I find myself staring into the red eyes of the demon master — Lord Loss.

My fingers freeze. My throat pinches shut. It’s not the picture Dervish showed me when he came to visit me in the institute. This one’s more detailed. It shows only the demon’s head. With terrified fascination I study the folds of lumpy red skin, its bald crown, small mouth, sharp grey teeth. Its eyes are especially strange — as I noted before, it seems to have only a dark red iris and pupil.

Trembling, I start to turn the drawing over, to check on the other papers in the folder —

— then stop dead at a terrible whisper.

“Hello… Grubitssssssssssch…”

The demon’s voice! I release the paper and stare at the painted face — which, impossibly, nightmarishly — stares back.

“Release me,” the demon on the page whispers, its thin lips moving ever so slightly, its eyes narrowing fractionally. “I hunger for… your pain.”

The painting grins.

I scream, slam the folder shut, and race sobbing for safety, imagining the demon master breathing down my neck every frantic step of the way.

THE LONGEST DAY

→ My bed. Curled into a ball on top of it. Weeping. Shaking. Fingers over my eyes. Peeping through them at fitful intervals, waiting for the demon master and his cohorts to come.

→ Hours later. Footsteps on the stairs. My heart almost stops.

Panting. Eyes wide. Remembering the carnage — Mum, Dad, Gret. Praying it’s quick. I don’t want to suffer. Maybe I should take the blade of the axe to my throat before the demons…

Whistling — Dervish!

I moan with relief. The footsteps stop, then start towards my room. I scurry underneath the covers and draw them up around my chin.

Dervish opens the door and sticks his head in. “You OK, Grubbs?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer weakly. “Just a bad dream.”

“I can sit with you if you want.”

“No. I’m fine. Really.”

“See you in the morning then.”

“’Night.”

He only half-closes the door when he leaves. I want to rush to it and slam it all the way shut, but I don’t dare step off the bed — afraid Vein or Artery might be lying beneath, waiting to snap at my ankles and drag me off into their world.

→ Dawn takes an age to come, but eventually the sun rises and burns my fears away with its cleansing rays.

As the sun clears the horizon and chases the shadows of night westward, I crawl out of bed, over to the window, and throw it open. The morning air is chilly but welcome. I gulp it down like water, my head clearing, my shakes subsiding.

Did the painting really talk to me or did I just imagine it?

I honestly don’t know. I think it was real. But I was extra tense. Overreacting to everything. It could have been an hallucination.

What was definitely real — the werewolf photos. I didn’t imagine them. They’re what I must focus on. The Lord Loss mystery can wait. I went down the cellar to find evidence of a werewolf. And I believe I found it.

Time to call in the expert.

“Paging Bill-E Spleen…”

→ I phone while Dervish sleeps. Ma Spleen answers, even grumpier than usual. “It’s seven twenty-three!” she snaps. “He’s still asleep and so was I!”

“Please,” I say calmly. “This is important. I want to catch him before he goes to school.”

“If you tell me, I can give him a message,” she sniffs.

“No,” I insist. “I have to speak to him in person.”

She grumbles some more, but eventually goes to wake the snoozing master Spleen.

“This had better be life-or-death,” Bill-E yawns down the line a minute later.

“You’ve got to come over,” I tell him directly. “Pretend you’re going to school, then come here.”

“What?” he grunts. “Have you lost your mind? I can’t fart in these parts without Gran knowing. Skipping school is out of–”

“There’s a full moon tonight,” I hiss. “I don’t want to be trapped here alone with Dervish.”

A cautious pause. “What’s happened?” Bill-E asks.

“Come over. Find out.”

I put the phone down before he can ask any further questions, confident that his curiosity will entice him. Start thinking about what I’m going to tell Dervish to explain Bill-E’s being here.

→ He arrives at 09:17, schoolbag slung across his back, left eye squinting suspiciously, black hair slick with sweat — he must have run.

“Couldn’t come any earlier or Gran would have been suspicious,” he says, entering by the huge front doors, which I hold open for him like a butler. He looks around like a detective. “Where’s Dervish?”

“In his study. I told him you were coming to work on a school project with me.”

“He believed that?” Bill-E snorts.

“He’d no reason not to. He doesn’t know we know about him.”

Bill-E looks at me smugly. “So you think I’m telling the truth now?”

I lead him through to the kitchen before answering. “Yes.”

“Coolio! What changed your mind?”

I sit down. So does Bill-E. “I’ve seen his lair,” I mutter, and proceed to tell him everything about the deer, my exploration of the wine cellar and the sub-cellar beyond (only leaving out the section relating to Lord Loss — that’s personal).

→ 10:15. Bill-E arguing that Dervish doesn’t pose a threat.

“Don’t you see?” he groans with exasperation. “The cage is for him! He knows the change is upon him. That’s why he caught the deer and stuck it in there. Tonight he’ll lock himself in, and when he changes he’ll feed upon the deer and stay caged there until morning.”

“How will he get out?” I ask.

“Meera. That must be why she’s here. She knows about his sickness and probably comes every month to help him.”

“Think back,” I urge him. “You say you’ve been watching Dervish every time there’s been a full moon. Has Meera been here? Or anybody else?”

Bill-E shifts uncomfortably. “Well, no, not every time. But–”

“So how does he get out?” I interrupt.

Bill-E thinks a moment. “He must hang the key nearby,” he says. “He lets himself out when the change has passed.”

“Then what’s to stop him using it when he transforms?”

Bill-E rolls his eyes. “Have you ever heard of a wolf that can use a key?”

“He used it the other night. When he brought the deer back.”

“But he hadn’t transformed then,” Bill-E notes. “You said he looked the same as always.” He stands and paces around the kitchen as he outlines his thoughts.

“This is the way it must work. During the lead-up to the full moon — and for a few nights after – Dervish’s hormones are all over the place. I don’t think he physically changes, but he isn’t in full control of himself, which is why he wanders about the forest, hunting animals. At the same time, he’s human enough not to attack people. He doesn’t kill.

“On the night of the full moon, it’s different. The beast comes to the fore. It takes over. He can’t risk loosing it on the world. It would kill at random — animals, humans… whatever it found.

“So he chains himself up.” Bill-E clicks his fingers with excitement. “He locks himself in the cage, ensuring there’s a live animal for the beast to rip to pieces and feed on. He stays there all night, howling, transformed, wild. In the morning, when the phase passes, he lets himself out and carries on as normal.”

Bill-E stops and smiles warmly. “I’ve always admired Dervish, but never as much as I do right now. He’s dealing with his curse. Living as normal a life as he can, yet protecting the world from the monster within him, locking himself away when he must, enduring the loneliness and hardship…”

“Stop,” I remark sarcastically. “You’ll make me cry.”

Bill-E whirls on me angrily. “What did you call me for?” he barks. “If it was just to sneer, I can leave as quickly as I came!”

“It wasn’t to sneer,” I mumble. “I asked you here to help.” I stare miserably at him. “I’m scared. If he changes tonight and comes after me…”

“He won’t,” Bill-E says confidently. “The cage is there to prevent that.”

“Maybe,” I nod. “But I’m not sure I want to run the risk. I was thinking I could maybe come stay with you for a night or two…?”

Bill-E blinks. “I’ve never had a friend over to stay,” he says. “I don’t think Gran and Grandad would like it. Especially not after you woke them up this morning.” His face brightens. “Tell you what. I’ve a better idea — I’ll come and stay here!”

“What will that achieve?” I frown.

“I’m fatter than you,” he laughs, patting his stomach. “If the werewolf gets free, it’ll go for me first, since I’m so tasty-looking. That’ll give you a chance to run for freedom.”

“You’re crazy,” I huff.

“Of course I am,” he smiles. “After all, I’m a Grady!”

→ A long, tense day. Bill-E, despite his good-humoured assertions that we have nothing to be afraid of, is just as nervous as me. In some ways he’s worse — he looks very pale and has been sick a couple of times. He says it’s some bug he’s had for the last few days, but I’m sure it’s nerves.

“Maybe you should go home,” I suggest as he returns from his latest vomit trip to the toilet. “You won’t be much use throwing up all the time.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he smiles thinly. “Perhaps I can repel the werewolf with puke.”

“That’s one I never saw in the movies!” I laugh.

Bill-E has to leave in the afternoon, to check in with Ma and Pa Spleen and pretend he’s been to school. “I’ll have a quick meal, do some homework, then tell Gran I’m coming here for the night — I’ll say it’s part of a nature project, that I’m doing an essay on the habits of nocturnal creatures.”

“Not so far from the truth,” I grimace.

→ In my room. Alone. A knock on the door — Dervish. “Where’s Bill-E?”

“He had to go home.”

“That’s a shame — I was going to cook pancakes. I’ve a sudden craving for them.”

I start to tell Dervish that Bill-E’s returning to stay the night. Before I can, he says, “I have to head out later.”

“Oh?”

“I’m meeting Meera. We’re going to see some old friends. I could be gone all night. You’ll be OK by yourself?”

I nod wordlessly.

“I’ll give you a shout before I go,” he promises.

→ On the phone to Ma Spleen, asking for Bill-E. “He just got home from school,” she says frostily. “He’s eating.”

“It’s important.”

“Everything seems to be important today,” she grumbles, but calls him to the phone.

“When you return, enter by the back door and try not to let Dervish see you,” I tell him.

“Why?” he asks.

“He just told me he’s going out for the night. He thinks I’m going to be here by myself.”

“So?”

“Let’s quit with the seen it all, done it all act,” I snap. “If Dervish is what we think, there could be trouble tonight — real trouble. If he doesn’t know you’re in the house, he won’t expect to find you if he gets free later. That might work in our favour in case of an attack.”

“There won’t be an attack,” Bill-E insists.

“Maybe — but come in by the back anyway, OK?”

A moment’s pause. Then, in a subdued tone, Bill-E mutters, “OK.”

→ Bill-E sneaks in without Dervish spotting him. Hides in my room. We keep the door shut and our voices low when we speak — which isn’t often. I keep a firm hold on the axe I’ve been lugging about for the past few nights. Bill-E still doesn’t believe we’re in any danger, but he has a short sword lying on the bed close by, which I fetched for him from downstairs.

He’s in a terrible state, white and shivering. He’s been sick three times in the space of the last couple of hours. I see now that it isn’t nerves — he really is ill.

“You should be home in bed,” I whisper as he wraps blankets around himself and gulps down a glass of warm milk.

“I feel like death,” he groans, eyes watering.

“Do you want to leave?”

He shakes his head firmly. “Not until morning. I’m going to see this through with you, to prove that Dervish isn’t a killer.”

“But what if–”

He stops me with a quick cutting motion. “He’s coming!” he hisses, and tumbles off the bed, dragging his blankets and empty glass with him, lying flat on the floor, holding his breath.

I sit up in bed and open a comic, which I pretend to read.

Moments later, Dervish knocks and enters. “Coming for dinner?”

“No thanks — not very hungry tonight.”

He sniffs the air, nose crinkling. “It smells of sick in here.”

“Yeah.” I laugh sheepishly. “I threw up earlier. Think it was something I ate.”

“You should have told me.” He walks over and lays the back of his hand against my forehead. If he bends forward just a few centimetres more, he’ll spot the prone Bill-E Spleen…

“No fever,” Dervish says, stepping back.

“Of course not. Like I said — something I ate.”

“I hope that’s all it is.” He looks troubled. Checks his watch, then glances out the window. “If you get sick again later, I won’t be here to drive you to the doctor. Maybe I should take you into the Vale for the night.”

“That’s OK,” I say quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

I cross my heart and smile blithely. “Never felt better.”

“Hmm…” He doesn’t look happy, but takes me at my word. “Want me to drop you up anything from the kitchen?”

“No thanks — I’ll wander down later and grab something light.”

“See you tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow,” I smile, and hold the smile in place until he exits.

“Phew!” I gasp when the coast is clear. “You can get up now.”

Bill-E rises from behind the bed like a ghost, grinning sickly. Then his face blanches, he clutches his stomach and rushes for the toilet.

I raise my eyes to the heavens and sigh. Of all the nights he could have picked to be sick, why this one!

→ Night. The moon rising. A roar from the corridor — “I’m off!”

“Bye!” I shout in reply. A quick shared glance with Bill-E, then we both rush to the room behind this one — with a view of the rear yard — and press up against the circle of stained glass, watching to see what Dervish does.

“Bet he heads straight down the cellar,” Bill-E says confidently.

“I hope so,” I sigh.

Moments later Dervish emerges and walks to the sheet of corrugated iron close to the sheds. He carefully removes it, unlocks the chains and casts them aside. Bill-E’s smiling knowingly — but the smile fades when Dervish drags the sheet of corrugated iron back over the doors, turns and heads off in the direction of the forest.

“What do we do now?” I ask quietly.

“He might just be going to…” Bill-E starts, but hasn’t the heart to finish.

“Two choices,” I growl. “We let him go — or we follow.”

“You want to go into the forest after him?” Bill-E asks uncertainly. “If he transforms out there and the beast spots us…”

“At least we know what to expect, and we’re prepared,” I grunt, hefting my axe. “Nobody else knows what he is. If we let him go and he kills…”

Bill-E rolls his eyes, but says sullenly, “We’ll follow.”

Hurrying from the room. In the hall downstairs, Bill-E stops to grab a sword, longer and sharper than the one I gave him earlier. While he’s at it, he plucks a couple of knives, sticks one in his belt, hands the other to me. “Double security,” he says.

“I like your thinking,” I grin shakily.

Then we’re gone — frightened, courageous, crazy — tracking a werewolf.

AROOOOO!

→ Slipping away from the house. Creeping around the sheds. Entering the forest. Moving cautiously, Bill-E leading the way. A bright night. Very few clouds to block out the worryingly full moon. But dark under cover of the trees. Countless spots where a creature could lie in ambush.

“Which way did he go?” I whisper as Bill-E pauses and stoops.

“That way,” Bill-E replies a few seconds later, pointing left.

“How do you know?”

“Footprints,” he says, tapping the ground.

“Who made you Hia-bloody-watha?” I scrunch up my eyes but can’t see any prints. “Are you sure?” I ask, wondering if he’s deliberately leading me astray.

“Positive,” Bill-E says, then stands and stares at me, troubled. “If he sticks to this course, he’s heading for the Vale.”

I stare back silently. Then we both turn without a word and resume the chase — faster, with more urgency.

→ Running. Ducking low-hanging branches. Leaping bushes. Bill-E comes to a sudden halt. I run into him. Stifle a cry.

“I see him,” Bill-E says softly. “He’s stopped.”

I peer ahead into the darkness — can’t see anything. “Where?”

“Over there,” Bill-E points, then crouches. I squat beside him. “We’re on the edge of the forest. Carcery Vale’s only a minute’s jog from here.”

“You think he’s going to attack someone in the village?” I ask.

Bill-E tilts his head uncertainly. “I can’t believe it. But I don’t see any other reason why he would come here. Maybe–”

He spins away abruptly, covering his mouth with his hands. Lurches through the bushes. Twigs snap. Leaves rustle. He collapses to the floor and throws up over a pile of twigs.

My gaze snaps from Bill-E to the trees ahead. Clutching the handle of my axe so tightly it hurts. Waiting for Dervish to hear the commotion and investigate.

Half a minute passes. A minute. No movement ahead.

Bill-E shuffles up beside me. Rests in the shadow of a thick bush. Breathing heavily. Chin specked with vomit. “I can’t go on,” he groans. His voice cracks as he speaks. His whole body’s trembling.

“How bad are you really?” I ask, searching for him in the shadows, only able to make out the dark outline of his face.

“Lousy.” He chuckles drily. “I should have listened to you earlier — gone home to bed. I need a doctor.”

“Your house isn’t far from here,” I note. “I could take you there.”

“What about Dervish?”

“Is he still where you said he was?” I ask.

Bill-E parts the bush above him, half-kneels and stares dead ahead. Silence for a few seconds. Then — “Still there.”

“I’ll take you home,” I decide, “then circle back.”

“But you can’t track him like I can,” Bill-E demurs. “You need me.”

“I’ll get by,” I override him. “The way you are now, you’re a liability. It’s only pure luck that he didn’t hear you a few minutes ago. You’re useless like this.”

“Grubbs Grady,” Bill-E giggles hoarsely. “Tells it like it is.”

“Come on,” I mutter, offering him a hand up. “The quicker we go, the sooner I can pick him up again.”

Bill-E hesitates, then grabs my sleeve and staggers to his feet. “Sorry about this,” he mumbles, bent over, hiding his face, ashamed.

“Don’t be stupid,” I smile, wrapping an arm around him. “I couldn’t have tracked him this far without you. Now — let’s go.”

→ Bill-E’s house lies almost straight ahead, but Dervish is blocking the direct route. So we skirt around him and stumble further through the forest, until we find a spot downhill where he hopefully won’t be able to see us.

“Walk or run?” I ask.

Bill-E doesn’t answer immediately — his breath is ragged and he’s trembling. Then he sighs and says, “Walk. More noise… if we run.”

Holding Bill-E tight – I think he’d collapse if I let go – I start ahead, into the moonlit clearing.

Stomach like a coiled spring as we leave the cover of the forest. I face forward, not wanting to trip over anything, but my eyes keep sneaking left, scouring the trees for signs of my uncle.

“Can you see him?” I hiss out of the side of my mouth.

Bill-E only groans in reply and doesn’t look round.

Getting close to the houses on the outskirts of Carcery Vale. Dark back yards. Lights in kitchen and bedroom windows. A woman cycles towards us, parallel to the forest. She waves. I start to wave back. Then she turns right and I realise she was only signalling.

Coming up to the houses. There’s a road behind them, where most of the residents park. We make the road and close in on the Spleen residence. I start to think about what Ma Spleen is going to say, and what will happen when she phones Dervish to complain about the condition he let her grandson walk home in. Perhaps I should take Bill-E directly to a doctor. It’s late but I’m sure–

Bill-E gasps painfully and collapses. He dry retches and paws at the pavement, whining like a wounded animal.

“What’s wrong?” I cry, dropping beside him. I reach to examine his face, but he brushes my hands away and snarls. “Bill-E? What is it? Do you want me to–”

“Grubbs — step away.”

A harsh voice, straight ahead of me. Slowly, trembling, I stand and stare.

Dervish!

→ My uncle’s standing between us and the rear garden gate of Bill-E’s home. No way past. He’s illuminated by moonlight. A long hypodermic syringe in his right hand. Eyes ablaze with anger. “Meera,” he says, gaze flicking to a spot behind me. I glance back. A moment’s pause, then Meera steps out from behind a van. My head spins. I remember an earlier mad thought — “What if they’re both werewolves?”

Dervish starts walking towards me.

“Stop!” I moan, warning him off with my axe.

“Step away, Grubbs,” he says again, not slowing. “You don’t know what’s happening.” Then, to Meera, “Be careful. Block his escape, but don’t get too close.”

“I know what you are,” I sob, tears of fear springing to my eyes. “If you come any closer…”

“Don’t interfere,” Dervish snaps. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t step aside, I’ll–”

He comes within range. I swing at him with my axe. Tears impair my aim — I swing high. Dervish curses and ducks. I take another blind swing. He shimmies closer as I’m swinging, dodges the blade, chops at my axe arm with his free left hand.