Alfie the Werewolf 4: Wolf Wood Page 6

  ‘Pffff, he doesn’t want to hear your unimportant proposal, do you, your mayorship?’

  The mayor leant his bike against a tree. He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Not so hasty now, slow down a little. A mayor has to listen to everyone’s proposals. That’s in the best interest of the town as a whole. With a view to the impending elections for mayor, of course.’

  Up in a tree a crow started cawing. It sounded like mocking laughter.

  Rattlebones smirked. ‘You are absolutely right, mayor. And our proposal will be music to your ears. Besides flats and football pitches, there will also be a new town hall. What do you say to that?

  The mayor’s eyes grew as big as bottle tops. ‘A … a new town hall? With towers and everything? And stone lions at the entrance?’

  Rattlebones nodded. The children watched with bated breath.

  ‘Fantastic,’ sighed the mayor.

  ‘Oh, no,’ groaned Mr French.

  Vincent smiled.

  27

  The Scoffle

  Alfie slapped his knees. His growling laugh echoed over the graveyard. He laughed so much the lenses of his glasses misted over. Bats flapped away between the headstones. Dad was roaring with laughter too. So hard, that the helmet went crooked on his head and almost fell off.

  He grabbed it just in time and made sure it stayed on. That seemed very important to him.

  Tim rolled back and forth over the ground, thrashing around with his arms and legs. ‘Alfie, help.’

  The long-haired creature was still sitting on top of him. It growled and swished its tail. Tim tried to push it away, but it wouldn’t let go.

  ‘Dad, Alfie, help me, help me.’

  ‘Wrow, Tim, it’s nothing to get upset about. It just wants to play. Look at it.’

  Dad smiled. ‘Hi, Tim. Brilliant, you’ve found it. I’ve been looking for it all evening.’

  At last Tim figured it out. ‘Oh, sugar, it’s the Scoffle. I didn’t realize.’

  The Scoffle purred like a cat, stuck out its long red tongue and licked Tim on the cheek. Tim giggled.

  ‘It doesn’t want to eat me up. It just wants to play. How’d it get here?’

  ‘Wrow, I think it’s lost.’

  Dad nodded. ‘It might be. Or there could be some other explanation. Maybe it sensed that Grandpa Werewolf was here.’

  Dad looked at Grandpa Werewolf with a worried expression. ‘How is he?’

  ‘Wrow, still unconscious. At least that way he doesn’t feel any pain.’

  Cautiously Tim stroked the Scoffle’s long hair. ‘That was so stupid of me. I didn’t recognize it. I thought it was a monster. It’s because of this mysterious graveyard. Nothing looks the same in the moonlight. And then I heard all those whispering voices.’

  ‘Voices?’ Alfie asked.

  Tim nodded, giggling again when the Scoffle licked his nose. ‘Yeah, but it was just the wind, I think.’ He pressed his cheek against the Scoffle. ‘Wow, it’s so friendly and we didn’t even know. It just stayed in its box the whole time.’

  As he said this, a hard wind started to blow. Leaves rustled.

  ‘Alfie, is that you?’ a voice groaned.

  28

  A Contract

  Rattlebones grinned at the mayor. ‘The town hall will be as beautiful as you want it to be. But that’s not all.’ He pointed to the black car. ‘The Boss has thought of a nice reward for your cooperation.’

  The mayor slid his baseball cap up on to the back of his head and coughed. ‘Ahem, a reward? What, um, exactly do you mean?’

  The car window slid down and a hand appeared. It was holding a bag, a fairly large paper bag. Rattlebones smiled like a fox in a chicken coop.

  ‘That’s not peanuts in that bag, mayor. What would you say to a stack of money? A stack of money does wonders, that’s what the Boss says.’

  The mayor stared at the bag dreamily. ‘Er, that might not be such a bad idea,’ he mumbled. ‘The town council could use some extra money. It could use a lot of extra money. The council has lots of debts. Schools cry out for money. Old people’s homes cry out for money. The hospital cries out for money. Even my wife cries out for more money.’

  Mr French couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Wait,’ he shouted. ‘What’s happening here, your honourable Highness? These people are villains. They’re trying to bribe you.’

  The mayor looked at Mr French with a vague smile, as if he couldn’t really see him. His eyes reflected the car with the hand with the paper bag sticking out of it.

  ‘Bribe? What gives you that idea? This is business, Mr French. Something schoolteachers know nothing about.’

  Slowly Mr French turned a fiery red. ‘Oh no?’

  ‘No, it’s about what’s in the best interest of the town. This can solve the town council’s problems in one fell swoop. And on top of it all we’ll get a magnificent new town hall.’

  ‘But a magnificent old forest is at stake,’ Mr French screamed.

  A cold look came into the mayor’s eyes. ‘Stop harping on about it, Mr French. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me. Um, I mean, for the council.’ He reached out for the paper bag.

  29

  Dig!

  ‘Alfie.’ The voice groaned again and everyone turned around. Grandpa Werewolf had regained consciousness. He struggled to sit up.

  ‘Wrow, Grandpa.’

  ‘Alfie, thank goodness you’re back. Where is Leo now?’

  ‘Wrow, he’s playing tag with the machines, Grandpa.’

  ‘Yes, just the kind of thing for Leo.’ Grandpa Werewolf pushed his hat back and said hello to Dad. Then he turned his piercing eyes on Alfie. ‘Do you hear it too?’

  ‘What, Grandpa?’

  Grandpa Werewolf raised a paw into the air. ‘Listen. Voices in the wind. Calling you.’

  Alfie held his head to one side.

  ‘I can’t hear a thing,’ Dad said.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Tim.

  But Alfie could hear it. The sighing of the wind grew louder and louder in his ears. A storm was brewing inside his head. The sighing turned into whispering.

  ‘Dig. Go on, dig. Dig.’

  The whispering turned into growling. The growling became roaring.

  ‘Dig, go on, dig. Dig.’

  Louder and louder. A chorus of insistent, growling voices.

  Dig. Dig. Go on, dig.’

  Alfie pressed his paws against his ears. He didn’t want to hear those voices. Suddenly he started to run, without meaning to, trying to get away from the voices. He shot off like a rocket.

  ‘Alfie, wait,’ Dad called.

  Alfie had already disappeared between the headstones. He didn’t know where he was going, he just wanted to get away from the voices in his head. He ran left and right between the headstones but the voices kept following him.

  ‘Dig, little werewolf, dig.

  Follow the beast. Dig under the stone.’

  Suddenly the wind died down. There were no more rustling bushes. The leaves were all still. But Alfie could still hear the voices.

  Fortunately they were a lot quieter now. Friendlier. As if someone had turned down the volume. Growling became whispering.

  Around Alfie, the graveyard grew hazy. He stayed where he was and tried to catch his breath, looking around. All he could see was headstones and trees, as twisted as old witches. Everything looked strange and unreal. And still the mysterious voices kept whispering in his head.

  ‘Wrow, where have I run to now? I can’t see the others any more.’

  It was like he was dreaming. He tugged hard on one ear.

  ‘Wrow-ow. I’m awake. At least I know that much.’

  Slowly everything around him changed. The trees and headstones became grey pencil lines. A cold mist rose up.

  ‘Wrow, what’s happening?’

  No one answered. The mist was in front of him now and behind him too. It was all around. Suddenly the world was cold and grey. Above him the moon peered through the mist like a pale eye.
Alfie shivered, wobbled and felt his head spinning.

  ‘Wrow, Dad, Tim. Where are you?’

  His voice sounded strange, like it wasn’t his voice at all.

  ‘Grandpa Werewolf, what’s happening?’

  No answer.

  ‘Help. Where am I?’

  An icy cold crept up his legs, then climbed his back to his neck. Ghostly forms were standing in the mist. Grey figures in long grey cloaks, with hoods over their faces. More and more of them appeared. They seemed to be rising up out of the ground. There were so many that Alfie couldn’t even count them.

  Slowly they came towards him. Small dots of yellow light were glowing under the hoods. Alfie recoiled, but they surrounded him. Voices mumbled and whispered.

  ‘Is it him? Yes, it’s him.

  Dig, little werewolf. Follow the beast and dig.

  Dig. Dig.’

  Alfie was totally baffled. He wanted to get away from the terrifying figures, but they had closed in all around him.

  ‘Wrow, who are you? Leave me alone.’

  ‘Don’t be scared, little werewolf.’

  The mysterious spectres threw back their hoods. Alfie saw grey snouts and pointy ears.

  ‘Wrow, werewolves.’ Alfie looked round the circle. More and more of the figures put back their hoods. More and more friendly yellow eyes looked down at him.

  ‘Wrow, you’re werewolves just like me. What do you want?’

  One of the werewolves came slowly forward. He seemed to be floating on air. He was very old and almost transparent. His eyes weren’t yellow, they were as white as chalk. A blind werewolf. Slowly he raised his arm to point at Alfie. ‘You. You have to save us …’

  30

  The Boss

  ‘Whoah, not so fast, mayor.’

  The hand disappeared back into the car.

  Smiling, Rattlebones pulled a piece of paper out of his inside pocket. ‘Just sign this piece of paper and the bag of money is yours.’

  Mr French moved over in front of Rattlebones. ‘Mr Mayor, don’t do it. These men aren’t honest businessmen. They’re destroying the wood. And then, of course, they’re going to sell the timber for lots of money as well.’

  The mayor hesitated for a moment. ‘On the one hand you’re right, Mr French. On the other hand, I have to think of what’s in the interest of our town. New flats, playing fields, a new town hall. A new kitchen for my wife. I’ll be sure to be re-elected. That’s fantastic, isn’t it?’

  His gleaming eyes focused on the black car. The hand poked back out through the window and started swinging the paper bag back and forth.

  The mayor coughed. ‘What’s more, a mayor deserves a small reward now and then.’ He took the piece of paper from Rattlebones. ‘Does anyone have a pen on them? You perhaps, Mr French?’

  ‘Oh, gosh,’ whispered Rose. ‘He’s really going to do it. He’s going to sell Wolf Wood to those crooks.’

  ‘No, no, don’t do it,’ the children shouted.

  ‘Yes, yes, do it,’ Vincent yelled. ‘New football pitches, brilliant!’ He searched through his coat pocket. ‘I’ve got a pen somewhere, I think. Look, here it is.’ He pulled out a biro that had been chewed until it was cracked and broken.

  Thwack!

  ‘Ow, my ear. Who did that?’

  Vincent’s ear was glowing red.

  Thwack!

  ‘Hey, my pen.’

  The pen flew out of his hand.

  ‘Who did that?’ he screamed. ‘And where’s my pen?’

  31

  Under the Stone

  ‘Wrow,’ growled Alfie. It was the old grey werewolf from his dreams. Gold chains hung around his neck and he was wearing gold bracelets and gold rings set with diamonds. There was a gold crown on his head. He looked like a very old king. His voice was hollow, as if it was coming from somewhere else, somewhere very far away.

  ‘Search, little werewolf. Look under the oldest stone. Dig until you find what you need. Save the werewolf graveyard. If the werewolf graveyard disappears, we too will disappear, for ever. Follow the beast.’

  ‘Wrow, who are you? And what do you mean? I don’t understand.’

  ‘No time. You can’t stay in our world for too long, otherwise, like us, you won’t be able to go back. We wander here for ever. But your time has not yet come. It is in the distant future. We are …’

  That was all Alfie could make out. The grey werewolves became transparent and dissolved like drifting mist. Slowly the trees and headstones became solid again.

  Alfie shook the mist out of his head. He looked around with surprise. I have to get back to Grandpa Werewolf, he thought. Let’s see. Which way?

  The next moment someone leapt on to him from behind.

  ‘Gotya!’

  32

  The Elder

  Alfie fell and rolled over the ground. By the count of three, he was back on his feet, growling and snapping. He was answered by a growling laugh, werewolf laughter. Alfie saw a flash of sharp white teeth, a black muzzle and fluffy black ears.

  Standing before him was a werewolf. A small black werewolf in blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt. Two brown eyes speckled with gold.

  ‘Wrow, Noura.’

  ‘Wrraaa, Alfie.’

  They stood there for a moment looking at each other. A warm feeling flooded through Alfie. Phew, Noura was here. And she was a werewolf too. She turned into one every month at full moon, and had done ever since Alfie accidentally bit her.

  ‘Wrow, I was just thinking of you.’

  ‘That’s a nice coincidence,’ growled Noura.

  Then they rolled cheerfully over the ground, growling, yelping and snapping at each other – just to show how happy they were. Their clothes ripped and tufts of white and black fur went flying.

  After their werewolf greeting, they stood on all fours, shaking twigs and clods of earth out of their coats.

  ‘Wrow, Noura, how did you get here?’

  Noura nipped Alfie’s ear playfully. ‘Wrraaa, I came here with Mr French and WROW.’

  ‘So they’re here already?’

  ‘Yes, with Chinese lanterns and a banner. But when the full moon came out, I started to change and had to get away fast. I hid behind some trees.’

  Alfie nodded. ‘How did you find me, Noura?’

  ‘Wrraaa, I’m a track tracer too, Alfie.’

  Alfie gently bit Noura’s tail. ‘Wrow, didn’t anyone see you?’

  ‘Wrraaa, I don’t think so. It was dark and those lanterns were pretty dim. And then the mayor showed up too.’

  ‘Cool,’ growled Alfie. ‘He turned up. Now the protest group can save Wolf Wood.’

  Noura growled and shook her head. ‘No, everything’s gone wrong.’

  ‘Wrong? What do you mean?’

  ‘The mayor wants to sell the wood to those men. They offered him a bag of money as a bribe and the stupid idiot is going to take it.’

  ‘Great werewolves!’ growled Alfie. ‘What do we do now?’

  Just then Tim and Dad came running up, panting.

  ‘Oh, there you are, son. I see you’ve burst out of your clothes again.’

  A crooked grin appeared on Alfie’s muzzle. ‘Sorry, Dad.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, son. That’s just part of being a werewolf. I wish I could do it too.’ He patted Noura on the head. ‘Hi, Noura, nice you could make it.’

  Noura growled a cheerful hello.

  ‘Is everything OK, Alfie?’ Tim asked. ‘We called you, but you didn’t hear us.’

  Dad nodded. ‘You had such a strange, glazed look in your eyes, as if you were seeing ghosts. And then you ran off. It wasn’t easy to find you, you know, between hundreds of gravestones.’

  ‘Wrow, ghosts? They were just old, grey werewolves.’

  Dad scratched his helmet. ‘Hmmm, that must mean something important. But what? Let’s go straight back to Grandpa Werewolf.’

  Grandpa Werewolf was still leaning on the headstone.

  Alfie told him what happened. ‘Di
d you see them too, Grandpa?’

  Grandpa Werewolf shook his head. ‘I didn’t see anything, Alfie. I just heard murmuring voices. What you saw was meant for you alone.’ He looked at Alfie with a serious expression. ‘They were the ghosts of our ancestors, Alfie. Werewolves who have died. Some of them were killed by silver bullets. Others died of old age. For a very short period of time, you crossed over into their world. That is very special.’

  ‘Wow, amazing,’ Dad whispered. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing ghosts either.’

  Alfie scratched his head. ‘Special? Specially scary, you mean. It was cold and misty and I was all alone. I thought I was dead, or something like it.’

  Grandpa Werewolf nodded. ‘Crossing over is a bit dangerous, Alfie. That’s why it mustn’t last too long. If you’d stayed there too long, you wouldn’t have been able to return.’

  Alfie shuddered. ‘So that’s why the ghosts had so little time to explain things. What if I’d stayed with them just a little bit longer …’

  Grandpa Werewolf shook his head. ‘Impossible. Our ancestors definitely wouldn’t take that chance.’

  Alfie closed his eyes and shivered. For a second he felt the misty cold creeping back into his body.

  Noura laid a paw on Alfie’s shoulder. ‘We’re all glad you’re not dead, Alfie. You’re alive and here with us.’

  The cold gradually melted.

  ‘I’m glad too, Noura.’

  ‘What exactly did you see, Alfie?’ Grandpa Werewolf asked.

  ‘There was a very old, blind werewolf, Grandpa. He was wearing a crown with lots of jewels.’

  Grandpa gulped. ‘Wraw. That was no less than the oldest werewolf, the Elder. Our very first forefather. Almost no one has ever seen him.’

  ‘Almost no one, Grandpa? Who else has seen him then?’

  Grandpa Werewolf rubbed his muzzle and looked away. ‘I did once, a long time ago, when he told me that you were going to become a werewolf. You were only three years old. I had to go and tell your parents. That was no fun. They weren’t happy about it at all.’ Grandpa cleared his throat. ‘But that’s not important now, son. What matters is that he has revealed himself to you. That really is very special. What did he want?’