Werewolves of the Other London Read online

  A sudden jolt of pain strikes the back of my neck, pounding down my spine. I drop to my knees, crying out in agony. It's a kind of pain I've never felt before, something so intense it feels like it's deep, deep within my body. It takes almost half a minute for it to subside, by which point I'm close to tears.

  "Like I said," Grinde continues. "I wouldn't do anything foolish, if I were you."

  I look at the desk and see that he has a small device in his hand. What the hell is that? And how did he cause that pain in my spine? Determined to get out of here, I lunge for him, but he presses a button on the device and I fall back in agony once again, writhing on the floor until the pain goes away. As I get to my feet, my spine feels sore.

  "It's a good deal," Grinde says. "We'll feed you. We'll keep you safe. You'll have the company of other wolves, other creatures. All you have to do in return is help us put on a little show now and again."

  I'm still slightly out of breath. "You can't do this," I say firmly.

  "It's not a matter of what I can or can't do," he replies. "Or even what I should or shouldn't do. It's a matter of what is. Accept the situation and you'll be very happy here." He smiles, his finger still on the button. "Don't you agree that acceptance would be the best course of action?"

  There's a sudden sound outside the office, with raised voices followed by a man crying out in pain. Vigrous gets to his feet and heads to the door. "I must see what's happening," he says quickly, obviously concerned. Before he leaves, he turns to me. "Good luck with your escape attempt, and I look forward to our next meeting. Same time tomorrow?" With that, he heads out of the tent, taking the little device with him, leaving me standing there in his office.

  I feel the back of my neck. There's a small bump, like a little scar, as if something has been slipped under the skin. I remember years ago, my family took our dog to the vet and he got a microchip placed under his skin. I guess this is similar, except it's somehow hooked up to deliver a jolt of pain to my spine. I'll have to find a way to get rid of it.

  Frustrated by his attitude, I walk to the door and watch as Grinde heads over to where a group of men are gathered in the middle of the field, standing around another man who seems to be injured.

  "What the hell happened here?" he barks at the group of men.

  "What do you think happened?" one of the men replies, sounding angry. "Look at him! What the hell do you think did this to him?"

  I walk out of Grinde's tent and walk up behind Grinde. As I get closer, I see that there's a man lying motionless on the floor, his face covered in blood, flesh from his chest ripped away. He's still alive - just - and he's writhing in pain, one blood-covered hand reaching up to the others.

  "Well what was he doing?" Grinde shouts, clearly annoyed and showing absolutely no compassion at all. "Was he following the new rules?"

  "Fuck your rules," another of the men says. "You can't have rules to deal with that thing. She's worse than a fucking werewolf."

  "This is the sixth man in a month," another man pipes up.

  "I know! I know!" Grinde says angrily. "But if you would all follow the rules, none of this would ever happen. The rules are there for a reason, I don't just set them because I feel like telling you all what to do. What am I supposed to do, throw our prize specimen out just because her handlers can't keep their hands to themselves?"

  "It's not safe," says one of the men. "You've got to sort it out. There's no way you can ever make it safe in there."

  "She needs to be restrained," another one says.

  "She needs her throat cut," says a third.

  "Are you mad?" Grinde says, turning to the last man. "You want to chain her up? To muzzle her? To kill her? Have you looked at her? Don't you see her beauty? She's worth ten of you lowlife idiots. A hundred. How dare you suggest that such a beautiful creature -"

  "This ain't beautiful!" the man shouts, pointing at the bleeding, injured man on the ground. "There's nothing beautiful about this!"

  "All beauty needs its opposite," Grinde says, "otherwise -"

  "This isn't right!" another man shouts.

  "No," says Grinde. "This is unfortunate and -" He suddenly stops and turns, having apparently sensed my approach. "What are you doing here?" he asks. "Get away. I thought you were going to try to escape!"

  "I am," I say, looking down at the injured man. He's barely moving now, as if he's almost completely bled out into the grass. His outstretched hand is still moving, a little, covered in blood and twitching slightly.

  "He's dying," says Grinde, a hint of sadness finally entering his voice. "He's not one of the specimens, he's a support worker. Just a human."

  I get closer, looking at the holes in the man's body where chunks of flesh have been ripped out. Having hung out with Duncan for so long, this kind of damage is vaguely familiar. "Did a werewolf do this to him?" I ask.

  Grinde steps in my way, blocking my view. "No," he says firmly, "a werewolf did not do this to him. Werewolves don't kill for pleasure, as you should know. And they don't play with their victims, they don't torture them. That's not what she's about at all. Not at all."

  "Who's this 'she' you keep mentioning?" I ask.

  "Never mind," he replies.

  "If she's not a werewolf," I say, "what is she?"

  "None of your business," Grinde says firmly.

  "Sir?" says a voice from behind. Grinde turns. "Sir," says a man who is kneeling by the victim, "he's dead."

  Grinde takes a deep breath and sighs. "Then you know what to do. Bury him," he says eventually. He stares at the dead man. "And don't forget to put a Bible in his hand. We don't want another nasty surprise during the night."

  With that, Grinde storms past me and heads back to his tent. The men start to lift the body and carry it away, and I watch for a moment before walking back over to the tent in which I woke up this morning. I find Darla standing there, leaning against a post. She's watching the scene with a sad, resigned look on her face, as if she's seen it all before.

  "Poor thing," she says, looking past me as I approach.

  "I don't think he had a painless death," I say, making to walk into the tent.

  "I'm not talking about him," Darla says. "I'm taking about her."

  I stop and turn to look back. All I can see is Vigrous Grinde directing the other men to gather up the dead man's body and take it to another tent.

  "Her?" I ask. "Who do you mean?"

  "Her," Darla says, nodding toward the dead man. "She was driven to kill again. It's in her instinct, she has no choice."

  I think about this for a moment, and I look over at the large, ominous tent in which the man was injured. "Who is she?"

  "Wrong question," Darla says.

  "Okay, what is she?" I ask.

  Darla shakes her head. "Don't be in such a hurry to find out," she says. "She's trouble. Unpredictable. Dangerous. I've heard about how she lures men - and women - toward her, and then she just bites their heads straight off. There's something particularly nasty about her. Werewolves kill for food, but this creature kills for pleasure." She almost spits the words out. "Just keep clear, don't go in that tent. You'll see enough during the show, that's as close as you need to get."

  "Show?" I ask.

  "Tonight," Darla says. "Your first time."

  I shake my head. "I won't be here," I say.

  "Really?" Darla says, smiling. "That's a shame. The audience is so excited about the idea of a new werewolf joining the troupe."

  "What kind of suck fuckers would pay to be in the audience for a freak show?" I ask.

  "That's something you'd have to ask them," Darla replies.

  "No thanks," I say, heading into the tent. As I go, I swear I hear Darla laughing.

  Duncan

  I squeeze my eyes tight shut, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out in pain. But as he pulls the blade away, ripping more of my arm, I gasp.

  Jess

  I wait, and I wait, and I wait.

  I watch the
workers putting up a new tent, and I watch the other werewolves as they're freed from their cages and they sit around arguing and wasting time.

  I watch from a distance as Vigrous Grinde moves around the site, speaking to workers here and there, checking that everything is ready.

  I listen as workers talk about tonight's show. The audience, they say, will be tough to please. They worry that the show is getting old, and that the audience is going to start getting restless if some new tricks aren't developed. They also worry about the worker who died earlier in the day, saying that it's only a matter of time before there's another death.

  Finally, when I feel that I've got a fair understanding of the layout and routine of the carnival, I decide it's time to get out of here. I've just seen Vigrous Grinde go ballistic at a worker who made a mistake with a tent, and he hauled the worker into his office so he should be busy for a while. Meanwhile, the other workers are trying to fix the mistake. It looks like the perfect time for me to get out of here.

  I head to the back of the werewolves' tent and, when no-one is looking, I duck down and sneak under the canvas, emerging outside near some bushes. I can hear the sound of men talking nearby, but I can't see anyone so I hurry into the bushes and then into forest. Looking back, the tents already seem to be quite far away. So far, so good.

  I don't know where we are, so I don't really know which way to go, but I figure the best thing to do is just to get as far away from the carnival as possible and then work it out from there. So I head through the trees, and after what feels like a couple of hours I stumble into a clearing and find a thin, single-lane road. It's deserted, but at least it's a sign of life so I decide to make my way toward what I think (with my limited survival skills) is east.

  After another hour or so, during which this road has snaked through the forest, I spot something up ahead. There's a small red truck parked by the side of the road, and there's a man working on something under the hood. It looks like he's broken down, but still, it's better than nothing.

  "Hi," he says, looking up as I approach. "I didn't expect to see anyone else here. You got a broken fuel valve too?" He has a friendly face, and he's not much older than me. There's engine grease all over his overalls.

  "No," I say. "I'm just... lost. Where are we?"

  "Bodmin," he says.

  "Right," I reply. Bodmin. That means nothing to me.

  "Joe," the guy says, smiling and reaching out a hand for me to shake. "Are you out here alone?"

  "Yeah," I say. "I got kind of separated from my friends. My name's Jess, do you think I could get a lift with you when your truck's up and running?"

  "Sure," he says, "shouldn't be much longer. Where you headed?"

  "Anywhere's fine," I say. "Anywhere busy and populated."

  He grins. "Well, we're in Cornwall, so there's not too many busy places, but I think I can help you out. Pop in the front seat and turn the engine on, will you? I think I might've got this baby sorted."

  I climb in, turn the key and the engine kicks up like a beauty. Joe slams the hood down and gets in, taking the drivers' seat as I shift over to the other side.

  "Good timing," he says as he hits the accelerator and we start moving. "Another couple of minutes and you'd've missed me completely."

  I glance over my shoulder at the receding road. There's no-one there. No-one followed me at all. I touch the back of my neck and feel that little implant. As long as the range on this thing isn't too far, I should be home and dry.

  "So what are you really doing out here?" Joe asks, glancing over as we drive. He's smiling, but he seems a little suspicious.

  "Well," I say, trying to work out what to say, "I'm a werewolf. I escaped from a carnival and now I have to go back to London to save my friend, who's also a werewolf, from his master, and then we have to get out of London again because the government wants to kill us." There's a pause. I smile. "Are you buying that?"

  "Not really," Joe says, laughing. "Come on, seriously. You're young, you're pretty, you're clearly not from around here, so... Did you argue with your boyfriend and storm off or something? Some guy's not gonna chase us down, is he?"

  I smile for the first time in ages. "No," I say. "I'm just... I was camping, and I got lost, and I figured I hate camping anyway so I might as well go home."

  Joe nods. "I hate camping too. Why sleep in a tent when you could be at home, watching the football, beer in your hand, on a nice sofa?"

  "Exactly," I say, looking out the window at the forest as we drive along. "I'm not really into the countryside too much."

  "City girl, eh?" he says.

  I watch the trees as they flash past. "I guess so," I say, but for a moment I can't help remembering the forest near my father's house, where I used to play when I was a kid. My brother and I would have to go and play in the garden, and my brother loved it, but I always preferred staying inside. I used to love it when it rained, so we could stay indoors. Whenever the weather was bad, my father would get annoyed and my brother would sulk, but I'd be happier than ever because I could sit about and read and draw and write. Even today, after all these years, I like it when it rains, because of that feeling of freedom. The time at home with my father, and my brother, and my mother, and all that stuff, feels like it was a whole other lifetime ago. A world to which I can never return.

  "You know," says Joe, disturbing me from my memories, "if you're around for a while, and if you fancy hanging out, I know a great little pub and -"

  "Thanks," I say, "but I have to get going tonight. I'm sorry." I look at his kind eyes and part of me wishes I could stay and 'hang out'. But I have to go and find Duncan. "Thanks for the offer. Maybe another time."

  "Sure," he says, looking a little embarrassed. "Sure."

  I return my gaze to the window, to the trees of this endless forest as we head along the road. It's weird, I hadn't thought about my father or my brother or my mother for weeks. There's a part of me, just a tiny part, that feels it would be good to go back and see them. But I can't. That door has closed. That bridge is burned. I'm on my own now, but maybe if I can find Duncan we can find somewhere to go.

  "Okay, we're home," says Joe as the truck comes to an abrupt halt.

  I look ahead and see to my shock and horror that we've pulled up right back at the carnival.

  "No way," I say. "No, get us out of here. We can't be here!"

  "What?" Joe says, seeming confused. "I brought you home."

  "No fucking way," I say, opening the door, jumping out and turning to run. But I find that Grinde and some of his workers are standing right behind the truck, waiting for me.

  "Hello Jessica," says Grinde, smiling. He has the little device in his hand, the one that causes the implant in my neck to become agonizing. He turns to Joe, who is getting out of the truck. "Thank you, Joe. It's very good luck that you ran into our friend, she might have got lost out there. Thank you for bringing her home."

  "I'm not home," I say. I look back at Joe. "Do you work for him?"

  Joe shrugs. "I thought you wanted to come home."

  "Joe," says Grinde. "There's a problem with the main tent. Can you go and fix it before the audience gets here."

  "Sure," says Joe, putting his hands in his pocket and shambling away.

  "I'm not staying," I say to Grinde.

  "As you can see, attempts to escape are futile," he replies. He holds up the little device with the button. "I was subtle this time. I won't be again."

  I stare at him, determined to find some way to wipe that filthy grin off his face. Finally, I try to make a run for it, but the pain in my neck hits and I fall to the ground, screaming. This time, the pain just continues.

  "Stop!" I shout. "Stop!"

  After what feels like forever, the pain subsides, though I'm still sore and tender. I get to my feet, slightly out of breath.

  "The show begins at 8pm," Grinde says. "The audience will be here shortly before that time. I would suggest that we all get back to work. Last night's show was a litt
le below par, so we have to make it up to the audience tonight. Everyone must be on their best behavior." He smiles at me. "Everyone."

  With that, he and the others turn and heads toward the tents. I look back out toward the forest. I was so close to escaping, I got so far... But the pain in my neck was intense, I can't let that happen again. Okay, I underestimated Grinde, it's going to take longer to work out how to get out of here. But I will find a way. Duncan, if he's still alive, needs me. And I can't stay here in this freak show, even if my escape will have to wait. Slowly, begrudgingly, I follow the others toward the tents. Back to the carnival.

  Duncan

  I phase in and out of consciousness. I can hear him nearby, pacing the stone floor. He's waiting, but for what? Part of me wants to raise my head, open my eyes and see his face. But then I remember how powerless I am as I hang here. I am nothing more than his plaything now, and I shall be this way for the rest of eternity.

  I hear him coming closer. I tense. What now? What is he going to do? How much more pain is he going to inflict? Is he-

  I gasp as I feel his teeth close around the wound on my shoulder. He bites down hard, cracking more bones and sending hot blood flowing down my arm and across my chest. I can feel his teeth inside me, cutting my nerves and tendons. And finally, he rips away and my entire right arm is separated from my body.

  Jess

  I spend a couple of hours sitting on the grass near the werewolf tent, watching as the workers erect what looks like a small stage. One of the workers is Joe, who seems totally oblivious to the fact that he betrayed me. He glances over and smiles once or twice, as if he genuinely believes he did me a favor by bringing me back here.

  Darla wanders over and sits next to me.

  "We've all tried to escape from time to time," she says. "Never works. They're always one step ahead."

  "So you stopped trying?" I ask, staring straight ahead.

  "Oh, darling," she says, sighing. "Look, I've been here for years. Maybe five years or more. Can you imagine how fucking exhausting that would've been if I'd been trying to escape every day? It's better to just relax."