Quarrel with the Moon (5 page)

He did not mention his experience to his parents; it seemed too private. But he made many more trips up the mountainside, and watched the wolf cubs grow into adulthood. That fall the family moved north to Morgantown, West Virginia. The change was prompted by his father's work. Mr. Holman had taken a job as a mine foreman. The move from Jericho Falls and the wolves broke Josh's ten-year-old heart.

***

Had wolves existed in Ancient Egypt? Josh was in the process of answering the letter of inquiry when the intercom sounded. It was Dr. Raymond Phelps, the director of the institute. His usually taciturn manner was charged with an unusual degree of excitement. "Josh, are you in? Of course, you're in, otherwise you wouldn't be answering, would you? Look, Josh, I want you to drop whatever you're doing and meet me in 'D' laboratory immediately. I have something astounding to show you."

"I'll be there right away, Dr. Phelps."

Josh was intrigued. Nothing,
absolutely nothing
, caused Dr. Phelps' carefully modulated voice to rise above a somnolent monotone.

The laboratories in the basement of the building were outfitted with every available scientific device for testing and authenticating anthropological "finds." Here the exact age of a Mayan mummy was fixed, the cause of death of an Assyrian sailor was determined, and human remains found in England were correctly placed in time according to the development of man.

Using his pass card, Josh unlocked the door to "D" laboratory. Dr. Phelps, who had been leaning over a lab table, swung around. Phelps was a gentle and undramatic man in his late sixties. Slight in build, he seemed to compensate for his lack of stature by wearing his unruly white hair in an explosive mass of disarrayed curls. His usually bland, pinched face was red with fervor, and, for the first time that Josh could remember, he was perspiring.

"Josh, you won't believe what I've got here. You simply won't believe it!" Josh started for the lab table, but Phelps stopped him, wanting to begin with an explanation.

"What is it, Dr. Phelps? What's happened?"

The professor shook his head. His hair bobbed up and down like caps on a raging sea. "Josh, as you know, Harry Evers is in the field."

Josh grinned. He and Harry were old friends, drinking companions and confidants. Together they railed against what they called the "tight-assed orthodoxy of the institute." "Yes, I know. Indian digs in the Appalachians."

"Delaware Indian digs," corrected Dr. Phelps. "Well, Harry and his assistants discovered something besides arrowheads." The professor was almost panting now. "You just won't believe what he sent back. The package arrived just this morning."

Josh waited patiently for Phelps to reveal the source of his agitation, but the professor rambled on. "That area is your neck of the woods, isn't it, Josh?" He smiled crookedly at his own poor joke.

"Yes, I was born in Jericho Falls. It's about ten miles away from the digs."

"Do you ever think of returning, Josh?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders. "There's no reason to. Both my parents are dead. I have an aunt who lives up in the mountains around there. We keep in touch with Christmas cards, but we haven't seen each other in years."

Phelps solemnly led Josh to the table. He placed his hand on a small wooden crate and said, "You must keep this in confidence, Josh. Do I have your word on it?"

"Of course."

Phelps opened the crate and carefully removed a skull and some bones from their resting place among the excelsior.

"Indian?" Josh ventured.

"Look closer, Josh." He held the skull under a strong arc light and turned it around so that it was facing the young man. Josh frowned and sucked in his breath. The professor thrust the skull at Josh. The young man dropped his hands to his sides and took a step backwards. "It can't be," he muttered. "It simply can't be."

The skull was shaped like that of a wolf, but much broader in the head, more like a man's. Josh tentatively approached the skull. "This can't be authentic," he said. And yet in his heart he knew that it was. Without taking it from the professor, he studied the comparative lengths of the muzzle and the brain case. "The muzzle is shorter and the brain case larger than that of a normal wolf. And look at the tooth arrangement. The grasp of the jaws is essentially right, and yet the line of the teeth is more, excluding the large canines, is more uniform, more like...."

"A man's," supplied Phelps. "Take a look at the bones. Harry believes they came from the same body."

"Where did he find them?" asked Josh, anxious to leave the skull.

"At the mouth of a cave near the banks of the Cheat River. Harry thinks that the ... animal, or whatever you choose to call it, went there to die."

"Die?"

"You'll note that section of rib bones, Josh. They appear to have been damaged by bullets."

Josh scrutinized the rib section. "The construction's finer than that of a man's. There's more of a crest." He pressed his finger to the indentations in the ribs. "Shotgun."

"That's what I thought. Now take a look at that foot or ... paw."

"It's larger than it should be. Wolves walk on the digits, Dr. Phelps, and not on the soles of the feet. There are four toes, the fifth digit retained as a dewclaw. This enables the animal to dig in on the true foot or to slow down its progress on slippery surfaces such as ice or mud. But, Jesus, look at the Goddamn size of the thing! It's enormous. A man's size 10, 10 1/2." Josh looked seriously at Phelps. "I hope this is some kind of an elaborate hoax."

"I don't think it is, Josh. But that's why I called on you. I want you to help me run the tests. If you have any appointments, cancel them. I'll send out for lunch. We can't act upon this until we're sure that the bones are authentic."

They spent the rest of the morning running tests. It was a slow and tedious process, but by two P.M. both men were satisfied that the bones were, indeed, authentic, and that in all probability the creature had died of shotgun wounds. They were also able to reckon its age. By man's standards it would have been in its late twenties; by a wolf's, three to four years old. The year of its death was almost certainly 1950.

Throughout the morning the men had worked without once daring to speak of the significance of the discovery. Now, at the end of their scrutiny, they faced one another and the inevitable.

"This is incredible," Josh said at last. A chill slid down his spine like an errant caterpillar. "It's the stuff of legends, the theme of nightmares. This creature is half-man, half-wolf."

A note of hysteria crept into the professor's voice, grave and elated at the same time. "For centuries the existence of such a species - half-man, half-beast - has persisted, and now we have positive proof that it does. Josh, I want you to go down there and investigate." His protruding eyes resembled those of a man in shock. "It could be that there are ... others."

Phelps' proposal was unexpected, and Josh asked, "Why me, Dr. Phelps?"

"The answer is obvious, Josh. You know that part of the country, you're from there. And you're considered an expert on
Canis Lupus
. I read the monograph you wrote while at Cambridge. I felt it was most impressive."

Josh could not help grinning. "This is like something out of a 1940's horror movie."

Phelps scowled. A sense of humor had never invaded his scholarly personality, and he did not approve of it in others, particularly if their levity were applied to anything connected to the institute.

"I don't fly, Dr. Phelps. It's a ... quirk of mine."

The professor frowned again. He did not approve of people's phobias, either. "There are other modes of travel, Joshua."

Josh reappraised the situation. Dr. Phelps never called him Joshua unless he was irritated. And it wouldn't do to have the director of the institute upset with him. Besides, the way things were between him and Cresta, a temporary separation might do them both good, particularly after last night's ugly scene. Josh ventured, "Would the institute cover all expenses?"

Phelps made an impatient gesture. "Of course. Don't we always?"

"I suppose I could rent a camper," Josh was slow to suggest. "I could be there in twelve to fourteen hours."

The professor nodded his head happily.

"If I do this, Dr. Phelps, I want no time limit put on my investigation. And I must insist that I be given credit for all data collected. Granted, Harry made the initial discovery and together we authenticated it. But if I follow it up, I want proper credit for everything I do above and beyond the institute."

Phelps didn't like the conditions, but he knew Josh was immovable once he had made up his mind. And he obviously had. "Agreed," he said briskly. The older man gathered up his notes. "I will leave you now, Josh, to make your arrangements. I'll have Eleanor draw up the check for you to cover expenses. Please put ... everything ... away and lock the lab."

"Yes, yes, of course. Is there any way I can let Harry know I'm coming?"

"I don't see how. He's miles from a telephone. But no matter. I'm sure he'll welcome your help on this venture. Tell Harry to drop the Indian project. Just keep it as a front for this ..." he glanced uneasily at the skull and bones, "this surprise." With that, Dr. Phelps left.

Slowly, reluctantly, Josh turned to face the skull. Fascinated and repelled at the same time, he forced himself to pick it up and stared directly into its empty sockets. He suddenly felt so cold that his teeth started chattering and he began to shiver involuntarily. He wanted to pull his gaze away from the skull, to pack it away out of sight, but he was incapable of movement. He had never known the condition which was called "terror" before. He had never experienced it even as a child. It was a feeling which went far beyond fear because it was so unreasoning. Strange sounds filled his head - a sharp gusting wind, leaves being torn from their branches, twigs snapping, and the soft crunch of
something
running.

Cold rivulets of perspiration poured down his forehead, blurring his vision. He had never known anything like what he now felt. Sheer, mind-bending terror. Another sound began, and it seemed to emanate from the jaws of the skull he was clutching. It was the unholy howl of death.

Josh willed his eyes to close. That slight movement broke the hold of the overpowering sensation which had gripped him. The skull fell from his hand onto the tabletop. Josh took several tentative steps backward, not daring to look at it. Then some of the fear slipped away. His body temperature and breathing returned to normal. He might have remained in that half-hypnotized state for five minutes or fifty. At last he was able to open his eyes.

Josh told himself that the sudden sickness (what else could he call it?) which had overcome him was a result of the heavy drinking he had done the night before. That part of his mind which had nothing to do with reasoning accepted the explanation. It had to. But he really didn't believe it.

Josh left work early in order to go to the bank. After waiting an interminable amount of time in line for cash and traveler's checks, he then hurried back to his apartment to pack. He had rented a sixteen-foot-long camper by phone and arranged to pick it up at the garage on Eleventh Avenue by six o'clock.

He had only one problem. How was he going to break the news of his departure to Cresta? Every time he had made a business trip to a convention or for purposes of research, Cresta had whined, complained and acted like a little girl suddenly abandoned by her parents. Josh realized that Cresta depended upon him a great deal for support. Despite her beauty, her success and her friends, Cresta was a very insecure person.

They needed a little breathing space, and time to reassess their relationship. Besides, it was good for couples, married and otherwise, to get away from one another. Josh remembered those times when Cresta was off on location shoots, such as last winter's junket to the Virgin Islands. He had enjoyed being alone, having the apartment to himself. Even though he had missed her, he had been happy to have no one to answer to. Images of that time came back - himself cruising about a series of bars - music blaring, lights flashing, women inviting - invaded his mind. His freedom from commitment had been fun, and he hadn't had a blackout ... had he?

Josh was packing when he heard Cresta's keys undoing the series of locks which, hopefully, kept them safe from burglars. Damn, he had forgotten to get her a present. Well, perhaps going away would be the best present he could give her.

"Josh, are you home?" she called out. Her cheerful voice held no indication of their quarrel.

"I'm in here, Cresta," Josh responded.

He heard her drop her packages in the kitchen and make her way down the hall toward the master bedroom. "I thought we'd eat in tonight, Josh. I picked up some things at the market. We'll start with a cold soup with sour cream and caviar, finish with fresh peaches, and for the main course I'm going to prepare a watercress salad and a mushroom quiche. You know, it can be fun cooking for a vegetarian." She stopped short at the bedroom door. "Josh, what are you doing?"

Josh looked up from his packing. He realized from Cresta's tone that she assumed he was leaving her for good. "Just a research trip, love. The institute is sending me back to West-by-God-Virginia."

"But, but when did all this take place?"

"Today. Sorry I couldn't give you any notice, but it's sort of an emergency trip."

"How long will you be gone?" Cresta stammered.

Josh shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, love." She looked close to tears. "Probably just a couple of weeks, no more. Harry Evers is down there with a couple of assistants. They've set up camp on the Cheat River, just on the other side of the mountain where I was born. He needs some help and...." Josh walked over to Cresta and put his hands on her shoulders. "Look, we've been getting on each other's nerves. It will be a good thing for us to be apart for a while. Don't you agree?"

Cresta backed away, tears flooded her eyes, making them sparkle even more. "You want to go, don't you? You want to get away from me. Your running away to West-by-God-Virginia won't solve anything, Josh." Cresta looked at him miserably. "Don't you care for me any more. Josh?"