MUSIC:	FANGORIA THEME
ANNOUNCER:	You can run but you can’t hide. It’s far too late for that. Welcome to the dark side, where the night never ends – as Fangoria presents…Dreadtime Stories. With your host, Malcolm McDowell. Tonight’s Dreadtime Story: “Wolf” by Max Allan Collins.
SOUND:	The woods. Whisper of wind in trees. An owl whooo’s. Insects sing. Then, distant at first, building – a young woman running! Breathing hard. Terrified.
AMY:	No…no…no…can’t be…can’t be…
SOUNDS:	More running. Amy still breathing hard. Then the savage sounds of a beast tearing through the woods, snapping branches, feet hard and heavy on the ground. Amy is being pursued by a massive creature.
AMY:	Impossible…impossible….
SOUND:	She runs but the beast’s movement is so thundering and inexorable that her running becomes lost in it.
AMY:	(screaming) Noooo! You don’t exist!
SOUND:	Amy screams in terror. And the werewolf howls, blood-chilling. Amy’s screams choke off in an awful gurgle. And we hear the terrible sounds of the beast’s huge sharp teeth rending flesh, ripping. Feasting. Smacking its lips. Limbs of the victim torn away. Then the beast stalks off, dragging something behind it. The night returns to its peaceful woodsy sounds – insects, birds, then a distant howl.
NARRATOR:	He has stalked them for decades, across every continent on the planet, across every racial and ethnic and theological line. He does not care who they are as long as they are women and speak to the animal instincts within him. They are his meat. He prefers them young, of course – supple and sweet. But he has, on occasion, settled. His name is Jack Wolff, and whether that is a simple irony, harking back to a time when men wolf-whistled at women, or a designation that defined him in childhood…who can say? Jack only knows that when the moon is high, he prowls for female flesh…and has done so since an older woman bit him on the neck in the park that long-ago night when he was but thirteen…and since that night…he’s been biting back.
ANNOUNCER:	Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories will continue in a moment.
ANNOUNCER:	Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories, and “Wolf.”
NARRATOR:	Tall, dark, with a full head of widow’s-peaked black hair, Jack Wolff has the cheekbones and finely carved features of a fashion model only rugged, a Marlboro man made “pretty” by long-lashed green eyes that have an almost Asian cast. He’s taken care of himself, Jack has, over the years – no drugs, no drinking, a full regimen of exercise, vitamins, natural foods. And of course plastic surgery, but the nips and tucks have been infrequent – his eyes done twice, and one little lift. His vices are few – women…and red meat. Right now it’s summer, and he’s staying at the old-fashioned Wistful Wagon Lodge. A young waiter there has sought Jack out for a mentor. A father figure.
SOUND:	Hotel swimming pool, outdoors. Splashing. An occasional dive. Kids’ laughter and running and even screaming. This can play under much of this scene.
LONNIE:	(off-mic) Mr. Wolff! Can I join you?
WOLFF:	Certainly, Lonnie. But don’t you have work to do? It’ll be lunch soon.
LONNIE:	I don’t go on till this afternoon. Four.
SOUND:	Scrape on cement of deck chair.
LONNIE:	Kinda surprised to see you sitting at an umbrella table.
WOLFF:	Why is that, Lonnie?
LONNIE:	Well, I mean…you got a regular George Hamilton tan. Why keep out of the sun?
WOLFF:	This isn’t a tan. I’m naturally dark. If you want to get along with the ladies, Lon, you don’t want to get too much sun. Your skin will dry. All the sun screen in the world won’t help. Be old before your time.
LONNIE:	You mind if I ask…it’s kinda personal…
WOLFF:	I’m forty-nine.
LONNIE:	What? Man, I’d make you ten, fifteen years younger. How is that possible?
WOLFF:	(dryly humorous) Well, it’s not clean living. Plenty of protein in the diet, son. You can’t beat protein.
LONNIE:	How old do I look?
WOLFF:	I’d say you’re sixteen.
LONNIE:	Damn! I’m seventeen. I hate looking young. Girls around here…they don’t seem to go for guys under twenty-one. Even the young ones.
WOLFF:	Well, your burden is my benefit. But really, son…age is no factor. If you’re out of puberty…you are out of puberty…?
LONNIE:	(defensive) I don’t have any pimples or anything.
WOLFF:	I was younger than you when I started. And at a resort like this…the pickings are so very easy….
LONNIE:	Not to me they aren’t!
WOLFF:	I used to come here as a boy. This place, its heyday was the forties, you know.
LONNIE:	Yeah, it’s a mausoleum, all right.
WOLFF:	No, it has great charm. You mustn’t downplay tradition. I came here with my parents, many times…..
NARRATOR:	In fact, Jack found his first victims here at the Wistful Wagon Lodge, and while he rarely feeds at the same trough twice, that was so many years ago, no one is likely to remember much less recognize him now. He’s been here just over a week, and has scored once already. Normally, he would move on, but there’s been no trouble, after. So he’s staying on, for now. Just long enough for one more female repast….
LONNIE:	Hey, they still haven’t found the maniac that ripped up that girl. She was stayin’ here, you know.
WOLFF:	So was I. It wasn’t far from my cabin.
LONNIE:	That’s right. I knew that girl. Well, I spoke to her a couple times. College girl. Eighteen. Real pretty. Waited on her and some friends of hers.
WOLFF:	I remember them. They were pretty girls, too…but they got spooked and checked out.
LONNIE:	You don’t miss much, do you, Mr. Wolff? When they’re good-looking.
WOLFF:	You’re looking for a mentor, Lonnie? Someone who can guide you in the ways of love?
LONNIE:	Love, or lust. Whatever ya got, Mr. Wolff.
WOLFF:	Well, I like you, Lonnie. You remind me of myself when I was your age, or perhaps a little younger.
LONNIE:	So will you tell me, Mr. Wolff? What to say, what to do? Other guys my age, gettin’ laid left and right, and me, I’m gettin’ nowhere. What’s your secret?
WOLFF:	…Lon, I like you. I do like you. And you’re a nice looking boy, and I’m sure you’d do very well on the prowl. But some things a man has to learn himself. Trial and error? And, anyway…if I shared my “secret”…it wouldn’t be one, would it?
NARRATOR:	Part of Jack’s “secret” is the kindness of fate. His parents were wealthy, his late father a criminal attorney whose yearly retainer from a Midwestern crime family had meant a comfortable life for the Wolffs. Jack was an only child, adopted, and had enjoyed an idyllic, Norman Rockwell- esque childhood in the small town where’d he been raised. But when his parents died in that plane crash, he became wealthy…and never returned to that little town…not with a big, wide world waiting out there, filled with females who could satisfy his appetites.
SOUND:	Busy dining room at the lodge – clink of glasses and silverware, murmur of table conversations. Plays under this scene.
HOSTESS:	Mr. Wolff. Nice to see you again. We’ve reserved your regular booth. Would you like the lunch buffet?
WOLFF:	No – would you just have my waitress bring me the tomato and beef soup, a little bread, and some iced tea?
HOSTESS:	Certainly.
NARRATOR:	Jack is fond of this particular booth, giving him as it does a view of the entire dining room, which is rustically appointed, as is the entire lodge, with its several restaurants and gift shops, and cobblestone paths extending from the main lodge to the private cabins. The grounds themselves are thick with trees and hedges – Jack can stalk his prey with impunity here.
ANNA’S DAD:	(off-mic) Can’t you behave yourself? Can’t you act like a little lady? We’ve done everything we could to raise you right.
ANNA:	(off-mic; embarrassed) Daddy, keep your voice down, please.
ANNA’S MOM:	(off-mic) After that terrible killing, we really should be checking out. It’s just not safe in this place, Anna!
ANNA:	Must you keep treating me like a child?
NARRATOR:	She isn’t a child, young Anna – not exactly. Jack has been watching her for four days now, looking for the right moment to make his move. The waitress brings his soup, but the girl he’s so surreptitiously watching is the meal he’s really after….
LONNIE:	Mr. Wolff, you mind if I join you for lunch?
WOLFF:	(vaguely irritated) Certainly, Lon. Is it, uh, permissible to fraternize with the guests?
SOUND:	Lonnie sits in booth.
LONNIE:	Actually, it’s encouraged. How I wish I could fraternize with that little piece of tail!
WOLFF:	(tightly impatient; whispered) Lonnie, if you do want a lesson, here’s one – don’t stare. And don’t be so damned crude.
NARRATOR:	Anna is blonde – white blonde, with white wispy hair on her arms that says her hair color is probably natural – what a wonderful rarity! A platinum blonde all over. Eyes, big and china blue; nose turned up, almost pug; lips pouty, with a hint of an overbite; wholesome apple cheeks and a healthy glow. Slender graceful fingers, nails painted pink. No rock group t-shirt or grungy shorts for Amy – a feminine floral halter top caressing pert young breasts, and denim jeans with lace trim hugging pale, smooth, white-down-kissed thighs….Who could blame Lonnie for staring?
LONNIE:	That poor kid. Those awful parents of hers. They been ragging her all week! They’re so old! I think they’re even older than you, Mr. Wolff.
WOLFF:	How tactful of you, Lonnie.
LONNIE:	Oh, I didn’t mean it that way…it’s just…she’s so beautiful and they’re so…horrible.
WOLFF:	That is often the way of the world. That mother of hers? A little heavy, but she was a beauty once, I’ll wager. She still fills those denim shorts out admirably – still has nice legs. I can see the daughter’s face in the mother’s.
LONNIE:	Yuck. You find Mom attractive?
WOLFF:	Here’s another free lesson, son – any port in a storm. That’s a handsome woman – I bet she was a showgirl.
LONNIE:	Well, Daddy wasn’t a movie star, not unless he was in horror movies.
WOLFF:	Lonnie, you must learn to read people better. Check out father – that’s the haggard look of self-made success. You look at his summer apparel – bright colors, awful designs, man-made fabrics – and see a foolish old man. I see a successful businessman who is probably meeting other captains of industry on the golf course this afternoon – all of them hideously attired…and enormously wealthy.
LONNIE:	Okay, that’s impressive, but…we don’t know for sure it’s true.
WOLFF:	Really. One moment….(louder) Ah, Helen!
HOSTESS:	(off-mic at first) Yes, Mr. Wolff? (normal now) Is there something I can do for you?
WOLFF:	(almost whispering) This family over here – the older parents, the young daughter? The father looks familiar to me. I’m almost certain I know him from business, and I’d hate to snub him.
HOSTESS:	(also quiet) That’s Robert Mullins. He owns shopping outlets all over the Midwest. Frankly, he and his family could vacation in Europe, if they chose. We feel lucky to have them.
WOLFF:	Thank you, my dear.
HOSTESS:	(off-mic) No problem.
LONNIE:	Wow, the guy who catches little Anna is doing all right for himself. She’s a fox. And all that money besides.
WOLFF:	Money isn’t everything, Lonnie.
ANNA’S DAD:	(off-mic) You’ll stay in your room tonight, and there’ll be no more discussion!
ANNA:	(off-mic but loud) You…are…terrible!
NARRATOR:	Anna is flushed, and the sight of the blood coming to her cheeks makes Jack tingle.
SOUND:	Anna pushing away from table, dishes clatter, stomping away.
ANNA’S DAD:	(off-mic) Come back here, young lady!
ANNA’S MOM:	(off-mic; softer) Bob…let her go. Please. Let her be by herself.
WOLFF:	Lon, if you’d like some lunch, just charge it to my room. But do not follow me.
LONNIE:	You’re going after that girl?
WOLFF:	No more lessons. Settle for lunch.
LONNIE:	But Mr. Wolff – she’s so young – there’s laws you know….
WOLFF:	All right – one more lesson. One that goes way back….Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed….
MUSIC:	Fangoria theme comes up.
ANNOUNCER:	We’ll return to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories – after these few words.
ANNOUNCER:	Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories and “Wolf.”
NARRATOR:	Anna’s plight strikes Jack Wolff as ridiculously typical – a sweet young thing being treated by her parents as if she were a juvenile delinquent. If she is truly a disobedient child – or better yet, if she isn’t but her parents are treating her like one – that makes her so very ripe for the… plucking.
SOUND:	Hotel lobby. Desk noise. Movement.
NARRATOR:	Jack Wolff positions himself in the lodge’s lobby, waiting…and soon young Anna emerges from the ladies’ room. She’s been crying.
WOLFF:	I’m sorry, miss, but…are you all right?
ANNA:	(holding back emotion) No….no, not really. Excuse me….
WOLFF:	Has someone been bothering you?
NARRATOR:	The young ones always like a defender. Jack has played that role so many times. She smells so good…not perfume. Soap. Yum.
ANNA:	No one’s bothering me. Just…my dad.
WOLFF:	Your dad? Aren’t you a little old to have to worry about that?
ANNA:	No. I’m…just fifteen.
WOLFF:	Really? I thought you were twenty, at least.
NARRATOR:	That makes her smile – she’s at that rare age when girls like to be mistaken for women. Such a delicate beauty. Defiling beauty like that was, for Jack, beyond pleasure.
ANNA:	No. I’m just a kid. Without any rights.
WOLFF:	Kids have rights. Kids have very special rights….I’m Jack Wolff. I’m on vacation…getting away from my law practice.
NARRATOR:	Jack knows enough about law, from being around his father, to fake it. He knows women don’t like to hear you’re unemployed, even when you are well-fixed. “Lawyer” says money to a woman. Even to a girl like this….
ANNA:	My name’s Anna Mullins…but my friends call me Annie.
WOLFF:	(warmly) Hello, Annie.
ANNA:	(eager) You wouldn’t…? No. Sorry. I shouldn’t ask.
WOLFF:	Ask away.
ANNA:	Would you ever…take on somebody my age for a client?
WOLFF:	Well, certainly. Why not?
ANNA:	Then….could we go somewhere for a moment? Somewhere we can talk without fear of my parents coming out of the dining room and making a scene?
WOLFF:	Of course.
NARRATOR:	They sit under a tree on a bench from a carved log, a hedgerow on made four sides, making a private out-of-doors chamber for them. A breeze shimmers through the leaves, the sun dapples through shade trees, forming a lovely pattern on Anna’s creamy complexion. He does not sit close. Not yet.
ANNA:	My father, Mr. Wolff, is…he’s not a nice man.
WOLFF:	How so, Anna?
ANNA:	Make it Annie. Please. I want us to be friends.
WOLFF:	So do I.
ANNA:	The trouble is, I…I think maybe I’m not so nice, either.
WOLFF:	Why’s that, Annie?
ANNA:	I…I think maybe I deserve it, when he punishes me. Daddy found out that I…I…that my boyfriend and I, we…you know. Did it.
NARRATOR:	Well, this is good news and bad news, isn’t it, Jack? You hoped she’d be a virgin, but then those are so rare – such precious blood to spill….But an ashamed, abused child is perfect for your game. Damaged goods, Jack – particularly damaged goods that know they are damaged – makes for easier prey.
WOLFF:	Is it just verbal abuse, Anna? Or does he…hit you?
ANNA:	It started out with just yelling…he threatened my boy friend, and Andy just…just ran off. Really scared the you-know-what out of him.
WOLFF:	You want to get back with Andy?
ANNA:	No. No, that’s over. He didn’t stand up to Daddy.
WOLFF:	Anna…does he hit you?
ANNA:	…No one can see us, right?
WOLFF:	No one can see us here.
NARRATOR:	So little Anna pulls down her halter top, not all the way, just enough to show Jack the bruise on her shoulder…then pulls the top back up.
WOLFF:	Bastard.
ANNA:	It wasn’t just that once, either. If I get home late, or lately when I sneak out…because that’s the only way I can get out…he’s waiting with a belt. On my…my bottom. I…I can’t show you that. Too embarrassed….
WOLFF:	Does your mother know about this?
ANNA:	(bitter, near tears) She gets all motherly with soothing cloths and the words to go with it…but she supports him. Calls it “tough love.” She’s as bad as he is.
WOLFF:	I’m afraid such enabling is all too typical. It’s even possible he’s physically abused her, as well, and on some sick level, she’s pleased his violence has turned elsewhere.
ANNA:	That’s awful.
WOLFF:	It’s very common. And very human. The situation you’re both in is too terrible for her to contemplate.
ANNA:	But I’m afraid it’s my fault, too. Andy…he’s not the only boy, Mr. Wolff. I like being with boys. Does that make me bad?
WOLFF:	(comforting) No. No, no, Annie, you’re just a normal young girl blossoming into a beautiful woman. Your father wants to keep you a child. Life doesn’t work that way.
ANNA:	I need help, Mr. Wolff.
WOLFF:	What sort of help, specifically?
ANNA:	I have to get away from them. From my parents.
WOLFF:	Being a runaway is no answer, Annie.
NARRATOR:	She is clutching him now, sobbing into his chest, her sorrow palpable – though what Jack notices most is her pert ripe breasts pushing against him.
ANNA:	I won’t run away. I’ll go with you. You can take me someplace safe, and then we’ll sue that lousy… lousy…
WOLFF:	(gently) Even after he’s hurt you, you still love your father, don’t you?
ANNA:	Yes. Yes, but I can’t go on this way. Oh, please, Mr. Wolff – you have to help me!
WOLFF:	Of course I’ll help you, Annie. There are legal remedies.
ANNA:	I don’t want to get Daddy in trouble!
WOLFF:	Fine, but we won’t let him know that. We can sue for divorce. You can be your own free person.
ANNA:	But I’m under eighteen!
WOLFF:	That’s not a factor. And your father won’t fight it, either – not when he knows very well what he’s done to you. And that he could face incarceration.
ANNA:	(getting it) He’d be ruined.
WOLFF:	Yes. This kind of physical abuse, assault and battery…it’s a prison sentence on top of disgrace.
ANNA:	But I told you – I’m not a good girl. Andy isn’t the only one – I’ve been with other boys, too. And I…like it….
NARRATOR:	Her hand is on his thigh now. Her lips glisten.
WOLFF:	Anna…Annie…you can depend on me.
ANNA:	But I’m just a kid! How could I ever repay you?
WOLFF:	We’ll…think of something.
MUSIC:	Up.
ANNOUNCER:	We’ll return to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories – after these words.
ANNOUNCER:	And now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories and “Wolf.”
SOUND:	Outdoor swimming pool noises again. Some breeze in there.
NARRATOR:	That afternoon, Jack keeps an eye on Annie. She and her family go to the swimming pool, and so does he. In his deck chair beneath an umbrella, he sits nearby and watches them, eyes behind shades as he pretends to read the new Stephen King…instead he eavesdrops.
ANNA’S MOM:	(slightly off-mic) I’m sorry if we embarrassed you, sweetheart.
ANNA:	(slightly off-mic) I’m not a child. You don’t have to treat me like one.
ANNA’S MOM:	(slightly off-mic) It’s only for your own good.
ANNA’S DAD:	(slightly off-mic) Can I get you a lemonade, hon?
ANNA:	(slightly off-mic) No thank you.
ANNA’S DAD:	(slightly off-mic) You need another towel?
ANNA:	(slightly off-mic) No thank you!
NARRATOR:	The parents keep cozying up to the pretty pouty teenager, and she stops speaking to them. This seems to hurt her father.
WOLFF:	(mutters to himself) Sick son of a bitch…brutally beating his own daughter….On the other hand, bless his nasty, wicked heart…paving the way for me. Got my own demons to satisfy….
HERRIN:	(loud but off-mic) Mr. Wolff?
WOLFF:	(a little thrown) Yes?
HERRIN:	Mr. Wolff, excuse us for bothering you on your vacation. But we could use a word.
NARRATOR:	He’s a balding, beefy-looking guy with a round, red-blotchy face, throwing his shadow over Jack. His suit is rumpled, his tie blue and egg-stained, sunglasses his only concession to the summer day. At his side is a uniformed state patrol officer.
HERRIN:	Don’t get up….
WOLFF:	Can I help you, gentlemen?
HERRIN:	Sam Herrin. Lieutenant. This is Officer Jones.
SOUND:	Wallet removed.
WOLFF:	State Crime Bureau? What would you gentleman want with me?
SOUND:	Wallet put back. Deck chair scrape.
HERRIN:	Don’t mind if I join you?
NARRATOR:	The uniformed cop doesn’t sit – he stands behind his superior, apparently not paying attention, other than to cast his smile onto the pool where teenage girls like Anna are swimming, their young limbs flashing whitely above blue-green water.
HERRIN:	(seemingly friendly, a little folksy) Beautiful day. Nice breeze. Some real pretty young girls around this funky old place. Will ya look at how high they cut those suits above the hip-bone these days! Wooo-weee.
WOLFF:	Somehow that doesn’t sound like police business.
HERRIN:	(cold) Had a murder here last week.
WOLFF:	I’m aware of that.
HERRIN:	You are, huh?
WOLFF:	Lot of talk about it around the lodge.
HERRIN:	’Spect there would be. But you shoulda heard more than just talk, Mr. Wolff.
WOLFF:	What do you mean?
HERRIN:	Well, the victim was killed – slaughtered’s more like it…just outside your cabin.
WOLFF:	My understanding is that the murder took place in the woods behind my cabin, a good distance away.
HERRIN:	Closer to your cabin than any other.
WOLFF:	Lieutenant, uh…what was it?
HERRIN:	Herrin.
WOLFF:	Lt. Herrin, this happened the first night I checked in. Why didn’t anybody talk to me about this then?
HERRIN:	According to our paperwork, they did.
WOLFF:	Somebody took my name. That’s all.
HERRIN:	Yeah, well, and after that we ran a check….You got yourself an interestin’ background, Mr. Wolff.
WOLFF:	Really?
HERRIN:	Travel quite a bit, don’t you, Mr. Wolff?
WOLFF:	I’m kind of a man of leisure, yes, Lieutenant.
HERRIN:	(chuckles) ’Man of leisure.’ Don’t hear that phrase every day, do you, Officer?
JONES:	(slightly off-mic) No, sir. But it sounds expensive.
HERRIN:	Yes it does….Mr. Wolff, how can you afford the lifestyle of a man of leisure, in this economy?
WOLFF:	The good old-fashioned American way, Lieutenant – I inherited money.
HERRIN:	(laughs) Well, you’re up front about it, anyway. As I understand, you got your fortune from your late father, that right?
WOLFF:	It wasn’t left me by a total stranger, Lieutenant.
HERRIN:	Had some interesting connections, didn’t he? Your late father.
WOLFF:	(dry) Oh. Is that what this is about?
HERRIN:	He represented some violent people. That’s right, isn’t it, Officer Jones?
JONES:	(slightly off-mic) Yes, Lieutenant. Organized crime figures among them.
WOLFF:	And that leads you to think I may have had something to do with some woman’s murder? Some woman I never even met?
HERRIN:	Did I say that?
WOLFF:	(defensive) Well, you sure as hell implied –
HERRIN:	This young woman, Amy Walters, she was torn apart…did you know that, Mr. Wolff? Her throat ripped out, blood everywhere, some of her vital organs missing.
JONES:	(on-mic now) Her body was dragged off from the kill site and the perpetrator essentially…feasted on the flesh of the victim.
WOLFF:	Really.
HERRIN:	Now, you don’t sound particularly impressed, Mr. Wolff. What would you say if I told you we found partially eaten human tissue in the bushes, not a stone’s throw from your cabin?
WOLFF:	I’d say I’m glad I locked my cabin door that night.
HERRIN:	Really? That’s all you have to say?
WOLFF:	I’d also say you’re barking up the wrong tree…if that helps.
SOUND:	Deck chair scrapes on cement, indicating Herrin getting up out of chair.
HERRIN:	Somebody’s barking somewhere, Mr. Wolff. Anyway. You just stay here and enjoy your vacation…by which I mean, stay put. We’re running a complete background check on you.
WOLFF:	Really? And what do you expect to turn up?
HERRIN:	Nothing in particular. Something, maybe. You see, the FBI’s Behavioral Unit has already told us about seven other murders this summer – round and about the vacation sites of this lovely country of ours – and all of ’em fit this same sick M.O. If…man of leisure that you are….you just happened to be in those places in the course of your wanderings…well. You get the picture.
WOLFF:	You’re looking in the wrong place, Lieutenant. Do I look like a monster to you?
HERRIN:	(a beat, then a laugh) Not really. You look like a ladies’ man who’s drunk from the plastic surgery well a few too many times.
SOUND:	Footsteps on cement.
HERRIN:	(off-mic and trailing off) But hey – that’s just my opinion….Jones, get your eyes off that jailbait! Fifteen’ll get ya twenty, ya know….
WOLFF:	(couple beats; then muttered) Bastard.
NARRATOR:	You don’t like having the cops around, do you, Jack? There’s nothing keeping you here. After tonight…one last prowl, and you’ll be ready to move on. Just stretch, and yawn, and watch sweet young Anna as she stretches and yawns. Such a lovely mouth. Such pert, perky breasts….Hell with that cop. You can howl tonight, no problem.
SOUND:	Restaurant sounds again. Lonnie sliding into Wolff’s booth.
LONNIE:	Hey, Mr. Wolff! You musta taken a lease out on this booth.
WOLFF:	(tiring of the mentor bit) Lonnie. Thought you were working tonight?
LONNIE:	I was, but it’s a little slow and turned out I was able to get the whole evening off.
WOLFF:	And yet you’re hanging around work?
LONNIE:	Sure. See that little waitress over there? The redhead? She gets off at nine.
WOLFF:	(amused) And you get off at…?
LONNIE:	(upbeat) Well, we’ll see. I’ve got new confidence now, with all the tricks of the trade you shared with me.
WOLFF:	(unenthusiastic) Glad to be of help.
LONNIE:	Wonder where that little blonde is? That’s her parents over there. They don’t seem to be enjoying themselves. Mommy seems upset with Daddy.
WOLFF:	I wonder why.
LONNIE:	What?
WOLFF:	Nothing. Maybe you better go spruce up for your big date.
LONNIE:	Oh, no, Mr. Wolff. I’m ready right now. Showered and everything. Little Tina doesn’t stand a chance tonight….Say, are you just eating soup again? With all the rare roast beef on the buffet? Not like you. What happened to protein?
WOLFF:	I don’t like to over-indulge when I’m, uh…going out.
LONNIE:	Ah! You got a victim lined up, too! You old dog.
SOUND:	Lonnie slides out.
LONNIE:	(off-mic) Happy hunting, Mr. Wolff!
ANNOUNCER:	We’ll return to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories – after this.
ANNOUNCER:	And now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories and the conclusion to “Wolf.”
NARRATOR:	So you wait and watch, Jack, as the evening wears on, and Mr. and Mrs. Mullins take part in a program of ballroom dancing.
MUSIC:	Big band music.
NARRATOR:	Mrs. Mullins has finally stopped nagging at her husband, and they are dancing now, fully occupied as Jack slips outside, feeling the eyes of so many women on him. He know he looks good enough to eat in that tux. But tonight he will be doing the eating….
SOUND:	Night sounds. Footsteps on cobblestones. Knock on door. Another. Then several more knocks, more insistent.
WOLFF:	Damn.
SOUND:	Door jiggle as Jack tries it.
ANNA:	(way-off mic) Jack!
WOLFF:	Annie!
ANNA:	(off-mic) Back here!
NARRATOR:	All the window shutters are wired shut, but Jack follows Anna’s voice.
ANNA:	(off-mic) I’m in here!…(off-mic but louder) This window, Jack!
NARRATOR:	The moon is hidden by streaky gray clouds gliding by like witches on broomsticks. That moon would show its face soon. Which is good for Jack he does his best work in the moonlight…
WOLFF:	(working) Don’t have anything to…to cut these wires with…but I can untwist them….Brother, did your folks try to make sure you’d be spending tonight alone.
ANNA:	(a little off-mic) Hurry, Jack! They might be here any second. Hurry!
WOLFF:	(working) Almost got it, baby. Almost got it….there!
SOUND:	Wooden shutters opening.
NARRATOR:	And there she is, framed perfectly in the window, a vision of radiant blonde loveliness, in the same halter top and lacy-trimmed shorts. She almost glides out into Jack’s waiting arms, like a bride eager to be carried over a threshold. But instead of crossing a threshold, Jack carries the lovely little bundle toward the nearby bushes.
ANNA:	Where are you taking me?
WOLFF:	I have to have you, Annie. I may look like a gentleman, but I have animal urges. You can struggle if you like….
ANNA:	(warmly sensual) I don’t want to struggle. I’ve been wanting you to do this, hoping you would do this, ever since I first saw you…kiss me. Please kiss me, Jack.
SOUND:	A lingering, moaning, lip-smacking kiss.
WOLFF:	(murmuring) How sinfully sweet…I guess a young girl can have her own animals urges, too…
NARRATOR:	Jack carries little Anna into the woods, back to that hedgerow forming an outdoor room where he can have her, all to himself. Under the stars. And moon.
SOUND:	Jack moving through brush. Setting the young woman down.
ANNA:	(breathing hard) Rip my clothes off, Jack. Rip them!
SOUND:	Tearing clothing.
ANNA:	(plays under ripping) Yes!…Yes!…Tear them off me.
NARRATOR:	Her pale flesh is so beautiful in cloud-filtered moonlight that finds its way through the shade trees. Anna is indeed a real blonde. She is so supple…so rounded…so young….
SOUND:	Jack is breathing hard. Anna ad-libs, “Yes…oh yes…” Her pants of joy and moans of sexual urgency are heard over Wolff’s next line.
WOLFF:	(breathless) Let me…just let me get out of…out of these things….
SOUND:	Unbuckling. Unzipping. Clothes rustle.
NARRATOR:	As Jack is about to lower himself over her, he wonders – how many conquests does this make? Could he even hope to count them?
SOUND:	Anna is breathing hard, but the joyful sexual sounds build and grow…grow into the roar of the werewolf (as heard in our opening scene).
WOLFF:	What…? No…no!
NARRATOR:	The smothering, abusive parents, Jack – they had a reason for keeping their daughter on such a short leash. For locking her away on…certain moon- swept nights….
ANNA:	(very growly, processed voice; also mocking him) Jack…Jack…don’t you know?
WOLFF:	What…what are you – my God!
ANNA:	(lower-pitched, processed, growly)…don’t you know a mere wolf is no match for a were-wolf?
WOLFF:	Noooooooooo!!!
SOUND:	Go to town with flesh-ripping, bones snapping, blood splashing, savage growling from the werewolf, whimpering from the victim that cuts off in gurgles. Much like the opening scene but even more over the top.
NARRATOR:	The terrible sounds attract attention, and before long the state police have been called, and the two officers working the previous murder are back on the scene.
SOUND:	Feet moving through brush. Several people.
LONNIE:	It’s…it’s over here…the body…if…if you can call it that.
HERRIN:	Okay, son. We won’t be needing you anymore.
LONNIE:	(off-mic) Good.
SOUND:	Lonnie moving off through woods.
JONES:	My God, lieutenant…what could have happened here?
HERRIN:	Horrible…could a human being have done that?…Clemens! Washington! Secure this scene for forensics – Jones, there’s nothing we can do for this poor bastard….
JONES:	The victim…hard to tell, but – is that Jack Wolff?
HERRIN:	It used to be….Jones, we have the jump on this. We’re going to start investigating right now….
NARRATOR:	The two officers walk away from the remains of a certain man of leisure, a predator who has more than met his match…and perhaps no one really cares that a cruelly selfish man like Jack Wolff is gone. But the two local lawmen have a job to do.
SOUND:	Knock on cabin door. Another knock. Several more insistent ones. Door opens.
ANNA’S DAD:	Yes?
HERRIN:	Mr. Mullins?
ANNA’S DAD:	Yes….Do you people realize what time it is?
ANNA’S MOM:	(off-mic) What is it, dear?
ANNA’S DAD:	(off-mic) I don’t know. Couple of policemen, I think.
ANNA’S MOM:	(on-mic; worried) Officers, is there a problem?
HERRIN:	We are sorry to bother you, ma’am. Sir. I’m Lt. Herrin, and this is Officer Jones. Afraid there’s been another murder here at the lodge.
ANNA’S MOM:	Oh no! How terrible…
HERRIN:	This happened within the last hour, so the killer may still be around here somewhere, right now. We’re here to caution you.
ANNA’S DAD:	Well, we appreciate that, Lieutenant.
HERRIN:	I’m afraid I do have to ask you where you were an hour, hour-and-a-half ago.
ANNA’S DAD:	We were in ballroom.
ANNA’S MOM:	Dancing. Thank God we weren’t out on the grounds somewhere!
HERRIN:	Yes, well, we understand your daughter is here with you – Anna?
ANNA’S DAD:	That’s right.
HERRIN:	Was she with you at the ballroom this evening?
ANNA’S MOM:	No. She isn’t…isn’t feeling at all well. She’s been in all evening.
HERRIN:	Well, we really do need to speak with her.
ANNA’S DAD:	I’m afraid that’s impossible right now.
ANNA’S MOM:	(brightly) She should be fine in the morning, though.
HERRIN:	(pleasant) Well, then, we’ll be back. Thank you, folks.
ANNA’S DAD:	No problem, Lieutenant. Thanks for the heads up.
ANNA’S MOM:	Thank you, Lieutenant.
SOUND:	Door closes.
HERRIN:	Seem like nice people.
JONES:	They’re lucky it wasn’t their daughter who got dragged off and butchered tonight.
SOUND:	Very muffled werewolf howl.
JONES:	What the hell was that?
HERRIN:	Just some wild animal. But it’s odd…you could almost swear it came from inside that cabin….
JONES:	(amused) I, uh…I don’t think it’s likely, Lieutenant, that the Mullins family has a wild animal chained up in there.
HERRIN:	(chuckles) No. Not likely.
JONES:	Anyway, we’ll talk to the girl tomorrow. Wouldn’t mind meeting her myself. She’s a doll.
HERRIN:	Oh, I wouldn’t bother, Jones.
JONES:	Why not, sir?
HERRIN:	Don’t you get it, son? She doesn’t feel well. She was in all night?…It’s obviously her time of the month.
SOUND:	A beat, then another distant howl.
MUSIC:	Sting. Then into Fangoria Theme.
ANNOUNCER:	“Wolf” was adapted for radio by Max Allan Collins and based on his short story. Heard in the cast were: