Werewolf Stories to Tell in the Dark by Anthony Masters Page B

going to do.
    â€˜I’m going to get her into show business. Into Hollywood.’
    â€˜As the wolf girl?’
    â€˜I thought wolverine sounded better. Got more of a ring to it. And if I can get her into the movies …’
    â€˜You’ll make a lot of money.’
    â€˜She’s got to have a future and as I’m her Guardian –’
    â€˜You don’t mean Hollywood, do you?’ snapped Geoff. ‘You mean Europe – the only place where you can get a permit for your freaks.’
    â€˜Nonsense.’
    â€˜That’s where you make your money, isn’t it?’ his father sneered. ‘Out of freaks – and now you’ve got another one. Wait till I spread that about.’
    â€˜The unit director assured me that there would be maximum security,’ protested Johnson.
    â€˜
He
hasn’t talked to me,’ asserted Geoff. ‘But you have.
You’ve
talked to me. The rest is intelligent guesswork on my part, Mr Johnson. But it’s true, isn’t it?’
    Gilbert Johnson began to walk away. ‘You don’t know anything,’ he said.
    Brad hurriedly moved back into the surf and began to paddle out on his board. He didn’t look back.
    Geoff was very quiet that evening and didn’t mention either Susan or her Guardian over dinner. Neither did Brad, not liking to tell him that he had deliberately overheard his conversation with Johnson. But as they sat there in uneasy silence, Brad could see that his father was clearly agitated and desperately wished he would confide in him again. Eventually they both went to bed, but later on he heard his father getting up and going out on to the beach. He often did this nowadays, and Brad could picture him walking along the growling surf, thinking. But thinking what?
    In the morning, however, his father was back in his bed and sleeping more peacefully than he had for ages. Brad got his surfboard out from the garage and walked slowly down to the beach. It was a beautiful morning, still, without wind, and although the surf wasn’t very high Brad was looking forward to getting into it. Most of the night he had thought about Susan and Gilbert Johnson and there was a sour, sick feeling in his head that he wanted to clear.
    Brad was just about to plunge into the ocean when he saw something floating in the shallows, the waves nudging it to and fro. As he walked towards the object, he felt his mouth go dry and his whole body begin to tremble. Brad’s limbs became wooden and he had thenightmarish feeling of walking but never actually getting anywhere.
    Forcing himself forward step by step, Brad eventually reached the corpse of Gilbert Johnson, now half washed up on the sand. The pale translucent blood was floating in the ocean around him.
    Brad stared down at him for a long time, a very strange thought gradually filling his mind. Had Susan done this? Was she
more
than a wolf? Could she be one of the legendary werewolves who turned their skins inside out to conceal their true nature? Brad shook himself. Too much solitude must be getting to him. Then he saw something else in the water, just a little further up the beach.
    The dark-haired girl was beautiful. She was also floating in the sea, and Brad could see the gash across her throat and guessed she’d been stabbed. Despite this, her darkly tanned skin, her long black hair and supple body made her look very much at peace. Her teeth were small and pointed and her eyes, which were still open, were dark green. Brad had never seen anyone so unusual or so flawlessly lovely.
    â€˜They’ll think she killed him, that she ripped his flesh like a wolf,’ said Geoff, coming up behind him. Brad started, knowing his father was going to tell him things he didn’t want to hear. He would rather say the words for him.
    â€˜You did it, Dad, didn’t you?’
    â€˜She had to have her freedom.’
    â€˜Couldn’t you have got her back to them