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"Already happened?" the deep voice whispered, "It's always happening…" "Now Barbara," something in The Voice started to sound like Ethel Merman, kind of pushy, "I know you wonder what the world outside of Moxee High is like. That's why you take these walks–" The being rustled in the twigs, "After dark… hoping you'll run into a stranger, even if he's dangerous." The voice stopped and Barbara carefully answered: "Yes?"
She was still thinking about the voice – that irritating feeling again – as if what didn't make sense to her conscious mind was already solved, somewhere, far behind or under that mind, where she couldn't reach. This voice, although carrying to her its authority in such a strange, tricky way (as though a radio speaker of Its voice was inside every tree!), it was yet– familiar. I can hear the more familiar version of this voice, like a broken record, right at the edge of my understanding… Someone my age, in my school! Barbara stood there, knowing she shouldn’t look away from this patch of dingy shadows behind skinny dingy trees – shadows like the creases in her grandmother’s moth-eaten wedding dress. Hours seemed to pass, but she knew It hadn’t moved. She restrained herself from saying 'yes' again. I want to sound sure of myself, and I know I don't want this creature with a voice like… Walt Henning's… to go away. That was it! Barbara tried to keep the expression on her face from changing as she realized this. "I'm sorry. I'll stop. I don't want to scare you," the voice said in a gentle way, as whatever was behind the tree emerged in all of Its hairy splendor, "But it is me, Walt…" "Yes!" Barbara said, her eyes groping– er, ogling the lean muscular presence covered with fur and barely protected with a loincloth… which, was it made out of an old baseball mitt? "I know–" she said in as calm or reassuring a voice as she could offer. "I am a werewolf." |
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