Werewolf Stories to Tell in the Dark Read Online Free

like many of the pupils, passed it every day.
    But Danny and Mary had only recently arrived at St Saviour’s Middle School, which was in an area ofLondon that had lost much of its industry. The unemployment rate was high and many shops and factories had closed down and were boarded up. The Institute, however, was obviously still going.
    Danny and Mary sometimes lingered by the building, watching the steady stream of visitors each afternoon. All of them seemed preoccupied and none of them ever smiled. Then, in November, with the twilight stealing over the streets by four in the afternoon, Danny told Mary what he was going to do.
    â€˜I‘ll wait until there’s no one about and run up the steps and read the sign.’
    â€˜You’re not going anywhere without me,’ Mary told him firmly.
    They hung around in the darkening street until the steps of the Institute had been empty for some time. Then they ran up, determinedly gazing straight ahead, their eyes fixed on the brass plaque, knowing that they had no excuse for what they were doing and hoping against hope they wouldn’t be stopped. As the dark doorway loomed up in front of them, Mary was the first to arrive and to stand panting by the plaque, whose polish had been dulled by the town’s polluted air.
    â€˜Can you read it?’ gasped Danny.
    â€˜Only just.’ She read the three words again and again, not making any sense of them at all. ‘The Lycanthropy Society. Now what does that mean?’
    â€˜I dunno.’ Danny looked at the black door and his mind went off at a tangent; it didn’t have a letterbox. Didn’t the Society have any mail?
    Mary tried the handle of the door, which swung silently open, revealing a dark interior. She could distinctly hear the ticking of a clock.
    When their eyes became accustomed to the darknessof the hallway, all they could see was a bare and neglected space with a large carriage clock on a small, dusty table against the panelled wall. A staircase soared upwards but there were no pictures, no ornaments, no evidence of the Society’s work.
    â€˜Maybe it all happens on the next floor,’ said Mary.
    â€˜Let’s go and see.’ Danny’s curiosity was now so overwhelming that he had forgotten to be afraid.
    â€˜We can’t do that.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜If we meet anyone – they’ll have us for trespassing.’ Mary was wavering, however, for her own curiosity had been aroused.
    â€˜We could say we saw – we saw a dog run in here.’ Danny’s powers of invention were never very great. ‘And we thought it had been in an accident – hit by a car or something,’ he added, warming to the theme.
    â€˜It’s a feeble excuse,’ Mary replied. ‘But I’ve heard worse.’
    Once inside, the hall smelt of old polish and disinfectant. The clock’s ticking sounded even louder; not only did it seem to fill the space but it also began to beat relentlessly inside their heads. Regretting that they had ever set foot in this forbidding hallway, Danny and Mary cautiously began to climb the stairs until they came to the first-floor landing. A huge lounge with a few bits of worn-out furniture opened off it, but all the other rooms were empty.
    â€˜Let’s go back,’ said Danny, rapidly losing his nerve.
    â€˜Why do all those people come in and out?’ demanded Mary. ‘We’ve got to find the reason. That’s what we came for,’ she insisted irritably. Danny was usually much braver than this. What was getting to him?
    â€˜That clock’s louder,’ he said miserably. ‘It’s as if our time’s running out.’
    They climbed a narrower flight of stairs and arrived on a landing that was in much better condition. This floor had been divided into a series of small rooms, each with a polished nameplate on the door. There must have been about twenty of them. Mr Rumbold. Mr Cranshaw.