Monsters in the Midwest (Book 2): Northwoods Wolfman (19 page)

“Crappers,”
he groused. “You must be right, Dan. These lanes do feel a bit dry. Of course,
it could be my arm. Got bit the other day, and it hurts like the dickens.”

Dan
snorted. “Figures. Always looking for excuses, aren’t you? Man up, Dallas.
Maybe you just aren’t the bowler you think you are.”

Something
in Dallas’s gut turned, and a snarl leapt to his lips, but he forced a smile
instead.

“Yeah,
you’re right, I guess. Just a shitty roll. You gotta admit though, a bite on
the rolling arm could sure mess with a guy’s game.”

“Maybe
with your game,” Dan sneered. “Professionals like me don’t let something like
that interfere. Professionals know how to play through the pain.” Pushing back
a loudly patterned sleeve, Dan brandished a large gauze square held in place
with athletic tape.

“I
got bit by a dog, but you don’t hear me making excuses. You know, for such a
manly man, you sure do act like a little baby.”

“At
least I know how to make a baby!” Dallas shot back. “The last time you tried,
you bruised the poor girl’s belly button.”

“Whoa,
whoa, now,” Stanley jumped in. “Let’s n-not get mean.”

“Shut
up, Stanley,” the two men snapped in unison.

Dan
crossed his arms across his chest, which was a bit disconcerting. The crazy
patterned fabric made it look like his arms just disappeared.

“Are
you two done?” he said with a sneer. “I need to roll.”

Dallas
grabbed his ball in one hand and Stanley’s arm in the other.

“Yeah,
you do that, Dan. Keep on rollin’,” Dallas said, dragging Stanley away from the
lane. Once they were safely away, he added under his breath, “I hope you enjoy
it,
werewolf
Dan, ‘cause your bowling
days are done.”

Two
hours later, Dallas and Stanley watched Fancy Dan exit Bay City Bowlers, stroll
across the lot, and climb into a Pontiac Fiero with a custom burnt orange and
lime green paint job.

“Man,
I hate that car,” Dallas groused before asking if Stanley had the silver rope.

“Yes
sir!” Stanley answered, holding up a long, slender chain about the width of a
finger. Each link was solid silver, making the length worth thousands. Colton
had informed them that it was forged by a jeweler in Poughkeepsie whose
brother-in-law was turned into a werewolf during the black out of ‘03. He’d
also informed them that he expected to have it returned when they came back
through town, or there’d be some serious hell to pay.

“Nice.
We’ll tail him, jump him, tie him up in silver, and toss him in the back of
Deloris. Once we get him out to the cabin, we’ll wait for the moon to rise.
When he goes all wolfy, we’ll put him down. Can’t leave a trace though. It has
to look like Dan just up and disappeared. Got it?”

“Yep.
I mean, y-yes sir. But, um. Maybe you don’t really n-need me for the
down-puttin’ part.” Stanley’s eyes pleaded with Dallas. “Maybe I can just, you
know, n-not be there for that.”

Dallas
considered his friend. Stanley was as gentle as a stuttering kitten. If he was
going to be a monster hunter, he’d have to toughen up at some point. Dallas was
about to say just that when he saw Stanley’s lower lip quiver.

“Sure,
Stan. That’s no problem at all. From what Colton said, the silver should hold
him good. You help me get him into the truck, and I’ll take it from there.”

Relief
washed across Stanley’s face. “Th-thanks, Big D. I just… it’s just…”

“I
know. Don’t worry about it, buddy.”

“Hey
Dallas?” Stanley started.

“Forget
about it, Stanley. I said it was okay. Let’s not make it a thing.”

“No,
not that. It’s Fancy D-dan. He’s gone.”

Dallas
looked up and quickly scanned the parking lot. The orange and green Fiero was
nowhere to be seen.

“Oh
that’s just frickin’ great. Let’s get over to his house and hope he’s on his
way home.”

Deloris’s
giant tires spit gravel as Dallas dropped her into gear and roared from the
lot. Dan’s trailer home wasn’t far by rural Wisconsin standards, and they made
good time thanks to Dallas’s blatant disregard for the speed limit and stop
signs. Unfortunately, they only had another hour or so until moonrise. If Dan
wasn’t at home, they’d have to find him quick.

“If
he’s not in there, maybe we should break in and ch-check out his place,”
Stanley suggested. “I mean, we
think
he’s a werewolf, but maybe we should, you know, d-double check.”

Dallas
had pulled his truck over and was getting ready to go the rest of the way in on
foot so they wouldn’t be as easy to spot. Killing the ignition, he looked at
Stanley with a dark frown.

“What
happened to, ‘All the cheese curds in Kenosha?’ You said you were sure he was
our wolf. He’s got a bite and he passed the tests.”

“I
know, I know,” Stanley backpedaled, “but, j-just in case. I mean, maybe we’ll
find them d-dogs, or like, I dunno, something.”

Dallas
drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. As much as he hated to admit it,
Stanley had a point. He didn’t much like Fancy Dan, but that wasn’t quite
reason enough to string him up, drag him to a cabin in the woods, and cut his
head off.

“Well,
let’s go see what we see,” he decided.

The
two men moved as quietly as they could through the trees, approaching Dan’s
place from the rear. When they got close, Dallas jogged a short lap around the
trailer, looking for the Fiero.

“Shit.
Not home,” he complained, returning to where Stanley fidgeted behind a broad
oak. “Guess it’s plan B.”

After
tip-toeing to the backside of the trailer, Dallas boosted Stanley up so he
could peek in a window.

“Any
sign?”

“N-nope.
All clear,” Stanley reported.

The
trailer only had one door. Luckily, Dan didn’t invest as much in home security
as he did in his outlandish wardrobe. A well-placed kick busted the jam and
sprung the door open. It made a bit of a racket, but that didn’t matter much
this far outside of town. Like most of the houses scattered in the woods, Dan
didn’t have the inconvenience of nearby neighbors.

Dallas
and Stanley stepped inside and stood for a moment in shock. Despite the plain
exterior, the inside what about what someone might’ve expected Fancy Dan’s home
to look like, assuming that someone expected to see the worst parts of the
1970’s packed into one small trailer.

“Ho.
Lee. Crap,” Dallas exclaimed, poking a low-hanging disco ball and picking up a
Bee Gees album. “Disco ain’t dead. Fancy Dan’s got it on life support.”

While
Stanley rummaged through the kitchen, Dallas worked his way around the living
room. After a couple of moments, he stopped and gave a slow whistle.

“Take
a look at this…” Dallas whispered, waving Stanley over.

“You
got p-proof? Werewolf proof?” Stanley asked excitedly, hurrying to Dallas’s
side from where he’d been checking the cupboards for kibble or flea powder.

“Psycho
douchenozzle proof, more like it.” Dallas stood looking at a cluster of framed
photographs on the paneled wall. Each shot was of a bowling tournament winner
from previous years. Doing a quick count, Dan had pictures of the various
winners from the past seven tourneys. In each photo, he had taped his own picture
over the bowler’s actual face.

Trying
to control a tremor of emotion, Dallas plucked one from its nail. Not bothering
to pull the back from the frame, he instead whacked it against the wall and
shattered the glass. Freeing the snapshot from the broken shards, he looked at
the picture from the past summer’s tournament. It was taken near the end of the
after-tourney party. Hands shaking with rage, Dallas peeled off the
Scotch-taped picture of Dan’s face to reveal his own grinning, drunken mug.

“I
don’t care if he’s a werewolf or not. I’ll drag him into the woods and beat him
bloody anyway.”

At
that moment, Dan stepped in through his busted door, a pistol held unsteadily
in front of him.

“Dallas?
Stanley? What the hell are you guys doing here? Why’d you bust my door?” He
fired off the questions while his finger trembled on the gun’s trigger.

“You
get away from those. You just get away from those pictures right now,” he
demanded, voice warbling with emotion. “This is a home invasion, and I’m going
to shoot. I’m going to shoot you both right now if you don’t step away from my
pictures.” Dan’s voice cracked and tears started to well up in his eyes.

“Stanley,
now!” Dallas yelled in response. Lurching to the side, he heard the gun pop and
the wall paneling crack. Rushing Dan, he tackled him to the floor, knocking the
gun away in the process.

To
his credit, Stanley didn’t panic. Grabbing up the length of silver chain they’d
carried from the truck, he ran toward the struggling men. As Dallas pulled Dan
up from the carpet and held him in a tight bear hug, Stanley tried to wind the
chain around him.

“S-stop
kicking! Just s-stop k-kicking me!” he screamed, trying to pull the chain
tight.

“Stop
trying to chain me up!” Fancy Dan yelled back, faux alligator loafers jabbing
out at Stanley’s knees, gut, and groin. A wild kick finally connected, and
Stanley crumpled with a noise part grunt and part squeal. Whipping his head
back in the same motion, the back of Dan’s head connected with the bridge of
Dallas’s nose. Stars burst and fizzled in Dallas’s eyes, and then Dan was on
the move.

Roaring
in pain, Dallas lurched after the fleeing man. Panic-fueled adrenalin drove Dan
out of the trailer to the grass outside, but his smooth soled loafers didn’t
offer much for traction. Trying to cut a zigzag path, he instead went down in a
tumble. Dallas jumped from the front stoop and body slammed the smaller man,
pressing him down into the mud and leaves.

“Oh
god, not my shirt!” Dan squealed. “What are you doing? This is an authentic
Domenico Dolce reproduction. I’ll never get this clean. You’re going to pay for
this!”

“Shove
it, Dan,” Dallas grunted. “I got him, Stanley. Bring the chain, and hurry your
alien-probed ass up. He’s harder to hold than a greased up garter snake.”

A
few cursing, crying, questioning, and more cursing-packed moments later, Dan
was gagged with a shiny polyester necktie and bound with the silver chain, a
padlock holding it tight around his arms and chest.

“Help
me carry him back to Deloris,” Dallas instructed. Stanley was still whimpering
in pain, and tears poured freely from his eyes, but he did as he was told. Once
they had Dan securely stashed in the bed of Dallas’s truck, he drove Stan home
and dropped him off with instructions to stay put.

“I’ll
let you know when it’s done,” Dallas said. “Until then, you just sit tight.
Don’t answer the phone, don’t go out for a Diet Mr. Pibb. Nothing. Got it?”

“Okay,
D-Dallas. Okay. I’ll just, I’ll stay here. But Dallas,” he managed.

“Yeah,
Stan?”

“B-be
c-c-careful.”

Dallas
nodded, but like most advice that found its way into his ears, he was pretty
sure he’d ignore it.

Chapter 27

Dallas’s
watch read seven forty three. According to Stanley, moonrise should be right
around eight o’clock. After dragging a still kicking Fancy Dan into the
decrepit, old cabin the Society had used as their home base, Dallas had trussed
him up with some heavy rope and tied him to an exposed stud in a partially open
wall.

Looking
up through the collapsed ceiling, he considered the autumn sky above. The sun
had finally set, leaving the cloudless sky a progressively darkening shade of
rich blue. Stars were whispering Morse code to one another, getting more and
more vocal with the fading of the light. It was, Dallas realized, a beautiful
October evening. For a moment, he wondered if he was doing the right thing.
Maybe he shouldn’t be out in the woods with a guy tied to a two by four and
wrapped in silver. Maybe he should just walk away from all of this. Put
Trappersville and all the stuff from the past few months in his rearview and
just head deeper and deeper into the trees.

“Mmrrhph
furph foo fooogh wuffmee?”

“Hmmm?”
Dallas asked, distracted. “Shut up, will ya? I’m thinking about stuff.”

A
few quiet moments passed before Dallas heard panting breath and licking lips.
Turning, he saw that Dan had managed to work the tie out of his mouth.

“Look.
Whatever this is about, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to do it, or if I did,
I didn’t know it was going to piss you off, and I sure as hell didn’t know you
were the crazy type. So I’m really sorry, and I won’t do it again, whatever it
was. Just please, please let me go.”

Dan’s
pleas fell from his mouth in rapid succession, eyes wide with confused fear.
Dallas felt a tug at what might have been his conscience, but something Dan
said flipped a switch in Dallas, shutting off the remorse he’d been on the
verge of feeling a moment before.

“Me
the crazy one?” he repeated in indignation. “What was with all those pictures
from the bowling tourneys? Those don’t exactly put you in the ‘sane’ category.”

“Aww,
c’mon,” Dan whined. “It’s not my fault I’ve been robbed year after year. I
should’ve been the winner at least three times, and you know it.”

Dallas
stomped over to where Dan sat, bound, mud-splattered, and half-gagged on the
worn wooden floorboards of the old cabin. He’d never seen such a pathetic sack
of sniveling snot in his entire life. Just looking at Dan made him unreasonably
angry. Squatting so his face was level with Dan’s, he leaned in so close their
noses almost touched.

“Winners
are winners because they won,” he growled, the menace in his voice making Dan
blanch. “You can try to rewrite history all you want, but at the end of the
day, you’re still a loser.”

Standing,
his frustration pushed him into a pace. Back and forth across the small cabin,
Dallas’s work boots thunked heavily on the floor.

“I
swear, I’ve about had it with all you monsters trying to make it sound like
you’re special, like you deserve something. Herby, the boo hag, and now a
goddamn werewolf! Real champions don’t need no supernatural whatever. We just
kick ass because that’s who we are. It’s what we worked hard to become. Oh
sure. Vampire Herb was such a celebrity. Such a ladies man, such a good cook,
such a goddamn good bowler. But what was he
before
he was a vampire, huh? I’ll tell you what. A loser. A nobody.”

Dallas
stopped his relentless pacing and spun to confront Dan.

“And
that goes for you, too. Nothing but a loser that thinks it’s okay to try and take
what isn’t yours. Like those dogs. Jesus, man. What’s wrong with you? Those
dogs belonged to someone. I’ll bet that someone loved each and every one of
those mutts, but you didn’t care. You just up and took ‘em. Like Lois. I cared
about her, I would’ve been good to her. I know what I’m like, but I would’ve
changed. Didn’t get the chance though. Oh no. Mr. ‘I’m really a
nice
vampire’ Herb had to cut in. He
would’ve killed her. I
saved
her.”

The
anger was working its way deeper, its dark and barbed tendrils pushing and
ripping into every fiber of his being. His breath was coming faster, and every
inch of his skin was starting to itch. His bones ached, and his teeth felt two
sizes too large for their sockets.

“Well,
too bad for Herby and too bad for you. See, there just happens to be a bona
fide Warrior of the Society here. I know it’s a stupid name, but let me tell
you, stupid name or not, there’s a whole lotta comeuppance waiting for your
punk ass when the moon rises. Just a little bit longer,
fancy werewolf,
and you’ll get what’s coming.”

During
Dallas’s tirade, Dan shrank further and further into himself. Wide, frightened
eyes stared, and his mouth worked like a trout pulled from the river.

“I-
Holy crap, Dallas. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Werewolf? Dogs?
What about Lois?”

Voice
shaking with unfettered terror, Dan’s mouth kept running. “I know you staked
that vampire, and I’m really glad about that, you know? I mean, hell. I totally
agree that Herb shouldn’t have been the bowling champ. We’re on the same page
there, aren’t we?”

“You?
On the same page as me? Maybe you and I could’ve been on the same page back
when we were both human. But now?” Dallas let out a harsh laugh.

“Now,
you’re on the page with vampires and zombies and chupa.. rabras or whatever
they’re called and other nasty stuff. Me, though. I am solidly on the humans
who kill monsters page, which is pretty great for me, but honestly, kinda sucky
for you.”

“You’re
gonna kill me?” Dan gasped. “Because I, because of the bowling pictures? That’s
crazy! You can’t kill me for that. You just can’t!”

Dallas
squatted down again, elbows resting on his knees. He sat that way for a moment,
looking thoughtfully at the man he used to know as Fancy Dan. Now he was
something else. Something dangerous. Wicked. Evil.

“No,
Dan. I ain’t gonna kill you because you taped yourself into some pictures. That
would’ve gotten you a beat down at best, but not a killing. I’m gonna kill you
because that moon’s gonna rise, and you’re gonna turn into a werewolf, and if I
don’t kill you, you’re gonna hurt a lot of innocent people.”

Dallas’s
stomach growled. “Man, I just hope the moon rises soon. I’m starving. Maybe
I’ll celebrate with a fancy meal after I’m done saving the town again.”

Dan
opened his mouth to protest. At that moment, the slowly rising moon cracked the
horizon, painting the woods around the cabin with a cold, silvery light. Dallas
tried to make out Dan’s words, not because he really cared what the monster in
disguise had to say, but because he suddenly couldn’t hear the other man’s
voice very well. A different sound rose up to fill his ears, like the roar of
an ocean pounding a rocky shore, like a thousand buffalo pounding the hard
earth, like a mountain splitting open.

The
sound was followed hard by a sharp spasm in his gut. A harpooned whale might’ve
been able to relate to the sudden and explosive pain that wracked Dallas and
sent him sprawling to the floor, but then again, Dallas guessed that getting
harpooned wouldn’t feel even half this bad.

Rolling
onto his side, Dallas’s arms and legs pulled in tight. Curled up like a pill
bug, he rolled from side to side, a collection of incoherent grunts and gasps
escaping his mouth. They might’ve been words, but his mouth felt too large, his
tongue too long, to make any sort of normal collection of vowels and
consonants. Another spasm straightened his spine, and vertebrae split like wood
beneath the woodsman’s axe.

A
new sound cut through the heavy fog of his pain. A scream, high and loud and
very close. Writhing and grunting, Dallas flipped himself back onto his
stomach. Fingers tipped with thick, yellowed claws scratched and found purchase
on the wooden floor. Pushing himself up, he felt his wrists, elbows, and
shoulders crack in sequence and watched thick, dark hair sprout from his skin
and start working its way up under his flannel sleeves. A primal growl rolled
and roiled through him as the excruciating pain peaked and evaporated, leaving
only two lingering sensations: a simmering anger and a deep hunger.

Rising
up on his hind legs, Dallas looked down at the kicking, struggling, crying
little human. Meat was right there. Within his reach. Sniffing, he shied away
from the smell of cold silver. The scent seared his nostrils and fueled to his
anger. Grasping with a clawed hand, he grabbed the chain and pulled, only to
howl in agony and lurch away as it burned his skin.

Stupid. I know better. Can’t take
the chain off the meat. Need to get the meat out of the chain.

Eyeing
the evil silver and ignoring the meat’s incoherent screams of terror, Dallas
grabbed two ankles. With a tendon-popping pull, he ripped the legs and waist
free from the rest of the body and dragged them far across the floor.

Safely
away from the silver, Dallas settled into satiate his deep hunger. Ripping away
the purple velour with his sharp teeth, he exposed more and more flesh.
Clamping down with strong jaws, he tore chunk after chunk of flesh free,
chewed, and swallowed. Warm blood steamed in the cool evening air as it coated
his chin and ran down his chest.

One
leg finished, he picked up the second and continued to feed. Soon, he was
happily chewing on a spongy loafer and licking blood from his fur.

Yum. Meat is good,
Dallas thought as he looked around
dispassionately. He’d quickly grown accustomed to his altered view and found
that he could actually see quite a bit more. The shadows had a depth he’d never
imagined, and his heightened sense of smell gave new dimensions to everything
he saw. It was, he realized, pretty damn awesome. Looking at where the
remaining half of Dan slouched against the cabin wall, he chuckled to himself,
the sound coming out as a series of heavy chuffs.

Guess I got something fancy to eat
after all. Still hungry though.

Tossing
a half-chewed loafer aside, he lumbered over to the very dead torso sitting in
a wide puddle of blood and gore. Carefully avoiding the silver chain, he
gripped the shoulders and lifted what was left of Dan free of the chain and
ropes. With a satisfied sigh, he rummaged around inside of Dan until his claws
hooked the kidney. Pulling it free, Dallas settled back on his haunches and
resumed his dinner.