The Phredde Collection Read Online Free PDF Page B

their son or brother was a werewolf?’
    A brother…
    ‘Mark!’ I yelled.
    ‘Mark?’ said Dad. ‘Oh, my word. Mark!’
    ‘Mark?’ inquired Uncle Ron. ‘Is that your son?’
    ‘He thought he was turning into a werewolf, but I refused to listen,’ cried Dad. ‘I thought he’d just been listening to all these shows on TV. You know, “I Was a Teenage Vampire” sort of thing. And all the time…’
    ‘All the time he was,’ said Mum softly. ‘Oh, poor Mark. This must have been so hard on him.’
    ‘How old is Mark?’ demanded Uncle Ron sharply.
    ‘Fifteen last month. As soon as he comes home you must have a talk with him.’
    ‘Where is he?’ Uncle Ron barked out.
    Mum stared. ‘I told you. He’s gone for a walk…’
    Uncle Ron rose—no, surged—to his feet. ‘We’ve got to find him,’ he cried.
    ‘But…but why?’ stammered Dad.
    ‘Because in half an hour the moon will rise—the full moon. If your lad’s just turned fifteen chances are that in half an hour he’ll be a wolf for the first time. Do you know what that can mean?’
    ‘No,’ said Dad.
    ‘A wolf running loose in the town—a wolf who has never learnt how to hide! Who’ll terrify people the first time he shows his fangs! Who knows what might happen to him! We have to find him!’
    We rushed down the corridor. Gurgle stared at us curiously, but we didn’t have time to explain.
    Over the drawbridge and down the road.
    ‘Which way?’ cried Mum, peering up and down the street.
    ‘Wait,’ said Uncle Ron suddenly. ‘Wait!’ He pointed down the road at the horizon.
    The moon was rising, orange as fruit cup cordial. Just the rim peeked over the horizon; then a slice, and a stronger and stronger glow.
    I glanced at Uncle Ron, then stared.
    Uncle Ron was changing.
    His hair was growing longer…longer…thicker down his arms. More hairs popped out on his face, his neck…
    Uncle Ron ripped off his shirt.
    His chest was hairy— really hairy—and his arms sort of shrank as I watched. They weren’t arms at all, but legs, with furry hands that slowly withered into paws.
    I looked up at his face, a wolf’s face, with long white teeth that glittered in the moonlight.
    Uncle Ron reached down and wrenched his trousers off.
    ‘That’s better,’ he growled. ‘Things’ll be easier now.’ He flopped down onto all fours.
    Mum blinked.
    Dad blinked.
    Uncle Ron hesitated. ‘Are you sure this doesn’t bother you?’ he asked, sitting back on his haunches. His tongue was long and red and wet.
    ‘No,’ squeaked Dad, then tried again. ‘Of course not,’ he said, trying to speak normally.
    ‘No, no,’ said Mum shakily. ‘It doesn’t bother me at all. No. Of course not. No.’
    ‘It’s okay with me,’ I said.
    And it was. I mean Uncle Ron looked nice enough before, but he was really cute now. All silver fur. I’d always wanted a dog.
    Uncle Ron pricked up his ears, then bent his nose to the ground. ‘This way,’ he growled. He paced along following the scent.
    Dad followed him. (Dad looked like he was in shock.)
    Mum absently picked up Uncle Ron’s clothes and followed Dad.
    Down the street, past the Post Office…
    ‘The shops,’ said Mum, hopefully. ‘Maybe he stopped at the milk bar for a milkshake.’
    ‘I hope not,’ growled Uncle Ron.
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘What do you think would happen in a milkbar if someone turned into a werewolf?’ He shook his furry head. (His ears were longer than a normal dog’s, tall andpeaked and fuzzy.) ‘We werewolves learn to be discreet. To stay away during the Change. But your Mark hasn’t learnt that yet. He’s had no one to show him how.’
    ‘Oh, Mark,’ whispered Mum. She clutched Uncle Ron’s trousers in despair.
    Uncle Ron led the way again. Round the corner, up the street by the school.
    The school! I thought. Maybe Mark might have gone there to think…
    ‘Woof,’ said Uncle Ron, his nose to the breeze.
    ‘What does that mean,’ I asked hopefully.
    ‘Just woof,’