“Alright, sonny, you can come have your drink. It ain’t good to turn out a man on this cold, blasting night! By God, it ain’t right!”
Victor turned his eyes to the man who had spoken and regarded him.
He was an old man, with a white shock of hair, and gray, steel eyes. He was wearing a shirt and pants and there were stains on the front of his shirts......red splattered stains......like...like......oh wait a minute.....is that blood.......he wondered.
Ignoring his curious scrutiny, the man walked over to Victor and stretched his hands.
“Sam Wesley,” he said in a low, but firm voice. “I owned this dump.”
Victor gripped the old, callused hand, his eyes not leaving the front of the old man's shirt. He stiffened as he regarded the stains. He had been right. The stains were bloodstains.
Sam felt his eyes on him, gave a wane smile.
“Trouble! Nothing we couldn’t handle. Don’t worry your head about it.”
Victor nodded but he did not say anything.
“Come have a drink! And For you, Mr stranger, It's on the house by the way!” Sam continued, leading the way.
Victor heaved heavily and began to walk. Broken glasses gritted under the sole of his boots as he trudged behind the old man. He could feel the eyes of the men staring dagger into his broad back. But no one made a move. They all stood around, watching him, as if waiting for him to do something stupid – probably dangerous. He got to the bar, took off his duffel from his shoulders, dropped and sat on the stool. Sam went around the countertop, pulled out a whisky bottle from the shelf and fixed a drink.
He slid the drink to Victor, who closed his fist around the glass and nodded his thanks. He lifted the glass to his mouth and tossed the drink down his throat. The drink shot down his throat, stiffening him, and he grimaced; the way people always grimace at the taste of a bitter medicine. He nodded to Sam, who obediently fixed him another drink. This time, Victor only took a sip and put the glass on the countertop.
As he sat on the stool, he was hearing some of the men murmuring. He looked over his shoulders. Some were still staring at him, some were rearranging the tables and clearing away the glasses which littered the floor, while others had resumed their conversations, but once in a while, they shot an inquisitive look in his way.
Victor turned to Sam.
“Hey, man. What’s going on? These men seem all excited if you ask me? What’s the deal?”
Sam drew in a long, slow breath. He looked around the bar, then back at Victor .
“What’s your name, son?”
He hesitated for a moment.
“Victor,” he answered, then he lowered his voice. “Sam, right?” When Sam nodded, he continued. “Can you tell me what the hell happened here?”
Sam studied his face for a moment. There was a grave expression on his face now.
“Something bad happened, son. Something really crazy. Totally unheard of. I'll tell you. I’ve never seen anything like it since the day I was born. It happened an hour ago or so son, just before you came in”
“What was it?” Victor asked, fully curious now.
Sam looked around the room again.
“It was an animal!” he said evenly.
“Animal?” Victor said, lifting his eyebrows. “You mean an animal did all these?”
Sam shook his head. He leaned over the countertop, so that his face was staring hard into Victor’s.
He said breathlessly. “It wasn’t just an animal, son. It was a human who took an animal form.” Then he lowered his voice again. “It was the biggest wolf I ever saw. The biggest! ”
Victor’s face turned white with shock.
“Are you alright son? You look pale!” Sam said, noticing how white Victor’s face was.
“I’m alright......I’m fine. Just don’t fuss.” Victor stammered getting a hold of himself. To be honest, he had not been prepared for what Sam had told him. The old man needed not to say more. The animal Sam was referring to was a werewolf. Slowly, as if his neck were made of stiff spring, he turned his head, looking around the room, taking note of the destruction. Yes, it was a werewolf alright. But he wondered why. What was a werewolf doing in this town?. Then his mind fired back at him. Hey! Come on, tough guy. That’s a dumb question you asked right there. And you damn know it. What are you, yes you, a werewolf doing in this town?
“Let me get you that drink. You sure need one.” Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. He was looking at Victor’s intently now.
“I’m good......perfectly fine,” Victor said. He drew in a long, slow breath and grimaced. “It's just that I find it hard to believe what you told me. The biggest wolf you’ve ever seen? That some crazy shit!” he slipped in the word glibly, thinking to himself; you goddamn bastard! You are a werewolf! You know what your kind are capable of doing.
Sam looked at him the way a man would at a child who just spilled his milk.
“If you don’t believe me, at least you must believe this,” he said, waving his hand across the front of his shirt. “This is the blood of that wolf.”
Victor regarded the shirt and winced. Had he not suspected when he had first seen the old man that he had blood on his shirts. So why was he surprised to know he had been right? Because you so much wish all these weren't true. You don’t want them to find out you are also one of those big, bad wolves. But I’m not a bad wolf, he told himself. Yeah, right! Says who? Shoved that crap up your ass, man. You are a wolf! A big, bad one!
Sam was saying something now and he turned his mind away from his thoughts.