A Rumour of Wolves

The tiny cottage looked as though it could have been plucked from
the pages of a Brothers Grim story, a fairy tale dwelling just a little
too sinister to be called quaint. It crouched in the shadow of Grumble
woods, themselves reputed to be a place of enchantment. Usually the
conifer woods were alive with noises, scufflings and snufflings and
other mysterious sounds, but tonight everything was eerily silent.
Nothing stirred in the snowy night's muffled quiet.
Corrine wanted to close the door but she decided to give it another
minute first, just in case Bugs saw the hall light and came bounding
from the woods. It wasn't like Bugs to go running off, not like him at
all. If he found an interesting scent he usually barked a couple of
times and waddled away with his tail lashing, but he never followed it
far. Certainly not far enough to keep him away from home for three
nights.
"Come on, Bugs," she muttered under her breath."Where are you?" If he
was hiding in the woods for some reason, he certainly hadn't been
anyway near the house this evening. Beetween the sentry of tall trees
the path leading to the picnic table in the deepest heart of the woods
was unblemished by tracks. This morning the snow had pelted down for
three hours solid but then eased off considerably. Right now it was
fluttering dreamily from the black sky, cold white fairies falling down
dead. It had been like that since tea time, so if Bugs had come
sniffing around for leftovers his tracks would still be visible.Corrine
didn't like to think of him wandering through the crowded mass of tall
trees, lost and disorientated, but she was strangely reluctant to call
his name. The night was perfectly silent, and somehow it seemed wrong
to shatter the stillness.
Giving up, she pushed the door closed and went to make a hot drink. The
kitchen was cold and lifeless. No sounds, just the monotonous ticking
of the wall clock and her own heartbeat. She changed her mind about the
drink and went through to the sitting room, which was warmer but just
as empty. The saggy chair with the hair-gel stain on the headrest - the
Master chair - was conspicuously unoccupied. Another missing body, but
this one infinitely more niggling.
Corrine went to the phone and dialled Danny Sharp's number. It was
answered on the third ring. In the background she could hear the theme
music to Tomorrow's World, then a throat clearing cough before Danny
spoke. She asked him if Robert was there.
"He's just left," Danny said."He was round here to fix that outside
security light, the one I was telling you about."
Corrine hummed distractedly. Danny lived about fifteen minutes walk
away, which allowing for the weather meant that Robert would be home in
about half an hour."Did he say he was coming straight home?" she asked,
glancing at the mantle clock.
"Didn't say," Danny answered."He was saying how short of work he was
though. If he doesn't come home I bet he's gone to the Haymaker to ask
around after jobs."
"Is that what he said?"
"Not in so many words.You know Robert."
No, no I don't really, she thought. She thanked Danny and hung up.
There was no television in the living room, though there was a portable
upstairs where Robert retreated to watch the football and where she
could do the same to view the soaps and the science programmes. Perhaps
Robert had called to a mate's house to watch a game.Was there a game on
tonight? She considered going upstairs to check but dismissed the idea
quickly. Maybe there wasn't a game on at all and what would that
mean?
"Nothing," she said out loud."Nothing." She switched on the radio and
listened to Neil Diamond singing Sweet Caroline, she liked this one.
Sometimes she despaired at her own taste in music and television
entertainment, as she did the dowdy cardigan and the way her hair was
just on her head and nothing special.
There was a short play on after the music, then the news and weather.
The report spoke of railway networks in grounded confusion,non-existent
bus services, motorway madness and more snow to come. It seemed so far
away and irrelevant, like a civil war in some unimportant banana
republic.When the weather bulletin finished, Corrine turned off the
radio and warmed herself by the fire, staring deep into the hearth
until her vision was a blur of rippling orange. The snap and crackle of
the flames sounded like distant rifles.
Maybe something's happened to him, a dark thought suggested. Maybe he's
slipped and knocked himself out and is right this minute being
unhurriedly buried alive by the falling snow. Or perhaps he went to the
woods to look for Bugs. No, Robert didn't give a toss about the dog.
She decided to walk into the village in the hope that she would meet
him half way. In the kitchen she wrestled on a pair of weather-proof
hiking boots, dwarfed herself in one of Robert's duffel coats, pulled
on gloves and wrapped a scarf around her neck, then went outside.
At the front of the cottage a strange lunar landscape of amorphous
white dunes rolled away into infinity.The night was windless, still as
water in a barrel, the air temperature surprisingly mild.Corrine looked
up at the daunting expanse of black velvet sky, at the millions of
stars twinkling behind the fluttering snow, and she thought how
beautiful and pointless they were. A crescent moon grinned lopsidedly.
Didn't they call it the devil's cradle or something?.
She began to plod away from the cottage, planting one foot in front of
the other. From the high moor her cottage was nothing more than a
smudge of blackness on the softly glowing land, a thumbprint with a
scrap of pastel tissue that was the light shining behind the kitchen
curtains. The roof was capped with snow. Even the trees of Grumble
woods were groaning under the weight of snow. She was suddenly and
inexplicably certain that if she screamed at the top of her lungs the
snow would smother it. The night was soundproof. Ahead she could see
the lights of Winterstone and her heart gladened.
The snowbound village was full of Dickensian charm, pretty as a
Christmas card. Snow on the roads had been trampled to slush but now
that darkness had ushered people back to their homes it was beginning
to settle again. She saw a man she knew well, a bank manager called
Eric Sykes (no relation, he always stressed humourlessly) treading
tenderly up his garden path. His overcoat was frosted, the brim of his
hat loaded with snow. Corrine bet that he had just ploughed his way
from Ritchmire, or wherever he had been forced to abandon his
car.
She walked on down the high street, wet and uncomfortable. A sign in
the general store bugled: NO BREAD! Folk were anticipating a long wait
for the thaw. Funny, although she didn't go to town more than once a
month or so the thought of being unable to go made her nervous.
The Haymaker was busier than usual.Those old folk whose houses were
inadequately heated were huddled around the fire, glasses of stout and
Newcastle Brown in their liver-spotted claws. Before looking around,
Corrine pushed through the gathering and warmed herself by the roaring
fire, grinning sheepishly at the irritated looks she received. She
remained until her jeans began to steam and her legs were burning, then
she went to the bar. They were serving hot chocolate and soup as well
as beer and spirits.
The chocolate was tempting on a night like this. Corrine bought a mug
and slurped off the frothy topping. The liquid burned her mouth and
glowed warmly in her stomach. A couple more sips, and she began to walk
around the bar, smiling at people she knew but didn't really know.
Robert wasn't to be seen. In the snug she found Pipe Younger sitting on
his own. Pipe was about three hundred years old and fit as a boxer. He
had a big, fearsome face like a bull terrier, a neck as thick a tree
trunk, and all in all was about as affable as a driving test examiner.
Around women though, especially what he called bonny young things, he
was a pussy cat. When he saw Corrine he smiled his snarling bad
tempered smile and patted the bench beside him.Corrine sat down and
pulled at the scarf around her neck.
"Not a fit night for you to be over here," he said, squeezing her knee
gently."You want to be wrapped up at home."
Corrine smiled wanly."Bored," she said."You've not seen Robert about
have you?"
Pipe shook his head."Not tonight, if that's what you mean. Is he on a
job somewhere?"
"He was,but he left Danny Sharp's house ages ago and I don't know where
he could have got to."
"Worried?"
Corrine nodded miserably, fighting an embarrassing urge to cry all of a
sudden.
"He'll be alright, lass," Pipe reassured her."Someone might have seen
him in the street and shouted him over to do a job."
"Reckon?" Corrine said dubiously."If that sort of thing was happening
we wouldn't need the advert in the Ritchmire Star."
"No," Pipe agreed."Perhaps you're right."
Corrine brooded into the chocolate steam, mentally crossing off the
places he might be. It was always possible that he had passed her on
the moor of course, but she didn't think so. She was thinking about
calling home when Kevin Naylor appeared at the table. He nodded quickly
at Corrine but it was obviously Pipe he had come to speak with.
"Mark Peters lost two three nights ago." He said. He stared fixedly at
the old man. Corrine thought she saw something challenging in hs
expression.
"Two you say," Pipe mused quietly."Done together were they?"
"As far as he can tell. That's plenty enough if you ask me, Pipe. Are
you gonna lend me that dog of yours or what?"
Pipe ruminated."If it's so bad, Kevin, I think you'd be better off with
the police."
Kevin sighed and shook his head."They'll only come if it turns on
someone. And even then they won't bother until we can give them a fix
on it. That dog's our best bet."
"He's too old now," Pipe mumbled.
Curiosity got the better of Corrine's manners."What's going on?" she
asked.
"Rogue dog," Kevin told her."I lost four sheep in one night, all of
them ripped apart. Other folk have lost stock too."
Corrine paled."Bugs," she croaked. Both men gave her an odd look."Bugs
went missing," she explained to Pipe."But he wouldn't attack sheep,
he's got arthritis."
"What sort of dog is he?" Kevin demanded."Is he a giddy sort?"
"He's a beagle," she said timidly, then threw a frantic look at Pipe
Younger."Will they shoot him?"
Pipe glanced up at Kevin before he smiled pityingly and squeezed her
knee again."It wasn't your dog, lass."
"No, this is a big dog we're after," Kevin put in."Must be if it's
killed your pet as well."
"Alright!" Pipe growled, seeing distress spring to Corrine's face."She
knows, man, no need to spell it out to her."
"Bugs killed?" she said vacantly, unable to take it in."But..." She
shook her head, bewildered."Dogs don't kill other dogs do they?"
"Some dogs do," Pipe Younger said quietly."Bad dogs."
Corrine went home just after ten o'clock. Snow was teaming down,
driving against her on a freshly sprung wind, drenching her hair and
further burdening her spirits. The cottage was empty. She sat by the
fire, listening to a phone-in show on the local radio, until midnight,
when she went to bed. It was about an hour later when Robert came in.
He tried to undress in the dark, thinking she was asleep. He thought
she was a heavy sleeper but he was the one who could sleep through
anything. Corrine propped herself up on one elbow and watched him. The
darkness of the room was lifted by a mellow blue winterlight. Robert
was by the window, a tall, sleek silhouette in the dashing snow.
"Where've you been?" she asked, and Robert made a startled sound.
"Christ," he muttered."You could have scared the life out of me
then."
"Where have you been, Robert?"
He climbed into bed and lay facing the window, his cold back towards
her."I had a job on at Danny Sharp's. I told you about it."
"I rang him." There was a long silence, which Corrine felt obliged to
break."Bugs is still missing."
"I gathered when he didn't bark as I came in. He'll turn up. Go to
sleep now."
"There's a rogue dog killing sheep."
Robert started to turn over but flopped back again."Where did you hear
that?"
"Forget. I think it got Bugs though."
"Dogs don't kill dogs," he said, a blunt edge of exhaustion to his
voice.
"Some do. Bad dogs. Where have you been, Robert?"
He sighed with annoyance."Just to the Haymaker for a drink.Go to
sleep."
She went to sleep.
**
Bob Newman never rang the time bell. People drank in the Haymaker until
he was tired. Then he would lock the toilet doors and it was just a
matter of watching them go home in dribs and drabs. The time bell
hadn't been rung in here since the sixty-six world cup final, and even
then it was in tipsy celebration only.
It was just after midnight and apart from himself the only two people
inside were Pipe Younger and another old timer called Horace Barnes.
Bob fixed himself a brandy and took it over to the fire, where Pipe was
now sitting with Horace.
"I expect Kevin had a word or two to say," he noted
conversationally.
Pipe nodded without taking his eyes away from the dancing firelight."He
wants to borrow the dog."
"What did you say?"
"I didn't say one way or the other. I might go out with him, just to
have a look around, but I'm not handing Snap over just like that. He's
a good dog but I wouldn't trust anyone else to handle him. Wouldn't
trust the dog I mean. He's a bad tempered old mutt."
"Like his master," Bob noted. Pipe turned his bullish head and grinned,
a grin that might have intimidated anyone who didn't know him well
enough.
"I can't see it being a dog," Pipe said, swilling the dregs of his beer
around the bottom of the glass."Not if it's taken Corrine Blake's
beagle.What it did to them sheep as well..." He shook his head."Dogs
don't do that." He glanced at Bob Newman, grimacing."Dogs don't eat
sheep. They get excited and kill them, then they don't know what to do
with them. They might get a rush of blood and have a nibble at the
guts, but nothing more. Hunting is what I'm talking about. Dogs don't
hunt anymore. Not even a hungry dog would devour a sheep the way Kevin
and the others described."
"Oh lordy," Bob Newman said.
"And besides, if a dog was hungry enough to gorge itself on a sheep, it
wouldn't go for a second helping, which is what our friend did the
other night."
"Two at once?"
"Aye."
"Oh lordy. What do you think it is then?"
Pipe shrugged."You can't rule out big cats. During the war a bloke
round here bought a lion cub from the zoo. It was bombed, see,and the
lion house took a hammering. Can't remember this bloke's name but he
had a limp. Or a squint. Anyway, he raised this cub as a pet, but then
it got too big and dangerous so he just turned it loose on the high
moor. The poor thing didn't know what to do. It roamed around up there
for about five days, bored and confused, then when it got too hungry it
ran at a flock of sheep up on Grange Ridge, killed five of them in one
berserk attack, just like old foxy when he gets into the henhouse. The
army shot it in the end."
"Big cat eh?" Bob mused."Makes you shudder."
"It won't attack," Pipe said."Exmoor must have dozens of cougars and
panthers but none of them do much real damage."
"I'll not take your word for it if you don't mind," Bob said, laughing
nervously."I think I'll stay away from the moor for a few years."
Horace Barnes stood up suddenly, the bones in his knees crackling in
protest."It's a wolf," he declared, and started for the door.
Pipe and Bob exchanged puzzled glances."What did you say?" Pipe called,
craning his neck to look at the old man.
"Wolf," Horace repeated."It was in my garden the other night. Biggest
thing you've ever seen." He opened the door. Snow flakes raced inside
excitedly."Do you know what lycanthropy is?"
"Tennis elbow," Bob said blandly."Shut the door, daft old
bugger."
"It was a big one," Horace maintained ."Too big to be real. I'm talking
about the wolfman - and don't you look at me like that, Pipe Younger.
I've seen it before. I saw it in France during the war, when you were
chasing your lions around the moor and selling black market meat to the
butchers in Ritchmire."
Pipe growled and turned back to the fire."Silly old sod. Get home with
you."
" I'm just warning you now."
"Shut the door!"
"They act strangely," Horace persisted."The people I mean. A wolf's a
wolf though. Look out for someone acting out of the ordinary, then
you've got him."
"There isn't even a full moon," Bob said."How can there be a wolfman if
there isn't a full moon?"
Horace shook his head wearily, as if he was attempting to teach
astro-physics to a class of five year olds."You watch too much
telly.You can catch lycanthropy like a fever. And they change at any
odd time, any odd time at all."
Pipe had heard enough.He turned his chair around and pointed a stubby
old finger at Horace Barnes, who smirked."Just listen to me, Alfred
bloody Hitchcock. I've got grandkids in this village, and I don't want
them frightened by your silly stories. It's bad enough that we might
have a genuine cat problem without you adding your bit. Think on. Now
shut the door and go home."
Horace held Pipe's angry gaze."I've seen," he said at last, then went
out, leaving the door open.
**
The terror-stricken squealing burst into Mary Naylor's dream like a
gunman at a childrens' tea party. It shocked her into a weird kind of
detached alertness, left her feeling as though her spirit had been
yanked out of her body and cast away into the night. She was out of bed
and stepping into slippers, part of her mind still denying that she had
yet to leave the snug sanctuary of the bed, when the lamp popped on.
Kevin struggled to a half sitting position and gaped at her insensibly,
his hair sticking up in silly little peaks.
"Sssat?" he croaked.
"It's Oscar," Mary snapped, pulling a dressing gown from the peg behind
the door."Something's getting in."
The moment she said that there came a splintering crash from the farm
yard. The squealing grew to an unbearably horrific pitch, the utterly
frenzied panic of an animal sensing its own slaughter.
But there was another sound,a low, guttural rumble like the idle of a
cantankerous engine. It was there but not quite there, like energy. .It
made hedgehog quills of the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.
Kevin heard it. He jumped out of bed and went staggering to the wall,
which he bumped hard with his shoulder."Oh, bloody hell!" he cursed,
bending to retrieve his jeans from the floor; Kevin wasn't concerned
with his modesty at this time - he was after the key to the gun
cabinet. That'll teach you, he thought grimly. Next time break the law
and keep the gun beside the bed.
Mary couldn't wait.Whatever it was she would scare it away herself.
Kevin would be upset. He wanted to shoot it. All boys want to shoot
things. Tough. It was her pig and she wasn't going to sit filing her
nails until that ten-pint tosspot had got his bearings. She pulled the
door open but stopped dead when a short rumbled through the night like
thunder.
The pig let out a long corkscrewing scream..
Kevin froze and stared at the drawn curtains as if seeing right through
them. His hand was limp inside the pocket of his jeans, his mouth
hanging open."Jesus H Christ," he breathed. "What the hell is
that?"
Then there was silence, nothing at all, and somehow that was even more
frightening. Pushed into action, Mary flew out of the door and down the
stairs.
"Don't go out there!" Kevin called after her. "Mary, don't your dare
go-"
Mary ran out into the snowy farmyard. A clear area of darkly gleaming
flagstones dotted with lumps of dirty slush existed bravely for twenty
yards or so but beyond that they were just as snowed in as everyone
else. Kevin had shovelled the patch in front of the house just before
dark, spraying over water from a hosepipe and scattering sand and salt
to prevent an ice pond forming, but had finally relented when he
realised how futile and ineffectual his effort would be.
The glassy cold snapped hungrily at her ankles. The sheeting snow had
once more given way to a flaky lull but the threat of another heavy
fall bulged from the sky. There was a dangerous fragility about the
night.
Once past the clear ground, her feet plunged into the deep snow, and
the cold immediately numbed her toes until they felt like stubby little
icicles that might break off if she kicked something hard. Mary
struggled on regardless, past the stone barn where Kevin kept the
tractor and trailer and a second barn where the winter feed was stored,
until she reached the disused milking shed that was Oscar's home. She
had single-handedly raised Oscar from being a sickly runt. He would
never win prizes for being beautiful but he was the nearest she had to
a pet. Or a child, as Kevin often joked. And now&;#8230;
Not yet. She forced herself not to think of the worst. Oscar was safe
enough in the milking shed. Whatever it was it had simply spooked him.
Pigs were always over-reacting.
She treaded carefully around the building, her crunching footsteps
agonisingly loud and betraying to her own ears. The words MAD DOG,
blinked on in her mind like a neon, almost rooting her feet in the
snow. It was the dog Kevin had told her about, the one that killed the
sheep. It wouldn't attack a human though, would it?
She came to the door and gasped out loud. The plank of wood that she
threaded through the handles to stop Oscar snouting the double doors
open had been snapped in half. The doors were open.
Oh my God, she thought distantly. He huffed and he puffed and he blew
your house down!
She took a heedful step into the doorway and squinted into the deep
blackness of the long shed.There was a smell in here that wasn't
Oscar's. Contrary to popular belief pigs were very clean animals. This
smell was wild and rousing, not completely unpleasant. A zoo
smell.
Then she looked down and saw the white paw prints vanishing into the
dark belly of the shed. They were big prints. Huge. No dog, that was
for sure.I t took a couple of dazed seconds for her to realise that
there was one neat set of prints only.
Something went in and didn't come out.
There was something in there.
Mary looked up slowly, her eyes wide as an owl's. At the very back of
the shed, where Oscar slept on his favourite blanket, a pair of
blood-orange eyes watched her intently, fixed, unblinking. They
appeared to glow with their own supernatural power.
What time is it, Mr Wolf? She thought distantly. The eyes blinked once,
and the thing at the back of the old milking shed began moving towards
her.
**
The hammering rattled through Pipe Younger's rickety old house, urgent,
important hammering. He wouldn't answer the door in nothing but a vest
though. In the old days, if a man came to the door in a vest he was in
a fighting frame of mind. Pipe buttoned his shirt, looped his braces
over his shoulders, and hurried out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
The house was mortuary cold. In the kitchen, Snap lifted his head from
between his front paws and yawned. Snap was a giant poodle,and when he
bared his canine teeth - in either a yawn or a snarl - he looked like a
belligerent baboon.
"Quiet, Snap," Pipe muttered. The dog dropped its head and whined
indignantly. The hammering stopped only when Pipe threw the door open
and glared ferociously at his visitor.
"Morning," Kevin Naylor huffed."Took your time, didn't you?"
"Took my time?" Pipe echoed."I was in bed, you daft bugger!"
Kevin looked surprised."Oh. I thought that old people got up
early."
"You carry on," Pipe warned,"And you'll find out how old I am,
sunshine. Now what do you want?"
Kevin enjoyed a few moments alone with the secret, then said,"It's not
a dog, it's a black panther. It came in the yard last night. Killed
that pig of Mary's."
"And you're selling joints are you?"
"What? No, don't be insensitive. That pig meant the world to
Mary."
Pipe scowled."So what are you telling me for, Kevin?"
Kevin smiled toughly."I thought we'd go hunting."
Twenty minutes later they were on their way to Kevin's farm, the dog
frolicking ahead of them, flicking snow high into the air with its nose
and leaping acrobatically to catch it in its mouth. It wasn't snowing
but the morning was clean and raw. A silver sun glimmered weakly in the
fat white sky.
"I've phoned the police," Kevin told him as they walked.
"Oh aye?" Pipe gasped, struggling to match the young man's pace."What
did they say?"
"They passed it on to a vet at Ritchmire zoo. He phoned back about half
an hour ago. Nice fella, bit posh. Anyway, he can't come out until
tomorrow at the earliest. He doubted he'd even make it then,
considering the blizzards they've forecast."
"Is it one of theirs?" Pipe asked.
Kevin shook his head."No.Guess how they're going to catch it?" He
didn't wait for Pipe to guess."That vet reckons if you put another
panther on the moor, in a cage like, the wild one will come to size it
up.Then they trap it. Stupid or what? I told him that we've got one big
cat up here already and we don't want another one, thankyou very much."
Kevin sneered."So he says, all snooty like,"We have yet to establish if
the animal in question is indeed a panther, Mr Naylor." Well,I told him
not to bother coming up with a bloody aardvark if that's what he was
thinking."
"So why are we bothering?" Pipe asked tiredly.
"Because it came too close to the house," Kevin said soberly."Next time
someone might find it in the kitchen, Pipe. That's why."
They said no more until they reached the farm. Kevin took Pipe straight
to the milking shed and showed him the footprints. Pipe held the dog on
its leash and squatted down to get a closer look. It was quite clearly
a paw mark, but bigger than any paw Pipe Younger had ever seen.
"What do you reckon?" Kevin asked.
Pipe glanced up, troubled."Did you actually see this panther?"
"No. Mary did but not very clearly. She fainted dead away. How big do
you think it is to leave a print like that?"
Pipe hummed, feeling uneasy. He spread the fingers on his right hand as
far as they would stretch and then placed the hand clean inside the
print. He shuddered."About as big as they get, I reckon."
While Kevin went into the house to get his shotgun and to inform Mary
that he would be out for most of the day, Pipe stomped around the
farmyard to warm his frozen feet. His hands were deep inside his jacket
pockets, the leash hanging straight as a crease down the side of his
trousers. Snap was pawing at the milking shed doors, which had been
secured with a chain and padlock. Bolting the stable door, Pipe
thought, and chuckled to himself.
"Snap, come away, you grizzley old mutt!"
The dog trotted to Pipe's side and nuzzled his thigh.When Kevin came
out, the broken barrels of his shotgun hanging over the crook of his
elbow, they set off. The tracks took a crazy, looping path over the
fields, back towards Winterstone, and then arced around onto the high
moor. Running free, Pipe thought apprehensively. He didn't want to be
here now. The moor was too desolate and quiet, too strange.
"Good job there was no heavy snowfall last night," Kevin noted."We
wouldn't have been able to track it otherwise."
"Yeah, yippee for that," Pipe muttered.
At the edge of the high moor, Kevin took a small pair of field glasses
from the pocket of his anorak and scanned the dazzling white
landscape."I can see that Corrine Blake doing the dishes," he said,
grinning lasciviously."She's got lovely knockers you know, don't you
think?"
Pipe sighed and shook his head disdainfully .He viewed the Blakes'
place with a twinge of envy. He had always loved this little cottage.
It had a certain woodland charm and timeless simplicity about it.
Mind,it was far too remote for a man of his maturity.
"Have you got anything yet?" he asked brusquely.
"Aye, think so," Kevin said."If them's tracks I can see the bugger ran
off into the woods."
The climb down to Corrine Blake's cottage was too perilous for Pipe's
liking. He kept his mouth shut though, stubborn to the last, but he
didn't miss the way Kevin's arms would jerk in his direction whenever
he wobbled or stalled."Don't you worry about me," he said
grumpily.
"Right then," Kevin said bluntly."You can just fall, you crusty old
sod."
Snap was easily ahead of them, barking noisily at Corrine's front door.
Pipe's leathery old heart went out to the poor kid when she burst
through the door, expecting the prodigal Bugs no doubt. He could feel
her disappointment from up here. He steadied himself before throwing
out a brief wave. Corrine waved back and ruffled the dog's curly
hair.
"I thought that dog was supposed to be vicious," Kevin scoffed."I've
known cats to be worse."
Pipe smiled privately.The man who sold him Snap as a puppy assured him
that when it came to ferocity there was nothing to match a giant
poodle. The dutch police force sometimes used them to control hostile
crowds. And, apparently,they were originally bred to run lions out of
the bush, though admittedly there wasn't much call for that in
Amsterdam.
"Visitors," Corrine said when they were at the cottage."Come in for a
drink."
At the door they kicked and stamped snow from their boots before
entering the rustic little kitchen. Corrine tempted Pipe with a bacon
and tomato sandwich but Kevin declined. When her back was turned he
tapped his watch and pulled a face.
"You've just missed Robert," she said, laying strips of bacon into a
frying pan."He got called out to a job not fifteen minutes ago. Did you
see him on the moor?"
"No, we didn't see anyone," Kevin said.
Corrine paused and cocked her head."Funny," she mused."You should have
passed him."
"Aye well, it's not that difficult to avoid someone on the moor," Pipe
put in."It's not margarine is it?"
"What do you mean?" Corrine asked looking curiously at Pipe.
"Well I think it's greasy. I like butter best."
She shook her head briskly."No, you said that it wasn't too difficult
to avoid someone on the moor. What did you mean?"
Pipe shrugged his shoulders.Kevin was looking at him oddly too."Miss
someone I meant. Just miss someone."
Corrine nodded and went back to the cooking."Are you sure you don't
want one, Kevin?"
"Had mine, thanks," Kevin said."We're here on business actually."
"Oh yeah? Come to put me out of my misery, have you?"
"What?"
She smiled over her shoulder and raised her eyebrows at the
shotgun."
"Oh aye," Kevin said with an embarrassed cough."Should have left it
outside. Sorry." He then proceeded to relate the terrible events of the
previous night, generously embellishing the story where he saw fit.
"And when I fired the gun its ears went back and the bugger was
off!"
"So you actually saw it then?" Corrine asked, setting the bacon
sandwich down on the table. She acknowledged Pipe's thanks with a vague
nod, too engrossed in the story to be distracted.
"Aye," Kevin said firmly. From the corner of his eye he saw Pipe gazing
at him incredulously and quickly amended."Well, not as such, but Mary
got a good enough look at it. Before she fainted, like. I thought I saw
it rounding the shed so I fired into the air."
"Wow," Corrine breathed."I can't believe it." She sat down at the
table, a mug of hot coffee steaming between her hands."Where do you
think it came from?"
"Someone probably turned it loose," Pipe said."It might even have been
round here for months, maybe years, but the cold snap is forcing it to
come looking for food where it wouldn't normally go." He munched on the
sandwich, winking his approval at Corrine.
"What will that vet do when he gets here?"
"Drug it probably," Kevin sneered."It wants shooting if you ask me. We
can't have a bloody panther charging about the place. What if it gets
hold of a kiddy?"
Pipe swallowed and tapped his index finger on the table."Just you be
careful if you're planning to take a pop at it yourself. A wounded
panther is likely to be ten times more dangerous than a healthy
one."
Kevin looked insulted."I can shoot straight enough. And anyway, what
did you think I was going to do with it, give it a saucer of
milk?"
"We should find out where its den is," Pipe said,"But that's about it.
Leave the shooting to the professionals."
Kevin curled his lip but said no more. When Pipe had finished his
sandwich, Corrine put on a coat and the three of them went outside.
Kevin showed her the tracks which skirted her cottage and disappeared
up the footpath between the conifer trees. She shivered and hugged
herself, looking worriedly at Pipe.
"It came close didn't it?"
"I shouldn't lose sleep over it," Pipe said, smiling his best
grandfatherly smile."It didn't attack Mary, and Kevin probably gave it
the shock of its life with that shotgun blast. It wouldn't surprise me
if we never saw it again now."
Snap the dog was looking into the woods, its curly head tilted and an
expression of near wistfulness in its brown eyes. He wined softly then
shuffled back a few paces.
"Are we ready then?" Kevin asked impatiently.
Pipe clicked his fingers. The dog came over and pressed itself against
his thigh.He could feel its body trembling. Or was that his own leg?
His age had suddenly crept up on him, quite kindly, and laid a hand on
his shoulder. It was whispering in his ear now, telling him to go home
and put his feet up in front of the fire and watch daytime television.
He lifted his head to the high moor and was dazzled by the intense
brightness of the snow covered hill. It was a long walk home but he was
looking forward to it.
"I'll not bother," he said quietly."The dog's had enough."
Kevin groaned in dismay."Come on, Pipe.We'll just go into the woods for
a quick look."
Pipe shook his head."No."
"Why?"
"Because we might find it, Kevin, that's why."
**
The wind picked up around one o'clock,an arctic gale slicing
mercilessly through the valley. Sometimes it changed direction and
whipped back the other way, and sometimes it spiralled with no real
direction. Snow on the ground swirled and whirled dervishly. Corrine
watched through the window as a blizzard gathered momentum. At one
thirty Kevin came plodding into view, his body bent double as he
struggled through the wind. She hoped he didn't shoot himself. She
opened the window a crack, squinting as the glacial wind stung her
eyes.
"Kevin!" she called.
Kevin stopped and rotated his body. Powdery snow in the wind made a
gauzy white curtain that was difficult to see through.
"Did you find it?" she yelled. Although Pipe had taken the dog home
Kevin had continued with the search regardless. It was a male pride
thing, Corrine believed."Come inside a minute!"
Kevin moved away as if he had mistaken the whistling of the wind for a
voice. Corrine sighed and closed the window. A few minutes later snow
began to slant pass the glass in a blinding sheet which obliterated
everything beyond her nose. It was as if she had pressed her face up
close to a television screen hissing and crackling with static. She
kept watch anyway, concerned for Robert's safety, until she had to
force herself to be pragmatic about the situation. His fate was his
fate whether she was at the window or doing the ironing.
Corrine went into the living room and switched on the radio, receiving
a painful stab in the ears from a searing whine. She fiddled with the
tuning button but could find nothing coherent except Radio One, which
she detested and barely qualified as coherent in any case. So she
prodded the fire into life and waited in silence, her anxiety growing
with every passing minute. Robert had neglected to mention exactly
where the job was, only that it was over Precious way. Next time she
would make sure he wrote down a contact number, that way she could put
her mind at rest. But what if there wasn't a next time? What if he was
lost in the blizzard? What if the panther had attacked him? What if
Whoopie Goldberg married Peter Cushion and became Whoopie Cushion? It
was silly to worry, silly and pointless. Her mother used to say that
what you didn't know couldn't hurt you. As far as Robert was concerned,
Corrine applied this adage with the meticulous attention of a sunbather
smearing her body in protective lotion. It was important - no vital -
to cover every inch, to lather herself with her own lies, the alibis
she thoughtfully provided on his behalf. Was that good for a person? It
had worked so far but she had this feeling that despite diligently
maintaining the preventative measures she was cracking and peeling
anyway. Maybe it was time to ask questions and keep on asking until she
got the answer she didn't want.
The door opened.Wind carved through the house,chilling her bones and
teasing the fire into a crackling temper. Corrine jumped off the settee
and dashed into the kitchen. Robert was a snowman, covered from head to
foot in the stuff. He shouldered the door closed and barged past her
without a word.
"Robert?" Corrine called, astonished and frightened."What's wrong?" She
trailed after him, absently tutting at the snowy footprints on the
carpet. She caught up with him in the bedroom, where he was peeling off
his shirt. There was a sickly yellow bruise on the left side of his
ribs. She watched in confused silence as he took a fresh towel from the
compartment above the wardrobe and rubbed his hair dry.When he had done
he thoughtlessly tossed the towel onto the bed. That's when she saw the
crust of blood under his left eye.
"Don't look at me like that," he snarled."I fell over in the blizzard.
Alright?"
Corrine nodded dumbly."Alright. Let me put something on it."
He made a sound of disapproval.
"I've got some Savlon in the bathroom." She went to fetch it, swatting
away an irritating suspicion like a troublesome wasp. She took the
Savlon liquid and a wad of cotton wool from the bathroom cabinet and
frowned at her reflection as she closed the mirrored door. How old do I
look? she thought dismally. She looked haggard, tired; there were dark
circles under her eyes.
"Leave me alone," Robert moaned when she came back with the first-aid.
He was sitting on the bed, tugging off his soaking jeans.
"Can't you do that standing up?" Corrine rebuked mildly. "You'll get
the duvet wet."
"Big deal."
She felt a well of fury and bit her lip until it hurt. It was a big
deal actually,a very big deal if you happened to be the one who had to
change the blasted duvet for a dry one. She unscrewed the top of the
antiseptic liquid and poured some onto the cotton wool."Here, let me
dab some of this on your eye," she said, crossing the room.Robert gave
her a warning look that almost stopped her in her tracks. He looked
extremely annoyed at something, extremely...dangerous, in fact.
"Don't touch me with that," he told her."It stings."
"It doesn't sting."
"It stings me. Touch me with that and I'll knock your head off."
Corrine backed cautiously to the dresser in the corner of the room, a
quiver of deep uncertainty travelling up her spine. He had never struck
her before but on a couple of occasions he had come close to violence.
The best trick, she found,was to distract him, act as though nothing
had happened.
"Pipe Younger and Kevin Naylor stopped by earlier," she said. He
grunted churlishly."They were tracking the panther, the one that..."
She stalled when he slipped off his shorts and walked towards the
dresser. He was a fit man, svelt and athletic. His black hair was
hanging over his eyes in wet strands. There was a growth of dark
stubble on his face. She had never noticed how menacing he could
appear.
"Just leave it,eh?" he said tightly, yanking open the dresser drawer
and bumping her thigh."I'm sick of hearing about panthers and dogs and
bloody pigs."
And it was there, the slip she had both longed for and dreaded with all
her heart. Then again, if she was going to be honest with herself - if
this was the time - she had known all along.
"He did it didn't he?" she said. She was dismayed by the weakness of
her own voice, all shocked and timid and oh excuse me for saying.Where
the hell was tenacity when you needed it? "Kevin Naylor punched you.
You didn't have a job on at all - it was Mary Naylor who phoned this
morning."
"Don't be stupid," he drawled, rooting through the drawer for a pair of
shorts."
Corrine nodded to herself."Yes it was. She told you about the pig being
killed. Were you there when Kevin came home? Did he punch you?"
Robert turned on her,his strong white teeth clenched and bared."I won!"
he growled, a glint of savage glee in his eyes."He started it - I
finished it!"
Her bottom lip trembled with tearful humiliation. He cared more that
she thought he had lost the fight than he did her discovering his
affair with Mary Naylor. She wasn't expected to worry about that:it was
his business.
"How long?" she asked, her voice warbling with grief."How long have you
been seeing her?"
"Ever since you turned frigid," he said, and gave a scornful sman
she wanted to ram back down his throat until he choked to death on
it."What else am I expected to do?"
"You bastard," she whispered hoarsely, a lump swelling painfully in her
throat."You don't even care that it hurts me do you?"
Then he laughed, deep and manly and superior, and he sounded just like
her father did when she fell off her brother's bike and scraped her
chin on the concrete path outside the house. It sounded like the
shrieking whistle of a hundred kettles boiling inside her head, a
maddening bedlam of white hot sound piercing her brain, turning it into
a living pin cushion.
She felt herself turning away and heading out of the room. Oh face him
out, a little voice wailed. Don't let him get away with this! But it
was just a little voice.
Corrine went into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Her
reflection in the cabinet mirror gazed back at her with soulful
bewilderment: What do we do now? There was a sickly throbbing dullness
in her head, a crushing ache in her chest. Her thoughts were a mass of
bulging nonsense. Here she was, marooned on the stony flat ground they
called rock bottom, yet a few trivial tasks seemed of fundamental
importance. It was imperative that she undress quickly, open a
downstairs window-
"Corrine!" Robert pounded on the door with the heel of his fist,
startling her. His voice wasn't apologetic at all, just
annoyed."Corrine open the door. I want to get in!"
"In a minute," she replied calmly, and her voice sounded strangely rich
and alien. It made her smile. Like a fox. "I'll be out soon."
She felt peculiar, frightened yet inexplicably excited, and somewhat
floaty. It was as if she was taking off in a hot air balloon, waving at
the ants below. Bye everyone - I'm leaving!
Corrine stripped off her clothes. She heard this like the urgent chirp
of a radio pager: The window the window the window the window...But
something told her that it was too late for that. It didn't matter
anyway because-
Bye everyone - I'm leaving!
Naked, she stood in front of the mirror once more. Odd, but all she
could see were her breasts.
Taller, she thought, gazing down at her long legs. I'm getting
taller.
She ducked and peered at her face in the mirror.Robert pounded on the
door again, pound pound pound little pig little pig let me-
Corrine smiled, bemused, when she noticed that her eyes were glowing
like happy little oranges.
Then she was fading, fading, shrinking like the white of a television
screen until she was the size of a matchbox, a mint, a pinprick. There
was a transient collision of species, a second when lupine senses and
human intelligence were inextricably tangled, and as the wiry black
hairs began to bristle on her face, as her nostrils widened and flared
with drooling anticipation, she thought, oh pig he smells juST LIKE
PIG!