#Rjalker novelizes The Mad Monster 1942 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rjalker · 7 days ago

Text

29,301 words

Might still be some typos hiding in there, let me know if you find them. It's in a shareable state at this point.

The Mad Monster 1942, novelized.

The sun had set over the marsh, and a howl of a single coyote rang out through the mist in three short, high cries.

Inside the old and almost forgotten Danfield mansion, one room on the ground floor had been recently converted into a laboratory for Doctor Lorenzo Cameron, who had rented the secluded house so that he could conduct his experiments away from prying eyes. He had lined the walls with thick stone to protect the wood from his chemicals, and had installed many electrical switches that controlled the entrances and exits.

In a metal cage too small for the animal to easily stand or turn around, with barely space to move, there was another coyote, sitting miserably, chained in place. It was probably related in some way to the one that howled outside, alone, but there was no way to know for sure.

On one of its forelegs, there was medical tubing taped into place, drawing blood out of the animal, out of the cage, and down into a mysterious mechanical device sitting on a nearby table. The device was large and dark, with the top covered in tubes and dials whose true purpose only Doctor Cameron knew. Anyone could look at it and assume that it was used for filtering blood into its different components, but it really did much, much more than that.

The Doctor himself stood just to the side of this device of his, looking down at it in silent, self-satisfied thought, absently but firmly rubbing the knuckles of one hand with the other, as though the joints were causing him pain.

Doctor Cameron is no longer a young man; he was in his late fifties, and it showed. His hair was very light colored and was starting to bald at the front, though his eyebrows remained as dark as in his youth. His white skin was pale, like one who rarely stands under the sun, and he still wore a full suit and tie, despite the late hour.

Looking away from his mysterious device, he saw his servant and gardener, Petro, whose last name he never did bother to remember, lying, as biddable as ever, on the new and sturdy chaise lounge that Doctor Cameron had converted to suit his needs.

The sturdy cloth straps were firmly secured over Petro’s arms, torso, and legs, with his hands separately confined in thick leather cuffs. He was pinned in place, so that only with great effort could he barely lift his shoulders and head off the raised surface below him, if he decided to try it, which he rarely did.

He wasn’t trying to sit up now, he was just lying back against the raised end of the couch, looking over at Doctor Cameron silently, then looking towards the caged coyote, which opened its mouth so wide it seemed like an impossible feat, then gave vent to a high-pitched, almost inaudibly breathy howl.

Doctor Cameron, following Petro’s gaze, grinned at the caged animal, and spoke to it with a laugh: “Yes, I know you’d like to join your brothers outside and howl at the moon, but you’re serving a much better purpose.” He smirked, “Yes, you’re serving science, though me.”

The coyote stood as far as it could manage in the too-small cage, its tail sticking out through the thin bars at the back, and howled almost desperately, thrusting its nose into the top bars of the cage like it was trying to break through them.

Doctor Cameron had no response to this, and just went over to the machine the coyote was unwillingly offering up its blood to, and began unscrewing a mechanism that held a large glass vial, filled with the blood of the coyote, in place.

Carefully lifting the jar free after a few moments, he took it to the other corner of the small lab, closer to the door that led to the rest of the house, where various smoking and steaming vials, beakers, and other scientific apparatus were busy bubbling and measuring away.

Behind him, still silent, still strapped down, Petro, the gardener, continued to lie quietly and without complaint, just watching.

Petro was a younger man than Doctor Cameron by more than a decade, with a full head of thick black hair, and his white skin tanned from working out under the sun. He wore dirty denim overalls overtop a likewise dirt-stained white shirt. These were the same clothes he’d been working in that day, and he hadn’t been given the time to change out of them yet, though the workday was over with the setting of the sun.

At his crowded front shelves, Doctor Cameron took the lid off one vial, picked up another from the workbench, and slowly began to pour one into the other, keeping careful eye on the measurements.

Petro began to fidget uncomfortably, but still made no vocal complaint. He looked at the stone wall next to him, and started to lift his hands, then dropped them abruptly, as though the restraints weighed heavily. He fidgeted with his fingers on the cloth of his overalls, and looked over at the coyote again, which had stood again despite the cramped space, twisting to keep itself facing Doctor Cameron, its ears partially pinned back like an angry house cat, growling out of its wide open mouth.

Doctor Cameron barely spared it a glance over his shoulder, then hefted what he held in his hands, and walked back to stand over Petro, who could now see that the Doctor was holding a familiar large syringe in his hand.

Doctor Cameron looked down at him as Petro looked up, and he asked, “Are you quite comfortable, Petro?”

Petro said only, “Sure, Doctor.”

Doctor Cameron continued to look down at him, as though he couldn’t quite believe the answer he’d been offered, and asked, “You’re not afraid?”

Petro only continued to look up at him, and said, as though it were obvious, “I ain’t got no reason to be afraid.”

This procedure had been performed many times now, with no ill-effects, and Petro liked Doctor Cameron. He’d given him a job as a gardener, and let him live in a room in this big old house.

Doctor Cameron smiled, and said, “That’s right, Petro. There’s nothing to be afraid of, nothing at all.” He leaned down, and began rolling up Petro’s sleeve to inject him with the serum contained in that large syringe.

Behind them in the cage, the coyote, once again turned to always keep Doctor Cameron in its sights, howled again, shoving its face into the top bars of the cage again like it was trying to break through the hard wires. It did it once, the howl ending in a hiccuping-like warble as the needle held by Doctor Cameron bit into flesh, then began again, and ended it suddenly as the spent needle was removed from Petro’s arm.

Doctor Cameron stood, and smiled down at Petro, slightly leaning over still. “There, does that hurt?” He asked.

Petro smiled up at him reassuringly. “No, felt just like a pinch.” Then his expression showed a bit of dismay, and he lifted his hands as far as he could, asking beseechingly, “How come I have to have these straps on, Doc?”

Doctor Cameron said, “Well, you see, Petro, I’m trying a new formula. I wouldn’t want you to make a sudden move and fall off the couch.”

Petro looked down the length of his immobilized body, as though measuring the chances of that happening. His eyelids began to grow heavy, though, and he barely heard as Doctor Cameron continued, “Now, don’t worry. It will only be for a little while.”

Petro visibly struggled to keep his eyes open for a few seconds where neither spoke, and, with barely contained glee, Doctor Cameron asked, “How do you feel now?”

Petro looked up at him blearily, and answered, “I feel like I always did when you stick me with that thing — I’m kind of sleepy.” He did not see the look of restrained excitement on Doctor Cameron’s face as he trailed off, falling slowly back onto the cushion, “...Sleep... now…”

“That’s right…” Doctor Cameron urged in a whisper, “Go to sleep.”

Petro let out a deep sigh as he visibly fell into unconsciousness, and Doctor Cameron finally stood up straight again, his lips in a tight smile, one hand mindlessly tracing the cool metal loops on the syringe’s plunger.

He stared intently at Petro’s unconscious face, and saw his eyes open and close a few times, as though he were trying to wake up again, before he fell completely still.

And then the change began.

In front of Doctor Cameron’s wide, exulted eyes, Petro began to change. The dark hair on his head grew longer with startling rapidity, and as it did it turned paler, going from black to the tan of rawhide. The exact shade of tan as the caged coyote. It formed a short but thick mane on the top of his head, which grew all the way out to the brow above his eyes, and then began to sprout from his cheeks in thick coarse bristles, framing his eyes, nose, and mouth. His large chin almost seemed to melt away as it receded into shadow, leaving his mouth seeming almost distended — almost, thought Doctor Cameron, almost muzzle-like!

In the cage, the coyote was growling continuously now, ears pinned almost flat, its tail tucked between its legs as it attempted to crouch into a defensive posture, but was forced to remain in an awkward half-way pose by the restricting bars of the cage.

Doctor Cameron’s breathing was speeding as he stared down at the long sought results of his experiments, eyes wide in elation.

The half man, half beast creature below him began to stir, the jaw working, unconsciously grinding the teeth still hidden behind those closed lips.

The coyote behind them snarled in terror, thrusting itself forward against the bars of the cage in an attempted mock-charge, helpless to do anything else. But Doctor Cameron paid it no mind. He had delighted eyes only for the transformed face of Petro below him.

But slowly, as though it pained him to do it, he turned away and crossed to the center of the room, leaning forward with his knuckles on the dark surface of a still-uncluttered table.

Unable to contain his glee anymore, he began speaking as though he were in a lecture hall, imagining that his most hated academic rivals were sitting in the empty chairs arranged around the table.

“Gentlemen,” He said to his imagination, “I wish you were here to see the proof of my claim that the transfusion of blood between different species is possible!” He stopped to smile to himself for a moment, and then continued orating to his imaginary audience, looking over at the restraining table as though to indicate Petro to those who weren’t there. “A few moments ago, Petro was a man —”

He was so energized, he slapped one hand against the table for emphasis, and then continued, “A harmless, good-natured man!” He lifted his hand and turned to gesture towards the transformed Petro for his imaginary audience. “Look at him now!"

He looked over himself, and saw that Petro was beginning to regain consciousnesses — slowly, eyes twitching and face moving. Then, as Doctor Cameron watched, Petro opened his eyes with what looked like superme effort, and turned his head to look back at Doctor Cameron. His lips lifted away from his teeth as an animalistic growl broke through the now-bared and inhumanely long and sharp fangs.

Petro began to struggle futiley with his bonds, and in the wire cage, the coyote snarled a warning.

Doctor Cameron paid neither of them any more mind, simply turning back and leaned toward the empty chairs around the empty table, continuing his speech to the air triumphantly: “He’s no longer human — he’s a wolf; snarling, ferocious, lusting for the kill!” As he spoke, he turned his head back and forth, imagining he were looking his enemies in the eyes one at a time as he proved them wrong. “You are looking at a scientific miracle, gentlemen.”

But he knew that if the men who’d run him out of academia were really in front of him, he wouldn’t be allowed to continue on like this without criticism, and he frowned, imagining what they would say.

His gaze zeroed in on the chair he’d been imagining Professor Blaine, an older white man with even less hair than he had, hands folded severely in front of him, in a black suit, staring skeptically out of the corner of his eye, as though he couldn’t even deign to turn his full gaze on Doctor Cameron.

“You’re a mad man, Cameron, your claim is ridiculous.” The older man was imagine to say, and Doctor Cameron even pictured him turning his face away in disgust.

“That’s exactly what you said to the newspapers, isn’t it, Professor Blaine?” Doctor Cameron replied in a dangerous, low voice. He put one hand on his chest, leaning forward for emphasis, allowing some of his pain to enter his voice. “That I was a mad man, not fit to occupy a science chair at the university!” He lowered his hand, growing angry again. “Perhaps you’ll change your mind one day soon, when Petro tears at your throat!”

The imaginary Professor Blaine stared back sternly, saying only, dismissively, “Poppycock.”

*Doctor Cameron grinned maliciously, and gestured towards Petro again. “But look!” He imagined Professor Blaine trying to ignore him at first, then being forced to turn and follow his command, looking over his shoulder at the struggling werecoyote — or werewolf, as Doctor Cameron, who had never seen a wolf in his life, and assumed the coyote he had locked in the tiny cage was one, thought — that was fighting to break free of his bonds, able to sit almost upright now, and moving the whole couch with his efforts.

“Even now, he’d like to be at his work!” Doctor Cameron crowed, then turned proudly back to address the others he was imagining. “My catalytic agent has brought about a complete transition from man, to wolf!”

He imagined another of his enemies sitting in the empty chair opposite Professor Blaine. Another old white man, with balding head, wrinkles under his eyes, and a grey suit, hands folded on the table in front of him. This man glared up at Doctor Cameron and said, “Your crazy experiments are a disgrace to science!”

Doctor Cameron glared daggers. “Yes,” he said slowly, “Those are the very words you used in denouncing me to the faculty, Professor Fitzgerald.” He spat the name like it was venom, then said scornfully, “Science. What do you know about science? You with your high-browed associates and shriveled mind that refuses to recognize progress?”

A third figure faded into his mind’s eyes at the table, this time a man with thin hair as white as snow, with a pair of silver glasses perched on his nose, wearing a striped suit and a spotted tie. This man leaned forward indignantly to ask, “What does progress have to do with your foolish tampering with nature?”

Doctor Cameron stood straight. “I’m glad you asked that question, Professor Hatfield. You also were one of those stupid fools who raised their voices against me.” He paused, then said severely, “You’re aware of course that this country is at war, and our armed forces are locked in combat with a savage horde that fights with fanatical fury.” He almost bared his own teeth in his anger. “Well, that fanatical fury will avail them nothing when I place my new serum at the disposal of the War Department. Just picture, gentlemen —” He swung his head to glare back at the imaginary Proffessors Fitzgerald and Blaine before turning back to Professor Hatfield. “— An army of wolf-men.” He imagine that Professor Hatfield would be shocked by this, shocked enough to turn and look at the still snarling Petro. Professor Fitzgerald would look grave and worried as Doctor Cameron continued triumphantly, eyes wide, “Fearless, raging — every man a snarling animal! My serum will make it possible to unloose millions of such animal men! Men who are governed by one collective thought: the animal lust to kill, without regard for personal safety!” He brought one hand to his chest to emphasize the beating of a fearful heart. “Such an army will be invisible, gentlemen! Such an army will sweep everything before it!”

A fourth phantom from his imagination appeared in the last chair that sat empty in front of the caged coyote. Another white haired old man, in a black suit, holding a wooden cane in one hand and tapping it on the floor in disapproval and disbelief. “Your scheme is too utterly fantastic, Doctor. Cameron.” He was imagined to say. Behind this nonexistant figure, the coyote had sat down in its cage, and had finally gone quiet. There was not enough room for it to stretch out to lie down.

Doctor Cameron said to no one but his imagination, “You’re fools, all of you, four blind fools, especially you, Doctor Warwick.”

“Assuming that what you say is true,” He imagined Professor Hatfield interjecting, “How would you control these wolf-men?”

Doctor Cameron leaned forward against the table with confidence. “I’ve perfected an antidote, it induces a return of immediate normalcy.”

The imagined Doctor Warwick said, leaning back in the chair with heavy sarcasm as one glaring flaw in his stated plan came to Doctor Cameron's mind, which he knew his enemies would pick apart. He almost couldn't help but imagine Doctor Warwick saying, “And I suppose that-eh, it would be an easy matter to round up a million wild animals and administer an antidote?” He shook his head with open amusement. “No, Cameron, you’re mad. Stark, raving mad! And I, for one, am in favor of—”

“Silence!” Doctor Cameron cut off the rest of the sentence with a raised hand, not wanting to acknowledge his own awareness that his plan would lead to disaster. He still had grievances to vent. “I’m not interested in your imbecilic mouthings. You’ve all of you demonstrated your lack of vision by demanding my resignation from the faculty. Well, you accomplished your purpose. You’ve cast me out, you’ve robbed me of everything I held most dear in life!” He put his hand to his heart again. “Position, honor, respect! You branded me as a madman, held me up to ridicule before the whole world!” He put his hand back on the table again, leaning forward more. “But now it’s time for my revenge!” He could not hold back his grin. “Petro will see to that; now you shall pay for your folly, there’s no escape for any of you, you shall die, one by one, at the hands of the scientific marvel that you scoffed at!”

Then the apparitions each gave a single rejoinder in the order that he’d imagined their appearance:

“You can’t intimidate us with fantastic threats.” Professor Blaine said.

This was almost immediately followed by Prof Fitzgerald’s angry, “You’re a faker, Cameron, a mad faker!”

“Well have you ostracized by every scientist in the country.” Put in Professor Hatfield.

“There are institutions for mad men,” Said Doctor Warwick, “And we’ll see that you’re confined in one.”

Then, as one, they faded away. For a few moments Doctor Cameron stood at the table still, looking at the empty seats as though waiting for any more responses from his imagination. Then he straightened, and stood in silence for a while, then said, quietly, a threat and a promise, “You will see, gentlemen. You will see.”

A new burst of snarling from the transformed Petro drew his gaze back to the results of his long experiments, right as the werecoyote’s thrashing finally enabled him to break the straps holding his legs in place.

Wasting no time in panicking, Doctor Cameron quickly strode to his second wall of shelves of jars and vials at the back of the room, then turned to the smaller shelf on the side, and grabbed a small container from the top shelf.

Glancing repeatedly over at the werecoyote that was slowly breaking free, he filled a syringe from the small jar. When it was full, he strode over to the couch, griped one of the werecoyote’s arms for balance, and leaned over him entirely, placing one knee on his chest to hold him still as he raised the needle to administer the antidote.

Outside, far away in the marsh where Doctor Cameron couldn’t hear it, that lone coyote howled again, pacing fitfully in the mist in the palms and hanging moss. It almost seemed like it was looking for something or someone — maybe the coyote that Doctor Cameron had locked away in his laboratory.

The antidote was injected, and the werecoyote fell limp almost instantly.

Doctor Cameron removed his knee from the werecoyote's chest and stepped back, watching as the transformation began to reverse itself. The strong chin came back, the tawny hair on the cheeks and forehead began to fade away like it’d never existed, shrinking back into the skin rather than falling off. It was only a few moments before the familiar face of Petro was back as though nothing had happened, and he began to awake almost immediately, his jaw working and his eyes opening slowly.

When he opened his eyes successfully, he seemed confused, and frowned up at the ceiling.

Doctor Cameron quickly undid what remained of the restraints before Petro became fully awake. It would be very awkward if he had to explain how some of them had been broken. When they were all out of the way, he stood up straight again, almost breathless with excitement.

Petro sat up gratefully when the straps were removed, looking up at Doctor Cameron. “Thank you, Doctor.” He said, then asked, “How long have I been asleep?”

Doctor Cameron answered smoothly, “Oh, about an hour, I should say. How do you feel?”

Still sitting on the couch and looking up at the Doctor, Petro said, “I got a terrible headache, and I had kind of an awful dream. I was running the countryside, chasing people, and trying to kill them. What’s that mean, Doc?”

“Oh, that doesn’t mean anything, you had a nightmare, that’s all.” Doctor Cameron said simply, but inside he thrilled at this information.

“But why should I be trying to kill people?” Petro persisted, “Even in my dreams, I ain’t got nothing against nobody.”

Doctor Cameron gave up on trying to reassure him, and just said abruptly, “Well let’s not talk about it any more. Go to bed, our work is done for tonight.”

Petro stood at his urging, and seemed surprised when Doctor Cameron took him by one arm to lead him out of the lab. “Alright,” He said.

One of the reasons Doctor Cameron had chosen Petro as his test subject was that he was so easy to cow into submission. Petro didn't like to upset people, and would go along with almost anything as long as Doctor Cameron were stern and commanding enough to demand it.

The low, reinforced door leading to the rest of the house was wired to a switch on the wall, which Doctor Cameron lifted to send it swinging automatically outward.

Petro stepped through first, and out into a richly decorated room with a high ceiling. Behind him, Doctor Cameron used the outer switch for the door to start is slowly closing behind him as he went forward to take Petro’s arm again to lead him out of the room. The door behind them closed by itself, silently carrying the weight of the cabinet attached to its front back into place against the wall, making it appear as though there were no door or laboratory at all.

Doctor Cameron only let go of Petro’s arm again when they’d crossed the short room to the ceiling-height doors on the other side, when he had to get out the key to unlock them. For the length of the short walk, Petro’s head turned in every direction, as though he were trying to look at all of the expensive and amazing furniture and decorations in the study room at the same time. But Doctor Cameron did not let him stop to look at anything.

Once the tall doors were open, Petro went through obediently, making no attempt to stay and look around. When he was through, Doctor Cameron turned the lights in the room down, and went out the door himself, shutting it firmly behind him.

Right as he entered the hall leading to the front door of the house, his daughter, Lenora, came down the stairs, stopping in front of Petro. She was wearing a black blouse and skirt, with stockings and heels. Her hair was in a styled bun above her forehead, and curled behind her neck. In one hand she held a book. She was twenty-seven years old, still unmarried, and the only other occupant of the large house besides Petro and her father.

“Evening, Miss Lenora.” Petro greeted her, smiling down at her. He stood a head taller than her.

“Good evening, Petro.” She replied in a friendly tone, then turned to her father, “Well, night owl, I was just coming down to find out how much longer you were going to work.” She raised her eyebrows. “You realize how late it is?”

Petro had a smile on his face the whole time she was speaking, and only looked away from her to watch Doctor Cameron as he replied, pulling his sleeve away from his watch as though he hadn’t checked the time until now, “No I didn’t, I was absorbed in my work.”

Proudly, Petro said to her, “Oh, we done a lot of work, and I had the awfullest dream, I—”

“Go to bed, Petro!” Doctor Cameron snapped abruptly, pulling himself upright and glaring, his hands behind his back.

Lenora had been smiling as Petro spoke, but now her face fell as she stared at her father in confusion.

Petro turned to look at him, abashed, and said, “Yes, Doctor.” Then turning back to Lenora, “Good night, Miss Lenora.”

“Good night, Petro.” She said, staring up at him with worry as he walked away. When he’d gone past her, she stepped closer to her father, holding her book to her chest as she asked, “Dad, what kind of experiments are you doing that you need Petro?”

“Oh, he just, helps in the laboratory, moving the heavy things around.” Her father lied, refusing to meet her eyes and instead watching Petro’s retreating back. “He’s a very strong man, Petro.”

Lenora suddenly changed the subject — This was the real reason she’d come to find him, and the first question had only been a spur of the moment distraction. “How much longer are we going to be here, dad?”

Annoyed now, Doctor Cameron replied only, waspishly, “Why?”

She glanced for a moment up at the ceiling as she said, “Because the place gets on my nerves. I hate it.”

Doctor Cameron was unperturbed. “Your hating it has nothing to do with being separated from that young reporter friend of yours, has it?”

Undaunted, Lenora smiled challengingly, and replied, “It has, and I want to know when we’re going back to the city.” She raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips beseechingly.

“Very soon now, dear,” Doctor Cameron began, putting one arm on her shoulder, “My work is practically finished—”

Almost before he could finish the last word, the coyote locked away in the laboratory howled, and the sound was muffled by the closed door and the thick stone walls of the laboratory, but it still carried through the large house, like the wail of a ghost.

Lenora looked around in alarm, pulling her book to her chest as her father dropped his hand from her shoulder. The sound seemed as though it were coming from everywhere at once. “What was that?” she demanded.

Caught off guard, Doctor Cameron could think of no immediate excuse, and the first thing that came out of his thoughtless mouth was a ludicrous, “What?” As though it were remotely possible that he had failed to hear the sound.

Lenora stared at him with all the disbelief that question warranted. “Well, that noise! It sounded like a wild animal calling! I heard the same thing last night.” Another nervous glance toward the ceiling as she spoke, as though the animal were somewhere on a floor above them, waiting to prowl down the stairs.

“Oh, that’s, probably some dog in the neighborhood.” Doctor Cameron said, trying to brush off the whole thing. “Dogs do howl, you know." There was some condescension in his tone. "You mustn’t let things like that upset you. Now come along, dear, even scientists need some sleep.” He reached out and put a hand on her arm, and she dutifully turned to let him lead her back up the stairs.

As they started up, he said, despite her still-nervous expression, “I shall sleep very soundly, tonight.”

[LINEBREAK]

The next morning, Lenora came out the front door and down the stone steps to find Petro working in the garden, attempting to remove weeds from an overgrown bed with a heavy metal rake.

Lenora had changed her clothes since the night before, and now wore a knee-length, elbow-sleeved white dress with thin chevron stripes under a tan vest. Petro wore the same dirty overalls he had worn last night, now only with the addition of an old black hat, and the long-sleeved shirt under the denim was now light blue and covered in small white polkadots. Lenora could hardly remember ever seeing him in any outfit that didn’t include the overalls.

“Good morning, Petro.” She said.

He had seen her coming, and had, taken the hat off his head to press to his chest with one hand in polite and enthusiastic greeting, leaning the rake’s handle against a young tree next to him. “Good morning, Miss Lenora! I was hoping you’d come to the garden this morning — I got something for you!”

He leaned over, and picked up a bundle of flowers he’d sat on the moss next to him.

There were some yellow dandelions, white beggarticks, a few pale pink asters, and tall spikes of deep blue flowers she wasn't familiar with. She took them with a smile. “Oh, they’re lovely!”

“I’ll pick some for you every day if you like them!” Petro offered, still grinning.

“Well that’s very kind of you.” Lenora said, looking down at the flowers to examine them. But then an expression of disquiet came over her face, and she looked nervously behind her shoulder, listening to the repetitive call of a bird that, to her ears sounded threatening and ominous.

“What’s the matter, Miss Lenora?” Petro asked.

Still looking around nervously, she said, “Petro, I don’t like it here.”

“No,” Petro agreed, “I guess you feel the same about this place as I do. I’m a-feared of it, especially at night when the mist comes up out of the swamp.” The bird continued to sing from somewhere out of the bounds of the garden. “Of course,” Petro continued after a moment, looking around at the brightly lit garden, with its sparse flowers — mostly from the weeds — and many overgrown hedges and shrubs, “It’s alright when the sun’s shining like it is this morning.”

“Are there any wild animals around here?” Lenora asked nervously.

“Oh, yes’m, there’s lots of them.” Petro said, thinking of the singing bird, “How come you ask?”

“Oh, I was just curious.” Lenora deflected, looking down at the flowers again. “Say, Petro, what do you do when you work with dad in the laboratory?” She looked at him hopefully.

“Well, I don’t likely know.” Petro admitted, “Besides, I ain’t supposed to tell nothing. Your pop made me promise.”

“Oh, you can trust me,” Lenora said with a smile, trying to win his confidence, “I wouldn't tell anybody.”

Won over, Petro started to say, “Well, we…” But then he stopped, looking past her to the other corner of the garden as Doctor Cameron came angrily striding through the gate, and stopped to stare over at the two of them as though he knew that some mischief were about to happen.

Petro turned slightly away from Lenora and averted his gaze from Doctor Cameron, saying guiltily, “No’m, I ain’t saying nothing.”

Confused by his sudden change of heart, Lenora looked behind her shoulder and saw her father approaching. Today he wore a grey suit with a black tie, and as he came to stand next to her and across from Petro, he folded his arms behind his back. “Morning dear.”

“Good morning, Dad.” She replied automatically.

“Sleep well?”

“Yes, very well!” She held up the flowers to draw his attention to them, trying to act like she and Petro had only been having an innocent conversation. “Look at the flowers that Petro gave me!”

“Very pretty.” Doctor Cameron said unconvincingly, not even looking at them, and directed his next words at Petro: “I’m afraid that you’re going to have to give up your gardening for the time being, Petro, I want you in the laboratory.”

He didn’t look at his daughter to see the worried expression that fell across her face at his words as she looked between the two men in concern and confusion.

“But Doc,” Petro said, not quite protesting, but almost. His hands were in his pockets, and he used his head to indicate the weed-filled garden beds around them, “If I don’t keep at this stuff, how am I ever gonna make it look pretty? And I like pretty things.”

It was the closest Petro had ever come to talking back since Doctor Cameron or his daughter had known him.

When Doctor Cameron replied, it was with an angry snap that gave no room for further argument: “We shall leave this place long before you’re able to beautify it." He added in an only slightly gentler tone, "Gardening really isn’t very important.”

Disappointed, Petro hung his head slightly, looking at the Doctor through his lashes.

Ignoring his daughter completely, Doctor Cameron commanded Petro, “Come along with me,” and began to walk away. Petro followed him without another word, securing his black hat back on his head.

Lenora, still clutching the flowers to her chest, turned to watch both men enter the house as though she didn't exist. She said nothing, knowing that nothing she said would change anything.

[LINEBREAK]

Hours later when the sun had finally set into the night, Doctor Cameron entered his lab through the secret door, paused in the threshhold to turn the switch that would shut the door behind him, and said, "Ah, Petro, I see you’re waiting for me.”

As the door began to slide shut behind him, the coyote, still in the cage, began to howl as though to make up for the fact that the door swung silently on its powered track.

Ignoring the unhappy coyote, Doctor Cameron strode over to the couch where Petro sat, waiting for him.

“You scared me, Doc.” Petro said.

“Scared you, boy?” Doctor Cameron asked, “You musn’t be so jumpy, you’re as nervous as that wolf!” He, in his ignorance, meant the caged coyote.

“He sure is nervous, all right.” Petro, who had also never seen a wolf in his life, confirmed, “I’ve been sitting here for a long time, watching him, and he ain’t been still a minute.”

Regardless of their conversation, the coyote continued to howl, whine, and yowl in turn, as though hoping one of these would lead to its release.

Abruptly giving up the pretense of small talk, Doctor Cameron gestured toward the couch. “Alright, lie down, Petro.”

Petro balked, for just a moment. He was being very uppity today, Doctor Cameron noted. “Are you gonna strap me down again tonight, Doc?”

His hands folded behind his back as he looked down at Petro, Doctor Cameron said, keeping his voice calm, “Oh, certainly. It’s more necessary tonight than ever before.”

After a moment Petro said, “It must be great to be educated. I wish I had a lot of book-leaning, so I could understand what this is all about.”

“Fortunately, you don’t need education or intelligence for your part in this experiment, just strength. Animal strength.” Doctor Cameron said, ignoring the unstated request for information. If he'd wanted a test subject that would ask questions, he would have found one who knew how to read. “Now lie down, we’ll get to work.”

Without any more argument, Petro swung his legs up onto the couch and settled himself down against the raised back, even going so far as lifting some of the restraining straps to help Doctor Cameron fasten them over top of him.

[LINEBREAK]

It wasn’t much later that Doctor Cameron stood once again over the still form of the, as he called it, wolf-man. The transformed Petro was still unconscious, and the coyote, in its cage, still howled.

Putting the used syringe in a case on the large shelf on the back wall, Doctor Cameron returned to the side of the couch and began undoing the restraints that had only just been secured. The arms, legs, and feet were released, the leather cuffs around the wrists opened and allowed to drop to the floor as the coyote-man below him began to faintly stir.

Unperturbed, Doctor Cameron left the couch and moved to a large panel of switches on the wall past the foot of the couch and adjusted two levers, glancing only once behind his shoulder to check on the unconcious coyote-man behind him. Seeing that he was still unconcious for now, Doctor Cameron moved forward and hid himself out of sight.

Just in time. The coyote-man’s eyes snapped open suddenly and he growled. In the cage, the coyote stood, facing the couch, growling and howling still.

Slowly, squinting as though the light hurt his eyes, the coyote-man sat up on the couch, and stood, growling, to look around that corner of the room. He looked at the shelves of vials and jars, at the empty table with its four chairs.

Then he seemed to notice the caged coyote for the first time, and thrust his chest forward and his arms back, growling as he took a few threatening steps forward.

The coyote snarled back, ears pinned, jamming its muzzle into the bars of the cage.

For a few moments, the two traded snarls and growls, then the coyote-man looked back the way he’d come, noticing an open door that had appeared at the foot of the couch.

Without hesitation he strode away from the coyote in its cage to hurry through the new door, and found himself in a short, cobweb infested and dusty corridor lined with stone that led directly to the left, with another door at the end made of thick wood, with a small barred window in the center letting in the smells and sounds of the night air.

In the lab, Doctor Cameron quietly came out of hiding, and peered through the open door at the coyote-man’s back. Out of sight of the werecoyote he had created, he flicked another switch on the wall panel, and, in the corridor, the wooden door leading outside seemed to swing open of its own accord, revealing the backs of hedges and weeds that had crowded up and overgrown right over it in all the years the house had been left unused..

Not even waiting for the door to finish opening, the werecoyote was already striding towards it, seeking escape. He was through it in moments, and as he pushed through the overgrown mass of plants that obscured the door from outside eyes and took off away from the house, Doctor Cameron quietly moved forward and watched him go, peering through the branches, not saying a word or making any sound.

Out in the darkness of the night, the werecoyoted growled to himself and began a steady, quick pace away from the house and its gardens, heading for the thick treeline.

Inside, Doctor Cameron smiled to himself and turned back through the door to his laboratory, and turned both levers on the panel to shut the two doors behind him. Then, self-satisfied, he strode out of his lab and into the main house.

Outside, the mist was so thick as it hugged the ground that the werecoyote’s form as he pushed through wild ferns, palms, and hanging vines and moss was hardly visible. Around him, coyotes howled and yelped loudly from the east, and he avoided them. The night air was filled with other sounds as well — crickets with many voices, the high squeaks of bats, and unfamiliar creatures in the distance somewhere with haunting, echoing calls. Every now and then came short bursts of barking owls. But loudest and most ever present of all of them were the coyotes.

The werecoyote moved carefully over the unfamiliar ground, but he kept moving. He was lost and confused, and searching for something he knew not what. He pushed through the plants without care, and many times felt the sting of sharp yucca leaves or thorny vines on his arms and legs as he made an ill-considered move. He did not know where the game trails were, and would have been too nervous to use them even had he found them, and instead had to forge his own slow and awkward path through the wilderness.

Not so far away in the darkness, there was a small house in a clearing, and a man with a down-turned lantern opened, and then came in through the shabby wooden door and back into his home.

He latched it it behind him, then casually threw his hat off onto the floor nearby, and extinguished the lantern fully with a jerk of the handle. He wore a dirty jacket over dark corduroy overalls, and had short dark hair combed flat against his head.

His wife approached to greet him in her favorite casual dress, red with pink polkadots, under her white work apron.

“All the animals are terrible nervous tonight for some reason or other,” The man said instead of his usual greeting as he stopped in front of a small table where he sat the lantern on a chair, “the old plow mule like to kick my head off, come up behind a-sorta quiet like and lashed out with both feet!”

With an anxious expression, his wife wrung her hands, looking down at them without saying a word.

Behind the two of them, sitting next to the fireplace and bundled up in blankets and a shawl as she smoked a pipe, an old woman said, as though this were the continuation of a conversation that she had already started with the younger woman, “It’s the Devil-mist in the swamp land, I can smell evil in it.” She lifted her pipe to her mouth again.

The young women spun on her, hands first clenched into fists then spread wide, and snapped, “Oh, would you stop talking like that! I’m so nervous now I could scream!” She spun back to the short table in front of her, wringing her hands together for a few moments before she desperately picked up a few dirty plates and rushed away. It was clear her husband's news of the animal's behavior wasn't the first strange thing that had happened since the sun had set.

Saying nothing else, the man just moved the lantern to the floor, and took a seat in the vacated chair.

Suddenly a young child’s voice called in a high, cheerful voice, “See, mommy? I’m all ready!”, and a little girl came to stand in a doorway on the far side of the room, wearing her nightgown, and holding a ball against her chest with one hand. She smiled.

“Ah, that’s fine.” Her mother said, coming back over from the kitchen area, and reaching out to adjust an un-done button near the collar, “Now you hop in bed.”

“Can I play with my ball just for a little while?” The little girl asked, lifting it slightly to indicate it. It was covered in bright patterns and colors, and had been her favorite toy since she'd gotten it.

“Well," Her mother said, "just for a little while.” Then she put one hand on the ball sternly. “But mind — if you ain’t in bed by the time I do my dishes, I’m gonna tan you good!” She wagged her finger to emphasize the warning, but despite the words and gesture, she was smiling.

The little girl smiled up at her, and promised, “Don’t worry, I’ll be in bed and fast asleep by that time!”

Her mother leaned down and pulled her in for a goodnight kiss, and she leaned up happily.

“Goodnight.” Said the mother.

“Goodnight!” Said the daughter, and turned into her little room, where she went to stand next to her bed in front of the curtained window, and began happily bouncing the ball off the floor from one hand to the other.

Sighing with tired patience, the mother turned away and went back into the main room.

Out in the marsh, the werecoyote still roamed aimlessly far from any known trails, forced to duck under sweeping ropes of hanging moss and vines, looking around in constant confusion, and every now and then giving vent to a harsh barking grunt of warning to no one but himself. The ground was uneven from the arching of tree roots and stalagmite-like cedar shoots, and puddles of water and muddy ground were often only noticed when he'd already stepped into them with both feet.

Far too close by for safety, a man whistled cheerfully to himself as he walked home. He carried a hunting rifle with him, and wore a light colored hat, and a long sleeved shirt under overalls. He was at ease despite the darkness. This was his home, he knew these swampy woods like he knew the back of his hand.

Just as he was about to duck under a large grapevine, he stopped suddenly, and the whistle caught in his throat as he suddenly became aware of...something in the woods somewhere ahead of him.

He squinted out through the thick mist, trying to make out any sense. But the fog was so thick that all he could see was the trunk of a nearby dead tree that had once been a towering oak, and the feathery fronds of a squat, feral sago palm that had grown up so fast. But there was something else out there, something unfamiliar and new and predatory — there!

Movement, upright like a man, and it was coming closer, maybe a dozen yards away!

He heard loud growling as he stared, and after a moment he threw a hand to his face in shock, unable to believe what his eyes were trying to tell him even through the thick mist: that was no ordinary man, though he wore the overalls of one. His hands were covered in hair, and there were unmistakably sharp pointed teeth being bared out of that wrinkled mouth as the mist was temporarily rolled away to reveal his features.

The creature lifted its hands, and growled louder.

Without any time for thought, the man lifted his gun to his shoulder and fired off a wild pair of shots. But the mist closed in again before he could tell if either had hit, and then, to his horror, he realized the creature was now striding forward, snarling louder than before.

The man turned and ran, only getting a few moments of a head start as the werecoyote was forced to step carefully through a patch of slippery mud to avoid falling, and then it was after him almost faster than he could believe, and he could hear it tearing over the ground behind him, terrifyingly close as its snarls and growls and the trash of its body through the leaves crashed behind him.

In the small home, the four residents were still awake. The old woman still sat smoking by the empty fireplace, the man still sat at the table, and the young woman was busy in the kitchen.

Suddenly, “Help! Help! Help!” was being shouted through their front door, and with it came the sound of a fist beating desperately against the wood.

Even before he knew what he was doing, the homeowner had leapt to his feet and jumped to the door to open it, letting the fleeing man inside.

The newcomer was out of breath as he jumped inside, but he gasped out, turning back to face the doorway, “Shut the door, quick!” He gripped his gun in one hand, keeping the barrel pointed up towards the ceiling as he moved further into the room, exclaiming to the young woman and her husband, as the other man firmly locked the door, “I’ve never seen anything so awful in my life!”

“What are you talking about?” The husband questioned, following him back into the center of the room.

“Something took after me down in the swamp!” the man yelled.

Unknown to anyone in the house, in the small side room where the little girl now sat below the window, sleepily bouncing the ball to herself, the window behind the light curtain began to slide silently upwards, pushed by the clawed hands of the coyote-man.

The little girl heard nothing, and as the window was pushed open enough for him to come through, the werecoyote leaned in over her.

Out in the main room, the husband asked, “What was it?”

“I don’t know whether it was a man or beast, or old Satan himself!” the man replied.

“Have you been drinking?”

“Not a drop, so help me! I let him have both barrels of my shotgun, but that ain’t even slowed him down!”

The old woman, still smoking her pipe, watched this conversation the whole time with a growing smile of self-satisfaction, and now she laughed out, “Ha, no, you can’t get them no ways, except with a silver bullet!”

She chuckled darkly, even as the others in the room ignored her.

The man who had so closely escaped death shook his head, throwing out one hand for emphasis, “Alright, I’m telling you, it was something awful!”

Then the little girl’s ball came out of the bedroom, and bounced off her mother’s legs.

Confused, the woman bent down to pick it up, holding it up for her husband to see. Then, struck by a sudden chord of worry, she turned away from the others and hurried into the bedroom.

Just a few moments later, her shriek of horror brought the other three rushing towards the door, with the old woman leaping to her feet more quickly than she’d moved in years.

[LINEBREAK]

Many hours later, the sky was starting to lighten, and the werecoyote, still growling to himself every now and then, had managed to circle the woods, and was now headed almost directly back to the door that had released him out into the night.

Doctor Cameron, still awake, still in his clothes from the day before, peered out through an upper floor window of the house and saw, with a grin of delight, that the werecoyote was approaching.

He rushed out of the room, down the stairs, and into his lab, and grabbed a heavy riding crop from a table before he went to the wall panel. Then he flipped both switches, opening the powered doors, and allowing the werecoyote to regain entrance to the lab, first through the outer garden door, then the inner one leading into the lab. Just as quickly as the werecoyote had left through them originally, he returned back through them.

Doctor Cameron had only to wait a few moments before the werecoyote stood in front of him through the stone-hall doorway, standing unsteadily, shielding his eyes from the light as though it hurt, seeming bewildered. Then the werecoyote lowered his hand, and saw Doctor Cameron standing in front of him with a determined expression.

The werecoyote froze in place, then growled an open-mouthed warning, angling his face upward as though to make himself seem taller than he already was.

“Petro!” Doctor Cameron commanded, standing stiff and straight and refusing to back down, “Lie down on that couch!”

Eyes wide, the werewolf snarled again, but made no move to attack or flee.

“Lay down!” Doctor Cameron roared, raising the whip threateningly.

The werecoyote shrank quickly away, eyes locked on the whip as though he not only knew, but personally remembered exactly what it could do to him. He came cringing into the room, and backed away and to the side of Doctor Cameron until his legs met the couch, and sat down, never taking his eyes off the riding crop.

Doctor Cameron watched him go, and seemed shocked that his plan had actually worked.

But he wasted no time, and, trading the whip to his other hand, reached for the switches on the wall to close both doors again, keeping his faced turned to watch the werecoyote that sat on the couch, staring back at him in cowed silence.

The doors closed securely, Doctor Cameron strode forcefully to the tall shelves at the back to retrieve the antidote, and tossed the whip down onto the floor, looking away from the werecoyote for only a moment at a time to see what he was doing.

When he had the new syringe ready, he moved to stand in front of the werecoyote and commanded, “Down!”, hardly waiting for compliance before he put his hand on the werecoyote's shoulder, forcibly pushing him down onto the couch, and hefted one knee up onto his chest again to pin him securely. The werecoyote put up no fight, seemingly too bewildered to respond except through submission.

The antidote was injected, and Doctor Cameron stood back up and stepped away, an array of complicated emotions crossing his face as he waited for the transformation to undo itself, and for Petro to reawaken.

It didn't take long, and when he was awake again, Petro rubbed at his eyes with one hand, then saw Doctor Cameron out of the corner of his eyes, and, looking at him, sat up slowly, and asked, confused, “Have I been walking in my sleep again?”

Doctor Cameron said shortly, “Yes, you have. You’d better go to bed.”

Petro stood, and suddenly the differences in their height seemed more apparent than it ever had as Doctor Cameron had to look up at him.

But when Petro spoke, his tone was regretful. “I’m sorry if I made a nuisance of myself. I think I went walking because I have such bad dreams.”

“Don’t be upset about your dreams, Petro.” Doctor Cameron said, “You’ve been of great assistance to me tonight, very great assistance." It was finally time for his plan to be put into action. "In fact, I’m going to reward you by taking you into the city with me.”

Petro clearly couldn’t believe his good luck, and he asked, surprised and excited, “You mean, I can go along with you and ride in the car?”

“Yes,” Doctor Cameron said, “While we’re in the city, we’ll make calls together. First we will call upon a pompous gentleman called Blaine." His voice, cheerful, changed suddenly, and he spat out like something foul, "Professor Blaine.”

[LINEBREAK]

Later that morning, after the sun had risen fully above the horizon, Lenora found Petro once again raking in the garden, this time further out beyond the fence, behind one of the old shagbark trees as he attempted to tame the sides of a hedge that had long since gone overgrown and dissarayed.

This time she wore a dark dress with a white floral pattern, and a black belt. The only difference in Petro’s wardrobe was that he now wore the first plain white shirt again below his trusty overalls instead of the blue one. He had very few clothes compared to his employers; he couldn't afford them.

“Good morning, Petro.” Lenora greeted, as before.

He took his hat off again as he turned to greet her, returning, “Good morning, Miss Lenora.”

“Will you do me a favor?” She asked, eyes playfully wide to convey the request.

Petro grinned shyly down at her. “You know I’d do anything for you.” He said, turning his hat in his hands.

Grinning back at him, Lenora handed him a sealed envelope and explained, “Well, I want you to mail this letter for me when you go into the village. And it’s already stamped!” She pointed to the stamp so he wouldn’t miss it.

Nodding, Petro said, “Yes ma’am,” and started to put the letter into his front pocket while Lenora smiled widely at the success.

But a voice from behind her spoke out as abruptly as it was sharp: “I’ll take that letter!”

Petro looked up, and Lenora spun, offended. “Dad!”

But her father just held his hand out imperiously to Petro and said, “Give me that letter.”

Lenora could do nothing but stand and watch as Petro was forced to unwillingly hand it over.

Doctor Cameron looked down at the envelope just long enough to see who it was addressed to, then spoke in resignation. “So you couldn’t wait for my work to finish. You thought you had to write to your reporter.”

“Oh, I just wanted to tell him I was safe!” Lenora protested, “You remember? You made me go away without even saying goodbye!”

“There was a reason for that, my dear, a very good reason.” Her father replied, but before any of them could say another word, a sudden crashing sound through the underbrush made them all look up.

Emerging from the trees a short distance away were several men carrying guns who hadn’t noticed them yet, speaking to eachother as they regrouped, one man asking, “See anything of em?” with a chorus of "No"s rising in answer.

Another man said, “It don’t look like it’s any use looking now it’s daylight; he only prowls at night.” Then the man glanced up, and saw the the surprised gardener, young woman, and respectably dressed scientist, focusing in on Doctor Cameron as the only clearly in charge of the three. “Maybe he’s seen something.” The man said, and the men around him made various sounds of approval, one man suggesting, “Yeah, let’s go ask him.”

The armed men surrounded the confused Doctor, while Lenora stood there in bewilderment, and Petro wordlessly backed away to give the newcomers room.

“Good morning,” Doctor Cameron greeted them calmly, “Why all the armament?”

“We’re looking for a wild varmint that killed a little child.” One especially tall man said, “Been looking all night.” He was the same one who had barely escaped with his life just a few short hours ago.

“You mean someone was killed by a wild animal?” Doctor Cameron asked, pretending to be shocked.

“Yes,” said the man who’d taken the place where Petro had stood before. “My little girl.”

“But how terrible!” Lenora said, putting her hand on the man’s arm in sympathy, “How did it happen?”

“Come in through the window.” The man said sadly, “My wife said the window was closed, but she must’ve been mistaken.”

Behind them, with no one paying attention to him, Petro listened to these words in silence, with his expression morphing into something like quiet, horrified, recognition as the father who had lost his daughter continued speaking: “Didn’t try to take the baby away or nothing, just seemed to kill just for the love of killing.”

“Did anyone see the animal?” Doctor Cameron asked, as though in simple curiosity.

“Jed Harper did,” came the reply from another man. “He said it walked on its hind legs like a man, but...that don’t make sense.”

Petro’s jaw clenched, and he clutched the rake tighter, staring down at his hands as yet Jed Harper himself spoke up. “I don’t care whether it makes sense or not, come on, men, we got work to do!” He lifted his arm and gestured for the crowd of farmers to leave, and as one they did, dispersing back into the woods to continue searching, leaving Petro, Lenora, and Doctor Cameron alone once more.

Lenore looked up at her father, afraid. “What do you make of it, Dad?”

Doctor Cameron was distracted, staring off after the retreating backs of the searchers. “Predatory animal that opens windows…” He said distractedly, and Lenora nodded as though it were a question.

He said, without any sign of sadness or regret, “That would be very interesting to science.”

Lenora didn’t say anything, but her expression tightened and grew angry.

“Dominant urge is to kill and destroy, even when unprovoked” Doctor Cameron said, his gaze cast upward as though in deep thought, as though he were guessing instead of stating facts he already knew. “A human characteristic translated into an animal instinct.”

Petro was distressed by this, and grimaced, shaking his head as though to shake the thought away. He turned away from Lenora and her father, moving the rake against the ground in a mechanical fashion as though trying to ignore what was happening. But he couldn’t help but hear Doctor Cameron’s continued speech: “Animals rarely kill except for food or self-defense. The eminent professor, Doctor Blaine would be...interested to...study...such an amazing animal.”

[LINEBREAK]

It was night, and Professor Blaine was in his study when he heard a knock on one of the French doors that led to the garden. Leaving the round table in the center of the room that had a gilded drinking horn displayed on it, he went over and pulled the curtain aside to peer out, and was met with the young face of a familiar reporter grinning in at him.

Professor Blaine let the curtain drop, and gladly opened the door. “Well come on in, Tom, glad to see you!” He held out his hand, and they shook.

“Good evening, Doctor Blaine!” Tom said cheerfully, taking his hat off. “I came in through the garden so as not to disturb your housekeeper.” He wore a grin, a light tan suit, and a black tie.

“Sit down,” Professor Blaine said invitingly, gesturing across the room to his desk, which was covered in various objects related to his studies of interest, with a professionally taxidermied hawk, posed upright on a branch, standing out as it was elevated above the others as it sat on the front side.

Happily, Tom led the way over, and Professor Blaine said, “Even if Martha has dozed off, which I think she has, there’s no alarm or fire which would disturb her.”

Tom took a chair next to the desk, and Professor Blaine took his own chair behind it. “I have a faint suspicion,” he said, “That there is something besides my housekeeper’s welfare on your mind. What is it?” There was amusement in his friendly voice.

Tom leaned forward in his chair. "Well, I'm after a story."

“Well, quite a normal pursuit for a newspaper-man.” Professor Blaine smiled.

Tom chucked, then explained, “An AP dispatch from Ashton, down in the swamp country, talks about a child being killed by a wild animal.”

“Well, that’s a tragic thing!”

“Yes. A, a neighboring farmer saw the brute, and swears that it travels at a terrific speed on its two hind legs.”

Professor Blaine regarded him, then suggested, “I understand they make a potent corn liquor in that district.” He chuckled a little.

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that!” Tom rushed to assure him, “I have a hunch there’s more to this story than just a jug full of corn liquor. I hoped that you could give me an angle I could work into a Sunday feature!” He looked earnestly at the older man.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘an angle’?” Professor Blaine asked, confused.

Tom explained energetically, gesturing with one hand in time with his words, “The possibility of the survival, in the depths of the swamps, of some of those overgrown lizards that used to be the head men on Earth. I understand they traveled around on their hind legs, and made our present-day public enemies look like horticultural specimens!”

While Tom had been speaking, Professor Blaine’s eyes had narrowed in first thought, then an almost unreadable expression, as though he were trying to hide disappointment.

When Tom finished, Professor Blaine put his elbow on the arm of his chair, and leaned his head against his hand. “I’m sorry, Tom," He said, "I can’t lend myself to that sort of sensationalism.” He rubbed at his chin for a moment, then pointed abruptly for emphasis as he said, “True science’s search for knowledge is on a far higher plane than that. It is worthy of being treated with dignity, and I feel I owe an obligation to the people that respect my opinion — your, uh, angle, as you call it, on prehistoric lizards, is utterly fantastic!” His tone wasn’t angry or insulting, but it was very firm in its conviction.

Tom was embarrassed, and it made him become shifty-eyed, unable or unwilling to look straight at Professor Blaine as, drooped out of his excited pose from before, he said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was getting into such deep water.” He shifted, about to stand. “Well, I’ll hang my head in shame and sneak away—”

But before he’d even finished the sentence, Professor Blaine had leaned forward to clap a hand on his shoulder, interrupting in a cheerful voice, “Nah! No harm done! Don’t take it so to heart, put your feet up on the desk and stay for a while.”

Tom, cheered again, still had to decline. “Well, I can’t now, I’ve got to get back to the office. But I’ll drop around again!”

The two stood, and shook hands. Tom added “Thank you very much for the information!”

Professor Blaine chuckled, “Well, I didn’t give you very much! See you again, boy.”

Both were grinning as they separated, and Tom headed for the door to make his stealthy departure through the garden.

A large grandfather clock near the door read 10:30. Then, as an hour went by, it changed to 11:30.

The time that had passed since Tom’s departure found Professor Blaine sitting at his desk, concentrating on a large book below him.

Then there came a knock on his office door, and he looked up at the sound.

At first his brow furrowed in confusion, as though he wasn’t sure he’d really heard it, half expecting for Tom to be back at the garden door again. But then the knock sounded again, decidedly coming from the hard wooden door that led to the rest of his home, and he pushed out of his chair to circle the desk and cross the room, frowning.

He unlocked the door and pulled it open, and before he had time to say anything, Doctor Cameron, who stood in his doorway, said, “Hello Blaine”, as he took off his hat and stepped through without invitaiton, and then took another step into Professor Blaine’s personal space, until they were standing uncommonly close. “Surprised to see me?” There was no warmth in his tone.

Professor Blaine said, “Yes, I confess I am.” Then, politely ignoring the fact that Doctor Cameron had already barged through the threshold, “Come in, sit down.”

“Thank you.” Doctor Cameron said, and went past Professor Blaine, heading for the desk as though it were his study they were in and not the other way around. “You shouldn’t be surprised, Blaine.” he said, as Professor Blaine had to increase his walking pace so he wouldn’t be left standing at the door. “I told you that I’d come back when I could prove my theory to your complete satisfaction.”

They rounded the corners of the desk at almost the same time, and Professor Blaine was astounded, “You say you’ve proven that wild theory?”

Doctor Cameron lowered himself, with a smirk, into the chair Tom had {so recently} departed. “Well, I’m here,” He said as though the answer were self-evident. “You don’t think I enjoyed your comments so much that I came back merely to hear you repeat them?” He crossed one leg over the other as he sat, looking sarcastically up at Professor Blaine, who still stood.

“Any comments I made were expressions of honest opinion.” Professor Blaine said as he sat himself in his own chair. “I would retract any statement proven to be untrue.”

There was something wild about Doctor Cameron’s expression as he leaned forward suddenly, and though he seemed calm at first, with every accusation he shot out, he became more and more clearly enraged, his fists clenching around his hat. “You think that will cancel your obligations? You think a retraction will pay me for the humiliation of being held up to public ridicule, for having my scientific reputation blasted, for being forced to resign from an honorable position?”

Professor Blaine, looking at him sideways, said firmly, “I deeply regret any possible injustice. But my rejection of your theory was not intended as a personal persecution.”

Doctor Cameron shut his eyes, and lifted a hand to his brow, visibly calming himself. “I’m sorry, I, I apologize, Doctor Blaine.” When he lowered his hand, his voice was forcibly cheered, and there was that smirk on his face again. “I suppose we’re all prone at times to lose sight of the true perspective.”

“Well let’s say no more about it.” Professor Blaine said in a friendly tone, trying to keep up some civility, “I’ll gladly consider anything in support of your theory.”

Doctor Cameron leaned forward again, holding up a hand, that wild light back in his expression. “I’m not asking you to take my word for anything, just to believe the evidence of your own eyes.” He stood out of his chair, reaching a hand to the sky, and said, “Petro!”

Professor Blaine quickly stood from his chair to greet whoever would come through the still-open door to the hall.

Petro came through, for once not dressed in his usual overalls. Now he wore a tweed suit over a clean white shirt, though on his head still sat his regular black hat.

He walked slowly over to the desk where Doctor Cameron was waiting, and looked around the room and its decor in open appreciation the entire time, not once turning to look at Professor Blaine, as though unaware he were the owner of the home he currently stood in, or that greeting him was what was expected of him. In truth, Petro wasn't aware of any of this. He had never "gone calling" on gentlemen before, and outside of working for Doctor Cameron, he had never interacted with anyone more wealthy than a shop owner every now and again when his family had gone into town. The Danfield manor Doctor Cameron was renting had been the largest building Petro had seen outside of a church, and Professor Blaine's home was even bigger. He was in absolute awe walking through it now, and had no idea that he was expected to greet the homeowner.

“Petro, you sit here.” Doctor Cameron said, directing Petro to the chair he’d been sitting in, then as an aside to Professor Blaine, “He’s my guinea pig.” while Petro stared now with open-mouthed awe at the books lining Professor Blaine’s back wall as he lowered himself into the seat. He had never seen so many in his life — Doctor Cameron had a few in his study, but Petro had never been allowed so close to them as he was to these, and there weren't that many in comparison to the treasure trove he saw before him now, just a few feet away. He seemed to not even notice that Professor Blaine existed.

Doctor Cameron began pulling things out of his pockets and setting them on Professor Blaine’s desk.

Professor Blaine had one hand on his chin and the other propping up his elbow, looking between Doctor Cameron and the overawed Petro, whose head was constantly swiveling from side to side as though he couldn’t get enough of looking around at everything.

Professor Blaine looked away from Petro, and frowned down at the items Doctor Cameron was arranging on the desk. Then he walked closer to Petro, and asked, “You’re aware of the nature of this experiment?”

“We’ve been doing this a long time.” Petro said, grinning up at him.

It did not occur to Professor Blaine to ask any more specific questions to make sure that Petro actually understood what he was asking, and what he was being subjected to.

“You may rest assured the experiment is a proven success.” Doctor Cameron said, still busy at the desk, “Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

Professor Blaine put his hands in his pockets and came to stand next to Doctor Cameron, who was now filling a syringe out of a small container. He asked, “What good can come of tampering with the normal laws of nature?”

“A great deal of course.” Doctor Cameron said, lifting his eyes from his work only for a moment, “An invincible army, for one thing. You’ll understand when you see the results.”

“I abhor whatever appears to be a perversion of science.” Professor Blaine said firmly, “Mingling the blood of man and beast is downright sacrilege.”

Doctor Cameron lifted his eyes again, fiercely. “I have no sympathy for such maudlin sentimentality. I propounded a theory which you denounced publicly as being ridiculous, the result of a distorted mind!” He lifted his head and glared directly at Professor Blaine, and asked dangerously, “Are you trying to squirm out of facing the possibility that you may be wrong?”

“Not at all.” Professor Blaine said calmly, “I will cooperate in any way possible.”

Doctor Cameron nodded sharply, and his facade of cheerfulness came back almost instantly. “That’s just what I wanted to hear!” Professor Blaine seemed put-off by the abrupt changes in tone as Doctor Cameron continued, still fiddling with his tools, “I’ve given him one injection to prepare his blood for the transfusion. He will need another—” he looked at his watch— “In exactly twenty minutes.”

Professor Blaine looked over at Petro again, who was still looking around the room, moving his head more slowly now, his expression shifting from thoughtful frowns to triumphant grins, as though he were puzzling out the uses for the many amazing things he saw around him.

Then the phone rang, and Doctor Cameron stared fixedly at it as Professor Blaine picked it up, answering, “Hello?”

Far away back in the old Danfield mansion, Lenora sat at the desk in her father’s opulent study, speaking into the phone. “Is this Magnolia street, 7136?” She asked, then, after a pause, where Professor Blaine replied in the positive, she said, “I’d like to speak to Doctor Lorenzo Cameron, please.” She said the line as thought it had been carefully studied.

Back in the study of Professor Blaine, he said, “Ah, just a moment, please.” and pushed the receiver towards the Doctor. “It’s for you, Cameron.”

“For me?” Doctor Cameron pretended to be confused, and took the phone with a questioning, “Hello? Oh, is that you, dear?” while Professor Blaine put his hands in his pockets, seemingly impatient with the interruption.

Lenora, in her father’s study, prompted, “You asked me to call you and find out if you’re returning tonight.”

Not actually responding to his daughter's question, Doctor Cameron just said, “Alright, I’ll be over as soon as I can. Goodbye." And hung up the phone.

Lenora, still holding the phone up, said, “Goodbye…?” as though it were a question, and then slowly put the receiver back down, one eyebrow raised in bewilderment.

“A friend, I’ll have to go out and get her.” Doctor Cameron said in response to Professor Blaine’s silently questioning look. “I won’t be long.”

“What about the second injection you said that had to be given in twenty minutes?” Professor Blaine asked, his hands deep in his pockets.

Doctor Cameron acted as though it had slipped his mind, and glanced at his watch. “Oh, yes, the injection. I may be able to make it.” Then he said abruptly, “If not, I wonder, Doctor, whether you’d do it for me.”

Professor Blaine started, and drew his hands back out of his pockets, staring for a moment like a deer caught in the headlights under Doctor Cameron’s intense gaze. Then he straightened the edges of his coat, and said hesitatingly, “Why uh, yes, I...guess so.”

“That’s very very kind of you.” Doctor Cameron’s gaze had not lost its intensity. Then he looked over his shoulder, and said, “Petro, you stay here and don’t bother Doctor Blaine.”

“No, sir, I won’t bother.” Petro said quickly, glancing at Professor Blaine for the first time, and only for a moment before going back to his study of the room.

Doctor Cameron picked up his hat, then pretended to stop and hesitate as though the thought had just occurred to him. “Of course it’s quite possible, Doctor, if I don’t get back, that you can ensure the failure of this demonstration...by forgetting the injection.” He frowned, and let himself trail off with, “I’ll have to take that chance…”

“Don’t worry,” Professor Blaine said firmly, “Even if I lacked a sense honor, pride would hardly allow me to stoop to such a level. I shall give him the injection if you’re not here by twelve.”

“At twelve...precisely.” Doctor Cameron said, pushing the syringe he had filled meaningfully across the table.

While Professor Blaine was frowning down at it, Doctor Cameron left the room without another word, leaving Petro in the chair, and Professor Blaine standing in front of his own desk.

After a moment, the Professor picked up the receiver to his phone again, and dialed a number, glancing for a moment over at Petro, who just sat contentedly in the chair where he’d been left, still seeming untired of looking around the room.

Professor Blaine put the receiver to his ear, and said, “Hello? Hello, Fitzgerald?”

Fitzgerald, in his own home, held up his own phone in a darkened hallway, and said, “Eh? Is that you, Blaine? Now what do you want to drag me out of bed this time of the night for?” True to his word, he was in his black and white-spotted nightshirt, and the annoyance was heavy in his voice.

Undeterred, Professor Blaine said, “I’ve just had a surprising visitor: Lorenzo Cameron. He claims to have proven his crazy, outlandish blood-transfusion theory, and demands the right to give a demonstration.” He paused, listening. “Yeah.” Pause. “No, he’s, no, no he’s not here now.” Pause. “He’ll be back after twelve.” Pause. “Why don’t you come on over?”

In his home, Professor Fitzgerald leaned against the wall thoughtfully. “Alright, I’ll get dressed and be over right away. "He said finally, "Take me about ten minutes.” He hung up without another word.

Professor Blaine set his phone back down, and looked at Petro before walking over to where he sat. He crossed his arms behind his back and asked, “Are you at all familiar with the work Doctor Cameron is doing?” It had finally occurred to him that he should try to get more information out of the so-called "guinea pig".

Petro looked up at him, “Oh, no, sir, I’m just handyman around the place.” Professor Blaine nodded as though this made sense, and Petro continued, “Nobody, not even Miss Lenora, knows what he does.”

“Oh, his daughter is still with him?” Professor Blaine asked, clearly surprised.

Petro nodded. “Oh yes sir, she’s with him, but I think she’s lonesome. She seems to be grieving about something.”

“Oh that’s an outrage!” Professor Blaine said, hooking his fingers into his vest pockets, “Cameron has no right to accept such a sacrifice from her!” Petro looked up at him, mouth slightly open, and Professor Blaine shook his head a little, and smiled. “Oh, I don’t like being a busybody, but she’s such a fine girl—” Petro’s grin rose to meet his own at these words, “And a certain young man is just the tonic she needs to make her happy!” Professor Blaine was thinking of Tom, but Petro had no idea who he meant.

They both smiled, then Petro started to look away again as he got distracted, trying to continue inspecting the room, but Professor Blaine asked, “Where do they live?” and drew his attention back.

Petro seemed to have to think for a moment, then he said, “Uh, Doctor Cameron rented the old Danfield homestead house, ‘bout four or five miles from Ashton.” He added, “It was a fine place, but, ain’t been nobody live there for a long time, and the weeds kept growing closer to the house ‘til they about swallowed up everything.”

Professor Blaine nodded thoughtfully, then abruptly went to his desk, and wrote down the address on a small pad of paper, intending to give it to Tom when he saw the young man again. It wasn't fair for Doctor Cameron to keep his daughter, a grown woman with things to do and places to be, locked up all alone and out in the middle of nowhere.

Time passed, and the grandfather clock read 11:50.

Outside Professor Fitzgerald’s house, the now grey-suited Professor Fitzgerald and Doctor Cameron suddenly met each other going in opposite directions.

“Oh, hello, Fitzgerald!” Doctor Cameron said as they shook hands.

“Oh, Doctor Cameron. I heard you were back in town.” Professor Fitzgerald said. “Blaine just phoned me that you wanted to demonstrate the proof of your blood transfusion theory.”

Doctor Cameron said, almost coldly, “He exaggerates when he mentions demonstration.” His voice rose angrily. “I told him I could prove my claim!” Then he added, in more of a level tone, “But I don’t think Professor Blaine is in a cooperative frame of mind— that’s why I came to you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I’d like you to be present when I talk to him.”

Professor Fitzgerald nodded, and said, “Alright, I’ll take a walk over with you." He did not mention that Professor Blaine had also specifically requested he come over.

Doctor Cameron checked his watch, and they started off, Professor Fitzgerald starting to say, “You know, uh…”

Back in his study, Professor Blaine was once more sitting at his desk, reading his book, and as he turned the page, he looked over to check on Petro, who still seemed happy to do nothing but look around the room. The Professor went back to his book.

Then the clock played out the chimes of midnight, and he lifted his gaze to it. He sat upright in his chair, and looked over at Petro again, then down to the syringe on his desk, lying in its little open case.

He picked it up, and examined it unhappily, looking over at Petro again, then tried to see out the garden door from where he sat, leaning to the side as though that would help him get a better view through the curtain. Then he stood and went physically across the room to the door, pulling the curtain aside and looking out in all directions, peering hopefully into the darkness.

But he saw no one, and walked slowly back into the room, and paused in the center. He opened his mouth, shut it again, then walked over to Petro. “I heartily disapprove of the nature of this experiment, but my promise to Doctor Cameron leaves me no alternative.” He said gravely.

Petro just grinned up at him, and and said, with the same cheerfulness as before, “Sure.” He understood that the man didn't want to give him the injection, but was going to do it anyway. He didn't mind either way, he was used to it by now. And as far as he knew, all it did was make him sleepy.

“Roll up your sleeve.” Professor Blaine said.

Petro unbuttoned the cuffs on his right arm and rolled the sleeves up. Professor Blaine stepped in front of him to administer the injection.

A few moments later, Professor Blaine asked, “How do you feel?” and stepped away as Petro rolled his sleeve down.

“Like I always do.” Petro said, still cheerful and calm as he finished buttoning the cuffs back up.

Professor Blaine nodded, and went over to his desk to look down at the empty syringe in his hand for a few moments, before replacing it in its case.

He gave one more look over at Petro, who was once again looking around the room with unceasing wonder.

Professor Blaine went back to reading his book, wondering if anything would happen at all.

Outside, walking through a garden path of agaves and trees hanging with silver moss, Doctor Cameron said, “Well, here we are.” Then he checked his watch again and suddenly gave a sharp, gasp of, “Oh!” and clutched his hands to his chest, curling in on himself as though his heart hurt, slowly stepping backwards like he was unaware of his actions.

Professor Fitzgerald grabbed him by his closest arm to steady him. “Something wrong?”

Doctor Cameron patted one hand against his heart and said, voice quiet, “No it’s just a little heart trouble. Not serious, but, stressing at times. I’ll be alright after I rest for a bit.”

Professor Fitzgerald slowly lowered his arms from Doctor Cameron’s shoulder at his reassurances.

In his study, Professor Blaine looked away from Petro and back to his book, propping his head against one arm as though struggling to keep upright and awake at the late hour.

Petro was blatantly falling asleep where he sat, his eyes closing and his chin nodding down towards his chest when Professor Blaine looked over again.

When Petro’s chin fell forward and he seemed to fall entirely asleep, Professor Blaine smiled to himself and shook his head a little, and went back to leaning his head on his hand while he read. He would have liked to be able to join Petro in the land of sleep, but his pride and honor both demanded he wait for the return of Doctor Cameron.

He couldn't allow any doubt of his commitment to scientific truth to enter into the meeting. He was sure that Doctor Cameron would cry foul and claim Professor Blade had failed to administer the second injection in time if he found him asleep, and had the expected no results from his affront to common decency.

In the garden, Professor Fitzgerald had reached to steady Doctor Cameron again, and suggested, “Maybe we’d better go in the house.”

“No, no,” Doctor Cameron said, making his voice sound strained, “In, in just a moment.” He refused going forward any more, not wanting to reenter Professor Blaine's house too early. If his calculations were correct, Petro would be transforming right about now, if, of course, Professor Blaine had kept his end of the bargain and had administered the serum at the correct time, which Doctor Cameron thought he would do. He knew his old colleagues very well, and they were many things, but they, least of all Professor Blaine, weren't the kind of sniveling cowards that would purposefully sabotage his demonstration by failing to follow instructions. They'd just know they were admitting they were wrong in doing so, and he was relying on that.

Their own moral scruples and sentimentality would lead to their deaths, and Doctor Cameron couldn't have been happier about it. So he continued to resist moving forward, stalling for time by feigning heart trouble.

Then Professor Fitzgerald looked over, where an old, uniformed policeman was approaching through the dark, asking when he saw Doctor Cameron leaning over and Professor Fitzgerald's hand on his arm, “What’s the matter? Drunk?”

“No, a slight heart.” Professor Fitzgerald corrected.

“Want me to call an ambulance?” The cop offered.

In his exuberance to deny this question, Doctor Cameron mementarily forgot he was supposed to be acting like a weak-hearted old man, because he burst out with volume, “No I don’t want an ambulance!” Then he remembered himself, and lowered his voice again, trying to make up for his outburst by making his voice strained and weak, “I’ll be...alright in a minute.”

The cop looked taken aback and offended by the vehemence of the reaction. “I was just trying to help,” he offered huffily.

In the study, Petro was still sitting up asleep in the chair, and Professor Blaine was still attempting to read at his desk.

Then, very very slowly, hidden from Professor Blaine by the brim of the black hat, the werecoyote awoke and began to raise his head as he left the world of unconsciousness.

His sharp teeth now poked from under his lips whether he bared them or not, and his face was covered in the coarse tawny hair of the coyote. When he looked around the room, it was with eyes not wide in wondor, but in animal fear and confusion.

Then his eyes found Professor Blaine sitting at his desk.

The werecoyote stood, and Professor Blaine, more asleep than awake at this point, didn’t notice a thing. It wasn’t until the werecoyote was looming directly behind him that he sensed the presence and turned to look, and his expression of shock was met instantly by the werecoyote’s snarl.

The clawed hands struck out and wrapped around Professor Blaine’s neck, shoving him backwards and to the ground.

Outside, a loud crash rang out, and the three men, startled, turned to stare. Professor Fitzgerald exclaimed, “What’s that?”

“Sound like it’d come from the house!” The cop pointed, and the two rushed forward to investigate.

Behind them, with a grin on his face, Doctor Cameron followed at a sedate pace at first, then abandoned the pretense in his excitement to see the results of his plan. As long as he was behind the other two men, he reasoned, he would be safe enough. Professor Fitzgerald led the way to Professor Blaine's front door, and wasted no time in knocking or any other niceties. He just opened the door and ran in, urging the cop to follow him, and led the way down the hall to the study.

He burst through into the study first, and waved for the cop to follow him. “Come in here, there’s something wrong!” he ran in.

The cop rushed through the door after him, and Doctor Cameron, hanging back a safer distance again, came in behind him a few moments later.

When he came through the door, the other two had already crouched behind Professor Blaine’s desk, and the cop stood abruptly, exclaiming, “I’ll say there’s something wrong!” He picked up the phone and dialed speedily, then said once it was answered, “Get me Police Headquarters and make it fast!”

Walking over to stand in front of the desk, Doctor Cameron’s eyes tracked the policeman and the still crouching Professor Fitzgerald, before he carefully reached out for the syringe case that still lay open on the desk, closed it, and slipped it into his coat pocket. He couldn't leave behind any evidence that would point to his involvement.

On the phone, the cop said, “Hello, Sarge? This is Dugan. I got a murder on my beat.” A pause as he listened. “Right away!” He hung up.

Doctor Cameron walked around to the other side of the desk, and looked down at the body that Professor Fitzgerald seemed like he would never leave. His hands had reached out for the open wound on the neck, but had stopped short of touching the mangled flesh or the blood, and now he was just staring, eyes wide, body frozen in shock.

“That’s the work of an animal, not of a human being.” Doctor Cameron said. He needed to establish this idea as soon as he could. He knew the cop was listening.

Now Professor Fitzgerald stood, looking at Doctor Cameron. “What do you know about this?” He demanded.

Doctor Cameron was calm when he replied, “How should I know anything? I was with you.” Then he paused, and pretended to wince, and put his hand to his chest again. Professor Fitzgerald watched the movement with a brow furrowed in anger and upset.

Doctor Cameron said, “Officer, my heart’s beginning to trouble me again. I can’t be any use here, I may as well leave.” His voice was still calm, as though he weren't standing over the violently mauled body of a man he had spoken to less than half an hour before.

“Sure, go ahead.” The cop said without hesitation.

Professor Fitzgerald put his hands behind his back, still staring fixedly at Doctor Cameron, who said, looking down at the body of Professor Blaine, “I can’t pretend to feel any great sorrow, but then," His voice did not change tone, but the venom was there nonetheless, detectable only to Professor Fitzgerald, "My feelings are of no importance one way or the other. Goodnight.” He turned, and left, keeping his hand over his heart still to at least keep up that charade.

Professor Fitzgerald stared after him as he went, then turned back to crouch once more over the body of his friend, as though somehow he could help heal the moral wound.

Some time later, the cop opened the study room door, and greeted a much younger man in a suit with a small salute, and a greeting of, “Howdy, Lieutenant.”

“Hiya.” The young man said, returning the quick salute, just a short tap of his fingers against the brim of his hat, and not actually stopping as he strode into the room, followed by another cop

“I’ve seen a lot of murders in my day, but never as messy as this one!” the first officer exclaimed, following the two new ones as they rounded the desk to see Professor Blaine’s body.

Close on the heels of police charged another young man, pale faced and distressed. It was Tom, the reporter, and he stopped abruptly as he caught sight of the body, and stared, mouth open, face twisting.

He breathed out a deep breath and could only stared in silence, his head slightly turned away as though he wanted to turn around completely.

“This should make a gorey enough story for your paper!” The Lieutenant said, directing his words at Tom.

“More than just a story to me.” Tom said, seemingly unable to keep his eyes off the body. “He was my friend!” His face twisted again, and he convulsively adjusted the brim of his hat, shaking his head and walking to the front of the desk.

For a moment he glanced back over to what lay behind it, then looked away again, face bloodless.

“There was a couple’a collage professors arguing outside and using a lot of big words” the older officer was explaining to his Lieutenant, “They followed me in here, and I heard one of them say that some kind of a dangerous animal done this killing.” He gestured at the body they stood over, and had perfectly taken the bait Doctor Cameron had dangled in front of him.

The lieutenant was more skeptical. “Well how could a dangerous animal be roaming around the city?” He asked.

The older man replied, at a loss, “I dunno, maybe it got away from a zoo or circus or something?”

“I’ll check on that angle.” the Lieutenant said.

Meanwhile, another of Tom’s involuntary glance at the body had caught his eye on something on the desk, and he did a double take, then stared down at it with a frown.

It was the pad of paper Professor Blaine had written, "Note to self: Let Tom know about the old Danfield homestead, 4-5 miles from Ashton" on.

Tom had no idea what it meant, but something told him it was important.

Glancing sharply up at the two policemen to make sure they weren't looking, he reached for the pad and shoved it into his coat pocket. Then muttered to himself aloud without being able to help it, “Ashton, Ashton…” That name rang bells, but it was so late, and he'd not even gotten to sleep yet. Its meaning kept escaping him.

“You talking to me?” The Lieutenant asked.

Tom blinked, then said, lifting a hand to his head, “No, I’m just trying to remember something —" His eyes widened as the pieces slotted together in his mind. "I got it! An AP story came in from Ashton the other day about a—about a child being killed by a weird animal from the swamplands!”

The Lieutenant narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘weird animal’?”

Growing excited, Tom said, “A farmer swore it wasn’t human, but that it traveled on two legs, like a man!” It was the only connection he could make.

“Ah, he was crazy or drunk.” The Lieutenant dismissed, “There ain’t no such animal. Anyway, how could he get way up here?”

Tom frowned. That, he had no answer for “I wish I knew….”

[LINEBREAK]

In the swamps around Danfield manner, a coyote howled by itself.

Petro stood, seemingly human, in the dark study room of Doctor Cameron, clutching at the thin curtain covering the garden doors, face twisting with an internal struggle. He was back in his overalls and polka dotted shirt, with his hat nowhere to be seen.

The light suddenly came on in the room, and he spun around.

Lenora came in and went straight to her father’s desk, beginning to rifle through the drawers, clearly for something. She didn't seem to realize she wasn’t alone in the room.

As soon as he saw her, Petro’s mouth drew into a tight line, as though he wanted to bare sharp teeth he no longer had, and, drawing up his shoulders to make himself seem bigger, he stalked slowly across the room, stopping behind her.

She must have heard him, because she spun around, and closed the drawer she’d opened behind her, putting her hands over it like she wanted to hide it. “Oh, Petro! You’ve startled me.” She was secretly relieved it was Petro and not her father.

But that relief quickly changed to worry, because Petro only stared at her in silence, face a dangerous mask.

“W-what’s the matter?” Lenora demanded, “Why do you stare at me like that?”

Petro lifted one of his hands, then the fingers began to fidget, and the spell was abruptly broken.

“I don’t know, Miss Lenora,” He said in his normal voice, “I feel funny.”

Lenora circled so that the desk was no longer behind her, and Petro matched her movements so that he stayed in front of her. He didn't seem to notice her fear. “I smelled something in the mist coming up out of the swamp. Like a voice talking to me, telling me to do something. Something terrible!”

Thoughts flew through Lenora's mind like a whirlwind. “Oh but, that isn’t real! That’s just your imagination!” she said quickly. “You musn’t pay any attention to what that voice seems to be saying!” Her anxiety was plain in her voice, and she stared directly into his eyes, hoping to convince him to listen to her, and not whatever voice he was hearing. She'd known there was something wrong with this place!

Then came the abrupt bark of “Petro!” from the door, and they both turned to see Doctor Cameron, who strode forward quickly to glare up at him, snarling. “What are you doing here? Go to your room! You’ve no right in this part of the house!”

Petro’s jaw worked as Doctor Cameron shouted at him, and rather than his usual bashful docility, he stared in silence. Almost defiant.

“Get out! Immediately!” Doctor Cameron commanded, and when Petro continued to just stare at him, he abruptly lifted a hand and slapped it across Petro’s face with all the force he could muster, shouting as he did, “Wake up, you’re dreaming!”

Petro stumbled as though the slap had been a hammer blow, and turned to look back at Lenora with a baffled expression. He looked back at Doctor Cameron, now with his usual meek expression. “I don’t know what’s come over me.” He said, “I must have a touch of swamp fever.”

“It’s very likely.” Doctor Cameron said with a sharp nod. “Now go to bed and I’ll get something for you.”

“Yes sir.” Petro said, “I’m sorry if I made a nuisance of myself.” He looked downcast as he left the room.

Once he was through the door, Lenora moved closer to her father and demanded, “Daddy, what happened to Petro? I’m terribly afraid.” She was too afraid to even tell him what Petro had said about hearing a voice from the swamp.

But her father just said dismissively, as though he hadn't just been in a rage, “There’s nothing to be afraid of, dear, he just had a touch of fever, that’s all.”

“That was more than fever!” Lenora insisted, “Why, his eyes were the eyes of a wild beast! He was possessed by a demon!” Almost about to give in and tell him about the voice. But his next words made that impossible.

“Now dear, you know there’s no such thing as being possessed by a demon, that’s ignorant superstition.”

She couldn't tell him what Petro had said, he would just dismiss her as hysterical and ignorant, and she hated when he did that. “Well I don’t care what you call it, Daddy!" She exclaimed, "There’s something here that’s evil, it’s real and I can feel it, and I’m afraid.” She lurched forward to clutch at his coat lapels, voice rising. “Dad, I can’t stand it here any longer, let’s get away!”

She'd spent almost the whole night here alone with only the nerve-wracking emptiness of the house and the haunting night sounds to keep her company until she'd decided to sneak into her father's office to figure out what kind of research he was doing exactly.

Doctor Cameron turned his head away as though to avoid her gaze. “I can’t go now dear, I must wait til my work’s finished.” He looked back at her, then gripped her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “Pull yourself together, dear.”

She let go of his coat and seemed to deflate, steadying herself. “Oh...I won’t be silly anymore. Nothing must interfere with your work.” Her voice was serious by the end of it, as she pushed back all of her fears and worries and loneliness. She had to remind herself why she was here, which was to support her father. He'd gone through hell after he lost his position at the university, the papers dragging him through the mud. She could put up with some loneliness and nervousness if it meant seeing him happy again.

“You’ve been a very great comfort.” her father said, justifying her resolution, “I know what a terribly lonely life this must be.”

She gave a small smile that was mostly sad, and said, “We won’t talk about it anymore, Dad, I just want you to prove that you’re the greatest scientist in the world.”

He began to smile. “I’ll soon have all the proof they want. I expect the eminent Professor Fitzgerald to pay me a call before long,” His voice began to rise, and he puffed himself up as he got louder, until he was almost shouting: “I‘d be delighted to confound him with scientific facts that he declared were impossible!” Still held by his arms on her shoulders, Lenora’s expression had dropped back into something like alarm.

As abruptly as he had started to shout, Doctor Cameron lowered his voice again, and said gently, “Now you go to bed, dear, eh? Have a good night’s rest.” She gave a smile, and he gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight. I’ll talk to Petro.”

“Goodnight.” She said, pulling away from him to leave the room.

He turned to watch her go, and his expression lost its gentleness as the anxiety he had been keeping under wraps widened his eyes.

In his darkened bedroom, Petro, still in his dayclothes, stared out the window into the dark marsh, his hands up at his chest. Nothing stared back at him except the palms and grasses and mosses. His jaw moved constantly as the minute passed in the night. It seemed like he would stand there forever. Then his eyes suddenly spun, and he pulled away from the window and left the room.

A minute later, Lenora peered through the curtain in her own brightly lit bedroom as the howl of a coyote sounded through the air, and as she stared, she saw Petro’s back disappearing into the darkness of the marsh, his arms twitching at his sides as he shoved his way through the dense foliage. She watched him go, too filled with anxiety to think of how to react.

Unaware that his "guinea pig" had left the house, Doctor Cameron entered Petro's room without knocking and flicked the light on, only to stare around at the room, so small there was nowhere to hide, which was clearly empty. After a moment of shock, he turned the lights off again and went back into the hall.

Out in the swamp, Petro had become the werecoyote again, and snarled to himself as he went through the mist-shrouded trees.

Elsewhere in the marsh, Tom pushed his own way through the woods, following a bumpy dirt road that obviously recent tire tracks hadn't successfully reclaimed from nature yet. He stopped to look around a few times at noises nearby in the shadows, but kept doggedly on.

Then he found what he was looking for: a large house with all the windows still lit up, the walls choked with ivy and surrounded by an overgrown garden and encroaching forest, fitting the description of the Danfield homestead. Even if it hadn't fit the description, he still would have gone up, if only to get directions to the right path.

He found the front door, hurried up the short stairs, and knocked.

When no response came within a few moments, he knocked again. He was not eager to keep standing out in this darkness if he could help it.

The werecoyote tread through the marsh nearby, and seemed to alert to the sound.

But fortunately for Tom, Doctor Cameron came down the stairs from the second floor of the manor and went to answer the door as a third knock came, before the werecoyote could decide to investigate himself.

He opened the door a crack to see who it was at such a late hour, then, when he saw Tom looking back at him, he shook his head in exasperation and opened it fully, allowing Tom to enter.

“Doctor Cameron!” Tom greeted in surprise, taking his hat off as he looked around the entryway, “So, you’re the owner of this haunted castle!”

“What do you mean, ‘haunted castle’?” Doctor Cameron demanded, throwing his hands behind his back severely.

“Well,” Tom explained, holding his hat in his hands, “Maybe I did just have the jitters, but I thought something was prowling around out there.”

Doctor Cameron regarded him for a moment with an inscrutable expression. “Did you see anything?” he finally asked.

Tom said, “No, and I’m not even positive I heard anything.” He wriggled his shoulders expressively. “I got just a feeling.”

“Heh, that’s not very definite.” Doctor Cameron said, almost mockingly.

Tom laughed nervously, and smiled awkwardly, but Doctor Cameron said nothing else, making it very difficult to relieve the tension.

“Tom!” The sudden sound of Lenora’s voice surprised him, and she came hurriedly down the stairs to embrace him with a laugh and a grin while her father stared on angrily. “Ah, it’s good to see you!" She exclaimed, "Can you ever forgive me for going off without saying goodbye?” She didn’t pull away from the hug after it probably should have ended, but stayed right where she was, her hands on his arm, smiling widely.

“That doesn’t matter now that I’ve found you.” Tom grinned back, very happy to have her in his arms.

“I see no reason for rejoicing.” Doctor Cameron said flatly, spoiling their happy reunion.

The smile fell from Lenora’s face. “Dad!” She scolded, looking over her shoulder at him as she and Tom finally lowered their arms from eachother.

Her father's anger was not to be denied. “I buried myself in this out of the way place so that I could work undisturbed, away from snooping reporters who only ridicule what they have not the intelligence to understand!” His tone was scathing.

Tom and Lenora stared at him for a moment, then Tom said, truthfully, “I had no thought of ridicule in coming here.”

“I’m not interested in your reasons for coming,” Doctor Cameron's voice was cold, “But I would like to know how you happened to find your way here.”

“I found a message from Doctor Blaine, after he was killed.” Tom explained.

Lenora stared in shock. This was the first time she'd heard this news. “Doctor Blaine, killed? Oh, how terrible!”

Her father stared at Tom for a moment like his daughter wasn't there, his mouth open as though he wanted to say something, but then he said only, “Yes, apparently he was killed by some animal.”

As he said this, Lenora’s gaze darted from him to Tom, the frown never leaving her face.

Tom lifted his hat in a gesture towards Doctor Cameron. “You knew about it?” he asked.

Doctor Cameron, his hands behind his back, said, “I was with Professor Fitzgerald when it happened, and I saw him right afterwards.”

Tom lowered his arm and looked at the floor, remembering the horrible sight of Professor Blaine's body.

Doctor Cameron inquired, “What was the message?”

“A memorandum, to tell me about this old plantation.” Tom said, gesturing around as he swept the large entry hall with his gaze again.

“So he meant to betray my confidence.” Doctor Cameron said sharply. “Just as he did before!”

“Well, I don’t believe Doctor Blaine had any such thought in mind.” Tom said lightly.

“I don’t care what you profess to believe!” Doctor Cameron snapped, “You belong to a profession that’s obnoxious to me, and you’re not welcome here!”

“Dad!” Lenora protested, “I want—”

“Be quiet!” Her father commanded.

“I won’t be quiet!” she countered, “Now, I’ve stayed here because I thought you needed me, but I won’t have you treat Tommy like this!”

At mention of his name, Tom put a hand on her arm. “Naw, don’t get upset on my account, things’ll turn out alright!” He'd been happy to see her standing up to her father, but had assumed she was doing it on her own behalf, not his. He didn't want to cause problems for her. She turned to look at him, still frowning, as he addressed her father, saying simply, “I suppose you have a right to your own opinion. Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, reaching for the door, but this time Lenora stopped him. “Tom, wait. Don’t go now, wait til daylight.” There was a sharp insistence in her voice that wasn't due solely to wanting to see him.

“Why?” he asked, looking at her with concern.

She stepped closer. “I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

Doctor Cameron had been staring stonily at the floor, but now he looked up as his daughter answered.

“Oh, I don’t know, exactly, but there’s something dangerous that prowls around in the dark. I wish you wouldn’t take this trip alone.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Tom said bravely, willing to put up with all kinds of things that went bump in the night if it meant she wouldn't get in trouble with her father, “If I meet anything I can’t grip, I can do a swell job of running.” He put his hands on her arms reassuringly. “I’ll be around tomorrow, whistling at your front gate.” He chuckled. “If you have a front gate." It might have been swallowed up by the hedges. "Goodnight.”

He turned to leave with a smile, but Lenora grabbed his arm again. “I wish you’d wait til morning!”

Tom looked at her, then past her to her father’s dark expression, and the smile fell from his face. He really did not want to make her father any angrier than he already was. Especially not if any of the vague ideas racing around in his mind were even remotely correct. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.” he said. “Goodnight.” He opened the door, and this time Lenora didn’t stop him.

“Goodnight.” She said belatedly, when he’d already gone through. The door shut behind him, and she hurriedly opened it again a little to watch him as he disappeared past the reach of the lights and into the dark.

Her father strode away behind her, heading for the door to his study, and, unbeknownst to her, his laboratory.

But before he could get too far, she turned away from the door and stopped him with a call of “Dad.”

He turned, and she closed the door and moved to stand in front of him. “If anything happens to him, I’ll never forgive you.” She looked up at him resolutely. It was his fault Tom was out there on his own now in those haunted woods. It was his fault they were even out here in the first place.

But her father just glared, refusing to accept the accountability. “He has no business to come here!” He snapped, “I’m not responsible for his wellfare!”

Without another word he went into his study, and after a moment, Lenora spun on her heel and went back up the stairs.

[LINEBREAK]

Out in the marsh, the werecoyote wandered, barking warnings him himself and growling as he navigated a wavering, wild path through the crowded plants.

Bewildered and almost lost, Tom wandered too, unable to find his way back to the road in the dark. He had taken just a few wrong steps to avoid a thorny blackberry bush that the car tires hadn't managed to beat into submission, and just a few steps after that, he'd found himself completely turned around. Every direction he looked he saw nothing but the same misty trees, impossible to tell apart.

The werecoyote continued his lonely prowl through the same forest, letting out periodic barks, whose purpose even he wasn't sure of.

In the house of the farmers who had lost their daughter, a knock sounded on the door, and the man, holding a lantern and in his nightshirt, went to answer it quickly. These days they slept lightly, and not by choice. It seemed like every night sound was the tread of the monster that had killed their baby girl.

When the man opened the door, Tom stood illuminated in the threshhold, hat on his head. “Hi! Sorry to bother you at this time of night,” He said in a friendly voice, “But I’ve lost my way.” It was just luck that he'd noticed the small cabin at all in the dark.

“Come on in,” The man said, and Tom took his hat off as he did so. The man nodded at the small round table and invited firmly, “Sit down!”

He locked the wooden door before he came over to the table himself, and sat the lantern in the center. “You’re a fool to be travelling around by yourself at night like this when the mist comes up from the swamplands!” He exclaimed as he sat, but his tone was anxious, not angry.

Tom sat his hat on the table too. “Oh, you mean the mysterious night-prowler that’s got everyone’s imagination working overtime?” He asked cheerfully, putting on a brave front.

“That ain’t imagination with me, mister.” The man said, and Tom tilted his head. The man continued, voice trembling, “That thing killed my little girl.”

The smile fell from Tom’s face in dismay. “Sorry, I...I wouldn’ta joked if I’d known.”

“It scared Jed Harper so bad, he went and got religion.” Was the man's only response, and this seemed to be his way of accepting the apology.

“Well, hey—” Tom scooted his chair closer. “Can you give me some facts about this killer? What does it look like?” This was his first chance to interview any real witnesses, and he couldn't believe his luck on stumbling into this home of all the ones he could have.

The man answered, “No one can tell you that for sure, mister, because it never prowls only on nights like this when the mist is thick, and nothing can be seen very plain. Jed Harper said it traveled on two legs, but you can’t count on that, ‘cause Jed was scared half out of his mind. Besides, the mist was extra thick that night.” He looked at the lantern, still glowing where it on the table, then looked back at Tom. “You better stay here the rest of the night, mister. I can’t offer you a bed, but I’ll make you as comfortable as I can.”

“Well thank you very much!” Tom said.

At the Danfield house, Doctor Cameron opened the garden door of his study to look out on the mist-ladden marsh, and saw the familiar figure of the werecoyote, headed around the side towards the lab’s outer door.

He hurried to his lab to grab the riding crop from where he'd thrown it before, opened the outer and inner doors with the switches on the wall, then stood back to wait.

The werecoyote did not hesitate before entering the house again, and only stopped when he was in front of Doctor Cameron. He flexed his clawed hands and growled, but made no move forward. It was clear that he remembered the pain of a whip could inflict, and wasn't eager to experience it again.

Doctor Cameron regarded him coldly, and said, “If I have to keep you in a cage, you’re of no further use to me; if you revert without my knowledge and become dangerous. I haven’t thought of that possibility.” He raised his voice to a command. “On your couch, Petro!”

The werecoyote snarled.

“Down!” Doctor Camoran snapped.

The werecoyote cringed slightly, then moved backwards to sit down on the couch like he had before, keeping his gaze firmly and warily locked on the riding crop.

Doctor Cameron went to the electric wall panel to shut the powered door, and didn't bother to look out to check that the outer door had closed properly. It had every time before now, and he still had a dangerous werecoyote to deal with. So he wasn't aware of the fact that a tree branch had fallen into the path of the door, preventing it from closing completely.

The outer wall of the house was so crowded with trees and shrubs that it was a miracle this hadn't been a problem before now, but it was practically inevitable.

Doctor Cameron did not have his switches set to any alarms to warn him if they were obstructed, they simply went in the direction the switch signaled. Whether they actually managed to close or open properly because of blockages had never been taken into consideration once he'd gotten them moving the first time.

The doors, he thought, shut, Doctor Cameron went to his shelves, threw the whip onto the floor in its usual spot, but this time, rather than grabbing the the syringe of antidote, he instead picked up a gun. It was a small gun, easily hidden, easily fitting into the palm of his hand. But you didn't need a big gun to kill anyone, not even a werecoyote. It was the bullet that did all the real work.

The werecoyote had been looking down at his own clawed hands, but when Doctor Camoran turned back to him and he saw the gun, he flinched, then snarled with renewed rage and fear.

When Doctor Cameron spoke, he seemed to be speaking only to himself, rather than the werecoyote he held at gunpoint. His voice was low as he thought aloud, “No...I couldn’t disappoint Professor Fitzgerald...”

Without any aknowledgement that the werecoyote had recognized the gun and seen his intent to murder him, Doctor Cameron spun back to his shelves, put the gun back, and picked up the syringe of antidote. Behind him, the werecoyote went back to staring down at his own clawed and furry hands.

Then Doctor Cameron spun back, the syringe brandished. “Get down, Petro, down!” He commanded, and shoved the werecoyote flat, putting a knee on his chest to pin him down as he injected the antidote.

A few short minutes passed, and Petro awoke on the couch, with Doctor Cameron staring down at him.

Petro sat up slowly, blinking in groggy confusion. “Did I walk in my sleep again?” He asked.

A flat, “Yes.” Was all Doctor Camoran bothered to offer.

Petro stood, rising to his full height above the man he looked up to so much, and asked plaintively, “Doc, ain’t there some way you can cure me of doing that?”

“I’m afraid not.” Doctor Camoran said, “It may be necessary to lock you up at night, after this.”

Petro was perturbed by this news. “It don’t seem fair to lock a man up just like he were an animal.” he said sadly, then went around Doctor Cameron, and left the lab without another word.

[LINEBREAK]

Back at the farmer’s house, they'd received another guest: a man in overalls with balding head sat at the table between the homeowner and Tom, reporting, “...home with a jug under his arm last night, found him in the swamp this morning. He’ll never lift another jug.”

Behind him stood the lady of the house, and sitting by the empty fireplace was the old woman.

“Was he murdered?” Tom asked.

“Yup,” the newcomer replied, “And he wasn’t a pretty sight to look at neither.”

“There must be some natural explanation for this thing you’re talking about.” Tom said thoughtfully.

Behind them all, the old woman stood and moved to the table, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“It’s a werewolf!” she said, in a way that said she'd repeated this many times, “Can’t kill him no way except by a silver bullet!”

“I can’t see myself giving that story to the city editor,” Tom said in response, “He’d throw me right out on my rear.”

The man next to him looked down at the notebook he held, then said, “That killer ain’t human. You’d know that from one look at the body.” He was neither agreeing with or denying the old woman's assertion.

Tom frowned thoughtfully, then said, “I saw a victim of just such an attack. I wonder if there could be a possibility of any connection between them.”

“I’ve been telling you all along!” The old woman raised her voice, “It’s the form of a human who’s sold his soul to the devil! In the light of day he walks like any other man on the Earth. At night, he takes on the form of a wolf!”

[LINEBREAK]

The sun had fully risen over the marsh and all the homes within in by the time Doctor Cameron pulled aside the curtain in his bedroom to glare out into the front garden.

Tom’s voice could be heard as he questioned Petro, “Then you’d never heard of any killings by strange animals around here until two weeks ago?”

Today Petro was in his normal outfit, minus his hat, which was clutched in his hands. Tom was in the suit he’d slept in last night, and Lenora wore a vest over a striped shirt.

Petro looked at Lenora pleadingly. “Why does he keep asking me all them questions?”

“Well, all newspaper men are like that,” Lenora said cheerfully, “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” She patted Petro on the shoulder in reassurance. “Well you go ahead, he won’t bother you any more.” She looked meaningfully over at Tom as she said it, making it clear that he wasn't to bother Petro any more.

Petro put his hat back on as the other two began to walk away, and got back to weeding the garden.

Doctor Cameron came out the front door and let it slam behind him, watching his daughter and Tom from a distance.

Lenora and Tom had wandered away to the shade of a large oak tree, too far away for Doctor Cameron to hear.

Tom said, “Lenora, you must give some thought to your own safety, and keep in mind — there’s no normal reason for Doctor Cameron to hide away in a place like this, unless…” He trailed off.

“Unless what?” she said sharply.

He adjusted his hat, then stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “Oh, nothing. Forget it.”

“Don’t avoid the question!” Lenora was angry, “What were you going to say?”

Tom looked at her, then said plainly, “Lenora, I believe your father knows something about that creature responsible for the horrible killings in this vicinity. And I think the same creature killed Professor Blaine.” He looked around when he said the word 'vicinity' to indicate the house and the surrounding woods and marsh.

Lenora was shocked. “Well that’s a terrible thing for you to say! I didn’t expect you to join the chorus against him!” She glared in hurt, defensive betrayal.

“Oh, I hope I’m wrong.” Tom said hurriedly, putting his hands on her shoulders, “But, I’ll do everything I can to learn the truth no matter where it leads.”

Doctor Camoran stormed down the wooden porch stairs, and strode over, unable to stand letting them talk alone a moment longer. There was no telling what kind of poisonous slander Tom was putting in his daughter's ears.

He strode over forcefully, holding out a hand for Tom to shake in a way that couldn't be denied. “Good morning, young man.” He said, “Very glad to see you, I wanted to apologize for the way I talked to you last night.”

Lenora’s eyes grew exaggeratedly wide as she looked from her father to Tom, as though daring him to question her father’s integrity now.

Tom seemed shocked and abashed. “Oh, well, that’s alright.” He said awkwardly as Lenora’s eyebrows raised higher, and a smile crept onto her face, “I can understand how you must feel about the newspapers.” He offered.

“They didn’t, what you call, hang onto their punches.” Doctor Camoran said with a little laugh.

“Pull their punches,” Tom corrected, He put his hands in his pockets, and by this time Lenora was grinning at them both. Tom continued, “I know, they gave you quite a ride, but I didn’t write any of that stuff.” He'd told Doctor Cameron this before, but the man had always seemed to forget. Up until now he'd seemed determined to hate Tom no matter what he did.

“Oh, I know, I know,” Doctor Camoran said this time, shocking everyone there except for himself, “That’s why I’m so sorry, the way I received you.” Tom grinned through his surprise and disbelief, and Doctor Camoran added, “If you’re interested in scientific research, I’d be glad sometime to show you what I’ve accomplished.”

Tom looked at the ground, nervous and embarrassed, then smiled again. “Well thanks, Doc, that’s very nice.” He said.

Doctor Camoran said, without much change of expression, “Now if you’ll pardon me, I’ll leave Lenora to entertain you.” He patted her on the shoulder, then walked away, his daughter smiling after him.

Tom could only say, to the quickly retreating back, a confused, “Okay...”

Lenora turned to face him, and her her voice was filled with happy gloating. “That doesn’t sound like he has a secret to hide, does it?” she asked.

“Why, no!” Tom exclaimed, still staring off after her father in shock, “And I never before was so glad to be wrong!”

Doctor Cameron paused once on the stairs to look back at them, once again unable to hear what they were saying, then continued into the house, only able to hope that he'd successfully directed the reporter's attention away from him.

A man who was happy to share his work with the world was not a man likely to be secretly using that work for murder, and he kicked himself for not realizing that before. He'd let his anger and jealousy cloud his planning. He would have to keep it in more careful check from now on.

[LINEBREAK]

It was night again when a dark-suited figure came up the porch steps of Danfield Manor and knocked on the front door.

Lenora came down the stairs to the entryway and went to open the door. When she saw who it was waiting outside, she exclaimed in delight, “Oh, Professor Fitzgerald!” she opened the door fully to let him in, and asked, “How in the world did you find your way down here?”

Tonight she was wearing a black and white long sleeved shirt, and a black knee-length skirt.

Professor Fitzgerald smiled when he saw her. He might have looked at her father with all due contempt, but Lenora was a perfect angel, and he couldn't hold her father's faults against her.

“Hello, Lenora.” he said with a friendly tone, taking off his hat to be polite. “Your father wrote, asking me to come. Is he here?”

“Yes,” Lenora said with a smile, “And he’ll be very happy to see one of his old friends!”

Professor Fitzgerald did not have time to react to what she'd said, because it was then that Doctor Cameron left his study room and came to the door to vigorously shake Professor Fitzgerald’s hand and say, “Ah, Fitzgerald!” while Professor Fitzgerald greeted with a short, “Doctor”, too surprised, and upset by Cameron's presence, to say anything more.

Lenora was somehow under the impression that Professor Fitzgerald and her father were still perfect friends, and Professor Fitzgerald had no idea how she'd come to such a blatantly false idea of the situation. Hadn't she read the papers where he'd denounced her father's ridiculous theories? The man had gone certifiably off the deep end, touting absurd theories that no sane man could ever dream of, and had responded abominably to even the smallest criticisms, which had just led to more and more anger and outrage on both sides. Professor Fitzgerald had once respected and even admired Doctor Cameron, but that had all shattered in the wake of Cameron's disgraceful theories and his behavior when they were rightfully criticized.

Hadn't Lenora's father made his new hatred for all his old friends clear to her? He'd sure made it clear to them before he'd stormed off and disappeared out here to the middle of nowhere.

But Doctor Cameron did not care about any of Professor Fitzgerald's worries or confusion, and he continued on talking, as though nothing was wrong or strange at all, “Such an unexpected honor! I hardly dared hope that you’d accept my invitation.” He said these words as though they didn't both know he hated Professor Fitzgerald's guts.

Lenora grinned at the two of them as they shook hands again, and Professor Fitzgerald said, suddenly aware of how badly he would look if he expressed the real anger he felt, he puffed up his chest a little and said, “If you’ve made a worthwhile scientific discovery, I want to be the first to congratulate you.

If Doctor Cameron was going to put on a show of civility and professionalism in front of his daughter, then Professor Fitzgerald could do the same.

“I would be delighted to give you that opportunity.” Doctor Camoran said, any Professor Fitzgerald was aware that the irony was directed solely at him.

It flew completely over Lenora's head, as evidenced by her next words, and the cheerful tone in which she said them: “The things you two have to talk over are way over my head, so I’ll leave you alone.”

That was probably for the best, but Professor Fitzgerald felt he needed to protest, if only jokingly, so she'd know he still cared about her. “Aw, now don’t run away, I promise to limit myself to words of two syllables!”

He and Lenora shared a laugh, but he noted Doctor Cameron’s expression remained just as serious as before, despite the facade of cheer he'd put on.

“That’d take all the fun out of the discussion!” Lenora sent back, and put a carefree hand on Professor Fitzgerald’s arm. “I’ll see you after a while.”

And with another innocent smile, she turned and left him alone with Doctor Cameron.

The man wasted no time, and immediately asked, “Shall we go into the lab?”

“If you wish!” Professor Fitzgerald said, suddenly wanting to get it all over with already. He followed Doctor Cameron into his study, then, to his surprised, continued across it, where a cabinet swung away from the wall, revealing a secret room, lined with stone, with shelves and workbenches lined with vials, jars, and other scientific instruments. Some of them were familiar to Professor Fitzgerald, others were strange and new. He looked around in curiosity.

Still chained up and locked in its cage, the coyote snarled as Doctor Cameron locked the hidden door behind them.

“You’re very secretive about your work.” Professor Fitzgerald observed, holding his hat in his hands and placing them behind his back.

“I have to be, to keep out intruders.” Doctor Cameron said. The implication did not go over Professor Fitzgerald's head, but he didn't fall for it.

Instead he swiveled his head to look around the lab again, then said, trying to keep up a front of civility, since it was at least less stressful than trading insults, “You seem to be excellently equipped.”

“Well, the tools are the first requisite of good work.” was Doctor Cameron’s reply, then he abruptly gestured at one of the chairs around the small table in the center of the room. “Sit down.” It seemed less like an invitation, and more like a command.

But Professor Fitzgerald didn't argue. “Alright.” He said. He glanced around the room again, suddenly feeling nervous as he put his hat on the table and sat in the indicated chair.

Doctor Cameron came around in front of him, laid a small pocket notebook open on the table, and tapped it with a pencil. It was upside down, and the small writing seemed to have been done in an unfamiliar shorthand. Professor Fitzgerald couldn't read it.

Doctor Cameron leaned forward as he began speaking. “I’ve discovered that certain, extremely volatile elements in the blood are little more than particles of electrical energy, our source of all physical growth and mentality by exciting the various glands and brain cells.” His eyes grew wild and wide as he stared down at Professor Fitzgerald. “I’ve learned how to extract and concentrate these elements from the blood of various animals.”

Professor Fitzgerald stared back at him warily, and said nothing. He could think of nothing to say that wouldn't turn this visit into another viscous fight.

“I can control evolution.” Doctor Cameron continued, “I’ve discovered the source of life!”

“You’re crazy.” Professor Fitzgerald said flatly. He couldn't help it, though he tried.

Doctor Cameron’s face broke into a twisted grin, and he chuckled. “That has a familiar ring." He said, "You told the newspapers I was crazy once, didn’t you?” He stared down at Professor Fitzgerald.

“I didn’t know that you invited me here to reopen an old controversy that was very disagreeable to all concerned.” Professor Fitzgerald said, “I came with the hope that you’d abandoned impossible theories and accomplished something worthy of consideration.”

This only made Doctor Cameron raise his voice. “And I suppose you feel yourself whole competent to judge my accomplishments, you and your high-browed associates, Hatfield, Warwick, and Blaine.” A new smile twisted his features and he said thoughtfully, venomously, “No, not Blaine, he no longer is passing judgment on my sanity.” He closed the mysterious notebook he’d opened on the table, then went over to a row of drawers on the wall near the door, behind Professor Fitzgerald.

He had to turn to follow Doctor Cameron with his gaze, leaning an arm over the back of the chair. “I believe you know something about Blaine’s death!” he said sharply, suddenly. No longer able to hold back his suspicions, “You were at his house!”

Doctor Cameron turned to look at him from where he stood in front of the shelves. “You talked to him on the telephone, before I came to your house.” He reminded, “Did he say then that he was in any danger of losing his life?”

“No,” Professor Fitzgerald was forced to admit, “Nothing threatened him at that time.” He put emphasis on "that" time.

“And I was with you when he was killed.” Doctor Cameron added. Then he moved around back to the front of the table, forcing Professor Fitzgerald to twist again to follow him as he said, “You pride yourself on not indulging in fantastic theories—” He leaned his hands on the table. “What proof have you that I was in any way implicated in Blaine’s death?”

Professor Fitzgerald hesitated. “I...have no definite proof.” He finally said. He hated to admit it.

Doctor Cameron's eyes blazed. “You accuse me of being crazy because of what I’ve claimed to have accomplished with this apparatus, but I can give you overwhelming proof of what I say!" He leaned forward, one hand a fist on the table, the other behind his back. "I can inject into your veins a substance that will give you the strength of ten men!”

Professor Fitzgerald leaned away in his chair, as though moving physically away would prevent the idea from closing in.

Doctor Cameron straightened, and continued scornfully, “Or, following the line of evolution, how would you like a pair of donkey’s ears?” He swept his coat back to put his hands in his pants pockets and laughed. “That’d go well with your type of mentality!” But the smile fell from his face almost as soon as he'd finished speaking, and he scowled as he strode to stand near the door again.

Professor Fitzgerald had had enough. He snatched his hat off the table, and stood abruptly from the chair. “I certainly will not be the subject of any of your experiments!” He said firmly, moving towards the door, which Doctor Cameron stood blocking, "I’m afraid it’s useless for us to continue this discussion any further.”

“You’re not leaving, are you?” Doctor Cameron asked with false innocence.

“I see no reason for staying.” Professor Fitzgerald retorted, and pointed towards the switch on the wall. “Open that secret panel.”

Doctor Cameron looked in the direction he’d pointed, and after a moment, flicked the switch. The secret door began to swing open. “So you don’t care to stay to be convinced that you were wrong.” he said, standing back from the opened door so Professor Fitzgerald could pass him and go out.

“I don’t care to be ridiculed by a charlatan.” Professor Fitzgerald said with a glare.

But Doctor Cameron just smiled mockingly, “Ah, ridicule, that isn’t pleasant, is it? I know from experience.”

Both stood with their hands folded behind their backs, Professor Fitzgerald holding his hat. He said firmly, “I had nothing to do with that! It wasn’t my fault if the public treated your crazy theories with the ridicule it deserved.”

He brushed past Doctor Cameron and out the secret door into the study, and Doctor Cameron waited a moment where he was, then turned to watch him go out the study doors.

Professor Fitzgerald put his hat on as he stood inside the front door to the manor, about to open it and leave, when behind him the call of, “Fitzgerald!” stopped him.

He turned to look as Doctor Cameron rushed toward him. "Well?" He demanded.

“Would you do me a favor?” Doctor Cameron had the gall to ask. He once again spoke like nothing was the matter between them at all. It was infuriating.

“Well, what is it?” Professor Fitzgerald’s tone was brusque.

“I have to send my hired man into town. You mind taking him with you?” The nerve.

But Professor Fitzgerald wasn't angry enough to be spiteful for the sake of spite. “Alright.” He said curtly, with a short nod. “I can do that without any trouble.” Like with Lenora, he had nothing against Doctor Cameron's servants. It was only the mad fool himself he had a problem with.

“Oh, thank you so much.” Doctor Cameron said with sickeningly false gratitude, “If you’ll wait in the car, I’ll get him out to you in a few minutes.”

Professor Fitzgerald said nothing more, just paused a moment to see if Doctor Cameron would add anything else, then opened the door and stepped out into the night, closing the old wooden door gently behind him.

Doctor Cameron smiled to himself as he went off back into the depths of house.

A few minutes later, Professor Fitzgerald was standing waiting out by his car, and watched Doctor Cameron escort Petro, once again in his tweed suit, forward.

“Now get in the car, Petro,” He said audibly as they got nearer, “Don’t keep Professor Fitzgerald waiting!”

Professor Fitzgerald couldn't help but complain as he opened the front passenger door and climbed in, sliding himself across to the driver's side. “I should have known this trip would be a waste of time.”

Doctor Cameron leaned down to speak through the window at him. “I still hope to give you proof that you can’t ignore!”

Back on the porch, Lenora came out the front door, and stood, waiting, at the top of the steps.

Petro climbed into the back seat, and shut the door behind him.

Doctor Cameron said, as the car’s engine started, “Remember me to Hatfield and Warwick when you see them again.”

Professor Fitzgerald said nothing, he just drove away.

Smirking, Doctor Cameron turned back to the house.

When he got to the steps, Lenora asked, “Why did Professor Fitzgerald leave so soon?”

Doctor Cameron looked in the direction the car had gone off to. “He wasn’t impressed by the possibilities of my line of research.” He said simply.

Lenora put her hands on his shoulders, “Oh, don’t be disappointed,” She said, “That’s no credit to his intelligence. You’re a great scientist, and someday you’re going to startle the world!”

“You’re right dear,” He said, “I’ll startle the world!” Then he turned abruptly away from her and went inside, leaving her first staring after him, then out into the darkness.

[LINEBREAK]

The car containing Petro and Professor Fitzgerald rushed along the dark road.

In the marshy forest nearby, Tom and seven local men, all of them armed with hunting rifles, searched the forest while a lone coyote howled.

The searchers convened briefly in a small clearing, then traded some gestures and went in the direction of the howling.

On the road, Professor Fitzgerald drove, while Petro sat in the back seat, looking out the window.

In his laboratory, Doctor Cameron picked up the empty syringe he’d left on the table, and laughed as he held up the bottle containing the serum he had injected Petro with once again.

In the back seat of the car, Petro began to fall asleep, his head nodding forward onto his chest. Only a few swipes of the windshield wipers passed before the werecoyote lifted his head, teeth more pronounced than ever, face overflowing with the tawny fur.

He regained his wits faster than he ever had, and his gaze immediately locked onto the sillowet of Professor Fitzgerald in the front seat. He leaned forward sealthily, then lunged with a snarl, his hands reaching for the Professor’s throat to hold him still as he opened his mouth wide to bite down.

The car’s tires screeched as it went out of control, and in the woods nearby, the search party jumped then froze, staring in the direction the new sound had come.

“Hey, that sounded like it came from over there!” Tom said, pointing towards the road.

Nearby, through the mist, barking his warnings to himself, the werecoyote came quickly, carrying Professor Fitzgerald over his shoulders like a sack as he ducked under creepers and ropes of moss. Almost no time had passed since the car had crashed, but he had acted quickly.

The search party came closer, with nothing to guide them but the sound of the crash, Tom saying, “I can’t see a thing!”

Unaware of the approaching danger, still growling and barking to himself, the werecoyote kept walking, peering through the mist as though in search of something that no one else would ever know.

Suddenly the he became visible to the search party, and one man shouted, “Look!”, while others gasped. The mist had parted enough to plainly show the werecoyote amidst the trees with a body thrown over his back.

As one, they all charged forward.

The werecoyote spent a few more seconds unaware that he had been spotted, and continued to hesitantly peer through the mist. But the crashing of the large group ahead of him drew his attention, and he saw the men charging forward.

He snarled and growled, and let Professor Fitzgerald drop from his shoulders and onto the ground behind him.

Then he turned, and ran back into the mist as fast as he could.

The searchers converged on the thing they'd seen him drop, and it was Tom who cried out in revelation, “Professor Fitzgerald!”

“He dead?” One of the men demanded.

“No, alive, but unconscious!” Tom said quickly, “Where can we take him?”

“We can take him over to my place,” The man who’d lost his daughter said, “But the old Danfield place is handier.”

“We’ll take him there.” Tom said, and looked down at the Professor again in worry. “I don’t know how badly he’s hurt.” He looked up again, “One of you men, go for a doctor!”

One man nodded and ran off, and Tom said, “Come on, give me a hand! Take it easy, fellas.” as the rest leapt to lift the unconscious Professor Fitzgerald from the ground.

[LINEBREAK]

Lenora found her father in his office, staring out the window. He turned, startled when he heard her coming.

She came up to him, and said, “Dad, please come to dinner? You know I don’t like to eat alone.” With Petro gone, it was only her and her father in the whole house, all by themselves. He'd hired no one else, and hadn't let any of her friends visit her. She'd been hoping that Professor Fitzgerald would stay to eat with them, but to her disappointment, he'd left almost as soon as he'd come in.

The dining room still had its original table, which had been designed to hold a dozen people at the least, and she hated sitting at it by herself. It made the aching loneliness of the house so pronounced it bordered on the absurd.

She hoped a gentle reminder would convince her father to come and eat with her, but he just put a hand to his throat and said, “No, I’m not very hungry. You go ahead with your meal.” As though the whole problem weren't that she was eating alone.

She tried another track. “Are you feeling discouraged because Professor Fitzgerald was..." She hesitated. "Unsympathetic?”

He chuckled sardonically, surprising her with his next words: “Fitzgerald’s opinion is of very little value.”

Outside their front door, the mist was thick, and the night dark. If you'd been standing there, the voices of the approaching men would have been audible before they were visible through the thick fog, a noisy crowd of overlapping instructions and encouragement— “Get ready—, “Yeah—” “While I lift—”

Tom jumped ahead to get the door open as the other began to carefully lift the unconcious Professor Fitzgerald up the short flight of porch stairs. He grabbed the brass knocker above the door and hit it against the wood.

In Doctor Cameron’s office, they heard the knocking and both turned to look. But Lenora just smiled at her father, put a hand on his arm, and said, in response to his dismissal of Professor Fitzgerald's opinion, “Alright."

Then she moved off to answer the door, assuming that he wouldn't be happy to see any more visitors in himself after his disappointment, no matter how he tried to conceal it.

Just as her hand was reaching to open it, the knock came again. She opened the door wide, and Tom practically spun in in his effort to both move forward and look behind himself at the same time. “Come on in!” he immediately called out the door.

Lenora immediately pulled the door open wider to admit whoever he was beckoning to. “Tom? What happened?” she asked in worry.

“I found Professor Fitzgerald, badly hurt!” Tom explained in a rush as the rest of the men came through the wide doorway, supporting the unconscious professor in their arms.

“Oh, bring him in!” Lenora said, though the group was halfway through the door, “Take him upstairs!” The group immediately complied.

Her father had finally emerged from his study, and was watching the events with narrowed eyes. He made no move forward, to help or hinder.

“He’s another victim of that mysterious werewolf, or whatever it is.” Tom said to Lenora as they went up the stairs, followed by Doctor Cameron’s silent gaze as they followed the group of men carrying the unconcious Professor. They pressed close to those in front, trying to help them keep their balance. Only Doctor Cameron remained on the ground floor, staring and silent.

He waited until the group was fully out of sight on the second floor, then, slowly, he followed them up.

When the men carrying the Professor reached the top of the stairs and met the wide hallway, Lenora darted forward and squeezed past them to open the nearest bedroom door, which was hers, calling hurriedly, “In here!”

They all followed her through, careful not to bump or jostle the Professor any more than necessary. Tom ran to the end to help lift the Professor's feet.

And silently behind them, almost like a predatory animal himself, Doctor Cameron trailed, just far enough back that no one noticed him. As he went through last, Tom kicked the door shut behind him.

Doctor Cameron stood outside this closed door and leaned toward it, holding one ear just inches from the old wood.

Inside the room, they had laid Professor Cameron down on Lenora's bed, and most of them moved back as she adjusted the pillow under his head and anxiously examined him.

“One of the men went after a doctor,” Tom said in a sudden rush, clutching his hat in front of him, “He should be here before long.”

Outside the door, Doctor Cameron stood, still listening.

“Nothing more we can do here, so we’ll keep hunting for that killer.” One of the farmers said, and Doctor Cameron’s brows twitched into a frown.

“You don’t need to come down with us, ma’am, we can find out way out.” Another farmer's voice said.

Now Doctor Cameron moved. He opened the door and stepped through, directly into the path of the leaving farmers, who had to stop to avoid running into him. He stood almost toe to toe with one of them.

“Evening, sir.” Said the man in the lead. It was the man who’d lost his daughter. He inclined his head towards the bed, and his only justification for invading the home was, “That devil got another victim.” He didn't think he needed to justify helping an injured man. If his home had had enough space, he would be happy to help himself. If it had occurred to him that Doctor Cameron might not think the same way, he gave no hint of it in his tone or expression, which were as friendly as they could be, in light of the dire circumstances.

“Yes, so I see.” Was all Doctor Cameron said to acknowledge the incident, and moved past the farmers and into the room. Without another word they filed out as Doctor Cameron went to stand next to Tom and Lenora at the side of the bed.

Tom looked between the injured man on the bed, and the one now standing next to him. Then he said, pointedly, “I was surprised to see Professor Fitzgerald in this neighborhood.”

Doctor Cameron spent a moment staring down at Professor Fitzgerald, then said, offering no other explanation, “He came to see me.” He leaned forward slightly, eyes searching over the bloody wounds on the neck and face. “How badly is he hurt?”

“I don’t know yet, we’ll find out as soon as the doctor gets here.” Tom said, as he and Lenora both leaned forward too, seemingly without noticing.

Then Tom’s eyes went to the side as a sudden thought occurred to him, and he said, “If he regains consciousness, we’ll find out who, or what, committed these horrible killings.” His eyebrows raised slightly, and he turned to look at Doctor Cameron, who looked up to meet his gaze. Lenora stared at him.

But almost immediately, Tom lowered his eyes back down to Professor Fitzgerald. He'd not spoken what he was really thinking out loud. He didn't want another fight with Lenora.

Doctor Cameron said into the dark silence that fell over the gloomy room. “Yes. It’ll be very interesting to see what he has to say.”

[LINEBREAK]

Out in the mist, the lone coyote howled, and the werecoyote stood, shifting and hesitating, outside the outer door to Doctor Cameron’s laboratory. He stood in front of the hedges that mostly hid the door from view, not wanting to have to crouch under them the entire time he waited.

He looked around and shifted from foot to foot, waiting anxiously for the door to open to let him back inside. Then he looked again towards the door, and his eyes suddenly zeroed in on the branch that had fallen into gap, keeping the door partly open.

It was only a small gap, but it prevented the door from locking, and when the werecoyote ducked under the bushes that shrouded the wall and pushed against the wood, it opened inward without resistance, and he came through and into the secret passageway.

Up in the bedroom where Professor Fitzgerald lay injured, Lenora, Tom, and Doctor Cameron still stood watch.

Lenora looked at her father and said, “Since this awful thing that happened to him, I can’t feel any resentment over the way he treated you.” She hoped he would feel just as forgiving.

Tom had stood silently between them, but at Lenora's words, he looked abruptly at Doctor Cameron and then down at Professor Fitzgerald. “Did you quarrel with him?” he asked.

“Yes, we quarreled!” Doctor Cameron snapped, “So I suppose you think I ran after him and dragged him out of the car?”

“Dad!” Lenora cried.

Tom looked away from Doctor Cameron under the force of the outburst, but said nothing more.

Doctor Cameron regarded him for a moment, then added, scornfully, “Newspaper training seems to breed a suspicious nature.” He turned and left the room without another word or a glance back, shutting the door behind him.

Down in the secret hallway, the werecoyote stood in front of the locked inner door to the lab, waiting.

After a moment, when it became clear the door wasn't opening immediately, he started back towards the outer door, reaching it right as a crash of thunder rolled through the air.

He leaned cautiously forward, peering through the small barred window in the center. Lightning flashed violently across the sky, and thunder rolled like a steady drumbeat over the marshy forest.

Up in her bedroom, Lenora looked at Tom with anger in her expression. “I wish you wouldn’t try to antagonize him.”

“I wasn’t trying to antagonize him,” Tom defended, hands in his pockets, “He just didn’t give me a chance to finish! I was just gonna ask him if anyone was with Fitzgerald when he left here.” He took one hand out of his pocket for a moment to point at nothing, and looked around the room, as though a witness would appear from the shadows.

“Well I can answer that.” Lenora said, slightly mollified, “Petro was with him.”

Tom snapped his head back to her. “Petro?”

“Yes, he drove him into town.” she said.

Tom’s eyes were wide.

Lenora started to say, “But, surely you don’t think—” she stopped herself before completing the thought.

“I don’t know what to think…” Tom said, dazedly, then determinedly, “But I will know as soon as Fitzgerald comes to.”

“I’m inclined to agree with Dad about your imagination.” Lenora said, angry again, “It’s fantastic!”

“Maybe so,” Tom retorted, pushing his coat back and putting his hands in his pockets again, leaning back on his heels, “But didn’t it strike you funny we didn’t find Petro when we found Fitzgerald?”

Lenora looked away, refusing to answer.

“Look, darling, please don’t snap at me just for trying to add things up!” Tom pleaded, gesturing widely with one arm.

Lenora twisted her mouth, and moved to hug him. “I’m sorry, forgive me.”

Down in his laboratory, Doctor Cameron was in front of his shelf of vials and jars. He frantically filled a syringe, then rushed back out into his study without even bothering to shut the secret door behind him.

Up in the room, Lenora straightened from examining Professor Fitzgerald, and said to Tom, who was coming back to her side from the door, “He’s still unconscious.”

“Well he must regain consciousness, even if only for a few minutes!” Tom said, “So much depends upon it!”

Lenora looked at him worriedly, then back down at the Professor.

A muffled but loud knocking sound made them both look over their shoulders.

“That must be the doctor!” Lenora said quickly.

“I’ll go down with you!” Tom hurried to follow her back towards the door.

They both rushed out of the room and down the stairs.

The short upper hallway was empty as they descended out of sight and to the ground floor, but then the door across the hall from Lenora's bedroom, in which the injured Professor Fitzgerald lay, creaked open, and Doctor Cameron stepped out, clutching his syringe to his chest.

He paused just a moment to make sure Tom and Lenora had gone downstairs, then he strode across the hall and into the room.

Down below, Lenora opened the front door, exclaiming, “Oh, Doctor, I’m glad you got here!” to let in a tall man in a long, dark wool coat, carrying a large black bag.

“I am glad to get inside,” He said as he strode in, hat in hand, “There’s a humdinger of a storm coming up.” He looked back at them, “Where is the patient?”

“Upstairs!” Lenora pointed.

Doctor Cameron stepped down right as the new Doctor was about to start up, saying, “Ah, good evening, Doctor, will you go right on up?”

The Doctor looked at him for a moment as though surprised, either to see him in particular, or by his words for some reason, but then wasted no more time or words, and went up the stairs quickly.

Doctor Cameron quickly intercepted his daughter when she made to follow the other Doctor, saying “You stay down here, dear, there’s nothing you can do.” Then he hurried up the stairs himself.

Tom leaned towards Lenora, and said quickly and apologetically. “I hate to leave you, but I must question Fitzgerald as soon as he’s able to talk.”

Lenora nodded her permission and forgiveness, and Tom ran up the stairs after the other two men.

Down in the stone hallway, the werecoyote still waited, alternatively standing by the outer door and pacing anxiously as the sky crashed with thunder and flashed with lightning.

When he moved, he went up and down the short length of the hall in repeated cycles, barking his warnings to himself.

Upstairs, Tom was just coming through the bedroom door when the Doctor in front of him by the bed said, “Reckon it’s a little late for me to help, man’s dead.”

Tom had been walking forward to join the two doctors next to the bed, but momentarily froze in his place at this horrible pronouncement.

Then he moved forward. “Dead?”

“Yes, that’s too bad.” Doctor Cameron said without any great emotion as Tom stopped next to him over the still-warm body of Professor Fitzgerald, “We were hoping he’d throw light on a matter of great importance.”

“Well…” The Doctor picked up the hat and bag he'd barely sat down. “I’ll be getting back to town before this storm gets worse.” He looked at Doctor Cameron. “I’ll send the coroner out.”

He left the room, and Doctor Cameron hurried to follow him out.

Downstairs, Lenora had just entered her father’s study, and had seen the still-open secret door to his laboratory.

She went straight across the room to examine the book case swung out on its hinges, then leaned toward the open space behind it, and after just a moment of hesitation, stepped through.

She found herself in the threshhold of her father’s laboratory, the thick-blocked stone walls radiated coldness she could feel even from where she stood, and the coyote, still locked up in its cage, immediately began to snarl at her.

Lenora looked around the room for a few moments, hands clenching and unclenching anxiously in front of her, then went across to the couch, leaning over to pick up one of the thick restraining straps that lay draped across it. She stared at it, aghast, thoughts whirling with unwanted ideas.

She straightened, and looked back towards the door, her heart starting to pound, her skin breaking out in a cold sweat.

She saw closed the door at the base of the couch and went to investigate, pushing her hands against it experimentally when she saw there was no knob to pull, but it didn’t budge.

Unknown to her, the werecoyote still stood waiting on the other side, and when another burst of lighting and thunder burst out, he startled wildly, then ran to the door to look out the small window again, flinching back from the lightning that he saw there.

He growled at the storm and made a mock lunge towards the door but, to no avail—the lightning flashed again, and he flinched back harder, then twisted his head, looking for somewhere to hide when it became obvious he wouldn't be able to frighten the storm into retreating.

But the only thing he could see was the short, empty stone hallway.

On the other side of the door, Lenora had noticed the switches on the wall. She started to reach for them, then held herself back, uncertain.

Past the wall, the werecoyote barked and snarled and bared his teeth through the small barred window at the seemingly endless lightning and thunder. The stones of the wall were so thick that Lenora couldn't hear any sounds from behind the door.

Then the werecoyote spun away from the outer door and rushed back to the inner, but it was still locked, and he stared around him in mounting desperation as the storm grew more intense.

At the front door to the mansion, the visiting Doctor was putting on his hat, preparing to go out, and pulling his wool coat closer as he braced himself for the cold and rain. “Goodnight!” he shouted to be heard over the storm.

“Goodnight, Doctor.” Doctor Cameron said, standing behind the door, waiting to close it.

Tom walked closer to the door to peer out as the Doctor left, and Doctor Cameron said severely, “There’s no necessity of you staying any longer.”

Tom glared at him. “Oh yes there is!” He stepped closer. “I want to ask you a lot of questions. Mainly about Petro, that servant of yours.”

“I cannot be bothered with any more of your questions!” Doctor Cameron snapped, “They’re only posited by your fantastic imagination!” He glared. “I must ask you to leave at once!”

Tom didn’t take his gaze off Doctor Cameron as he reached for the knob of the door and shut it firmly. “Well, you’ll do some talking whether you like it or not.”

Doctor Cameron folded his hands behind his back. “You’re making yourself very unpleasant.”

“I haven’t even started yet to be unpleasant!” Tom declared, “If my hunch is correct, I’ll prove you guilty of murder! And in the meantime—”He jerked his head toward the rest of the manor, “I’ll get Lenora out of his madhouse!”

“You will prove nothing. My daughter stays here with me.”

In her father’s laboratory, Lenora had stepped away from the wall and its panel of switches, trying to convince herself to just leave the room and its mysteries alone, but she was looking back at it, and then she suddenly moved forward for it again, and flipped the left switch upward.

She took a few steps backwards as the door slowly began to swing away from her.

Then it was open, and she had a clear view of the werecoyote as he spun to face her at the sound. He was wearing Petro's clothes. His face was covered in tawny fur, his hands were claws. Sharp white teeth were perpetually bared past curled lips.

Lenora, momentarily shocked beyond words, backed away until she hit the table in the center of the room, and the werecoyote, snarling and growling, stalked forward through the door.

Then Lenora shrieked, found her legs, and ran around the table to flee the room.

Out in the hall, her scream had been clearly heard, and both Tom and Doctor Cameron spun to stare, then rushed towards the source of the sound, Tom in the lead. When he got to Doctor Cameron’s study and saw the open secret panel on the other side, he ran across the room and through without hesitation, while behind him, Doctor Cameron slowed to a cautious walk.

Tom was through the doorway just in time to meet Lenora on her way out, and she pointed behind her with a frantic, “Tom!” as the werecoyote began to circle the table.

Instantly as Lenora ran past him, Tom grabbed one of the chairs off the floor and threw it clear across the room to crash into the werecoyote, who stumbled back under the force of the blow, then flailed against the wood in his arms, tearing the chair to splinters in just moments before he charged forward.

But Tom was already through the still open doorway, and grabbed Lenora where she stood out in the study with her father, who hadn’t moved. “Run!” Tom shouted, and Lenora ran for the opposite door with Tom behind her, Doctor Cameron belatedly following

In the entry hall, Tom shouted, “Upstairs!”, and Lenora ran up them, while behind them, Doctor Cameron closed and locked the door to his study.

Behind those locked doors, a flash of lightning and almost simultaneous roar of thunder lit up the french windows of the study, and the werecoyote jumped with a yelp, then rushed for the doors, pulling desperately the knobs, but the locks held.

Tom and Lenora had locked themselves in Lenora's room, where Professor Fitzgerald’s body lay cooling on the bed.

“What happened to Petro?” Lenora demanded.

Out in the short hall at the top of the stairs, Doctor Cameron ran for his own room.

In the study, the werecoyote still fought with the locked doors to no avail, ramming them with his shoulder in an attempt to get free from the storm, which seemed to be in the room with him.

Then disaster struck.

Doctor Cameron had left one of the study’s large windows open in front of a table covered in some of his most volatile chemicals, and a bolt of lightning shot straight out of the sky and struck the table with what seemed like unerring accuracy.

There was an immediate explosion as glass shattered, and the werecoyote spun in terror just in time to see the thick, heavy tapestry on the wall next to the cable be set ablaze, going up in flames so quickly that they reached the ceiling within moments.

The werecoyote gave a cry of fear, then turned desperately back to the doors, and fought harder than ever to get them open.

The fire spread to the other two curtains on the same wall, and then to the mantle over the fireplace, and the floor, and showed no sign of stopping. Only Doctor Cameron knew what had been in those containers, and what he'd been planning to use them for.

It felt like an eternity before the werecoyote managed to burst through the doors and found himself in the entryhall, with the roaring fire not far behind him.

Immediately he spun to face the flames, drawing himself up and snarling and mock-charging, only to be met with the fire’s own brand of threat display as it flared brighter and shot out tongues into the entryhall as it began to devour the carpet, forcing him to flinch back and lift his arms to shield himself.

The flames continued their advance, and the werecoyote snarled again in helpless fear, then raced frantically up the stairs.

Tom and Lenora were still waiting in her locked room, jumping at every flash of lightning and roar of thunder, thinking it was the werecoyote coming to kill them.

He had reached the top of the stairs and immediately made for the door they hid behind, because it was the closest thing he could see that seemed like safety, but Tom and Lenora braced themselves against it when they saw the knob turning, and together they managed to hold it shut.

The fire had climbed the stairs in the moments that this wasted, and now the air of the second floor was filling rapidly with smoke.

Doctor Cameron had left his own hiding place in his room, and now he stood, staring in shock, his mouth covered by his sleeve as he tried to breathe through the smoke, at first the stairway, blazing with fire, and then at the werecoyote, who was slowly turning to face him.

“Petro.” Doctor Cameron gasped, as the werecoyote’s gazed locked onto him, “Petro, what are you doing?”

The werecoyote advanced across the short distance that separated them with a snarl.

Doctor Cameron knew that his luck had run out.

“Petro—Petro! Stay back! Petro! Petro, get back!” He desperately tried to command, but the werecoyote was no longer obeying.

Doctor Cameron made a sudden lunge down another branch of the hallway in a desperate bid for safety, but the werecoyote caught him almost instantly, clawed hands wrapping around his throat.

Doctor Cameron had enough time to shout one more, “Petro! Back—!”

In the smaller room, Lenora and Tom had seen the smoke coming through the gaps around the door and were opening it, preparing to flee the house. They didn't know what was happening between the mad monster and the man he'd experimented on.

“Come on!” Tom encouraged, pushing Lenora through and into the smoke filled hallway, himself right behind her.

In the entry hall, the flames covered everything visible.

When Tom and Lenora got to the top of the stairs, a sudden flash of fire made them both leap backwards, before Tom ripped of his coat and put it over Lenora’s shoulders.

Together, arms around eachother, they charged down the flame-laden stairs and straight for the front door. They made it through, and Tom slammed it shut behind him without even thinking about it.

Behind them, just coming down the stairs, was a tall human figure, carrying another figure in his arms.

Tom and Lenora ran several feet away from the house, splashing through the muddy water that had swept over the old and broken walkway before they stopped to look back through the pouring rain and clashing sky, and Lenora shouted, “Dad!”

“Oh!” Tom exclaimed, “You wait here, I’ll go get him!” He ran back to the burning manor, hoping that the water soaking through to his skin would protect him.

Inside the foyer beyond the closed front door, the tall figure had collapsed to the floor, dropping the body it held, powerless against the heat and the smoke.

Tom got all the way to the front door again and managed to open it despite the heat burning through the knob. He was about to step through when a new roar shook the building, and entire parts of the walls and ceiling began to collapse, shrieking with flame, making the entryway completely impassible, ringing his ears like it was the whole world falling apart around him.

The figure that had fallen to the floor just barely managed to avoid being crushed under a falling beam from the ceiling, and began to crawl desperately away.

Tom had thrown his arms up over his head instinctively to shield himself when the walls began to crumble, and he spun and ran back out into the rain and to Lenora as fast as he could before he even had time to think of what he was doing. It was pure self-preservation instinct.

Lenora still had Tom's coat thrown over her as she waited in the rain, and when she saw him come alone, she gasped, “Where—?”

He looked back at the flaming, ruined house, then back at her, and their wild-eyed gazes met. He didn't need to say a word. She could see for herself that the roof was collapsing in on itself as the house was consumed.

“Oh, Tom!” she cried.

They collapsed into each other’s arms in the rain, and though Tom kept his eyes on the open doorway, no figure ever came into his sight to escape the roaring flames.

#Rjalker novelizes things #Rjalker novelizes The Mad Monster 1942 #Rjalker watches The Mad Monster 1942 #The Mad Monster 1942 #Novella November #Novelization November #free books #werewolves #werecoyotes #werecoyote #mad scientist

2 notes · View notes