Wolf Read online

  Library e-Book: 978-1-5384-7316-0

  Trade e-Book: 978-1-5384-7317-7

  This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.

  CHARACTERS (in order of appearance):

  AMY – twenties. Damsel in much distress.

  WEREWOLF – a growling, snarling beast.

  JACK WOLFF – forties, a smooth amoral ladies man.

  LONNIE – a teenaged waiter at Wistful Wagon Lodge.

  HOSTESS – thirties.

  ANNA MULLINS – fifteen years old, lovely, naive.

  ANNA’S DAD – Anna’s fifty-ish father.

  ANNA’S MOM – Anna’s fifty-ish mother.

  SAM HERRIN – thirties cop, State Crime Bureau.

  JONES – uniformed cop, twenties.

  MUSIC:

  FANGORIA THEME

  ANNOUNCER:

  You can run but you can’t hide. It’s far too late for that. Welcome to the dark side, where the night never ends – as Fangoria presents…Dreadtime Stories. With your host, Malcolm McDowell. Tonight’s Dreadtime Story: “Wolf” by Max Allan Collins.

  SOUND:

  The woods. Whisper of wind in trees. An owl whooo’s. Insects sing. Then, distant at first, building – a young woman running! Breathing hard.

  Terrified.

  AMY:

  No…no…no…can’t be…can’t be…

  SOUNDS:

  More running. Amy still breathing hard. Then the savage sounds of a beast tearing through the woods, snapping branches, feet hard and heavy on the ground. Amy is being pursued by a massive creature.

  AMY:

  Impossible…impossible….

  SOUND:

  She runs but the beast’s movement is so thundering and inexorable that her running becomes lost in it.

  AMY:

  (screaming) Noooo! You don’t exist!

  SOUND:

  Amy screams in terror. And the werewolf howls, blood-chilling. Amy’s screams choke off in an awful gurgle. And we hear the terrible sounds of the beast’s huge sharp teeth rending flesh, ripping. Feasting. Smacking its lips. Limbs of the victim torn away. Then the beast stalks off, dragging something behind it. The night returns to its peaceful woodsy sounds – insects, birds, then a distant howl.

  NARRATOR:

  He has stalked them for decades, across every continent on the planet, across every racial and ethnic and theological line. He does not care who they are as long as they are women and speak to the animal instincts within him. They are his meat. He prefers them young, of course – supple and sweet. But he has, on occasion, settled. His name is Jack Wolff, and whether that is a simple irony, harking back to a time when men wolf-whistled at women, or a designation that defined him in childhood…who can say? Jack only knows that when the moon is high, he prowls for female flesh…and has done so since an older woman bit him on the neck in the park that long-ago night when he was but thirteen…and since that night…he’s been biting back.

  ANNOUNCER:

  Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories will continue in a moment.

  ANNOUNCER:

  Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories, and “Wolf.”

  NARRATOR:

  Tall, dark, with a full head of widow’s-peaked black hair, Jack Wolff has the cheekbones and finely carved features of a fashion model only rugged, a Marlboro man made “pretty” by long-lashed green eyes that have an almost Asian cast. He’s taken care of himself, Jack has, over the years – no drugs, no drinking, a full regimen of exercise, vitamins, natural foods.

  And of course plastic surgery, but the nips and tucks have been infrequent – his eyes done twice, and one little lift. His vices are few – women…and red meat. Right now it’s summer, and he’s staying at the old-fashioned Wistful Wagon Lodge. A young waiter there has sought Jack out for a mentor. A father figure.

  SOUND:

  Hotel swimming pool, outdoors.

  Splashing. An occasional dive. Kids’ laughter and running and even screaming. This can play under much of this scene.

  LONNIE:

  (off-mic) Mr. Wolff! Can I join you?

  WOLFF:

  Certainly, Lonnie. But don’t you have work to do? It’ll be lunch soon.

  LONNIE:

  I don’t go on till this afternoon.

  Four.

  SOUND:

  Scrape on cement of deck chair.

  LONNIE:

  Kinda surprised to see you sitting at an umbrella table.

  WOLFF:

  Why is that, Lonnie?

  LONNIE:

  Well, I mean…you got a regular George Hamilton tan. Why keep out of the sun?

  WOLFF:

  This isn’t a tan. I’m naturally dark.

  If you want to get along with the ladies, Lon, you don’t want to get too much sun. Your skin will dry. All the sun screen in the world won’t help. Be old before your time.

  LONNIE:

  You mind if I ask…it’s kinda personal…

  WOLFF:

  I’m forty-nine.

  LONNIE:

  What? Man, I’d make you ten, fifteen years younger. How is that possible?

  WOLFF:

  (dryly humorous) Well, it’s not clean living. Plenty of protein in the diet, son. You can’t beat protein.

  LONNIE:

  How old do I look?

  WOLFF:

  I’d say you’re sixteen.

  LONNIE:

  Damn! I’m seventeen. I hate looking young. Girls around here…they don’t seem to go for guys under twenty-one. Even the young ones.

  WOLFF:

  Well, your burden is my benefit. But really, son…age is no factor. If you’re out of puberty…you are out of puberty…?

  LONNIE:

  (defensive) I don’t have any pimples or anything.

  WOLFF:

  I was younger than you when I started.

  And at a resort like this…the pickings are so very easy….

  LONNIE:

  Not to me they aren’t!

  WOLFF:

  I used to come here as a boy. This place, its heyday was the forties, you know.

  LONNIE:

  Yeah, it’s a mausoleum, all right.

  WOLFF:

  No, it has great charm. You mustn’t downplay tradition. I came here with my parents, many times…..

  NARRATOR:

  In fact, Jack found his first victims here at the Wistful Wagon Lodge, and while he rarely feeds at the same trough twice, that was so many years ago, no one is likely to remember much less recognize him now. He’s been here just over a week, and has scored once already. Normally, he would move on, but there’s been no trouble, after. So he’s staying on, for now.

  Just long enough for one more female repast….

  LONNIE:

  Hey, they still haven’t found the maniac that ripped up that girl. She was stayin’ here, you know.

  WOLFF:

  So was I. It wasn’t far from my cabin.

  LONNIE:

  That’s right. I knew that girl.

  Well, I spoke to her a couple times.

  College girl. Eighteen. Real pretty.

  Waited on her and some friends of hers.

  WOLFF:

  I remember them. They were pretty girls, too…but they got spooked and checked out.

  LONNIE:

  You don’t miss much, do you, Mr.

  Wolff? When they’re good-looking.

  WOLFF:

  You’re looking for a mentor, Lonnie?

  Someone who can guide you in the ways of love?

  LONNIE:

  Love, or lust. Whatever ya got, Mr. Wolff.

  WOLFF:

  Well, I like you, Lonnie. You remind me of myself when I was your age, or perhaps a little younger.

  LONNIE:

  So wil
l you tell me, Mr. Wolff? What to say, what to do? Other guys my age, gettin’ laid left and right, and me, I’m gettin’ nowhere. What’s your secret?

  WOLFF:

  …Lon, I like you. I do like you.

  And you’re a nice looking boy, and I’m sure you’d do very well on the prowl.

  But some things a man has to learn himself. Trial and error? And, anyway…if I shared my “secret”…it wouldn’t be one, would it?

  NARRATOR:

  Part of Jack’s “secret” is the kindness of fate. His parents were wealthy, his late father a criminal attorney whose yearly retainer from a Midwestern crime family had meant a comfortable life for the Wolffs. Jack was an only child, adopted, and had enjoyed an idyllic, Norman Rockwell- esque childhood in the small town where’d he been raised. But when his parents died in that plane crash, he became wealthy…and never returned to that little town…not with a big, wide world waiting out there, filled with females who could satisfy his appetites.

  SOUND:

  Busy dining room at the lodge – clink of glasses and silverware, murmur of table conversations. Plays under this scene.

  HOSTESS:

  Mr. Wolff. Nice to see you again. We’ve reserved your regular booth. Would you like the lunch buffet?

  WOLFF:

  No – would you just have my waitress bring me the tomato and beef soup, a little bread, and some iced tea?

  HOSTESS:

  Certainly.

  NARRATOR:

  Jack is fond of this particular booth, giving him as it does a view of the entire dining room, which is rustically appointed, as is the entire lodge, with its several restaurants and gift shops, and cobblestone paths extending from the main lodge to the private cabins. The grounds themselves are thick with trees and hedges – Jack can stalk his prey with impunity here.

  ANNA’S DAD:

  (off-mic) Can’t you behave yourself?

  Can’t you act like a little lady? We’ve done everything we could to raise you right.

  ANNA:

  (off-mic; embarrassed) Daddy, keep your voice down, please.

  ANNA’S MOM:

  (off-mic) After that terrible killing, we really should be checking out. It’s just not safe in this place, Anna!

  ANNA:

  Must you keep treating me like a child?

  NARRATOR:

  She isn’t a child, young Anna – not exactly. Jack has been watching her for four days now, looking for the right moment to make his move. The waitress brings his soup, but the girl he’s so surreptitiously watching is the meal he’s really after….

  LONNIE:

  Mr. Wolff, you mind if I join you for lunch?

  WOLFF:

  (vaguely irritated) Certainly, Lon. Is it, uh, permissible to fraternize with the guests?

  SOUND:

  Lonnie sits in booth.

  LONNIE:

  Actually, it’s encouraged. How I wish I could fraternize with that little piece of tail!

  WOLFF:

  (tightly impatient; whispered)

  Lonnie, if you do want a lesson, here’s one – don’t stare. And don’t be so damned crude.

  NARRATOR:

  Anna is blonde – white blonde, with white wispy hair on her arms that says her hair color is probably natural – what a wonderful rarity! A platinum blonde all over. Eyes, big and china blue; nose turned up, almost pug; lips pouty, with a hint of an overbite; wholesome apple cheeks and a healthy glow. Slender graceful fingers, nails painted pink. No rock group t-shirt or grungy shorts for Amy – a feminine floral halter top caressing pert young breasts, and denim jeans with lace trim hugging pale, smooth, white-down-kissed thighs….Who could blame Lonnie for staring?

  LONNIE:

  That poor kid. Those awful parents of hers. They been ragging her all week! They’re so old! I think they’re even older than you, Mr. Wolff.

  WOLFF:

  How tactful of you, Lonnie.

  LONNIE:

  Oh, I didn’t mean it that way…it’s just…she’s so beautiful and they’re so…horrible.

  WOLFF:

  That is often the way of the world.

  That mother of hers? A little heavy, but she was a beauty once, I’ll wager. She still fills those denim shorts out admirably – still has nice legs. I can see the daughter’s face in the mother’s.

  LONNIE:

  Yuck. You find Mom attractive?

  WOLFF:

  Here’s another free lesson, son – any port in a storm. That’s a handsome woman – I bet she was a showgirl.

  LONNIE:

  Well, Daddy wasn’t a movie star, not unless he was in horror movies.

  WOLFF:

  Lonnie, you must learn to read people better. Check out father – that’s the haggard look of self-made success.

  You look at his summer apparel – bright colors, awful designs, man-made fabrics – and see a foolish old man.

  I see a successful businessman who is probably meeting other captains of industry on the golf course this afternoon – all of them hideously attired…and enormously wealthy.

  LONNIE:

  Okay, that’s impressive, but…we don’t know for sure it’s true.

  WOLFF:

  Really. One moment….(louder) Ah, Helen!

  HOSTESS:

  (off-mic at first) Yes, Mr. Wolff? (normal now) Is there something I can do for you?

  WOLFF:

  (almost whispering) This family over here – the older parents, the young daughter? The father looks familiar to me. I’m almost certain I know him from business, and I’d hate to snub him.

  HOSTESS:

  (also quiet) That’s Robert Mullins. He owns shopping outlets all over the Midwest. Frankly, he and his family could vacation in Europe, if they chose. We feel lucky to have them.

  WOLFF:

  Thank you, my dear.

  HOSTESS:

  (off-mic) No problem.

  LONNIE:

  Wow, the guy who catches little Anna is doing all right for himself. She’s a fox. And all that money besides.

  WOLFF:

  Money isn’t everything, Lonnie.

  ANNA’S DAD:

  (off-mic) You’ll stay in your room tonight, and there’ll be no more discussion!

  ANNA:

  (off-mic but loud)

  You…are…terrible!

  NARRATOR:

  Anna is flushed, and the sight of the blood coming to her cheeks makes Jack tingle.

  SOUND:

  Anna pushing away from table, dishes clatter, stomping away.

  ANNA’S DAD:

  (off-mic) Come back here, young lady!

  ANNA’S MOM:

  (off-mic; softer) Bob…let her go.

  Please. Let her be by herself.

  WOLFF:

  Lon, if you’d like some lunch, just charge it to my room. But do not follow me.

  LONNIE:

  You’re going after that girl?

  WOLFF:

  No more lessons. Settle for lunch.

  LONNIE:

  But Mr. Wolff – she’s so young – there’s laws you know….

  WOLFF:

  All right – one more lesson. One that goes way back….Old enough to bleed, old enough to breed….

  MUSIC:

  Fangoria theme comes up.

  ANNOUNCER:

  We’ll return to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories – after these few words.

  ANNOUNCER:

  Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories and “Wolf.”

  NARRATOR:

  Anna’s plight strikes Jack Wolff as ridiculously typical – a sweet young thing being treated by her parents as if she were a juvenile delinquent. If she is truly a disobedient child – or better yet, if she isn’t but her parents are treating her like one – that makes her so very ripe for the… plucking.

  SOUND:

  Hotel lobby. Desk noise. Movement.

  NARRATOR:

  Jack Wolff positions himself in the lodge’s lobby, waiting…and soon
young Anna emerges from the ladies’ room. She’s been crying.

  WOLFF:

  I’m sorry, miss, but…are you all right?

  ANNA:

  (holding back emotion) No….no, not really. Excuse me….

  WOLFF:

  Has someone been bothering you?

  NARRATOR:

  The young ones always like a defender.

  Jack has played that role so many times. She smells so good…not perfume. Soap. Yum.

  ANNA:

  No one’s bothering me. Just…my dad.

  WOLFF:

  Your dad? Aren’t you a little old to have to worry about that?

  ANNA:

  No. I’m…just fifteen.

  WOLFF:

  Really? I thought you were twenty, at least.

  NARRATOR:

  That makes her smile – she’s at that rare age when girls like to be mistaken for women. Such a delicate beauty. Defiling beauty like that was, for Jack, beyond pleasure.

  ANNA:

  No. I’m just a kid. Without any rights.