Wereduck Read online

  “What are you kids up to this morning?” asked Lisa, feigning a yawn and stretch.

  “I was hoping to go to town,” said Kate. She raised her eyebrows in hopeful anticipation.

  Her parents looked at each other. Her father scowled slightly.

  “Please?” Kate begged. “It’s my birthday.”

  Brian turned to Marcus. “We try to keep a low profile. We only go into town for supplies a few times a year when we really need them.”

  “And nobody bothers you?” asked Marcus.

  Brian grinned. “There’s a rumour in town that we’re deeply religious and will try to convert anyone who comes near our camp. People steer pretty clear,” he said. “Right, kids?”

  Bobby and Kate put their hands together in front of their chests as if they were deep in prayer. “Right, father,” said Bobby before he burst out laughing.

  “Seriously, though,” said Kate. “Can I please go? I promise, I’ll be good. Just to that restaurant at the motel for some fries or something.”

  “Well,” said Lisa, trading a glance with Brian. “All right.”

  “John, why don’t you tag along?” suggested Marcus.

  John shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Can I come too?” implored Bobby.

  “No,” said Kate.

  “Yes,” corrected their mother.

  “Mum.” Kate’s eyes went wide.

  “Of course you can go, dear. Don’t spoil your lunch.”

  Dirk scanned the menu at the greasy diner attached to his motel. Almost everything listed was offensive to his journalistic sensibilities. The gum-chewing waitress standing beside his table was growing impatient.

  “Are you going to order or what?” she said between chomps.

  “Just a second,” said Dirk. “You don’t seem to have a lot of options here.”

  “Why don’t you just get the special?”

  “What was that again?” he asked.

  The woman rolled her eyes and repeated it for the third time.

  “Two eggs any style, hash browns, toast, and coffee.”

  “Ha! What kind of fool do you take me for?”

  The waitress looked around the room. “You really want me to answer that? What’s wrong with eggs, hash browns, and toast?”

  “For starters,” said Dirk, getting excited, “eggs! Chicken eggs. As if we all don’t know about the brain-controlling chemical the government infuses into the DNA of every yolk.”

  The waitress nearly swallowed her gum.

  “Second,” continued Dirk, “hash browns! Have you heard of a little thing called the MacNeil-Morton Report?”

  The waitress shook her head.

  “Didn’t think so,” said Dirk, nodding. “Let’s just say your friendly local potato-grower has a few more ties to international terrorism than he’d lead you to believe. Third: toast—”

  “Why don’t you just get the oatmeal?” she asked.

  Dirk scoffed. “Why don’t you just pour me a bowl of rat poison?”

  Give me a good reason not to, thought the waitress.

  “Cottage cheese, then,” she suggested.

  Dirk thought a moment. “I could have cottage cheese.”

  “And, a fruit cup?” she asked.

  Dirk paused. “Is there banana in the cup?”

  “Do you want there to be banana in the cup?” she asked.

  “I like banana very much,” replied Dirk pleasantly. He handed her his menu.

  “There,” said the waitress. “That wasn’t so hard. Can I pour you a cup of coffee?”

  Dirk began to hyperventilate.

  “Water it is,” she said, walking toward the kitchen.

  Two tables over, Kate and Bobby stared in silence as John dumped a fourth packet of sugar into his coffee.

  “Are you going to drink that?” asked Kate.

  John looked up. “I like coffee,” he said.

  “Right,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

  “What I don’t get,” said Bobby, “is why you would spend your whole full-moon night sleeping.”

  John shrugged. “I was tired,” he said.

  “But you only get one or two nights every month to be a wolf and go crazy!”

  “Then I’ll go crazy the next month,” said John. “If I feel like it.”

  “Did you go crazy last month?” asked Bobby.

  John thought. “Nope. Slept.”

  “And the month before that?”

  John grinned. “Slept,” he said.

  “Have you ever done anything fun on a full moon?” implored Bobby.

  “Sleeping can be fun,” said John. “I just don’t see what’s so great about running around howling once a month.”

  Kate looked at him. Maybe this guy wasn’t as dumb as she’d thought.

  “You sound like Katie,” said Bobby. “She wants to be a duck.”

  John arched his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Ha. Well…sure,” said Kate. She blushed. “Why not?”

  “That’s cool,” said John, nodding. “Werewolves in Central America tell stories of people who turn into all sorts of animals. In India, they talk about werecows, and Australian werewolves believe they’re descendants of dingoes.”

  “Have you ever seen anyone turn into anything other than a wolf?” asked Kate.

  “Nah,” he replied, stirring his coffee. “Dad thinks it’s all crap. People tell all sorts of weird stories. Still. It’s interesting—” He stopped abruptly. He’d spotted something a few tables over.

  “What?” asked Kate. “What is it?”

  “That guy over there,” whispered John. “The one with the bowl of cottage cheese. Recognize him?”

  Kate and Bobby swivelled to look.

  “Don’t do that,” hissed John. “He’ll see you. Just be cool.”

  The brother and sister took turns peering at the man.

  “Never seen him before,” breathed Kate.

  “Me neither,” added Bobby. “Do you know him?”

  “Maybe,” whispered John. “He looks a bit different from his photo in the paper, but I think it’s him.”

  “Who?” asked Kate.

  “Let’s just say, if it is who I think it is, we’re kinda screwed,” said John, stirring another packet of sugar into his coffee.

  Kate, John, and Bobby sat on a concrete bumper in the motel parking lot.

  “Don’t you think we look just a little suspicious waiting out here for him like this?” asked Kate.

  “Suspicious?” replied John. “We’re teenagers. We loiter. It’s what we do.”

  “Who is this guy, anyway?” asked Kate.

  “‘Dirt Bag,’” said John. “That’s what my dad calls him. His real name is Dirk Bragg. Ever hear of the Really Real News?”

  Kate and Bobby exchanged glances and shook their heads.

  “It’s one of those cruddy tabloids they sell in grocery stores with stories on the cover about alien abductions. They only sell it in the States. It’s bad. Like, the lowest of the low. He writes for them.”

  “So, what’s he doing here?” asked Kate.

  “Good question. He could be chasing any story. But Dirt Bag’s got a real thing for werewolves. As horrible as the Really Real News is, he’s pretty good. The guy is relentless. I don’t know how he does it, but he always seems to find us. We’ve had to move a bunch of times because of him. Dad hates him.”

  “You think he’s here because of us?” asked Bobby.

  “Could be. I’d like to find out for sure.”

  “How are you going to do that?” asked Kate.

  The door to the diner opened before John could answer. Dirk walked out, crossed the parking lot to the door of a motel room, opened it with his key and entered.

  “Now what?
” asked Kate.

  “Now, we wait for him to leave,” replied John, nonchalantly. “Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”

  Kate rustled through her backpack and drew out a pad of paper and a stub of pencil.

  “Thanks,” said John. He flipped to an empty page and scribbled a few words.

  Across the parking lot, Dirk re-emerged from his motel room. He climbed into an old white pickup truck and drove out of the lot.

  John stood up and strode towards Dirk’s room. Kate and Bobby scurried after.

  “What are we doing?” asked Kate.

  “We’re going into his room to figure out why he’s here,” said John.

  “For real?” asked Bobby. “Like, a break-in? Like we’re spies or something? Cool!”

  “Not cool,” corrected Kate. “Illegal.”

  “Illegal,” scoffed John. “I’m sure Dirt Bag has broken his fair share of laws to get a story. Besides, we’re just grabbing something we left in his room.”

  “We didn’t leave anything in his room!” said Kate. “I’m not doing this. No way.”

  They stood outside Dirk’s door. Kate’s hands were perched on her hips.

  “Too bad,” said John. A smile crept across his mouth. “How else are we going to get this back?”

  He held up a piece of paper torn from Kate’s notebook. Across it was scrawled:

  Kate lunged, but John stuffed the note into Dirk’s mail slot before she could grab it.

  “You moron!” she yelled.

  “Maybe,” shrugged John. “Want to help me get it back?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Her nostrils flared.

  “This is the coolest thing ever,” said Bobby.

  John boosted Bobby into the window behind Dirk’s room, followed by Kate. Each grabbed one of John’s hands and pulled him into the room.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” said Kate. “This is stupid.”

  “Yeah,” replied John. “But kinda stupid-fun, right?”

  “Right,” said Bobby. He gave John a high-five.

  “Morons,” muttered Kate, crossing the room. She picked up the note John had pushed through the mail slot and stuffed it in her pocket.

  “Okay. Let’s go,” she said.

  “Not yet,” said John. “Let’s find out what he’s doing here.”

  Kate waited impatiently by the window as the boys rummaged through the reporter’s belongings. “Don’t make a mess, he’ll know we were here,” she said.

  “How,” said John, “could we possibly make this room any messier?”

  Kate looked around the room. It was a disaster. She didn’t know how long Dirt Bag had been staying here, but it had been long enough for him to cover the floor in crumpled heaps of clothing. Several blackened banana peels lay discarded on the desk. A pile of loose papers sat on the bed beside an expensive-looking camera and lens.

  “What are those papers?” she asked.

  John and Bobby moved to the bed and sorted through the pile.

  “Even his handwriting is messy,” said John. “None of this makes any sense. Wait—here’s something….”

  He held up a piece of paper and studied it carefully.

  “What is it?” asked Kate.

  “It’s a list of phone numbers,” said John. His eyes widened. “Whoa! My dad’s cell number is here.”

  “Why would Dirt Bag have your dad’s—”

  Kate stopped mid-sentence. All three froze at the sound of a vehicle pulling into the parking spot just outside the room.

  “He’s back!” exclaimed Kate. “Let’s go!”

  Bobby ran to the back window, his eyes wild. Kate and John hoisted him by his legs. “It’s a long way down!” he gasped.

  “Just go!” hissed John.

  Bobby toppled headfirst through the window. He tucked into a roll as he landed in the long grass below.

  “You next,” said John to Kate.

  Before she could place her foot into his hands, they heard a key in the lock.

  “Bathroom!” hissed John. “Shower!”

  They rushed in, climbed into the tub, and drew the curtain closed just as the door opened.

  “You are such a moron,” whispered Kate.

  Something wasn’t right.

  As a reporter, Dirk had learned to trust his instincts. They’d kicked in as he drove his little pickup down the road, telling him to return to the motel.

  He looked around the room. It was a mess. He made a mental note to keep things neater in the future so he could detect if someone had been searching through his stuff.

  His notes lay jumbled on the bed where he’d left them. It was impossible to tell whether anyone had looked at them. Still, something was off.

  He took two steps into the bathroom. On the other side of the shower curtain, Kate and John held their breath.

  Dirk turned on the tap in the sink and let the water run warm before splashing some on his face. In the mirror, he could see the shower curtain closed behind him.

  Dirk never left the shower curtain closed. Ever.

  He knew exactly what was going on.

  Kate heard the water being turned off, then the rattle of the towel on the rack as Dirk dried his face and hands.

  Dirk stood perfectly still in the middle of the room for a long, agonizing moment. Kate was sure he was about to yank open the curtain. She squeezed John’s hand. His fingertips turned purple.

  Dirk walked out of the bathroom. He picked up the phone on the desk and dialled a familiar number.

  “Really Real News,” answered Dirk’s editor.

  “Sandra,” he said. “It’s me.”

  “Dirk! I didn’t think I’d hear from you until tomorrow. What’s up?”

  “It’s the werewolf story,” he replied, glancing back to the bathroom. “We need to talk.”

  John and Kate strained to hear Dirk’s end of the conversation.

  “Okay,” said Sandra. She sounded concerned. “You don’t normally check in like this. Everything all right?”

  “Quite frankly, no,” said Dirk. “Things aren’t all right. The story is a bust. I thought I had a firm lead about werewolves in this area, but it turns out I was wrong.”

  Kate released a quiet sigh.

  “There was definitely howling last night. The old farmer who told me about it was quaking in his pajamas. He thought the wolves were going to come tearing into his bedroom. It didn’t take much snooping for me to find what was howling: a lonely German shepherd tied up at the farm next door.”

  “That’s too bad, Dirk. I guess you’ll have to make something up,” said his editor. “It really isn’t like you to check in like this. What’s up?”

  “Nothing is up,” said Dirk clearly, enunciating every word. “But I am definitely packing up my things this morning, checking out of this motel, and heading back to New York.”

  “What’s going on here, Dirk?” asked Sandra, sounding bothered. “I’ve never heard you give up this easy. Is something up?”

  “Way, waaay up,” said Dirk.

  “Is someone listening to you right now?” she asked.

  Dirk stared at the bathroom door. “Yes,” he said.

  A thousand kilometres away, Sandra sat bolt upright in her chair. “Are you safe?”

  “Yes. I think so,” he replied.

  “Everything you just told me is bunk, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Dirk.

  “The person, or persons, listening in—are they werewolves?” asked Sandra.

  “Yes,” replied Dirk. “I’m sure of it.”

  Kate’s relief at avoiding the front page of Really Real News was quickly overshadowed by the fact that she was about to be discovered in the motel-room shower of its ace reporter.

  “This is the worst birthd
ay ever,” she whispered to John.

  John, who seemed to be enjoying himself, didn’t even try to stifle a smile. They’d stood in the shower for close to twenty minutes, listening to Dirk toss clothes and papers into his bag.

  “You know,” whispered John, “sooner or later, this guy’s going to have to take a pee, and I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to hold in my laughter when he does….”

  “You,” said Kate, “are a moron.”

  “You keep saying that,” said John with a grin.

  In the next room, Dirk attempted to close his overstuffed duffle bag. He was sitting on it and tugging at the straps when a knock came to the door.

  Dirk answered it to find the motel manager, Mr. Connors, standing next to a boy who looked to be about ten or eleven.

  “Daddy!” yelled the boy as he leapt at Dirk and wrapped his arms around him.

  Dirk did not hug back.

  Bobby winced. The reporter stank of stale sausage and unwashed clothing.

  “I’m sorry, there’s been some mistake,” said Dirk, looking helplessly at Mr. Connors. “I’ve never seen this boy in my life.”

  “Daddy!” yelled Bobby. “How can you say that? When are we going home?”

  “Mr. Bragg,” said Connors, glancing around and spotting Dirk’s packed bag. “You need to clear this situation up. This boy here says you’re his pappy, and by the looks of things, you’re fixing to check out without him.”

  “But Mr. Connors, I assure you this is not my son. I don’t even have a son.”

  Bobby started to cry. “Are you going to leave me here, Daddy?” He held his breath and lunged at him for a second hug. Dirk successfully deflected this attempt, holding the boy at arm’s length.

  “Bragg, I don’t know what to say,” said the motel manager. He lifted the battered ball cap from his head and scratched his scalp.

  “The boy is lying,” said Dirk firmly, his one hand still holding a flailing Bobby at bay.

  “I’d like you to come down to the office so we can figure this out. I don’t want to call the police unless I have to. Bad for business.”

  “Agreed,” said Dirk, releasing Bobby. He stepped through the door and pulled it closed. “Let’s go.”