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I could see he was starting to think that I might stand him up. Maybe he even suspected that old Boobs was lurking around watching him and laughing to herself because he had fallen for a trick. Maybe old Boobs had even brought some kids from school with her to see what a jerk he was.
Actually that would have been pretty good, except Billy probably would have broken my nose for me again, or worse, if I’d tried it.
“Kelsey?” he goes, sounding mad.
I didn’t want him stomping off home in a huff. I moved up closer, and I let the bushes swish a little around my shoulders.
He goes, “Hey, Kelse, it’s late, where’ve you been?”
I listen to the words, but mostly I listen to the little thread of worry flickering in his voice, low and high, high and low, as he tried to figure out what was going on.
I let out the whisper of a growl.
He stood real still, staring at the bushes, and he goes, “That you, Kelse? Answer me.”
I was wild inside. I couldn’t wait another second. I tore through the bushes and leaped for him, flying.
He stumbled backward with a squawk—”What!”—jerking his hands up in front
of his face, and he was just sucking in a big breath to yell with when I hit him like a demo-derby truck.
I jammed my nose past his feeble claws and chomped down hard on his face.
No sound came out of him except this wet, thick gurgle, which I could more taste than hear because the sound came right into my mouth with the gush of his blood and the hot mess of meat and skin that I tore away and swallowed.
He thrashed around, hitting at me, but I hardly felt anything through my fur. I mean, he wasn’t so big and strong laying there on the ground with me straddling him all lean and wiry with wolf-muscle. And plus, he was in shock. I got a strong whiff from below as he let go of everything right into his pants.
Dogs were barking, but so many people around Baker’s Park have dogs to scare away burglars, and the dogs make such a racket all the time, that nobody pays any attention. I wasn’t worried. Anyway, I was too busy to care.
I nosed in under what was left of Billy’s jaw and I bit his throat out.
Now let him go around telling lies about people.
His clothes were a lot of trouble and I really missed having hands. I managed to drag his shirt out of his belt with my teeth, though, and it was easy to tear his belly open. Pretty messy, but once I got in there, it was better than Thanksgiving dinner. Who would think that somebody as horrible as Billy Linden could taste so good?
He was barely moving by then, and I quit thinking about him as Billy Linden any more. I quit thinking at all, I just pushed my muzzle in and pulled out delicious, steaming chunks and ate until I was picking at tidbits, and everything was getting cold.
On the way home I saw a police car cruising the neighborhood the way they do sometimes. I hid in the shadows and of course they never saw me.
There was a lot of washing up to do that night, and when Hilda saw my sheets in the morning she shook her head. She goes, “You should be more careful about keeping track of your period so as not to get caught by surprise like this.”
Everybody in school knew something had happened to Billy Linden, but it wasn’t until the day after that they got the word. Kids stood around in little huddles trading rumors about how some wild animal had chewed Billy up. I would walk up and listen in and add a really gross remark or two, part of the game of thrilling each other green and nauseous with made-up details to see who would upchuck first.
Not me, though it was a near thing. I mean, when somebody went on about how Billy’s whole head was gnawed down to the skull and they didn’t even know who he was except from the bus pass in his wallet, I got a little urpy. It’s amazing the things people will dream up.
But when I thought about what I had actually done to Billy, I had to smile. And it felt totally wonderful to walk through the halls without having anybody yelling, “Hey, Boobs!”
There are people who just plain do not deserve to live. And the same goes for Fat Joey, if he doesn’t quit crowding me in science lab, trying to get a feel.
One funny thing, though, I don’t get periods at all any more. I get a little crampy, and my breasts get sore, and I break out more than usual—and then instead of bleeding, I change.
Which is fine with me, though I take a lot more care now about how I hunt on my wolf nights. I stay away from Baker’s Park. The suburbs go on for miles and miles, and there are lots of places I can hunt and still get home by morning. A running wolf can cover a lot of ground.
And I make sure I make my kills where I can eat in private, so no cop car can catch me unawares, which could easily have happened that night when I killed Billy, I was so deep into the eating thing that first time. I look around a lot more now when I’m on a kill, I keep watch.
Good thing it’s only once a month this happens, and only a couple of nights. “The Full Moon Killer” has the whole state up in arms and terrified as it is. Eventually I guess I’ll have to go somewhere else, which I’m not looking forward to at all. If I can just last until I can have a car of my own, life will get a lot easier.
Meantime, some wolf nights I don’t even feel like hunting. Mostly I’m not as hungry as I was those first times. I think I must have been storing up my appetite for a long time. Sometimes now I just prowl around, and I run, boy do I run. If I am hungry, sometimes I eat garbage instead of killing somebody. It’s no fun, but you do get a taste for it. I don’t mind garbage as long as once in a while I can have the real thing fresh-killed, nice and wet. People can be awfully nasty, but they sure taste sweet.
