The Werewolf Town
The Werewolf Town
The Werewolf Town
Midpoint
THE WEREWOLF TOWN
Dear You,
To whoever may find this. It is late in the night, August 23, 2003. Lampton, North Yorkshire. A memorable date, for we will not survive this night. What you read now is the vortex of my mind in word format as the end draws close. Rachel sleeps now, cursed, never to see another dawn. In lieu of that dawn that I will never see, I gaze at the moon. A neat hole punched in the sky, the size of a coin. If it were within reach, I would wrap my hands around that moon and crush it out of existence.
I heard the call mere minutes ago as I was securing the window. That wail, the cry of the thing that terrorises us. I do not know why I bar the door and lock the window, imprisoning myself here in this attic: the thing that terrorises us is already past any defence I uselessly try to throw at it.
But still I bar the window. Still I block the door. As I have every time since that first time. Nothing will get in, nothing can get out. But it doesn’t matter.
Rachel breathes softly. Her face is washed by moonlight; she is a porcelain doll I dare not touch unless she breaks. But sleep is no hiding place, for it will seek to take her anyway, and soon. But it will not take her, or me. I have seen to that. Poison. That is why I dare not lay my head tonight; why I pace and fidget. Once I lie and close my eyes, both enemies come at once, and both will find us. But that is the ironic thing: in taking me and my darling Rachel, my wife, they will lose. Or rather, we all lose.
I am tired. I still hear that thing wailing, now joined by others. Oh so silly that some of the others don’t always lock themselves secure in their homes, despite the rules. For four years now these things have come and taken us at night. They should have learned by now! Oh so silly.
I have said as much as I dare. Let the truth unfold in time rather than from my pen. I must close my eyes, otherwise I am only trying to keep at bay the inevitable.
The end. Humans, they say, cannot comprehend an end to everything. To the mind. Surely it must live on somewhere. We invented the concept of Heaven just to appease that belief. Surely it must be so. It must be! I’m almost eager to find out. The biggest, most consuming question mankind has ever asked, and I’m going to learn the answer tonight.
I wish I could take my pen with me. I’m finding this pen impossible to put down. It’s like letting go of a safety line.
It is time. Time to let go.
Billy Anderson.
**
North Yorkshire Star, February 7 1999:
Police are trying to trace the owners of a fire-gutted coach found on a beach in Heston. The crumpled vehicle is believed to have plummeted to the beach from the high cliffs above. Investigators found no sign of occupancy, and missing licence plates suggest the bus was intentionally driven or pushed over the cliff. Police in Heston are appealing for information.
**
“Hello, I’m not in at the moment, but if you leave a message that’s not threatening or dirty, I might phone you back. If it’s dirty, I’ll definitely phone you back!”
“Daniel, it’s Betty. Er, look, about Billy Anderson’s claims…well, it’s tomorrow, and although I don’t believe it, I don’t know if I want to take the risk, you know? So what should we do? I wondered. Personally, I think we should hold the man. You know, keep him somewhere safe, lock him up or something. And watch him. See what happens, you know? Don’t trust him. Er…get back to me with your thoughts. Nice message, by the way.”
**
Afternoon, 2 Jan, 1999
Yes, Diary, I’m back. Well, yesterday started bad cos of that power cut on New Year’s Eve. Huh. Way out here in the middle of nowhere, you should see how black it gets when the lights go out. Wow! How did people cope way back before electricity when night came? Maybe that’s how the dinosaurs became extinct, falling down holes and things cos they couldn’t see anything.
Freezer was chokka with ice, so that melted and went all over the kitchen floor. The dogs licked it up, which helped (not that they thought they were helping!). Left them to it and drove on over into town to that little shop for a dress. Sandy here didn’t get any dresses my size this month. She sez bad delivery company. I sez mardy cow cos we had that spat the other day.
Couldn’t hold the town party New year’s Eve, then, so they decided to have it last night. My dress tore. Ian’s friend tried it on with me. And that freak Robson - well, we won’t go there!
That weirdo Billy Anderson and his wife came, but he left early, left her right there, too. We didn’t see him again, but he reckoned he came in when we were all zonked out and -
Actually, I dunno exactly what he said he saw. But he’s a bloody freak. Too much beer and we all fell asleep there in the hall, every single one of us. I was one of the last, stupidly trying to stand on that chair. Me and Ian, dancing away round all these people out for the count, draped here and there. Like some college party!!! And then finally I sat down and musta slept too. But in the morning when we all woke, everyone’s clothing was torn in places, some of it badly. No injuries. It was a bloody freaky sight, and what with that Billy weirdo there, wide awake and shouting at everyone, calling us all cursed and freaks. Dave got in cop-mode and took him away, and he says the police will want to talk to him, and that he wants to talk to them, as well.
God, enough of that. And enough of this. I have to go take that eyesight test later. Another £15 I don’t have.
Later, Diary
**
HELLO!
I’M A STICKY NOTE!
JUST WRITE ON ME AND STICK ME SOMEWHERE!
“Joan, these are the moon dates for the next few years. Do a hundred photocopies for Dave, he’s handing them out. Luv ya! Ian. Xxx.”
**
To: L.S.cooke1965@aol.com. From L.S.cooke@Hotmail.com
Subject: backup.
Draft: 14:29 - 7 Feb 1999.
I’m sending this to myself, because if I die it will be examined and then maybe they’ll know that we weren’t evil people. I’m certainly not evil. It has just come back to haunt us, right now in the newspaper. What happened to those people, those poor tourists, was not something we did for fun, for Christ’s sake. And afterwards, that was just…not a cover-up, no. My story is attached. Read it and pity me if you like. Just don’t hate me. Don’t hate us.
Attached: My Story.doc (142KB).
**
Statement of William Anderson, recorded January 3, nineteen ninety-nine, at Lampton Police Station. Statement witnessed by Sergeant Alan Jackson.
“I got dressed for the party and had a can of cider while I did so. I like to drink a bit before I go out. Gets me merry. I opened my window - you know I live up in that attic flat. I drank my cider while I stared out over the town and the hills and things. Saw everyone heading for the town hall. Saw Jenkins with a whole cart of beer, and I knew the party would be good. Anyway, me and Rachel got ready - well, I was ready, just waiting for her. You know women. We headed out, down to the dance hall. Rachel found Melissa and they started chatting. I talked to you, as you said you remembered. The next two hours were just party stuff. Laughs and chats and stuff. That’s when I started feeling ill. I left the hall and went down Baker Alley. And I threw up near John’s newsagent’s, which I’m sure he’ll never forgive me for. After that, it’s all a bit vague. The chucking up sobered me in a flash, but I still don’t remember much. Like I said before, I remember I could smell things. I felt (pause) I felt like I was in trouble or danger or something. I didn’t want to be seen. Despite that, I went back to the hall. I recall going back to the hall, but I couldn’t get in the door. Don’t know if I tried the handle, or what. Just remember I couldn’t get in. I looked through the window, and, well. I�
��m sticking by the word I used last time. I saw -
**
Dale, you have a new TEXT MESSAGE from BEEEG PEETEEY. Received 09.13 February 2 2000:
NOWUR NR ERE, TAKE IT UP 2 CLIFFS AT HESTON N BURN IT.
**
Garner’s Guide to Northern England, page 194.
LAMPTON
Originally called Lamp Town, this small village on the east coast of England served as a stopping point for travellers from Beaufield to Andtown, who would hang lamps from trees to illuminate their camp. Strangely, although the village has existed for ninety years, it has somehow avoided sprouting a school or a supermarket or a train or bus station. In a population of 372, only 64 people are actively employed there, while the remainder commute by car, bus or shoe leather to neighbouring towns, the nearest of which is six miles distant. Most people are employed in Doncaster, some seventeen miles west.
**
SHEFFIELD TO LAMPTON HILLS JAUNT!!
JAN 31, 9.00 A.M COACH DEPARTURE £10 ALL IN, INC. BREAKFAST, MAP AND FLASK (TEA OR COFFEE).
NOCTURNAL WALK ROUND LAMPTON HILLS, PUB GRUB IN THE INFAMOUS SECLUDED IRISH DOG PUB.
SEE INSIDE FOR FURTHER DETAILS.
WRAP WARM AGAINST THE COLD!!!
**
Doncaster Library, February 22 1999.
Dear Mr. Anderson, the following books were due for return on February 10. Please return them to avoid further fines and additional reminders.
1: Infamous Monsters, From Aliens to Werewolves.
2: Werewolves Beyond Myth.
3: Supernatural Creatures that Exist!
4: Real-Life Werewolves and Vampires.
**
Statement of William Anderson, recorded January 3, nineteen ninety-nine, at Lampton Police Station. Statement witnessed by Sergeant Alan Jackson.
(cont.)
- werewolves. Hundreds. I swear on my mother’s life that the townspeople had turned into werewolves. And they were asleep, all bulging out their suits and dresses and things. It was so freaky that they were all dressed up. Like when weird old women put sweaters on their dogs. Lying on tables and under tables and all over the floor and stuff. It was loud, too, because their breathing was raspy and loud. I wasn’t scared, I remember that much. I went to the door and kicked it open. I remember that. Then I found my wife and I lay down next to her. She had this wolf-women face, horrible. Not much fur, though. That bit I remember clearly. That and snuggling up to her. If I’m honest, I think the reason I wasn’t scared was that I was (pause) I was also a werewolf.
**
February 2, 1999. The meeting was opened by Daniel Sufford, councillor. He thanked everyone for their time. Present were:
Councillor Daniel Sufford;
Deputy Councillor Betty Squires;
Deputy Councillor Clarke Worthe;
Police Superintendent Peter Lombard.
The first subject was the Jan 2nd party and its aftermath.
SUFFORD: First, is there anyone here who disagrees that Billy Anderson’s claim is correct? Of course, it is hard to believe that werewolves exist, but we have video that I personally believe. Any takers?
LOMBARD: The video feed from Kent’s store was proof enough for us all, I think. I too was shocked to see what looked like a large wolf walk through Kent’s grocery store. I saw the shredded clothing it wore, and knew it was Kent’s clothing. Kent himself would tell a great story. I remember waking up myself in my own back yard, after the last full moon, with blood on my face and the destroyed carcass of a rabbit nearby. So, I believe, and I think belief is a factor of everybody’s presence here today. We might not like to admit it, but we don’t disavow the werewolf claim, either. We should move on.
WORTHE: I don’t worry about werewolves. I believe, though. I believe. I believe something strange and unreal happened.
SUFFORD: You believe that what Billy Anderson claims he saw that night, he really did see? An entire town, hundreds of people, turned into werewolves right there in that dance hall?
WORTHE: Yes, I do. Do we all recall David Simpson?
SQUIRES: I don’t.
SUFFORD: Simpson was the man found drowned in the reservoir last week. Although he’d been there five weeks, it wasn’t a big news story. I think Clark’s trying to say (pause) what? That this man might have infected us? That he was a werewolf?
WORTHE: Exactly. The man claimed the very same himself, remember. His ex-wife came forward with that piece of news. A history of incarceration in mental homes. So. He’s found dead in the water. The last time he’d been seen alive was a full-moon. And suddenly on the next full-moon, we all attended a party, lost our memories of that night and woke in torn clothing. And the only man who didn’t stay at the party claims he saw a hall full of wolves.
SUFFORD: We’re here to determine, in part, the stability of Anderson’s mind, though.
WORTHE: Wolves out for the count, I might add. We were all drunk. Draped all over each other. Then we have last night’s events. I have a clear, split-second memory of a bus parked in the hills, Daniel. I have that memory. I didn’t invent it. We were out there. I am amazed that you can doubt all these facts, Daniel.
SUFFORD: I do not doubt them, Clark. I just think there’s another explanation. Something other than werewolves.
WORTHE: Call them what you will, Daniel. Even forget the wolf part. But on the last two full moons, nobody in this town has been able to remember what they did at night, or where they were. The first time, we woke in a dance hall. The second, some of us woke out in the hills, around a pile of shredded bodies. Others in gardens, next to half-eaten pets. Something’s happening to us during full-moons, Daniel, and last time it cost lives.
The meeting adjourned. Resumption commenced later in the afternoon.
SUFFORD: The matter of reason is now void. We should now discuss and formulate a containment plan.
SQUIRES: In the interim, Clark mentioned something. I fear it is our only recourse. We locked up Billy Anderson during last night’s full-moon. He, consequently, was the only one who didn’t…find that bus. We need to adopt this idea.
SUFFORD: Yes. We are a small town, remote. Not only do we have to keep ourselves safe, we must keep others out of harm’s way. It is not enough that we should lock ourselves up. What if we had visitors to the town?
WORTHE: A fence. We should fence off the town. Have one gate in or out. There’s only a single road leading out of the town, anyway. We have no train or bus station. This could work. We could seal the town off. I for one don’t want the world learning about us.
SQUIRES: That’s a good point. Imagine if the rest of the world found out. We’d become lab rats.
WORTHE: It’s one or two days a month, the full moon. We need to find out when they are, get everyone knowledgeable. So we can plan and prepare in advance. We can arrange to make sure we don’t get visitors during those days..
SUFFORD: No visitors, no deliveries, no phone calls, nothing. This entire town needs to reschedule events around these full moons. That I think we can accomplish. Create for ourselves a single night, about twice a month, when we’re dead to the world. Lampton’s commerce will not be badly affected by a single day of, shall we say, solitary confinement. Not if we work this out right.
WORTHE: And on those nights, we have to keep ourselves safe. Obviously we can’t lock everyone in the police station, like we did with Billy Anderson, but people can secure themselves in their own homes. Maybe with handcuffs. But we definitely need that fence and that gate, just to be double-secure. One gate, one key, kept locked away. The next full moon is March second. That gives us four weeks to get all this up and running.
SUFFORD: Then our priority is to get people informed. We will have another meeting. A town meeting.
WORTHE: There’s something else, though. You all recall the research Anderson did on werewolves? I refer to the part about food. He said this…disease… thrives on food ingested by the host. Do we discount this? I saw the book. Now, whether that claim’s
true or not…
SUFFORD: We all saw the book. He was very insistent about that. I don’t know the answer to the validity of the author’s claims, but why chance it? It shouldn’t be hard to move all food out of our reach on these dates. Secure it. It’s only for one night, after all. Starve the disease, and hope that in time, it will die.
WORTHE: And the world need never know.
SUFFORD: Right. Okay, anything else?
SQUIRES: Yes. Something I don’t like. People locking themselves in their homes? I doubt we can trust everybody to be so vigilant. Every rule has its breakers, people who think they’re better or different, or people who simply forget or don’t care. I propose something akin to a forced repeat of January second.