Wilf the Werewolf has a strange habit.
He turns into a turkey, a duck or a rabbit.
Vernon and Igon made their separate ways to the latest and most modern coffee house in Katchem, called The Sip and Dip. Both the coffee and the food were good, a sure fire reason for success. Their speciality was the coffee, it was always hot, strong and sweet. The biscuits served with it (free) were made in a special way. They were long, thin and one end turned to the left or right for holding, so that it was impossible to accidently dip your finger in the hot coffee if you wanted to dunk your biscuit.
Igon arrived a few minutes before Vernon. He looked at the long queue, but he was quickly seen by the head waiter, Nick-the-Greek (why they called him Nick-the-Greek, no-one knew, as he was an Italian called Giuseppe). Before you could say ‘Giacamo Robinsonio’ Nick-the-Greek clicked his thumb and forefinger together and as if by magic a table with two place settings was found.
‘Followa mea pleasea,’ Nick-the-Greek said, with a heavy Gotcharian Italian accent. There was an angry murmuring from the queue as Igon was ushered to the table. But that was soon stopped by the quick flash of Nick-the-Greek’s dark eyes.
‘Silenceo, havea youa noa idea whoa thisa isa?’ He pointed a long finger towards Igon. The long queue shuffled their feet and looked down. They knew that if they wanted a table they had to be quiet. Igon followed Nick-the-Greek with an embarrassed smile as he flicked people out of their way with a long table napkin.
‘You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble, Nick,’ Igon said.
‘Itsa noa troublea,’ Nick grinned. ‘Itsa noa troublea ata all.’
Igon sat down as Nick flicked the long table napkin with unerring aim towards the back of the neck of a young waiter, stinging him smartly. The sharp pain made the waiter spin round, ready to shout at the person who had caused it, but when he saw who it was, he forced a grin and began to push customers to one side. Nick looked at the waiter and hissed: ‘Look aftera hima, si.’ The young waiter nodded his head, proud to have been noticed by Nick-the-Greek, but not too proud to rub the inflamed area at the back of his neck.
‘What would sir like?’ he asked Igon, showing him a spotlessly clean menu coupled with a bright smile. Igon took the menu but only glanced at it.
‘Just a coffee please,’ he whispered. The young waiter smiled, bowed and left.
Vernon arrived at the back of the queue dressed in the dress, hat, handbag and shoes he had stolen from Asquit Qutems in the High Street. He was having a great deal of difficulty walking in the shoes. The soles of them were at that moment facing each other. In the red shoes and the red dress, he looked like a bow-legged pillar box.
Nick-the-Greek with his great experience knew that, looking like she did, this woman could cause him trouble and a lot of embarrassment if she wasn’t taken care of right away.
With no hesitation, he flicked his thumb and fore-finger and his napkin at the same time (a great gift) and shouted over the heads of the subdued queue.
‘Senorita, senorita, pleasea comea thisa way.’ Vernon wasn’t yet used to being a woman and looked round to see who this idiot was shouting at. Nick-the-Greek tried again.
‘Hey, senorita, thisa waya pleasea … hey, senorita … youa ina the reda dressa … youa lookinga arounda everya timea Ia saya youa ina thea reda dressa.’ Vernon still looked round. Nick was now getting excited.
‘Hey, youa, thea onea who looka uglya and stupido … youa, wassa matta witha youa?’ Nick realised that his shouting was getting nowhere, so he flicked out his napkin straight at Vernon’s bare arm. The sudden sting enraged Vernon.
‘What do you think you are doing, you great fool?’ he shouted.
Nick-the-Greek turned away, knowing that she couldn’t be talking to him like that; no-one talked to him like that except his mother-in-law. While Vernon pushed his way through the queue to this madman who had just hurt him, Nick-the-Greek turned round just in time to see this crazed woman with an arm raised ready to strike him. He ducked the blow saying, ‘Thisa waya Ladya, youa surea causea a lota troublea, si?’
Vernon followed Nick-the-Greek, not because he wanted to, but because the impetus of the blow he was delivering carried him on and ever on. The blow landed on the table where Igon was sitting. It split his table in two.
‘Hello,’ Igon said politely. Vernon gathered his calm, smiled with great difficulty and tried to say he was sorry but he found it hard as he had never said he was sorry to anyone before. Igon pooh poohed the idea of an apology and asked Nick-the-Greek if he could have another table and if maybe the lady could join him. Vernon nodded and Igon smiled, neither of them knowing who the other one was.
Igon looked at Vernon, thinking she was a most attractive woman, although he thought a couple of her teeth were a bit too big. Vernon looked at Igon and thought it odd that he had never seen such a striking man before. He must be new to the area and wasn’t around before he, Vernon, was statued. Igon spoke first.
‘May I ask your name, Mademoiselle?’
‘Vernon,’ Vernon answered, noticing a strange look on Igon’s face.
‘Pardon?’
‘Vernon,’ Vernon answered again. ‘Valerie Vernon.’
‘May I call you Val, or do you prefer Miss Vernon?’ Igon asked shyly.
‘Er yes,’ answered Vernon.
‘Then it shall be Val,’ Igon said with great aplomb. ‘And you must call me I …’ But before he could finish what he was about to say, the young waiter came with the coffee. Vernon looked at Igon.
‘Very well, I will call you I, and you will call me Val.’ Igon asked Val if she would like something to drink before eating. The lady Vernon didn’t think before answering, ‘Yes please, a bloody mary with real blood.’ He realised what he had said as soon as the words were out. Every nerve in his cold body became taut. He knew that he had made a mistake, but luckily for him all the people around thought he had made a joke. His nerve ends relaxed as everyone laughed. Someone at the next table shouted, ‘Why not, and I’ll have a chin and tonic.’ The waiter smiled and walked away.
‘Are you married, Val?’ asked Igon. Vernon took at least five seconds to remember that he was Val, and said ‘No.’
‘How come a beautiful girl like you isn’t married?’
‘Because I haven’t been asked,’ Vernon said curtly. Igon thought he’d better change the subject.
‘What are you doing in Katchem, Val?’
‘I’m looking for someone.’
‘Maybe I know the person you’re looking for, after all I’ve lived here all my life.’
‘He’s very ugly.’
Igon picked up his coffee cup and was just putting it to his lips when he asked, ‘What’s his name?’
‘Igon,’ Vernon hissed. Igon’s coffee not only went over Vernon but several other people.
‘Igon?’
‘Yes, why, do you know him? Can you tell me where he is? Where can I get in touch with him?’
‘Igon?’ Igon asked again.
‘Yes, Igon.’ Vernon was beginning to shout.
‘Please keep your voice down, Madame,’ Igon said quickly, his own voice shaking with nerves. ‘Let me get a napkin and wipe the coffee off your dress …’
‘Forget the dress. I’m looking for Igon and you seem to know him. Now I want you to tell me where he is.’ Vernon had Igon’s hand in his but there was no affection in the grasp, just pure pain.
‘You’re hurting my hand, Valerie,’ Igon whispered. Vernon looked down at their clasped hands and saw that the hand in his was beginning to turn blue. He let it go and watched as it twitched and pumped its way back to life.
Vernon tried to keep calm. ‘I’m sorry, I,’ he said with great difficulty. Igon tried to smile. There was no doubt that he had been shaken when he heard his name. He wondered what this beautiful woman would want with Igon, the old Igon. He took a gamble. He leaned over the table and, in a very low voice, he asked:
‘Are you my Mumsy, the Mumsy that left many years ago?’ There were tears in Igon’s eyes. Vernon was now out of his depth and there was only one thing to do. Attack, hard and fast. He had found over the years that the best thing to do was hit out and run. He hit Igon and ran.
Igon sat on the floor with a busted lip swelling more every half second and through the water in his eyes he thought he saw the lovely Valerie in her pretty red dress run up the High Street, and in his befuddled mind he saw her take off from the ground and soar into the dark sky. He felt his sore lip with a tentative finger, wondering if she could have been Mumsy. She certainly hit hard enough to be his beloved Mumsy. If not, who was she? What did she say her name was? Valerie, Valerie Vernon … Vernon … He looked up at the sky through the coffee house window. Across the moon he saw a tiny figure flying towards Bloodstock Castle and he suddenly thought, Vernon! That attractive girl was Vernon. Thank heavens Vernon hadn’t known that he’d been talking to Igon. It gave Igon a slight advantage because Vernon obviously didn’t know that Igon had been changed.
Igon left the coffee house after paying his bill, thinking all the time, ‘I’ve got to get Vernon before he gets me.’
* * *
Vernon was inside the castle and, more than that, he was inside his old lab. A look of nostalgia came across his hard Vampirian face. So did a rather large spider, who was obviously annoyed at being disturbed after three years of living in perfect surroundings. Vernon gently lifted the large spider off his face and, with great care and almost affection, he gingerly put it on the floor and stood on it. As he did so, every spider’s web in the lab seemed to go taut. It was as if all the spiders knew that the Master was back in their midst.
Bats flew around his head and squeaked their welcome. Rats gathered at his feet as if in homage. As he walked, the crowd separated, leaving him a path to walk along.
A sleeping eagle, almost as big as Vernon, opened one eye and looked at him as he strolled around what the eagle had thought was his domain. The eagle thought he was the master here. It was the perfect place, with food a-plenty; rats, small birds, bats and a thousand different insects to eat when he felt like it. No other ‘thing’ was going to take over while he was here.
The eagle shook himself awake, letting all his feathers settle into their allotted positions. He watched as Vernon picked up old phials and bottles. The big bird then strutted and stretched on its perch in the darkness of the lab. It slowly lifted its wings into a twelve foot span. It rose majestically into the air. Then, as if on a laser beam, flew at such tremendous speed and power that small rocks fell from the roof of the underground lab.
Undeterred, Vernon looked at the giant bird flying straight at him. He spread his legs to give himself more balance. When the eagle was six feet away from him, he quickly raised his arm and pointed straight at the determined bird. The concentration in Vernon’s eyes was something to behold.
The bird put its claws forward as if to tear the head from Vernon’s shoulders. The claws were as big as those of a lion. Suddenly, with no more than four feet to go, every feather on the massive eagle fell off. The naked bird fell like a stone to the ground. It was killed instantly. The dead, naked bird was no further than a foot away from Vernon. Another foot behind the dead eagle was a huge pile of eagle’s feathers.
Bats and rats, birds and anything that was alive in that lab, all thought the same thing: the Master is back.
* * *
Wilf walked into the hotel room. He was now the manager of the Gotcha National Soccer Team and soon they would be playing the Gerts in their annual home international. Wilf the Werewolf was still a great attraction in Gotcha, not only because he was the National Team Manager, but because every full moon he really did turn into a Werewolf with a wolf’s face and hair all over his body. At the moment Wilf was quite normal and would be for the next few days, as the full moon was still two nights off.
He threw his leather jerkin casually on the bed.
It came back to him through the air, just as casually, followed by a warm and friendly laugh. Wilf caught the jerkin and looked hard at the bed. He saw a human shape but not the human who was making it.
‘Is that you?’ he asked.
‘Who else?’ was the reply.
Wilf smiled and held out his hand to be shaken. He felt his arm being firmly shaken up and down.
‘How are you?’ Wilf asked.
‘Fine, how about you?’
‘I’m fine too,’ Wilf said. ‘Sit down.’
‘I have.’
‘Oh,’ said Wilf. ‘This is going to be difficult.’
‘Not really. I’ll stay here. I’m on the edge of the bed.’
‘Good.’ Wilf moved and sat in the chair next to the edge of the bed.
‘Right, Wilf. Why have you sent for me? All those first class fares and twenty rems for expenses. That’s a lot of money, Wilf, just for a friendly chat … who do you want put out of action?’
‘Well, it’s not really like that, C.M. Although it’s close. You know that I’m the manager of the Gotcha Soccer Team? Well, we play Gertcha in a home international in a couple of week’s time, so I was wondering, er, if you would like to see the game …?’
Mr C. waited for Wilf to continue, but Wilf had stopped.
‘See the game?’ asked the perplexed man. ‘Sure, I’d like to see the game. I’m as keen on football as you are. Would I be sitting with you on the bench?’
‘Well, er, not exactly.’
‘Well, where would I see the game from?’
‘From the pitch itself,’ Wilf answered in a quiet voice.
‘I’m not with you.’
‘That’s right. You’ll be with the team, my team, out there, on the field. And what I’d like you to do is, er, just to make it a bit more difficult for the Gerts to get the ball. You know, a little trip here, and a little trip there. That is, when none of my men is anywhere near the fella you’ll be tripping. Because we don’t want the referee giving fouls against us. Fouls that you’ll be committing …’
‘Isn’t that cheating?’
‘I would think so, yes.’
There was a pause before Mr C. spoke again.
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘Twenty-five krooms. In cash.’
‘Thirty?’
‘Shake.’ Wilf’s hand was pumped up and down again.
‘I’m surprised at you, Wilf. I’ve never put you down as a cheat.’
Wilf thought that it was time he changed the subject and did so by asking, ‘How’s your mum?’
‘Oh she’s fine, how’s yours?’
‘She’s fine as well. She still gets a little upset when I change into a Werewolf, but she’s become quite used to it now. Although I’m starting to get a few problems.’
‘What kind of problems?’ asked Mr C. from another part of the room.
‘Well, last November when it was full moon, I didn’t turn into a Werewolf. I, er, changed into a turkey.’ Wilf looked a little embarrassed.
‘A turkey?’ The question came from yet another part of the room.
‘Yes,’ Wilf said, looking towards the wardrobe. ‘You see, on the night of the full moon I start to see the wolf hair growing on my hands.’ He showed the wardrobe the back of his hands. ‘It’s very soft hair. Lots of people think wolves’ hair would be thick and rough but it’s quite soft really. When I see the hair on the back of my hands I know that I’m turning. So I tell Mum that I’m wolfing again and she says, “Off you go, love,” and I go into the forest. Only last November, I didn’t see any hairs, just feathers, small ones at first and then bigger ones. Well, within an hour, I was a full-sized turkey. A very big turkey. One of the biggest I’ve ever seen. Have you seen a seven foot turkey?’ Wilf asked.
Before Mr C. could answer, Wilf carried on, ‘Naturally I didn’t tell Mum, I just shouted through the door that I was wolfing again, ’cos I didn’t want to upset her.’
‘Of course not,’ the voice came from under the bed.
‘Anyway, I went out and the next day I was captured by three farmers and they put me in a pen. I could tell by their conversation that they intended to fatten me up for Christmas and either sell me or eat me themselves. Well, I was a bit lucky that night because I just turned back into a Werewolf and they recognized me as Wilf and they let me go. But I’m sure they thought I’d eaten the turkey.’
‘It all sounds very strange,’ the voice said from behind the curtain.
‘I think it’s being caused by stress.’
‘You think so?’ the voice spoke from inside the wardrobe.
‘Yes, the stress of being a football manager. Last month, I turned into an enormous rabbit and it was Easter so I had to stay hidden till I changed back into a Werewolf again. There’s no fun in it anymore.’ Wilf stopped speaking and looked very sad and depressed.
They both remained silent for a few moments, then Wilf said, ‘How long is it now since your mum’s seen you?’
‘Almost twelve years. Although I’ve seen her, she hasn’t seen me. My dad tells everybody I’ve left home. All our friends think my mum’s potty. They think she’s started talking to herself. But she’s really talking to me. I’ve been like this now for nearly thirteen years.’
‘Has it been that long?’ Wilf asked.
‘Yes, thirteen years. Mind you, I’ve had a lot of fun being invisible but it’s got lots of drawbacks, like girls. It’s a bit awkward trying to date a girl, telling her you’ll meet her at six o’clock under the lamp and she’s there, but she’s not sure you are.’
‘That’s true. It’s the same for me. I mean to say, if I’ve made a date with a girl and it’s a misty night and I’ve changed into a Werewolf, well, she sees me walking towards her and she thinks I’ve bought her a fur coat.’
They fell silent again, each with his own thoughts, each feeling sorry for one another, but mostly for himself. Wilf was the first to break the silence.
‘How did you become invisible?’ he asked the empty chair.
‘It was an accident,’ the voice answered from the top of the wardrobe. ‘I was thirteen and I picked up a bottle with no label on it. Like a fool, I opened it and, even more foolishly, I drank from it. It was a bottle of invisible ink and I haven’t been seen since. I’ll tell you something, Wilf, I’d never do a silly thing like that again.’
There was a great deal of sadness in Mr C Menott’s voice, even though it was coming from the chimney.
* * *
Police Inspector Speekup was sitting in his office, having no idea how to combat Vernon. Vernon, on the other hand, had made a small explosive device and placed it outside the window of the Inspector’s office. At 2.15 a.m. the device went off with a tremendous bang. The Inspector looked up and said, ‘Come in.’
* * *
Igon sat with the President and his wife, all three of them looking at The Nightly Express with the latest news.
* * *
Victor and Valeeta sat in their cottage. Valeeta was wondering how she could get in touch with her little boy, Vernon, while Victor wondered how their little boy, Vernon, would get in touch with them.
* * *
Wilf the Werewolf and Mr C Menott talked of old times and old games.
* * *
Vernon had stayed awake for as long as he dared into the morning, clearing the lab and getting it ready for the work he had to do. The sun was almost up when he wearily climbed into his old unmade coffin.
He snuggled down to sleep the sleep of the undead and, for the first time since he was a little boy, put his thumb in his mouth. He also said his prayers to the Great Drac, drifting into the Draculars he used to say as a little boy.
‘In my coffin as I dream,
Make Count Dracula hear my scream.
Drac protect me all the time,
And keep me safe till evening chimes.
Drac bless Mummy and Daddy,
Granny Vicious and great Uncle Vigour.
Also Drac bless my pet rats,
Volcano, Vile and Vermin.’