Time to Pay

It’s the night of the full moon. Which means it’s time to pay for our safety.

Mama says the werewolf prefers to make the kill itself. That’s why we tie them up and cut on ‘em, to draw blood, to draw the wolf. It’s always been a hard decision, she says, but it ain’t seem so hard to me. Everyone the sheriff chooses is a wicked person. The type of person that’ll go to Hell anyway, the pastor says. Whoever it is, I ain’t never seen them in church.

Mama says there was a time before they’d struck the deal. It’d been horrible. Little kids like me couldn’t play outside without grown-ups watching, ever. Without at least one man holding a gun nearby. The wolf might only turn on the night of the full moon, but it’d never turn down a free meal. Now we don’t have to worry about our cattle, and we can even leave our dogs outside overnight. And of course, we don’t ever have to deal with real wolves. They won’t dare tread on our land. On its land.

Charlie says the wolf don’t just kill you; it’ll make you hurt first. It’ll make you bleed real bad, and sometimes it even lets the victims run away first, cause it likes the chase. But I think Charlie just likes to tell stories. How could he know what the wolf does, if he ain’t ever seen it?

This month feels different, though. The victim ain’t exactly innocent, but he don’t seem like someone who should die by the wolf. I seen him around town and he always holds the door for me and Mama, he’s always plenty respectful. I ain’t never seen him in church, but I seen him praying, locked up in that cage in the center of town. But Mama says sinners pray too.

Frankie Weaver’s his name. He killed a man, Larry Renz, in a bar fight. I know that’s real bad, but he did it cause the guy he killed was smacking around a lady, which Mama says is the worst kind of man. Frankie stood up to Larry and told him to back off, and Larry was so drunk he went after him. Frankie drew his pistol and shot him in the belly, and he bled out.

Maybe it’s ’cause we ain’t got no more worse criminals this month. It’s been a slow one for the sheriff and his men, and normally that’d be a good thing I suppose, but not when we’ve got a sacrifice to make. I told Mama that the sheriff should go to another town for a worse criminal, maybe someone like Larry who killed his wife, but she said other towns wouldn’t understand our deal. That don’t make sense to me, cause we gotta protect ourselves, and everyone who’s tried to kill the wolf got eaten. What else could we do?

The night of the full moon, everyone in town is out to watch. Mind you that’s only a few hundred people, but it’s enough, especially when you’re only used to seeing a few people at a time. Feels like we’re a city, so many people out, and I clutch Mama’s hand tight so we don’t get separated.

Sheriff Paul Carrington is the one that does it, that ties Frankie up. He’s already in cuffs, but we don’t wanna make any more work for the wolf, and rope’s easy to cut. Besides, Mama says, we can’t go needing a new pair of handcuffs made every month.

Paul knots Frankie’s wrists up, and everyone’s yelling and hollering, but I don’t feel like I should. Frankie don’t seem scared, is what’s getting to me. If I were where he is, I’d be quaking in my boots, crying and begging for my life. But Frankie just stares at the ground, like he’s sad. And he talks to Paul. Doesn’t sob, doesn’t shout, just talks to him. Like he’s trying to reason his way out of this.

Paul holds Frankie by the arm and walks him out to the edge of the wood. He makes him lay down and binds his ankles, then ties him to a stake in the ground. He lights a match and brings it to the lantern on the pole next to them, giving the wolf plenty of light to see by, not that it needs it.

And still, Frankie don’t look scared.

The noise from the crowd is so loud and it’s almost winter so it’s darn cold, and I wanna go home, but Mama’s got a look on her face that says we ain’t going nowhere yet. We will eventually though. The wolf ain’t never took its meal when the crowd was still there. Maybe it thinks we might kill it, given the chance of having it out in the open. Mind you, I don’t think that’s a bad idea, but they tried killing it plenty of times, Mama says. Never worked.

Sheriff Paul takes out his Bowie knife, leans down, and cuts several deep slices into Frankie’s arms. And backs away.

And the crowd is at its loudest.

And Mama holds my hand so tight.

And then the noise crowd starts to fade. Out of shock.

The blood slid down Frankie’s arms for a minute, then it stopped. Then he healed.

The crowd grows quiet, and Frankie looks more disappointed than ever. Then without much fuss, Frankie stretches his arms and legs and snaps the ropes. Gets to his feet. Lets out a big sigh.

“Mama?” I croak.

“You want me to kill it?” Frankie asks.

Nobody says a word. All I hear is the trees rustling in the wind. I shiver.

Paul is still at the front of the crowd and he finds his voice. “What in the hell are you, Weaver?” he asks. His voice is sharp, but there’s a quiver in it. Even Sheriff Paul’s scared, and he’s got a gun.

“Do you want me to kill it?” Frankie repeats. “I’m a wolf too. I ain’t never told anyone cause I ain’t never wanted to. I never wanted trouble. Seems I just ain’t got no choice anymore. Now that thing out in the forest is a monster, no mistaking it. But just cause I’m wolf, don’t mean I need to hurt anyone.” He pauses. “Unless you want me to.”