Alfie the Werewolf 3: Silvertooth Read online

  Why did he do that? thought Alfie. What kind of weird uncle is he? First he wants me to come and live with him and then he locks me up as if I’m some kind of animal.

  It’s not fair! And I had to say goodbye to everyone in such a hurry.

  Suddenly he thought of Noura. He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to her. That was terrible!

  Noura was Alfie’s girlfriend. She was in his class at school and she was special. She also knew his secret. When Alfie was near her, he always felt a warm glow inside.

  When will I see her again? he thought. And Tim and his mother and his silly dad?

  Alfie grabbed the bars of the cage and tried to shake them. They were made of iron: very hard and extremely strong.

  He let go again with a sinking feeling in his stomach. It had all happened so fast. His eyes misted over, but he didn’t want to cry. He hugged Tim’s bear to his chest and stared into space. What’s going to happen to me? he wondered.

  A little later the car stopped suddenly, sending Alfie flying again. Fortunately he didn’t bang his head on the bars this time. Alfie jumped up on to his feet. He still couldn’t see any light anywhere.

  ‘Uncle Seb,’ he called, ‘let me out.’

  He heard the door of the Jeep open and close. Then footsteps and rustling leaves. The smell of a cigar drifted into the cage.

  ‘Uncle Seb?’

  No answer.

  He heard some strange noises and, for a second, felt the cage move again.

  ‘Uncle Seb, may I get out now?’

  Feet shuffled through leaves. Someone coughed and cleared his throat.

  Alfie grabbed the bars. ‘Let me out!’ he shouted.

  The smell of the cigar grew stronger.

  ‘Behave yourself, werewolf. It’s not full moon yet!’ Uncle Seb chuckled, sending a chill to Alfie’s heart.

  He knows! thought Alfie. Uncle Seb knows my secret. But how? Has someone betrayed me?

  The footsteps moved away again.

  ‘Uncle Seb,’ Alfie called. ‘Please let me out. Please, Uncle Seb, it’s so dark in here. I’m scared.’

  No answer came, only the slamming of the Jeep door. The car started and drove off, but the cage stayed motionless right where it was.

  That’s impossible, thought Alfie, but then he worked it out. Uncle Seb had unhooked the trailer and driven off.

  He’s left me behind, thought Alfie. All by myself.

  Then he heard a sliding, scraping sound. And suddenly, close by, a high-pitched screech. It was the scream of a living creature and louder than the shriek of a dentist’s drill.

  Alfie felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he whispered.

  8

  Grandpa Werewolf

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ Tim said. ‘Come in.’

  He opened the door wider and the visitor stepped in, taking off his hat and hanging it on the coat rack. Yellow eyes stared at Tim from a black wolf’s head.

  It was Alfie’s grandpa. He didn’t need to wait until full moon to change into a wolf. He was one permanently. Long ago he had decided never again to take on human form. That was something that only very old werewolves, who had changed form many times, could do.

  Grandpa Werewolf lived in the forest and came to visit some evenings. He was crazy about Alfie. Now he stared intently at Tim.

  ‘So something is wrong,’ he said. ‘I can see it in your face. I smell it from your mood.’ He strode into the living room. Mum and Dad didn’t bat an eyelid.

  Dad looked up from his map. ‘Hello, Grandpa Werewolf.’

  Grandpa growled and nodded hello. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Alfie’s gone,’ Tim said in a quivery voice.

  ‘What do you mean, gone? Has he run away? Did you have an argument?’ The old werewolf’s eyes flashed.

  ‘No arguments,’ Mum said. ‘We never have any arguments with Alfie, you know that. He’s the sweetest boy in the whole world.’

  Tim nodded furiously. ‘His uncle showed up.’

  Grandpa Werewolf looked from Mum to Tim. ‘His uncle? Which uncle? Where did he come from? What did he want?’

  ‘Uncle Seb,’ Mum said. ‘He had a court order. It said that from now on Alfie has to live with him.’

  For a long time, Grandpa Werewolf didn’t say a word. He sat down carefully on a chair and thought things through, holding his walking stick in his paws and leaning on it.

  ‘Where is Alfie now?’

  ‘He’s gone with Uncle Seb,’ Dad said. ‘He had to. The judge had decided. There was nothing we could do.’

  Grandpa Werewolf nodded, closing his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft. ‘Listen, please think very carefully. What did this Uncle Seb look like? Did you notice anything unusual about him?’

  Dad ran his fingers through his blue hair. ‘He was big, that was the first thing I noticed. And he wore a hat. That made it hard for me to get a good look at his face.’

  ‘The cigar!’ Mum said. ‘He smoked a filthy cigar and stank out the whole house.’

  Grandpa’s wolf’s head nodded gently. ‘A cigar!’ He still had his eyes shut, almost as if he was asleep. ‘Was there anything else? Anything particularly unusual?’

  ‘His teeth!’ Tim said.

  Slowly Grandpa opened his gleaming, deep-yellow eyes to study Tim. ‘What about his teeth, Tim?’

  ‘His two front teeth were both solid silver.’

  Grandpa groaned and slumped slowly on his chair. His pointed ears drooped. His eyes turned a dull yellow. Suddenly he looked even older than he was. ‘Silvertooth,’ he mumbled. ‘He’s found Alfie!’

  Mum moved closer with a worried expression.

  ‘What did you say, Grandpa? Are you all right?’

  Grandpa Werewolf sat up even more slowly. His eyes spat fire. ‘Sebarino Silvertooth, that’s his name, the terror of all werewolves, and now he’s got Alfie.’

  9

  Silvertooth

  ‘Who’s there?’ Alfie asked again, his voice trembling. He held his breath and listened. The screeching sound had stopped. All he could hear now was a kind of snoring.

  Alfie was covered in goosebumps. What kind of creature makes a noise like that? he wondered. He shook his head and sat down on the floor of the cage. He had no idea. All he knew was that the longer he sat there in the dark, the more frightened and lonely he felt.

  Tim’s bear was his only comfort. It smelt like Tim and he pressed it against his cheek.

  ‘Tim must be wondering why I haven’t called,’ he said to the bear. ‘He might think I’ve already forgotten him. But I couldn’t possibly forget him. Never! Even if I never see him again.’

  Alfie was shocked by the very thought.

  ‘Of course I’ll see Tim again, bear. You wait, as soon as I get a chance I’m leaving. No way am I going to stay with Uncle Seb. As soon as I can, I’ll break out of this cage. And then I’ll go straight back to Tim’s.’

  The teddy bear looked at him silently with its beady black eyes.

  Alfie sighed and wrapped his arms around his knees. What time was it? Maybe it was already dark. He was starting to get hungry and thoughts of tender chickens and bloody steaks rose up in him. That always happened at full moon.

  Where’s Uncle Seb gone? Is he coming back? Why has he left me behind like this?

  Alfie scratched his head. He felt an itch, the werewolf itch! He grabbed the bars with both hands and tugged and jerked with all his might.

  ‘Let me out!’ he screamed, pulling as hard as he could. ‘Let me out!’

  The bars didn’t give at all.

  Suddenly he heard the sound of the Jeep. Uncle Seb was coming back. The engine turned off. A car door opened and closed. Footsteps.

  Then the sheet slipped off Alfie’s cage. It was still light, but the sun was already behind the trees.

  ‘So, werewolf, I’m back again.’

  Uncle Seb was standing in front of the cage, his Jeep parked a bit further away in
front of a wooden shack.

  ‘What are you calling me that for? My name is Alfie Span.’

  Uncle Seb grinned. ‘You think you can make a monkey out of me? I can smell a werewolf a mile away, so save your breath.’ He folded up the sheet and carried it back to the Jeep.

  Alfie looked around and saw trees, trees everywhere. He was in a forest. There were other cages and pens around his, but he couldn’t see what was in them.

  One wooden box with just a small barred door at the front was shaking hard from side to side. Claws scratched on wood. Again Alfie heard the shrieking sound he had heard earlier.

  Uncle Seb came back. He kicked the screeching creature’s box. ‘Shut up!’

  It went quiet.

  Uncle Seb turned around and looked at Alfie. Alfie peered back at him through the bars.

  ‘Who are you really? You can’t be a real uncle of mine. A real uncle wouldn’t put me in a cage.’

  Uncle Seb smiled. His silver teeth glinted in the last rays of sunlight. He was wearing silver rings on his fingers and a silver chain around his neck. There were shining silver buckles on his boots and his belt.

  Alfie scuttled back to the rear of the cage. All that silver made him feel sick.

  ‘I’ll get some food for you, wolf. You need to be in good shape when the collectors come.’

  Alfie’s heart began to beat faster. ‘Collectors? What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ll find out tonight,’ growled Uncle Seb.

  10

  The Collectors

  Tim and his parents looked at Grandpa in horror.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Mum. ‘Do you think Alfie is in danger?’

  Grandpa made a growling, groaning noise. His eyes were dark slits with a thin line of yellow.

  ‘Sebarino Silvertooth has been infamous among us werewolves for a very long time. He has silver teeth and he wears silver jewellery. That protects him from all werewolves. We can’t touch him. We’re helpless against silver, you know that.’

  ‘So he’s not Alfie’s uncle at all?’

  Grandpa Werewolf growled. He picked up the letter and ripped it with his claw. ‘Of course not. He’s not anybody’s uncle. Sebarino Silvertooth is a swindler and that court order is a fake. The court’s stamp is a fake. Everything is fake because Silvertooth is a fake.’

  ‘But why did he take Alfie away then?’ asked Mum. ‘What kind of person is he?’

  Grandpa Werewolf closed his eyes. ‘Silvertooth used to be a werewolf killer. He hunted werewolves and killed them. He hunted me once too, but I got away.’

  Tim leapt up. ‘Uncle Seb’s a werewolf killer? Come on, we have to save Alfie. Now!’

  Grandpa Werewolf opened his eyes again. ‘Slow down, Tim. Silvertooth doesn’t kill werewolves any more. Nowadays he’s a businessman.’

  ‘What kind of businessman?’ asked Dad.

  ‘A Dealer in Extraordinary Creatures.’

  ‘A dealer in what?’

  ‘Extraordinary Creatures: werewolves, extinct birds, strange species of animal and other unusual beings.’

  ‘And what does he do with these Extraordinary Creatures?’ Tim’s voice was shaking.

  ‘He sells them to collectors and researchers. Werewolves are worth a lot of money these days because there are so few of us left.’

  For a moment Dad stared into space, dreaming. ‘A collector of extinct creatures; that sounds like a very cool profession. Or a collector of creatures that don’t actually exist, that’s even cooler.’

  A dig in the ribs brought him back to earth.

  ‘Hey, Mr Cool,’ Mum said, ‘get back to the problem, will you? Alfie is in the hands of a fake uncle and you sit there dreaming about “cool” professions.’

  Dad nodded, looking guilty. ‘Um, sorry, stupid of me. What kind of person collects creatures, Grandpa?’

  ‘An oddball, definitely. A weird, wealthy oddball dabbling in a strange hobby. The kind of person who keeps a private zoo at home.’

  Tim imagined his friend in a cage in the home of someone who was weird, wealthy, odd and bald. Never! he thought.

  ‘And what kind of researchers do you mean?’ Dad asked.

  Grandpa hesitated for a moment, looking at Tim. ‘I’m afraid this won’t be pleasant to hear. Silvertooth also sells his wares to researchers. They’re usually people who want to know exactly how things are put together. They ask themselves questions like: Is there someone else under a werewolf’s fur?’

  ‘So what do they do?’

  Tim didn’t want to hear the answer.

  ‘Researchers do experiments,’ Grandpa said. ‘They want to know what a werewolf looks like on the inside, so …’

  The colour drained from Tim’s face. ‘They can’t!’ he cried. ‘They’re not allowed to cut Alfie open! Then I’ll never see my friend again.’

  11

  The Pale Boy

  Uncle Seb had gone away again. Fortunately, without replacing the sheet over Alfie’s cage. The sun had set completely by now and the darkness was slowly emerging. There was no movement in the pens or the other cages. The strange, screeching creature seemed to have gone to sleep. Alfie could hear loud snoring coming from its box.

  If only Tim was here, he thought. Tim’s smart. He would be sure to come up with a plan of how to escape.

  A pale moon crept out from behind the trees.

  Alfie scratched himself on the head again. The werewolf itch was getting worse. He could smell strange smells and hear strange noises. His ears were already covered with thick white hair. Soon he would have changed completely and become a wolf. Suddenly he heard a noise from one of the pens.

  ‘Oowah!’

  Something was waking up and yawning.

  ‘Wrow! Who’s that?’ asked Alfie, putting down Tim’s bear. He already had a growly, werewolf voice.

  He crept forward.

  Something was moving in the cage next to his.

  A thin face looked out through the bars. It was a pale boy with red lips and yellow spiky hair. He didn’t look much older than Alfie.

  ‘What you looking at me for?’ he snapped, banging the bars with two clenched fists. ‘Mind your own business, werewolf!’

  Fierce eyes stared at Alfie. The boy snarled and spat like a wildcat. Sharp fangs gleamed in the corners of his mouth.

  Alfie stepped back in fright. He curled up in the corner of the cage, pressing Tim’s bear against his cheek. If only Tim was here! he thought again. Tim would protect me.

  The boy banged on his bars again. He hissed and growled and snarled. ‘Where you gone, wimp? What kind of werewolf are you? Say something if you dare!’

  Alfie didn’t answer. He didn’t want to listen to the savage boy.

  How does he know that I’m a werewolf? he thought. Is he a werewolf too? Or did he hear what Uncle Seb said? Either way he’s vicious.

  Alfie held on tight to the bear. I have to escape from here as fast as possible, he thought. I want to go back to Tim and his parents.

  ‘Why don’t you answer me?’ the boy called. ‘Why don’t you say something?’

  His voice sounded fainter and fainter and finally he stopped talking altogether. It was quiet for a while. Slowly it grew dark between the trees. A cloud slid in front of the moon.

  Then Alfie heard soft sobbing. It was coming from the other cage, he was sure of it. The pale boy was crying softly to himself.

  12

  Track Tracer

  ‘I’ve heard enough,’ Dad cried, jumping up. ‘We’re going to go and get Alfie this minute. I’ve got Uncle Seb’s address.’

  He ran into the hall, grabbed his coat off the coat rack, slipped his feet into a pair of shoes and stumbled back into the living room.

  He had the coat on inside out and he was wearing the shoes back to front.

  ‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ he asked.

  Grandpa Werewolf looked at him thoughtfully. ‘So you know where Silvertooth lives, do you?’

  Dad nodded. ‘123 Donk
ey Street. He gave me the address himself.’

  Grandpa Werewolf scratched his head. ‘I guess you looked on the map?’

  Dad nodded.

  ‘And I suppose Donkey Street wasn’t on it?’

  Again, Dad nodded. ‘It must be in one of those new suburbs. That must be why it’s not on the map yet.’

  Grandpa shook his head forcefully. ‘Just wake up! Donkey Street is not on the map because it doesn’t exist. Sebarino Silvertooth wouldn’t betray his hiding place! And there really is no chance of Alfie calling. This is a very serious situation, people. Alfie has been kidnapped by the smartest and most dangerous werewolf hunter of all. And we don’t know where he is.’

  Dad, Mum and Tim looked at each other.

  ‘But … how are we going to find him then?’ Tim’s lower lip was trembling. ‘Where should we look for him, Grandpa? Or … will we never see Alfie again?’

  Grandpa Werewolf sighed. ‘I don’t know, son. There’s only one way for us to find him. We need a track tracer.’

  ‘A what?’ Mum asked.

  ‘A track tracer. Someone who can follow Alfie’s track from here. Someone with a highly developed sense of smell. A werewolf, in other words. But where can I find one?’

  They looked at Grandpa.

  ‘Grandpa, you’re a werewolf yourself, aren’t you?’ Mum said gently. ‘Or had you forgotten?’

  Grandpa shook his head. ‘Of course not. I’m not mad, you know. I’m just too old. My sense of smell is nowhere near as good as it used to be. All the smells outside would just confuse me.’

  ‘And a tracker dog?’ asked Tim.

  ‘Preferably not, son. Dogs can only follow a track on the ground. Werewolves can sniff out the slightest trace of a track on the ground or in the air from miles away. That’s why we need a young, energetic werewolf.’

  He leant heavily on his walking stick and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he suddenly raised his head. ‘Leo! We need Leo. He’s always in the forest somewhere. I have to go and look for him.’