Danny and Mary Simmons always passed the old building on their way home from school. A dark Victorian structure with some of its windows boarded up and much of its paintwork peeling, the Institute, as it was referred to locally, was four storeys tall and had stone columns that were chipped and covered in graffiti. Nevertheless, the building was still in use, and most evenings they saw people coming and going, walking hurriedly up and down the battered stone steps that led to the front door.
Danny and Mary were often curious about the Institute, but the brass plaque that might have given them more information was at the top of the long flight of steps and they had never had the courage to climb up and see for themselves.
No one at school knew anything about the Institute except for Mrs Stevens, the school secretary, who said the place was dedicated to ‘scientific research’. She spoke dismissively: to her the local landmark was clearly boring, because she, like many of the pupils, passed it every day.
But Danny and Mary had only recently arrived at St Saviour’s Middle School, which was in an area of London that had lost much of its industry. The unemployment rate was high and many shops and factories had closed down and were boarded up. The Institute, however, was obviously still going.
Danny and Mary sometimes lingered by the building, watching the steady stream of visitors each afternoon. All of them seemed preoccupied and none of them ever smiled. Then, in November, with the twilight stealing over the streets by four in the afternoon, Danny told Mary what he was going to do.
‘I‘ll wait until there’s no one about and run up the steps and read the sign.’
‘You’re not going anywhere without me,’ Mary told him firmly.
They hung around in the darkening street until the steps of the Institute had been empty for some time. Then they ran up, determinedly gazing straight ahead, their eyes fixed on the brass plaque, knowing that they had no excuse for what they were doing and hoping against hope they wouldn’t be stopped. As the dark doorway loomed up in front of them, Mary was the first to arrive and to stand panting by the plaque, whose polish had been dulled by the town’s polluted air.
‘Can you read it?’ gasped Danny.
‘Only just.’ She read the three words again and again, not making any sense of them at all. ‘The Lycanthropy Society. Now what does that mean?’
‘I dunno.’ Danny looked at the black door and his mind went off at a tangent; it didn’t have a letterbox. Didn’t the Society have any mail?
Mary tried the handle of the door, which swung silently open, revealing a dark interior. She could distinctly hear the ticking of a clock.
When their eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the hallway, all they could see was a bare and neglected space with a large carriage clock on a small, dusty table against the panelled wall. A staircase soared upwards but there were no pictures, no ornaments, no evidence of the Society’s work.
‘Maybe it all happens on the next floor,’ said Mary.
‘Let’s go and see.’ Danny’s curiosity was now so overwhelming that he had forgotten to be afraid.
‘We can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’
‘If we meet anyone – they’ll have us for trespassing.’ Mary was wavering, however, for her own curiosity had been aroused.
‘We could say we saw – we saw a dog run in here.’ Danny’s powers of invention were never very great. ‘And we thought it had been in an accident – hit by a car or something,’ he added, warming to the theme.
‘It’s a feeble excuse,’ Mary replied. ‘But I’ve heard worse.’
Once inside, the hall smelt of old polish and disinfectant. The clock’s ticking sounded even louder; not only did it seem to fill the space but it also began to beat relentlessly inside their heads. Regretting that they had ever set foot in this forbidding hallway, Danny and Mary cautiously began to climb the stairs until they came to the first-floor landing. A huge lounge with a few bits of worn-out furniture opened off it, but all the other rooms were empty.
‘Let’s go back,’ said Danny, rapidly losing his nerve.
‘Why do all those people come in and out?’ demanded Mary. ‘We’ve got to find the reason. That’s what we came for,’ she insisted irritably. Danny was usually much braver than this. What was getting to him?
‘That clock’s louder,’ he said miserably. ‘It’s as if our time’s running out.’
They climbed a narrower flight of stairs and arrived on a landing that was in much better condition. This floor had been divided into a series of small rooms, each with a polished nameplate on the door. There must have been about twenty of them. Mr Rumbold. Mr Cranshaw. Ms Matthewson. Ms Peck. Ms Milnes-Smith. Mr Jackson. Ms Canter. And so on.
‘Do you think this is a hotel?’ asked Danny.
‘It’s not posh enough for that,’ said Mary.
It certainly wasn’t, thought Danny, the clock still pounding in his ears. Then it chimed six. The chimes were deafening. ‘Maybe it’s an undertaker’s,’ he said. ‘With coffins behind those closed doors.’
‘Do you think anyone would come to a dump like this? They wouldn’t get any customers,’ Mary whispered scornfully. ‘Anyway, we’ve never seen a coffin or a hearse.’
Danny had to agree. But what else could this place be used for? If only he knew what lycanthropy meant. Could it have a link with the Welfare? ‘I suppose it couldn’t be a hostel for the homeless?’ he suggested. ‘Could lycanthropy mean some kind of charity work?’ he added hopefully.
‘But all the people we’ve seen going in and out have been well dressed,’ replied Mary, as they both stared at the closed doors indecisively. Then Danny’s courage returned.
‘I’m going to try a handle,’ he said.
‘Suppose there’s someone inside,’ Mary began, but it was too late. Danny had already gone into action.
The door of number twelve swung open and they both breathed a sigh of relief as they saw there was no one inside. The tiny room – little more than a cubicle – contained a bed, a mirror and a clothes-hanger. There was nothing else.
‘So we’re none the wiser,’ said Mary in disappointment.
Then she saw something on the pillow and went inside, followed by her brother.
‘Phew,’ said Danny. ‘What a stink!’
‘It’s like – an animal’s been in here,’ she replied. ‘Something musky.’
Mary picked up the lock of hair from the pillow. It was black and thick and rough and had the same smell as the room.
‘It’s very coarse,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘Not like human hair at all.’
‘Let’s go up to the top floor.’ Danny was bolder now. ‘Now we’re here, we should check out the whole building.’
But upstairs there were only empty rooms covered in dust, the ceilings stained with damp. Clearly they hadn’t been used in years.
‘There’s nothing up here,’ said Mary. ‘Nothing at all.’
Danny grabbed her arm as many footsteps began to pound up the stairs to the floor below. Soon they could hear the gentle murmur of voices.
Why don’t they go into their cubicles, wondered Danny. Minutes later, he heard the clinking of glasses and realized to his dismay that he and his sister could be upstairs for some time.
Danny and Mary were forced to keep out of sight, growing colder and stiffer every minute, until the glasses stopped clinking and the doors of the cubicles began to open and shut. They waited until there had been absolute silence for a long time and then began to tip-toe down the stairs, knowing their parents must already be terrified by their absence and could well have called the police. But although they both realized they’d been thoroughly irresponsible, the atmosphere was so sinister that the thought of a police search was comforting.
Suppose the front door’s locked, worried Mary. Suppose we have to stay here all night. Danny was thinking much the same thing.
There was no one on the landing below and all the doors of the cubicles were closed. Then Danny noticed a card lying on the floor and picked it up, reading the words in the wan moonlight that filtered through the dirty windows. The card simply read: THE LYCANTHROPY SOCIETY. IT’S GOOD TO HAVE SOMETHING IN COMMON.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Danny.
‘Shh. They’ll hear you.’
He lowered his voice and whispered to his sister, ‘I’ve got to find out what’s going on.’
‘No,’ she hissed. ‘We must go home. Think what a state –’
‘It’ll only take a few seconds. If I don’t find out now – I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering.’
Mary knew he was right. So would she.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Open one of these doors.’
‘You can’t do that.’
‘No? Watch me.’ Before Danny had a chance to change his mind, he went up to one of the doors and gently, very gently, began to open it, chink by chink.
Mary had joined him now, and she suppressed a gasp as she saw the woman lying on her back on the bed. A handbag and a shopping basket were on the floor beside her.
‘Well?’ whispered Mary. ‘Are you any the wiser?’
‘No.’ Danny reluctantly closed the door. It was a pity that he bumped into his sister as he turned round and an even greater pity that she lost her balance and fell sprawling on to the floor. The noise seemed even louder than the relentless ticking of the clock downstairs.
Mary leapt quickly to her feet and they both froze; something – someone – was moving in one of the adjoining cubicles. A door flew open and a man in a pinstriped suit came out.
Before he could challenge them, Danny and Mary ran for the stairs and hurtled down them towards the front door. As they rattled at it in vain, footsteps began to rap out sharply on the stairs.
‘It’s locked,’ Mary yelled.
The clock began to strike the hour, and the noise once again pounded their ears as if it were a count-down to their eventual capture by the inhabitants of the cubicle-like rooms. Mary shuddered, her imagination running riot.
Danny was rattling and pulling now but the door remained obstinately shut. ‘It is locked,’ he shouted, his voice shrill with panic.
‘Wait a minute!’ Mary was struggling to keep calm. ‘Let me try again.’
At last the front door opened, just as a voice shouted, ‘Stop! Stop now!’
But Danny and Mary were on their way out.
The booking hall of the Underground was empty – and there was no one at the barrier.
‘We haven’t got a ticket,’ Mary gasped.
‘Too bad,’ panted Danny. ‘We’ll get them at the other end.’
‘Are the trains still running?’ she demanded.
‘Should be. It’s not that late.’ But the emptiness of their surroundings was ominous. Then Danny vaguely remembered something he had heard on the television. A strike? A go-slow? He was just about to tell his sister when he saw a group of people standing by the entrance. The woman with the shopping bag, the tall man in the pinstripe suit, an older man leaning on a stick, a couple of young women in tracksuits, a girl in her late teens, and several others crowding behind them. Their eyes were menacing, full of anger and loathing, as they gazed at Danny and Mary with an intensity that terrified them.
For a moment both groups just stood there, staring at each other, the tepid neon lights flickering sporadically. Then, as one body, the members of the Society of Lycanthropy slowly advanced.
Mary and Danny ran down the silent, unmoving escalator.
‘I think there’s a strike on,’ yelled Danny. ‘There won’t be any trains. What are we going to do?’
‘Now you tell me!’
‘We couldn’t have got past them. We’ll have to hide somewhere down here.’
They ran on until they reached the bottom, where all they could hear was the humming of electricity. Gazing fearfully up at the escalator, they saw the members of the Society purposefully walking down towards them. Then one of the tracksuited young women began to run, lightly, easily, the anger shining in her eyes.
*
Danny and Mary ran down a long concrete passage to the platforms below, praying for the sound of a train but knowing they were going to be unlucky. Where could they hide, they both wondered? Danny tried a door that said STAFF ONLY, but it was locked; Mary rattled at another with no success. Now they were on a platform, panting, trapped, the panic surging inside them.
‘We can’t go up the tunnel,’ gasped Mary. ‘The electricity might still be on.’
‘Let’s move down the other end. Keep as far away from them as we can.’ But he knew their pursuers were close behind.
They ran on, then paused at the bottom of the next flight of steps.
‘I can hear something,’ said Danny. ‘Listen.’
There was a distant vibration and a blast of hot wind.
‘Could it be a train?’ whispered Mary.
‘Maybe.’
The vibration slowly began to increase until there was a distant hum on the rails.
‘It is a train,’ said Danny with relief.
They stared down the platform. No one was there. Where were the members? Could they just have wanted to give them a fright and then gone away?
The hum turned into a roar, and as the tube train emerged from the tunnel at tremendous speed their sense of relief was overwhelming.
The carriages flashed past, the lights on inside, the empty seats safely inviting – but within seconds the tube train had gone, leaving a trail of sparks on the line.
Danny and Mary stood on the empty platform in the gathering silence, which was beginning to cling like a suffocating blanket around them.
‘Shall we double back?’ Mary said.
Danny shook his head. ‘They’ll be there. Waiting.’
‘There must be another train,’ said Mary desperately. ‘They wouldn’t have kept the station open if there wasn’t.’
‘Maybe someone’s forgotten to lock up,’ said Danny. ‘Or it’s been left open for the cleaners. Or something.’
‘I can’t see anyone.’
There wasn’t a sound anywhere either.
‘OK,’ said Mary at last. ‘We won’t double back. Let’s try up this way.’
They hurried up the steps, along the concrete passageways, the normality of the posters for films and theatres and galleries and fast food outlets and products of all kinds radiating security. How could the members of the Lycanthropy Society be threatening them when there were posters advertising Horlicks and fish fingers? The mundane normality soothed them, made Danny and Mary more and more certain that everything was going to be – must be – all right. They reverted to worrying about their parents and condemning themselves for upsetting them.
A sign read EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY, and they climbed an iron staircase, hurrying now and beginning to run, the cold sweat clammy on their skin and a sinking feeling in the pit of their stomachs. There were no comforting advertisements here, only damp green tiles that had blackened in places. There was a shut-in smell, and a little draughty wind blew down on them.
Danny was the first to see the fur-covered hand, but almost immediately Mary caught a glimpse of the coarse dark hair that now covered the face of the woman with the shopping bag. The members of the Society were waiting for them on the steps.
‘But what happened?’ asked Terry feverishly. ‘Did they escape?’
‘They got home eventually,’ replied Alice. ‘But they were never the same again.’
‘What does lycanthropy mean?’ Terry knew now but he still wanted it spelt out.
‘The power to change oneself into a wolf,’ replied Colin quietly.
There was a long silence, as the storytellers stared into the crackling flames.
‘I think I might turn in soon,’ said Alice.
‘Yes,’ agreed Terry. ‘I might do that too.’
‘Wait a minute,’ interrupted Andros. ‘I’ve got a story to tell. Please listen to it.’
Out of respect for the refugee who had recently joined the club, the others listened.