THE EGRIGOR

The second of my Black Wolf stories (The Infernal Beast is the first). This time I've used a rather obscure Russian legend similar to the Tulpa legend.


Sergeant Danny Ross moved nervously through the dense forest of wattles, pines, and eerie, grey-white ghost gums half a dozen kilometres outside Glen Hartwell, in the Victorian countryside. A powerfully built man, Danny had been nicknamed “Bear” by his friends, and colleagues in the local police force.

It had been raining off and on over the last week, so the air smelt fresh and clean, with a strong aroma of eucalyptus from the gum trees. But the pine needles underfoot still crunched loudly, making Bear wince each step he took, defeating his best efforts at stealth. His great size made it impossible to walk silently through the forest. He heard a crunch up ahead, followed by a curse, and realised that his constable, Terry Blewett, was having the same trouble.

Bear, Terry, and half a dozen other local cops had spent the last three days searching day and night through the forest for illegal Russian immigrant Kostyn Pavolich. Pavolich had entered Australia on a six-month tourist visa in February 1980 and then had not been seen for nearly four years. Until he had been captured in New South Wales in December 1983. But on the way to court, Pavolich had overpowered a policeman and took his gun. In the resulting short shoot-out, he had killed two constables and a young WPC had been shot in the back, turning her into a paraplegic.

After the shoot-out, Pavolich had vanished again for more than six months. Until a few days ago, in mid-July 1984, when he had been sighted in the forest around LePage and Lenoak -- two towns near Glen Hartwell. Despite his scepticism at the reports, Bear had mounted an all-out search for the escapee. With the help of half a dozen cops from Sale, they had been searching the forest for the last three days without discovering any sign of Pavolich.

The area had also been swarming with journalists from around Australia, despite Bear’s best efforts to keep them at bay. After three days, the press had obviously started to think that it was all a wild goose chase, however, for the last couple of hours Bear’s sixth sense had been tingling, warning him of imminent danger.

Sixth sense like hell! thought Bear: It’s just your nerves on edge after the last three days with almost no sleep. Bear had almost convinced himself that his nervousness was only fatigue, when from ahead of him he heard a gunshot.

After a few seconds, two more gunshots followed in quick succession.

Looking round he saw Terry Blewett and the grey-haired figure of Mel Forbes loping through the forest in the direction of the gunshots.

His heart pounding from nervous excitement, Bear set off after the two men. Not wanting to be late and possibly cost a fellow cop his life, Bear easily raced past Mel and Terry, ignoring his own danger from potential head-on collisions with trees or oncoming bullets.


Ernie Singleton had had a tiring day on his sheep station on the outskirts of Merridale. Normally he could have looked forward to a good night’s sleep, but his senses told him that tonight would be the first night of his transformations that month.

Ernie ate a hearty tea, and then took a long soak in a hot tub, before heading to bed. Although it was mid-winter, he left the bedroom window wide open. He also slept naked, so that he would not be trapped in his oversized pyjamas in wolf form.

Ernie was a werewolf!

Ernie had hardly got into bed when his head began to swim and he transformed into the Black Wolf.

The Black Wolf leapt out through the bedroom window and started off into the forest. He set off in no particular direction, however, after an hour or so be realised that he was heading toward Lenoak -- two towns away from Glen Hartwell. He had already slowed intending to start for home, when he was startled by the sound of gunfire.

At first the wolf panicked, thinking that the shots were aimed at him. But after a moment he realised that the shots were away in the distance. Although his first instinct was for self-preservation, the Black Wolf forced himself to head off at a steady pace to investigate the shots.


Three more shots sounded, allowing Bear to zero in on the gunfire. He almost ran out into an open clearing where the shots were coming from, when he heard a call of: “Bear, stay back!”

Looking round he saw Con Rodriguez (sergeant of LePage) crouching behind a great blue gum with one of the cops from Sale.

Ducking behind a large ghost gum, Bear looked out into the clearing. The gunfire was emanating from a small log cabin in the clearing.

Knowing that Bear was still learning the names of the local inhabitants, Con called across: “That’s Jacinta Blakley’s cabin.”

“Is she in there with him?” asked Bear.

Con shrugged, and then realising Bear couldn’t see the gesture in the dark: “We don’t know. Pavolich is in there all right, but we haven’t seen anyone else.”

Hearing rushing footsteps behind him, Bear looked round to see the tall, dark-haired figure of Terry Blewett, and the equally tall, but heavier-built figure of Mel Forbes arriving on the scene, along with two more Sale cops. He was dismayed to see that two Melbourne reporters had also turned up.

Though loath to shoot another human being, Bear aimed his service revolver toward the four-paned window of the cabin. As Pavolich fired toward them again, Bear also opened fire, only hoping that he would not hit any innocent bystanders in the cabin.


Approaching a clearing, the Black Wolf saw Bear Ross and a dozen other police officers, as well as half-a-dozen men and women, at least two of whom had cameras, all crouching behind trees. The police were firing their revolvers toward a small cabin, returning fire with whoever was inside. The air was full of the stench of gunpowder where many shots had been fired. Puffs of leaves or pine needles flew up as shots from the cabin fell short of the mark. Shots nearer the mark took off chunks from the trees that the cops and reporters used for cover.

The gunfire seemed endless to the Black Wolf, although it probably lasted only a few minutes. Until a loud scream rang out from the cabin.

“I think I got him,” called Bear Ross.

Hearing the sadness in the big man’s voice, Ernie knew that Bear took no pleasure from killing another human being -- even in self-defence.

At Bear’s cry the police all stopped firing. There was a moment’s eerie silence, until Bear Ross called out: “Anyone in the cabin, come out with your hands above your head!”

The front door opened, and then out walked a tall brunette in her late twenties or early thirties.

“Take her into custody,” Bear instructed Terry Blewett after the woman had reached the trees at the edge of the clearing.

“But I was his hostage,” insisted the woman, Jacinta Blakley, as she was cuffed and led away: “I wasn’t helping him. I was his hostage.”

Though tempted to tell the reporters to “Piss off!” Bear simply ignored them as they snapped photographs of Jacinta Blakley being led away. He hoped they might follow after her, leaving him free to do his job, however, they obviously all realised that she was small news compared to Kostyn Pavolich.

Obviously still hesitant, the police slowly approached the cabin, expecting to be shot at, at any second.

Reaching the cabin, Bear raced past the window -- too large a man to duck beneath it, as Terry and Mel did when following him.

The three policemen entered the cabin, afraid of hearing gunshots inside the cabin.

Bear Ross tentatively stepped into the log cabin. He slowly felt round the wall inside the door for a light switch, but didn’t find one.

He resisted the urge to curse, knowing the cabin was too far off the beaten track to be on mains power. Although private generators powered some of the small cabins dotting the local countryside, others were more primitive using candlelight and wood-burning stoves to cook and heat water.

Bear stepped away from the door to allow Mel and Terry into the cabin. He signalled for them to start one way round the cabin, while he went the other.

Walking into the front room, Bear unthinkingly stepped in front of the window. Then realising that he would be visible against the moonlight to both the cops outside and anyone inside, he quickly moved aside to minimise the danger of being shot ....

And fell over the corpse of Kostyn Pavolich that was under the window.

Cursing his own stupidity, Bear decided to risk being shot, by turning on a small penlight -- which he held well away from his body, in case it drew gunfire.

Following Bear’s example Mel and Terry flicked on their own, more powerful flashlights.

The front room was bare of furniture other than two small, wire-frame cot-beds, three or four old wooden chairs, and a roughly made wooden coffee table.

Seeing a dark figure in one corner, Bear flashed his light over that way and called out: “All right come out whoever you are.”

When the figure refused to comply, Bear aimed his .38 at it and slowly advanced. Mel and Terry watched on, ready to come to Bear’s aid if need be.

“All right stand up,” ordered Bear.

When it failed to comply Bear gently nudged the figure with his left foot. Then jumped backwards in shock as it lurched forward ....

And fell apart to reveal itself as a pile of dirty laundry.

Bear heaved a sigh of relief, then slowly nudged open the door to the second room and crept inside. The kitchen-cum-washhouse was as sparsely furnished as the front room with wooden table, two wooden chairs, two overhead cupboards, a concrete sink, and dirty laundry lying round the floor. It was also devoid of human habitants. As was the small bathroom at the back of the cabin.


The Black Wolf watched from the shadows, expecting to hear gunshots emanate from the cabin at any second. Instead, after a couple of minutes Terry Blewett emerged through the doorway.

Cupping his hands over his mouth, the constable called: “All clear, he’s dead.”

Mel’s constable, Andrew Braidwood, a tall lanky fair-haired man, and four other cops came out from behind the trees to approach the cabin.

Bear Ross emerged from the cabin and went over to the five cops for a few moments. Then Sergeant Jim Kane and Constable Paul Bell (both from Harpertown) set off into the bushes again.

Over the next hour police came and went. Finally a Land-Rover with a blue police light on top approached the cabin. Out got Jim, Paul and the local coroner, Jerry 'Elvis' Green (nicknamed due to his long black sideburns).

Elvis examined the corpse for five or ten minutes. Then he called to Paul Bell (a tall thin raven-haired man) and Andrew Braidwood. The two constables carried a collapsible stretcher into the cabin, and then quickly returned carrying the corpse of a heavyset, black-bearded man, who looked to have been around thirty-eight or forty.

As the procession emerged, the reporters broke cover to snap off dozens of photographs of the dead murderer. Then, to the obvious relief of Bear Ross, they followed after the departing group, eager to get their stories sent in before other local reporters learnt of Kostyn Pavolich’s death.

Over the next hour the swarm of police gradually filtered away, leaving Bear Ross, Terry Blewett, and Mel Forbes behind.


From his hiding place in the bushes, the Black Wolf decided that it was time for him to leave too. He turned to start into the forest and almost ran straight into a tall, thickset, black-bearded man. The man was standing just in the forest, glaring into the clearing toward where Mel and Bear were standing talking.

The Black Wolf backed away quickly, afraid of being attacked. But the bearded man was glaring so intently at Bear Ross that he didn’t even notice the large wolf as it crept off.

Ernie turned to lope away, then stopped and stared at the black-bearded man. It’s him! thought the Black Wolf. Kostyn Pavolich!


At the police station at Mitchell Street, Glen Hartwell, Jacinta Blakley was charged with harbouring a dangerous felon. Although she still swore her innocence, claiming to have been held hostage in her own cabin by Kostyn Pavolich.

Having had little sleep over the last week, Bear Ross left the station in the care of Mel Forbes, to return to his Boothy Street flat for a few hours rest.

Despite the emotional turmoil that raged inside Bear, having killed a man for the first time, the moment that his head touched his pillow he dropped off to sleep.

When he awakened nine hours later it was almost noon. Although refreshed after his long sleep, he was ravenous, having not eaten in nearly twenty hours. Stretching wide, he sat up and looked around his tiny, two-room flat, thinking: Jacinta Blakley’s log cabin is absolutely roomy compared to this. He had originally taken the tiny flat two years ago because it had been the only one available in the Glen at a price that he could afford. Since then, he hadn't found time to look around for better living quarters.

Bear walked over to the dining room-kitchen half of the main room to help himself to a quick breakfast of bacon, eggs, cornflakes, and coffee.

As he sat down with his back to the centre of the room, the feeling of being watched suddenly overwhelmed him.

Turning round too quickly, he overturned his chair and toppled to the floor.

Cursing his own stupidity, he climbed slowly to his feet again, rubbing at his right knee, which had been bruised in the fall.

Taking a minute or two to look around his flat, he reassured himself that there was no one lurking in any dark corners. Feeling childish, he took the time to look under the small bed, wincing as he knelt on his bruised knee, and even inside his double-door wardrobe.

Feeling foolish Bear returned to the kitchen table, after moving his food to the other side, so that he could look into the room while eating.

Certain that he was just overwrought; Bear finished his breakfast, then had a quick shower before dressing. But he was still unable to shake off the feeling of being watched as he finally set out for work.

As he stepped out onto the veranda outside his flat, the feeling of being spied upon became overwhelming. For a moment he tried to fight the overpowering urge to look round to his left.

Finally he gave in, looked round, and saw a heavyset, black-bearded man standing beside flat number eight, glaring toward him.

Bear started toward the man, then stopped again, thinking: Kostyn Pavolich! It can’t be! He knew that Pavolich was lying in a freezer drawer at the morgue in Baltimore Drive. Bear started toward the dark-haired man again, then feeling like a coward, turned and started toward the street instead.

He stopped at the end of the gravel path and looked hesitantly back toward the flat ....

And was shocked to see no sign of the man.

Where the Hell did he go? wondered Bear: There’s nowhere for him to go! The only place was into one of the flats, yet there had been no sound of a key turning or a door opening.


Back at the police station Bear made out his report on the shoot-out at the log cabin. Then he and Terry Blewett interviewed Jacinta Blakley, who still maintained that she was innocent.

“I shouldn’t even be in here,” protested Jacinta looking round the small cell where she sat on the hardwood bunk, while the two policemen stood before her: “I’ve already explained to Mel and Terry earlier. Pavolich broke into my cabin, raped me, and held me hostage.”

Looking down at the attractive Indian-born Englishwoman, Bear tried without success to decide whether she was telling the truth or not. During the time that he had been away, Mel Forbes had arranged for Jacinta to be tested by Gina Foley at the hospital, to determine whether or not she had been raped. But the results had been inconclusive.

After they returned to the front room, Terry Blewett asked: “Well, what do you think?”

Sitting before his blackwood desk Bear shrugged: “She could be telling the truth,” he admitted, undecided: “But I don’t have the authority to let her go. That’s up to the magistrate.”

Over the next few hours Bear tried to settle into his work. But he was unable to shake off the feeling of being watched. Finally deciding that a breath of fresh air might help clear his head, he went over to the door to the street ....

And saw the thickset, black-bearded figure standing near a lamppost across the road, glaring toward him.

This time instead of running away, Bear drew his revolver and ran across the road toward the lamppost. Aiming as he ran, he began to fire the revolver, then stopped, not wanting to kill his second person in twenty-four hours.

When he got there though, there was no sign of the bearded man and nowhere that he could be hiding. Just like at the flat! Bear thought, walking across to look behind a yellow Honda, even though he knew it was too small for the big man to be hiding behind: I must be tired, overworked, imagining things. It can’t be Kostyn Pavolich, I killed him!

He looked behind himself to see if the man could be hiding in the front yard of one of the houses. But the nearest house had only a low redbrick fence. The house on either side had no fence at all, leaving nowhere for the man to be hiding in the immaculately mown front lawns. His body is lying in a freezer drawer at the morgue! thought Bear, unable to get over the resemblance between the mysterious watcher and Kostyn Pavolich: It must be in the morgue! But although he knew it to be true, he couldn’t quite convince himself.

He returned to the police station to tell Terry Blewett: “I’m just off to Baltimore Drive to speak to Elvis for a minute.”

“You can speak to him by phone, can’t you?” asked Terry, wondering why Bear would go all the way to the other end of town just to speak to Elvis for a minute.

“No, I need to see him in person,” said Bear. He hurried off before Terry could question him further.

What’s up with him? wondered Terry. He stood in the doorway of the police station, staring after the retreating form of Bear Ross.


The morgue was a good ten minutes walk from Mitchell Street, however, Bear decided to walk, so that he would have a chance to think. Yet by the time he reached the morgue, he was as confused as ever. Although he had not seen the bearded man a third time, the feeling of being watched persisted. As he walked along the bitumen footpath Bear fought hard to stop himself from looking back over his shoulder every minute or so ... and failed. Once or twice he thought he saw mysterious shadows behind cars or lampposts, however, when he went to check, there was no sign of anyone lurking in the shadows.

Pushing open one of the glass doors, he stopped at the reception desk to talk to Gloria Ulverstone (his girlfriend, a tall, leggy ash blonde) for a minute or so, and then headed down the grey-walled corridor toward Elvis’s office.

Although Elvis was a close friend of his, Bear hesitated for a moment from embarrassment. Then, feeling childish, finally he blurted out everything that had happened since he had killed Kostyn Pavolich the night before.

“I need to see the body again, just to convince myself that he’s really dead.”

“Oh, he’s dead, all right,” said Elvis. He took a large key chain from a metal cabinet near his desk, and then led Bear to the freezer room next door to his office.

Elvis unlocked one of the freezer drawers and pulled out the drawer to reveal the naked body of Kostyn Pavolich.

“Of course, I knew he was dead,” said Bear, thinking aloud: “I mean he had to be dead, didn’t he? After all, I killed him.”

“In the line of duty and in self-defence,” pointed out Elvis. Aware that Bear Ross had never killed anyone before. He wondered if it was guilt over the death of the illegal immigrant making Bear fantasise that Pavolich was following him around: “There was nothing else you could have done. If you hadn’t killed him, he would have killed you. Or Terry, or one of the other men under your control. No one likes to kill someone, but better one dangerous felon, than three or four cops.”

“Yes, of course, you’re right,” agreed Bear. He only wished that he could really believe it though. Maybe I am just fantasising it? he thought. For just a second he wondered if the bearded figure could be Pavolich’s ghost. That would explain how it vanished into thin air! he thought. But then he rejected the idea as nonsense.

They talked for a few minutes more, and then Elvis walked Bear to the front doors of the morgue.

Elvis watched Bear through the glass doors as his friend headed down Baltimore Drive. He shook his head ruefully and started to turn away ....

When he saw a sudden blur of movement from the left as a man ran out from behind a parked car as Bear Ross walked past. Elvis watched in horror as the man lifted a red brick in one hand and swung it at the back of Bear’s head ....

Too late Elvis pushed open the glass doors and shouted: “Bear, look out ... !”

As the brick connected with the back of Bear’s head with a sickening thud.

Wincing at the sound, as his friend fall to the bitumen, Elvis Green raced out into the street, with Gloria Ulverstone not far behind him.

The dark-bearded man started to swing the brick toward the back of Bear’s head a second time, but stopped as Gloria screamed.

Elvis ran toward the bearded man, who to the coroner’s dismay did not turn to run, but stood his ground. Never much of a fighter, Elvis wondered how long he would last in a fight with the heavyset man. Particularly since the man still carried the red brick, which was stained with blood and hair from the back of Bear Ross’s head.

“Put that down!” shouted Elvis. He only hoped he wasn’t making a fatal mistake by drawing the man’s attention to the brick.

Instead of doing as ordered, the man opened his mouth wide and snarled at Elvis with a sound like a panther.

Elvis stopped, shocked and frightened by the inhuman snarl.

Backing away in fright, Elvis tripped over the prone figure of Bear Ross. More by luck than design, Elvis’s left hand landed on Bear’s leather gun belt. As quickly as possible the coroner unclipped the flap of the holster and withdrew the .38 police revolver. He flicked off the safety catch, pointed the gun at the heavyset man and said:

“Put down that brick, or I’ll shoot!”

The bearded man snarled again and threw the brick at Elvis’s head.

The coroner dived aside, thumping against a parked car.

Wincing as bolts of pain shot through his shoulder, Elvis raised the gun and fired three shots into the attacker from point blank range.

Ignoring the bullets the man snarled again and started toward Elvis ....

But at the sound of running footsteps from houses on both sides of the street, the bearded man stopped. He snarled one last time at Elvis, turned to glare at Gloria Ulverstone, who was standing frozen from terror in the doorway of the morgue. Then turning, he ran down the middle of the road at an astonishing speed, vanishing from sighted in only seconds.

“For Christ’s sake ring for an ambulance,” Elvis shouted to the crowd. Three or four people ran back into their houses to oblige, while Gloria ran across to the footpath to help Elvis attend to Bear.

With Gloria’s assistance Elvis tentatively checked the back of Bear’s head. He was pleased to see that there only appeared to be broken skin, not any broken bone. But he knew that any head injury could be serious, and silently cursed the ambulance for taking so long to arrive.


Ernie singleton had arrived back at his sheep station only minutes before dawn that morning. He had hardly entered through his bedroom window when he transformed back into human form.

Exhausted, he was tempted to go straight to bed and sleep the clock around. But he knew that he couldn’t ignore his farm chores. Outside he could already hear barking from the forty or so sheep dogs out in the dog yard.

Wearily he forced himself down the corridor toward the back door ....

Only to be overcome with a burning hunger, clenching like a fist in the pit of his stomach ....

Over the last seventeen months, Ernie had learnt that the transformation from man to wolf and back again burnt up a tremendous amount of energy. Energy which had to be replenished by eating. Thus after each transformation, he was overcome with an often painful, famine-like hunger, which sometimes kept him eating almost from breakfast time right through till lunch. At its worst, he had been known to consume a normal week’s groceries in only a day or two.

Ernie ignored the barking, which had increased in tempo when the dogs saw movement through the kitchen window. Going across to the fridge he started grabbing anything in sight, eating cold roast beef, a large block of tasty cheese, a large salami, plus almost a full box of Kellogg’s cornflakes and three full cartons of milk.

After ninety minutes of gluttony Ernie’s famine had reduced to a mere dull ache. Allowing him to take time to feed the dogs and other farm animals, as well as doing some of the more urgent farm chores, before returning to the farmhouse around 10:30 a.m. for an early lunch.

By 12:30 he was finally sated. Despite his yearning to return to bed -- knowing that he would have to go out again that night as the Black Wolf -- Ernie forced himself to head toward his brown Range-Rover parked near the wire-mesh fence ringing the farmhouse yard.

Almost dropping the car keys from fatigue, Ernie got into the Rover and drove down the dirt path toward Donaldson’s Road, half a kilometre beyond the farm, which led to Merridale, and ultimately to Glen Hartwell.

Ernie arrived at Glen Hartwell shortly before 1:00 PM, planning to head straight to the Mitchell Street police station to tell Bear Ross what he had seen the night before. But overcome with hunger pangs, he stopped at a fish and chip shop in Boothy Street.

In the shop he was told about the attack on Bear. Unable to ignore the hunger pangs, Ernie wolfed down his potato cakes and flake, before heading for the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital on the border between the two towns.

At the hospital he found Bear in a private ward on the second floor, with Paul Bell and Andrew Braidwood posted outside the door in case the attacker returned.

Recognising Ernie, who they knew was Bear’s best friend, they allowed him through. Inside the ward, Ernie found a nurse attending to Bear’s dressings while Mel Forbes watched on.

“What happened?” demanded Ernie, sickened by the sight of his friend obviously badly injured.

“He was attacked by a maniac wielding a brick,” explained Mel. He went on to relate what Elvis Green and the others had told him: “Poor Gloria is under sedation in another ward.”

He stopped for a moment, sighed heavily then said: “The crazy thing is that according to Elvis, it was a ghost that attacked Bear.”

“A ghost?” asked Ernie.

“That’s right. He claims to have shot the assailant from a metre or two at most without him even flinching.”

“If you think that’s crazy, wait till you hear my story,” said Ernie. He related what he had seen outside Jacinta Blakley’s cabin the night before, after most of the police had left, only leaving out the fact that he had been there in the form of the Black Wolf.

“All this is crazy,” insisted Mel astonished by this unexpected corroboration of Elvis Green’s story: “There’s no such thing as a brick-wielding ghost.”

Ernie shrugged not knowing what he could say.

After stopping in to see how Gloria Ulverstone was, Mel and Ernie left the hospital and headed for Mitchell Street so that Mel could officially take down Ernie’s statement.

At the police station, Terry Blewett made no bones about the fact that he thought that Ernie and Elvis Green must both be crazy.

“How’s Bear?” asked Terry, although there was no love lost between Terry and his sergeant.

“Critical. That’s all they can say at this stage,” replied Mel.

If Bear were to die, or be invalided out, I’d be promoted to sergeant of the Glen! he thought. Terry had served as constable in Glen Hartwell for a decade, the first eight years under Lawrie Grimes, Bear’s predecessor. Upon Lawrie’s retirement in June 1982 Terry had expected to be promoted to sergeant. Instead, to his dismay Bear Ross had been promoted and transferred from BeauLarkin. I was robbed of the sergeant’s position, thought Terry: It should have been mine in 1982. Now, if only Bear would die ... ! But then he stopped, feeling dreadful for wishing another man dead just so that he could get promoted.

They talked awhile longer and Mel took down Ernie’s statement. Then Mel walked Ernie to the door to the street.

Ernie already had a hand on the doorknob, when the door swung open suddenly, crashing into him: “What?” he said as he went reeling. He staggered into Mel and both men almost fell to the floor.

“Look out?” warned Mel. Grabbing Ernie by an arm he hefted him back to his feet: “Guess the door must have been unlatched and the wind blew it open.”

“Either that or your ghost just entered the station,” joked Terry.

Ernie started to reply, but stopped as looking round he saw the figure of Kostyn Pavolich sneaking past Terry. Pavolich was moving so rapidly that he would have been invisible to any normal person; however, with Ernie’s enhanced werewolf vision the Russian was just visible to him.

“Look out!” warned Ernie pointing behind Terry.

“What?” asked Terry as the two policemen looked where Ernie was pointing. At first, they could see nothing. But as the door to the lock-up behind the police station mysteriously opened, for just a second they could see the black-bearded figure of Pavolich before he raced into the corridor leading to the holding cells.

For a moment all three men were too shocked to move. Then hearing a woman’s scream from the lock-up, Mel came to his senses and ordered: “Come on, it’s after Jacinta.”

They ran to the lock-up door and entered to see Pavolich furiously rattling the door to the cell while Jacinta Blakley lay on the holding cell floor screaming in terror.

Mel Forbes reached for the handgun at his belt.

At the same second there was a great rending of metal as the creature ripped the cell door off its hinges and tossed it further down the corridor.

When the three men hesitated, Pavolich rushed into the cell and bent down to grab Jacinta Blakley, who was too terrified to even struggle.

The monster effortlessly lifted its intended victim off the ground and began to throttle her.

The attractive Anglo-Indian woman suddenly came to life and started furiously pummelling her attacker with her fists. Although she was a powerfully built woman, she was obviously no match for the bearded man. Her large fists pummelled his chest with a loud thump-thump-thump, yet the man did not even flinch.

“Let her go!” shouted Mel Forbes, pulling his revolver from his holster. But he hesitated to fire for fear of shooting the woman.

Terry Blewett had no such qualms. Aiming his revolver through the cell bars he unloading all six cartridges into the monster. Then, his gun empty, Terry raced past the older man to attack the black-bearded figure.

But the man only needed to release Jacinta with one hand to grab Terry and fling him back out through the open cell door.

Mel and Ernie were both knocked over by Terry, who crashed heavily into the yellow weatherboard wall of the police station.

When they climbed to their feet again, the bearded man was holding Jacinta Blakley by the neck, bashing her head hard into the brick wall.

“For God’s sake stop him!” shouted Terry.

Terry and Ernie raced over to grab the man.

But the Russian was too strong for them. Flexing one arm, Pavolich threw Terry into a corner of the cell and simply ignored Ernie. Ernie tried with all his might to pull the man’s hands away from Jacinta, but was simply not strong enough to do so, despite his added werewolf-strength.

“Get out of the way!” shouted Mel.

Ernie looked round and saw Mel aiming his service revolver at them. Ernie quickly released the man and jumped to one side.

Mel fired three shots into the bearded man from three metres away and the man released Jacinta for a moment. Turning round he roared his panther-like roar at Mel.

For a moment the three men were too shocked to do anything as the creature returning to bashing Jacinta Blakley’s head against the blood-smeared brick wall.

“Shoot the bastard!” ordered Mel, firing his last three shots into the small of the creature’s back.

Mel and Terry both quickly reloaded and fired again and again into the back of the creature, without visibly hurting it.

Releasing Jacinta Blakley, the bearded figure turned and roared at Terry, then started in his direction.

Although no coward, Terry backed into the front room of the police station, with the bearded man following him.

Inside the front room, Pavolich ignored Terry and headed toward the door to the street. Again he moved so fast that he became all but invisible.

In the lock-up Mel and Ernie tried to help Jacinta Blakley, however, her head injuries were far more severe than Bear Ross’s had been.

“Ring for the ambulance,” Mel shouted to Terry. Although he knew that she would probably be dead on arrival at the hospital.

While they were leaning over her, Jacinta opened her eyes slightly and seeing Mel she muttered something feebly.

Not hearing what she had said, Mel looked at Ernie, who shrugged.

Both men bent lower over her as the dying woman muttered: “E ... grigor.”

“What?” asked Mel. But she was wide-eyed, staring fixedly at the ceiling, clearly dead.

“Egrigor,” repeated Ernie.

“What the hell does egrigor mean?” asked Mel rhetorically.

Ernie shrugged and said: “Maybe it’s a Russian word? Since Pavolich was a Russian.”

“Could be,” agreed Mel.

Before he could say anymore they heard the ambulance siren approaching.

“Come on let’s get out of here and let them take care of her,” Ernie suggested.

“Okay,” agreed Mel. He stood staring at the great hole where Pavolich had ripped off the cell door for a second, wondering how he would explain it to his bosses in Melbourne when he sent in the bill for repairs. After a moment he shrugged and headed for the front room, saying: “We’ll need you to make a statement of what you saw in here before you leave.”

Over the next hour, the corpse of Jacinta Blakley was examined by the coroner, and taken away to the morgue. Then Ernie’s statement was taken and Terry and Mel wrote out their own report of what had happened.

“No one’s gonna believe it,” said Mel as he led Ernie to the door: “Not that that damn thing ripped off a locked steel-barred door with its bare hands, or that Terry and me shot two dozen slugs into it without even slowing it down.”

“I’ll back you up at any inquiry,” offered Ernie.

“Thanks. Hopefully, it won’t mean you’ll be joining us when they send Terry and me to Queen’s Grove,” said Mel, referring to the local asylum, midway between Glen Hartwell and Westmoreland.


Bradley Robbins yawned wide as he walked down the long yellow-walled corridor.

What’s wrong with me tonight? thought the orderly. Normally Brad liked working night duty. Day duty in a hospital - even in the countryside - could be pretty damned hectic. Night shift tended to be more relaxed, the way Brad liked it. But for some reason tonight he was having difficulty staying awake.

“God, I hate night shift,” said Michael Draper - a tall, powerfully built man, like his partner.

“It’s not so bad. Do you prefer the hustle and bustle of the day shift?”

“At least the day shift passes quickly,” insisted Mike: “Night shift drags on forever.”

“You get used to it ... ” said Brad. He had intended to elaborate, but stopped, surprised by the sight of a thickset, black-bearded man slinking down the corridor five metres ahead of them: “Who the Hell is that?”

“Probably a visitor, or one of the doctors,” replied Mike, not particularly concerned.

“It’s no doctor that I’ve ever seen in this place,” insisted Brad. Looking at his wristwatch he saw that it was past midnight: “And visiting hours ended nearly three hours ago.”

He started down the corridor at a run after the lone figure.

“Excuse me?” called Brad as the bearded man approached the glass doors to the next ward.

Ignoring the call, the man continued forward a little faster than before.

Running up behind Brad, Mike said: “Maybe he didn’t hear you?”

“He heard all right,” said Brad.

Pushing through the twin doors, the two orderlies started through the ward at a run.

“Hey!” called Mike seeing the strange man heading toward the stairwell: “Come on,” he said and the two orderlies raced after the bearded figure.

Brad Robbins caught him, as he was about to enter the stairwell.

“Excuse me ... ?” he started to say, stopping in shock as the man snarled at him like a wild animal.

When Brad stood his ground the egrigor grabbed him by the shirt, physically lifted him off the ground, and threw him back down the corridor.

Flying through the air Brad screamed out in terror. But he landed fairly safely on the linoleum-covered floor, twisting his right ankle, but otherwise sustaining no injuries.

Michael Draper was less fortunate.

Hearing his work mate screaming hysterically, Brad looked up and saw that the bearded man had Mike’s neck in his hands.

Despite the orderly’s efforts to break free, the bearded man gave his hands one powerful twist. There was a sickening snapping of bone as Michael Draper’s neck broke, killing him instantly.

Oh, God! thought Brad in shock. Although he had seen dead and dying people before, he had never seen anyone killed in cold blood before.

As the bearded killer ran up the stairs to the next floor, Brad sat on the linoleum in shock for a moment. Then, wincing at the agony in his right ankle, he climbed painfully to his feet and started down the corridor toward a phone at the corner, using the wooden handrail on the wall for support.


On the second floor, Jim Kane (a tall, brown-haired man in his thirties) and Con Rodriguez (a tall Latino of mixed Greek and Mexican-American heritage) were both having trouble staying awake. Neither man was used to doing night work since their respective police budgets were too small to include overtime money.

“God, this is boring!” complained Jim reaching back as best he could to rub at a crick in the small of his back.

“Yeah,” agreed Con.

He wished that they could at least sit down instead of having to stand up for hours outside the door. He wanted to stamp his feet to relieve the aching but didn’t want to risk waking the sleepers in other wards or appear weak in front of his companion.

“I’ll be glad when ... ” began Jim.

He stopped at the sight of a tall, thickset man walking toward them down the corridor.

Seeing the black-bearded man, Con started to say: “Funny that looks just like ... ” Then he stopped, thinking: My God that looks exactly like Kostyn Pavolich! Although he knew that Pavolich was dead, in the freezer at the morgue.

He had heard disturbing rumours about a man looking like Pavolich attacking Bear Ross and killing Jacinta Blakley. Until now he hadn’t taken the reports seriously: “My God, it’s true,” he said, reaching for the holster at his belt.

As he pulled his revolver out, he saw that Jim Kane had beaten him to the draw: “Stop right where you are!” ordered Con.

At that moment a screeching siren started up.

“Stop right there!” repeated Con.

The bearded man opened his mouth and let out a long, loud, panther-like snarl, which startled both policemen.

Both men started firing their .38 police revolvers at the egrigor.

Chaos erupted in the hospital at the sound of the siren and gunshots. Doctors, nurses, and patients alike streamed out of wards to investigate.

Although impervious to gunfire and almost invincible, the bearded figure was alarmed by the sirens and the swarm of people approaching it. Having been in existence for less than twenty-four hours, the egrigor did not know if he could be overpowered if tackled by enough people at once.

After one last snarl toward Jim and Con, the egrigor turned and loped back down the corridor, toward the stairwell.

The two policemen hesitated for a moment, not wanting to leave their charge alone. Finally, reloading his revolver, Con Rodriguez said: “You stay here and watch after Bear. I’ll go after that thing.”

“All right, be careful,” cautioned Jim as the policeman started after the egrigor.


Mel Forbes had been about to head off home after a long day on the job when the emergency board suddenly lit up at the Mitchell Street police station. The alarm board, on the wall near the blackwood desk, was connected to eight or nine important buildings in Glen Hartwell. Checking the board Mel saw that it was the light for the hospital.

“That thing is after Bear,” said Terry, taking the words out of Mel’s mouth.

“Let’s go,” said Mel.

Although Con and Jim were both armed with revolvers, Mel unlocked the gun-cabinet on the wall and took out a Winchester repeating rifle for Terry and a pump-action shotgun for himself.


At the hospital, they found Brad Robbins being tended to by a nurse on the ground floor.

“What the hell happened here?” demanded Mel.

“A man attacked us,” said Brad who was obviously in a deep state of shock.

“A thickset, bearded man?” asked Terry Blewett.

“Yes. He killed Mike and threw me across the room.”

“Where the hell is he now?” demanded Mel. He didn’t want to sound unsympathetic but didn’t have time to listen to a long, drawn-out story.

“He ran upstairs, I think he’s after the copper up there. We just heard gunshots ....”

As he was speaking three more shots rang out from the next storey.

“Come on!” ordered Mel.

The two cops headed for the stairs ....

And were almost knocked off their feet as the egrigor pushed open the door to the stairwell and rushed out into the corridor. Behind it ran Con Rodriguez.

Terry and Mel ducked aside to avoid being shot as Con aimed his revolver at the egrigor. The bullet slammed into the back of the monster, which roared panther-like but kept running down the corridor toward the front doors.

Terry and Mel followed after them. Careful to avoid Con, Terry fired shot after shot at the egrigor with his Winchester. But Mel was unable to use his pump-action for fear of hitting the Greek-Mexican policeman.

“I got him!” shouted Terry as a slug from his rifle tore into the back of the egrigor. But to his dismay, the creature kept going without even flinching.

They followed it for a block or so down Wentworth Street firing as they ran, however, the egrigor moved at an awesome speed and was soon out of sight.

“God that thing can move!” said Terry.

He aimed the Winchester to fire one last shot, then changed his mind, afraid of a stray ricochet going into a house, hurting or killing an innocent bystander.

They returned to the hospital to make sure that Jim and Bear were okay.


“So what the Hell was that thing?” asked Con Rodriguez from Bear’s bedside: “It looked like a man, but it can’t be because bullets didn’t even slow it down.”

“Maybe he was wearing a bullet-proof vest,” suggested Jim Kane, although he didn’t really believe it.

“No way. It’d stop bullets from passing into you, but not kill the impact of the bullet. When we were both firing at it from point blank, it would have been knocked onto its backside by the impact of the bullets even if it wasn’t hurt,” insisted Con: “Besides when we were chasing it down the street I fired one shot into the back of its head and it didn’t even flinch.”

“Then what is it?” asked Jim.

“According to Jacinta Blakley, it’s an egrigor,” said Mel.

“What the hell is that?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Could it be the Hindu name for a ghost?” asked Terry Blewett, feeling foolish for suggesting it: “Jacinta was born in India.”

“But a ghost is supposed to be non-physical,” pointed out Con: “The bullets would have passed right through it. But they didn’t, they definitely lodged into its body ... They just didn’t hurt it ....”

“Besides no ghost could swing a brick, like that thing did at Bear, or strangle someone, like it did with Jacinta,” said Mel.

They continued to debate the matter for another half hour or so. Then Mel and Terry departed, leaving the Winchester and pump-action with Con and Jim in case the egrigor returned.


After the previous night’s adventure as the Black Wolf, Ernie Singleton hadn’t known what to expect tonight. But after transforming to wolf form a little before midnight, he had roamed the forest around Merridale and East Merridale for little more than two hours before returning to his farmhouse to get a reasonably full night’s sleep.

Early the next morning he was awakened by the famine-like hunger. He feasted for nearly two hours, before going out to feed the farm animals. He went on to do the most urgent farm chores, then after another feast at lunch time, he set out for Glen Hartwell to visit Bear Ross in hospital.

First, however, he decided to stop in on Mel Forbes at the Mitchell Street police station. To his astonishment Ernie found Mel hunched over Bear’s blackwood desk, surrounded by library books.

“Hi ... What’s going on?” asked Ernie, a little bemused.

“Research,” explained Mel.

He told Ernie what had happened at the hospital the previous night.

“So Mel spent the morning in the library,” said Terry, almost as puzzled as Ernie.

“It’s this term egrigor,” explained Mel: “If we could only find out what it means, then we might find out how to deal with it.”

“But you can’t believe this kind of thing, surely?” asked Terry. He picked up a book titled, The Encyclopaedia of the Occult.

“Not before last night I wouldn’t have,” admitted Mel: “But then until yesterday I wouldn’t have believed that you could fire a dozen or more slugs from a Winchester into someone from point-blank range without even making them flinch.”

“Yeah, that’s true enough,” admitted Terry, remembering the unearthly panther-like snarl of the egrigor.

Taking the large tome from Terry, Mel opened it to a place he had marked and said: “Listen to this: Alexandra David-Neal was a French traveller and author who spent fourteen years in Tibet studying its religious and occult practices, which she taught herself. She tells of having created a spirit double, a tulpa, in the form of a monk after hours of meditation. Initially phantom-like, the figure of the monk gradually grew more solid over many months. He became a guest living in her apartment. When she went on tour the tulpa went with her. She saw the trapa (monk) from time to time, however, it was no longer necessary to think of him to make him appear. After awhile the presence of the tulpa became trying on her nerves, so she decided to make him dissolve away. Eventually, she succeeded, however, it took her six months of concentrated effort. The tulpa could be dismissed as an illusion, except that on a number of occasions, it was seen by other people, who took it to be a living lama ....’”

Putting the book away, Mel said: “Doesn’t that sound like Kostyn Pavolich’s egrigor?”

“Except that this egrigor thing exists after Pavolich’s death,” pointed out Ernie: “There was no mention there of the tulpa being able to survive after the death of its creator.”

“Then how about this?” asked Mel. He opened the book to a section titled: “The Doppelganger”, and read: “Doppelganger is the German name for the misplaced spirit of a dead person or someone in a coma, that masquerades as another person to kill him and take over his earthly existence. In some versions of the legend, the victim is most vulnerable while sleeping. Well, what do you think?”

“Close, but still not quite right,” insisted Ernie: “This egrigor thing didn’t kill Kostyn Pavolich to take his place. It formed after his death.”

“Yes, and it seems determined to get revenge on Bear for killing Pavolich,” said Terry: “There’s nothing there about the doppelganger seeking revenge on anyone. It just kills them and takes over their lives.”

Closing the book in dismay, Mel said: “Yeah, you’re right. And I thought I was getting close there.”

“Maybe you ought to talk to Yakov,” suggested Terry. Then for Ernie’s benefit: “Yakov Bukharin is a retired professor who sometimes helps us out when we need a translator to talk to witnesses. He’s a Russian, but he also speaks five or six other Balkan and European languages.”

“Yeah, you could be right,” said Mel, looking buoyed up again: “If this egrigor thing is a Russian legend, Yakov is bound to have heard of it.”

Leaving Terry Blewett in charge at the police station, Mel and Ernie set off to talk to Professor Bukharin.


Yakov Bukharin lived in retirement in a small, lime-green weatherboard house in McNaughton Street, at the southern end of Glen Hartwell.

Professor Bukharin was a short, dumpy, grey-haired man, immaculately dressed, looking to be in his early to mid-seventies. The professor invited Mel and Ernie into his lounge room, where they sat in plush, leather armchairs, in front of a roaring log fire.

After ensuring that his guests were comfortable and offering them coffee, the old man asked the reason for their visit.

“Well,” began Mel hesitantly, afraid of looking stupid in front of the professor. After a moment he related all that had happened at Glen Hartwell over the last couple of days including Jacinta Blakley’s use of the word “egrigor”.

“I’ve been doing some research,” said Mel, holding up the single-volume encyclopaedia: “I found the legends of the doppelgänger and the tulpa, both of which seem similar to what we saw ... But not quite the same ....”

“We thought that egrigor might be a Russian word,” explained Ernie: “In which case you might know what it means.”

The professor looked from Ernie to Mel, before saying: “Yes, I know what an egrigor is.”

The old man paced in front of the hearth for a moment, making Ernie and Mel fear that he thought they were both crazy. Finally Bukharin said:

“The egrigor is nothing like a doppelgänger, however, it is a lot like the Tibetan tulpa. Both are physical manifestations of thought. But that is where the similarity ends. The tulpa requires a concentrated effort of thought to produce. According to Alexandra David-Neal’s account in that book you’re holding, it took her three months of concentrated effort to make the tulpa appear at all, and another three months to make it look completely solid. But the egrigor is generated spontaneously. Either after a great burst of love for someone, or of hatred. A hate egrigor is a demon, which exactly resembles its creator physically. But it is super strong, impervious to injury from bullets or blades, and is able to easily outrun the fastest of human beings.

“The hate egrigor is generated by killing its creator and its sole purpose is to avenge the killing by murdering whoever was responsible ... Which would explain why the egrigor of Kostyn Pavolich attacked Bear, and also why it broke into the hospital where he is being looked after.”

“But how and why is it generated at all?” asked Ernie: “Surely a hate egrigor isn’t generated every time a Russian person dies? Otherwise, Russia would be overflowing with them?”

“No, no,” corrected Professor Bukharin: “They are only generated when someone is killed by another person, not by dying of old age or accident. Also, the generator if I can call him that, must be an unnaturally evil person, who would have wanted revenge for his killing.”

Mel and Ernie considered that for a moment, then Mel asked: “But if this thing’s sole purpose is to avenge Pavolich’s death, what about the murder of Jacinta Blakley? She had nothing to do with his killing.”

Yakov Bukharin shrugged, only able to speculate: “Possibly she was working in cahoots with Pavolich, despite her claim of being a hostage. If so he may have told her enough Russian lore that the egrigor feared that she could tell you enough about it to allow you to destroy it.”

“Then the egrigor can be destroyed?” asked Ernie.

“Oh yes, it can be destroyed all right. You must sever the link to the body of its creator.”

“The link?”

“Yes. According to the spiritualists, the human body has an astral double, which is connected to the human body by a golden thread. The same applies to the egrigor. Despite its solid appearance, the egrigor is made up of ectoplasm from the body of its creator. Even after the creator’s death, a microscopically thin thread of ectoplasm physically links the two. Sever that link and the ectoplasm forming the body of the egrigor will fly apart, destroying it. It will in essence disintegrate ....”

“But how do we sever the ectoplasmic link?” asked Ernie.

“Very simply. You must desecrate the corpse of its creator.”

Ernie and Mel both looked horrified at this suggestion, which went against a lifetime of teaching as Christians.

“Desecrate the corpse?” asked Ernie, hoping that he had heard incorrectly.

“That is correct,” said Professor Bukharin: “The egrigor is impervious to pain from its own injuries. But due to the physic link between it and its creator, even after the creator’s death, the egrigor feels one hundred fold the pain of any injuries inflicted upon its creator. Desecration of its creator’s corpse will destroy the egrigor. Either the agony will be too great for the egrigor to stand, causing it to self-destruct, or you must keep going until the psychic thread between them is broken by the desecration.”

“But his corpse hasn’t been buried,” explained Mel: “Pavolich was an illegal immigrant. His corpse is in a freezer drawer at the morgue, waiting for instructions regarding shipping it back to Moscow.”

“No! No! No! That must not be allowed to happen!” said the old man emphatically: “Once the corpse is out of your reach, it will be impossible for you to destroy the egrigor, or to prevent it from murdering Bear Ross.”


Desecrate the corpse! thought Mel Forbes in a state of shock as he and Ernie left the professor’s McNaughton Street house. A good Catholic all his life, Mel had been taught since birth of the need for a corpse to be undamaged at burial so that the soul would be unhindered in its journey to the afterlife. They were taught that it was a sin to even cremate a corpse before burial, as Protestants and other Christians did, let alone deliberately violate the corpse. But what other choice have we got? he wondered, as they walked toward the blue police Ford Fairlane parked beside the kerb.

“Where are we heading?” asked Ernie.

“Around to Baltimore Drive,” said Mel pointing up to the next intersection: “I want to stop in at the morgue to speak to Elvis Green. He saw the egrigor before either of us did when it attacked Bear in the street. So, with any luck, Elvis’ll make things easy for us by allowing us --” he hesitated to use the word desecrate -- “to do what we have to do.”


At the morgue, Elvis Green listened in astonishment and horror to Mel Forbes's request. Sitting at a paper-laden desk (before which sat Mel and Ernie), he thought, Allow them to desecrate a corpse in my keeping? But how can I? Although a Catholic, like Mel and Ernie, Elvis’s objections went much deeper than religion. As a government-appointed official, he was sworn to look after every corpse in his custody, to the best of his ability.

How can I stand aside and watch while Ernie and Mel desecrate one of the bodies in my care? he wondered. All on the strength of some crazy story told by old Yakov Bukharin. The old bloke is well over seventy. Probably senile to boot. But then he remembered his own encounter with the egrigor, when it had attacked Bear. He remembered firing three or four shots from Bear’s gun into the man-like creature. Maybe he was wearing a bullet-proof vest or else in my terror I missed, he tried to convince himself. But he kept thinking of the strange, bestial snarl of the egrigor, trying to convince himself that a crazy man might make such a snarl. But he couldn’t quite convince himself that human vocal cords could produce such an inhuman sound.

Elvis wrestled with his conscience for almost five minutes, before finally saying: “I’m sorry, Mel, I’d like to help you, but I can’t.”

“But what about Bear?” insisted, pleaded Mel: “He’s your friend. You can’t just stand back and let him be killed.”

“I’m sorry Mel, but my mind is made up.”

They continued to argue the point for almost an hour. Although Elvis was far from convinced in his own mind, he refused to change his decision. So, reluctantly Mel and Ernie left.


“Well, I guess that’s that,” said Mel with a sigh of frustration as they approached the glass doors leading out onto the street.

“Surely you aren’t going to let it go at that?” asked Ernie as they started toward the Fairlane.

“What the hell else can I do?” demanded Mel, not meaning to take his frustration out on his friend: “We’ve already received an order to ship the corpse to Melbourne for transportation to Moscow. I might be able to stall them off for a few days, a week at the outside, but what good will it do, if we can’t get access to the body?”

“But you heard what Yakov Bukharin said,” insisted Ernie: “Once that corpse is shipped to Russia, Bear is as good as dead!”

“Yes, I know, but what can I do about it? I’m a cop, I can hardly break into the morgue at night to desecrate the corpse without Elvis’s permission.”

Mel drove up to Mitchell Street to pick up Ernie’s Range-Rover. Then while Mel headed down Wentworth Street to stop in at the hospital, Ernie headed back to his sheep station outside Merridale.


At the hospital Mel found his deputy Andrew Braidwood on guard duty, along with Geoff Goddard (sergeant at Lenoak). After the usual pleasantries with the two men, Mel looked in on Bear Ross who was still unconscious, on a drip-feeding into his left arm.

Seeing the big man looking so weak and helpless, Mel felt sick to the stomach. Is this what we’ll all be reduced to? he thought. He knew that in American cities like Chicago and New York, cops probably saw their work mates like this every year, if not every month. But in a small, Victorian country town, Mel had been spared the sight up until now. He had seen civilians -- the victims of road smashes or heart attacks -- reduced to this, but it had never affected him as badly as the sight of Bear Ross did. Damn it, there’s gotta be something we can do to stop that monster killing him!

Mel stayed in with Bear for a few minutes, before returning to the corridor to speak to Andrew and Geoff.

“I’ll be back after dark with Terry and either Paul Bell or myself to relieve you,” he promised before heading for the lifts.


Ernie finished the most urgent chores around his farm, then had a giant feed for tea, before setting off outside again. He rummaged around in his garage-cum-tool shed near the dog yard behind the farmhouse.

He selected a large crowbar, which he tied to the roof rack of his Range-Rover. Plus a box of screwdrivers and chisels, and two different-sized jemmies, all of which he put into the back seat of the car.

He couldn’t help shivering from nervousness, both because of what he planned to do, and because he had never before gone out in human form in the evening on one of his Black Wolf nights. But what he had to do that night could not be done completely in wolf form. So he had to start the chore early enough, before his transformation took place.

Here goes nothing! he thought as he sat behind the steering wheel. Glancing at the dashboard clock he saw that it was after 10:30 and thought, I’d better pull the finger out! Although his transformation to the Black Wolf had never occurred before 11:00 PM, it would be almost that by the time that he reached Glen Hartwell.

If I can’t get there before I change, it’ll have to wait till tomorrow night! he thought, knowing that a twenty-four-hour delay could cost Bear Ross his life.


It was after 10:40 before Mel Forbes returned to the hospital to relieve Andrew Braidwood and Geoff Goddard.

“Sorry for keeping you so long,” he apologised.

“That’s all right,” said Geoff.

Both men were friends of Bear Ross and would have stayed on duty until they collapsed from exhaustion if need be.

Terry and Mel stopped in to see Bear for a moment and then stepped outside again to stand sentry duty over the door to the private ward. Terry was armed with a Winchester repeater again, but Mel Forbes was unarmed apart from wearing a backpack and nozzle that he had borrowed from the local fire department.


Ernie drove slowly down Baltimore Drive, afraid of being seen and recognised. Coming from the Merridale end of Glen Hartwell, he had to drive all the way through the Glen, until reaching the glass-fronted morgue on the corner of Baltimore Drive and Dien Avenue.

Ernie turned the car down Baltimore Avenue, so that he could park behind the morgue, where the car was less likely to be spotted. He parked in the small car park behind the morgue but didn’t get out of the car immediately. Well, this is it! he thought. Although tempted to sit behind the wheel for a minute or two to steel himself, Ernie knew that every minute counted. If he hesitated he could find himself trapped in the car in his oversized clothes once he transformed into the Black Wolf.

I’ve got to get inside before that happens, he thought, can’t let the change happen until I’m ready for it! On rare occasions he had managed to hold off the shape-changing until he was ready for it by a concentrated effort of will. But this sometimes backfired; since it could mean that he was thinking so deeply about the change, that instead of holding off the transformation he brought it on sooner.

Using one of the jemmies, he managed to force open the glass door to the morgue, breaking one of the panes in the process. He hesitated for a second, afraid that he might have set off an alarm. When he heard no siren he heaved a sigh of relief, but then he realised that he could have set off a silent alarm connected to the Mitchell Street police station. Although the police station was usually unmanned at night, he couldn’t rely on that under the present circumstances.

In which case I could have only minutes to finish what I have to do! Ernie thought, hurrying down the corridor.

Although he had been in the morgue before, at night in the dark, everything looked different and it took Ernie awhile to locate the door to the freezer room. Unlike the outer door, this door was solid wood and took nearly a minute to jemmy open. Come on damn you! Ernie thought, straining with all his might, afraid the door was going to refuse to open.

He considered going outside to get the large crowbar -- which he had brought along for just such an emergency. But finally the lock snapped with a loud metallic rending sound, which had Ernie looking round nervously, expecting to be grabbed at any moment by a night watchman.

Ernie waited as long as he dared to see if anyone was going to come to investigate the sound. Then using a small penlight to light the way, he hurried across to the back wall. Covered in large, square doors, the wall reminded Ernie of the book lockers that lined the corridors at high school when he attended there two nights a week doing TAFE courses.

Except that unlike the lockers at school, the freezer doors had small nametags on them. Using the penlight to read the names, Ernie located the drawer containing the naked body of Kostyn Pavolich.

Ernie sighed deeply from nervous tension, and then set to work. He began to attack the metal drawer with the jemmy, wincing at the sound of metal crunching -- seemingly deafeningly loud in the dark morgue.


It was neatly midnight when Terry Blewett suddenly called: “It’s here.”

Looking round the yellow-walled corridor, Mel Forbes thought at first that the constable was mistaken. Then sensing movement rather than seeing it, his eyes zeroed in on a dark corner at the other end of the corridor. At first it was only a darker hue of shadow about the corner in the dim-lit corridor. But then Mel could just discern the vague, almost ghostly outline of a tall, heavyset man standing in the corner.

“You’re right,” said Mel as the egrigor stepped forward. Realising that it had been spotted, the monster decided to forget about stealth and go for an all out attack, in the hope that its brute strength and superior speed would allow it to overpower the two policemen before they could set off the alarm as they had done the night before.

Terry held up the Winchester repeating rifle, although he knew from experience that it was useless against the egrigor. Thankfully there are no innocent bystanders around this time! he thought. After the previous night’s ruckus, Mel Forbes had arranged with Gina Foley to have the other patients on that floor moved to the next floor up.

Now if only we knew some way to stop it! Terry thought as the egrigor raced down the corridor determined to kill Bear Ross tonight, no matter who else it also had to kill into the bargain.

As Terry opened fire on it, the egrigor roared its panther-like roar and raced down the corridor toward them.

Mel stood well away from Terry, uncertain about his own weapon. After last night’s failure, Mel had replaced the pump-action shotgun with a small flame-thrower, normally used by the fire department for back burning during the bush-fire season. Holding the nozzle well away from himself, he turned the gas on low, and then used a cigarette lighter to ignite the gas. Here’s hoping this thing doesn’t blow up in my own face! Mel thought as he turned the gas up high.

Orange flame whooshed out from the nozzle, rapidly engulfing the egrigor in an ocean of fire.


The loud metallic grinding seemed to go on endlessly. But finally the lock snapped on the freezer door and the drawer swung open effortlessly to reveal the naked body of Kostyn Pavolich.

Well, here goes! Ernie thought reaching in toward the corpse with the jemmy, planning to smash its skull open.

But then as his head began to swim, Ernie realised that he was about to transform into the Black Wolf. Oh no! he thought, afraid his shape-changing would occur too quickly, while Pavolich was still in the freezer drawer one and a half metres off the ground. Which would have made it difficult if not impossible, for the Black Wolf to perform its gory task.

Despite the qualms he still had, knowing that Bear Ross's life depended on him, Ernie dropped the jemmy and grabbed the Russian’s corpse with both hands. Normally a strong man anyway, powered by his fear, Ernie easily hefted the large corpse out of the drawer and dropped it onto the floor ....

Only seconds before dropping to his knees as he transformed to the Black Wolf.

Trapped in his now oversized clothing, the Black Wolf had to tear his way to freedom. Aware that it meant that later as Ernie Singleton he would have to drive the Range-Rover naked to return to his sheep station.

Hesitating again, loath to do what he knew he must, the wolf lowered its jaws toward the face of the Russian immigrant to tear away at the features of the corpse.


Mel held down the trigger of the flame-thrower, engulfing the egrigor until the wall behind the monster was on fire. As the flaring paint added to the gas flames, for a few moments, it seemed as though the flame-thrower would defeat the egrigor.

Then slowly the egrigor began to advance toward the two policemen again, impervious to the flames, which were almost roasting Mel and Terry.

“Whatever you do, don’t let it past you!” ordered Mel.

Though neither man knew how they were supposed to stop the egrigor.

The egrigor reached the door to Bear’s room. Although the flame-thrower had run out of gas, Mel Forbes stood blocking its way. A large man -- over one hundred and ninety centimetres tall and well muscled -- Mel hoped that he somehow might be physically a match for the monster.

But the egrigor grabbed Mel by one arm and lifted him easily off his feet. Then it disdainfully threw Mel down the corridor, where the big man crashed against the wall a metre off the ground.

Terry Blewett stared in amazement as the egrigor easily swung Mel through the air. He grimaced, feeling sick to the stomach as Mel crashed into the wall and slid down to lie in a lifeless looking heap on the floor.

As the alarm started to blare on the ward, the egrigor roared its rage at Terry. When the terrified constable refused to step aside, the monster grabbed him also and threw him down the corridor after Mel.

Unlike the sergeant, however, Terry landed before hitting the wall. Although he badly sprained his left ankle and fell screaming to the floor. He was unable to do anything but watch in horror as the egrigor tore the door right off its hinges to start into the ward after Bear Ross who was now defenceless.


The Black Wolf struggled not to throw up in disgust as he started to rip apart the facial features of the corpse. Until now, he had never used his powerful jaws against any creature living or dead. But he knew that if he let his revulsion win out he would seal the doom of his best friend.

Steeling himself as best he could, the Black Wolf continued to hack at the face of the corpse until there was no flesh left on the grinning skull.

After a moment’s indecision, the wolf spread his mouth wide over the skull and began to clamp his jaws shut like a giant nutcracker, straining to burst an oversized nut.


Oh, my God, I’ve got to help him! thought Terry Blewett as the egrigor raced into Bear’s private room.

Straining overhead he managed to reach the wooden handrail a metre up the wall. He pulled himself to a standing position, but the second that his left foot touched the ground he screamed and collapsed to the floor again.

Deciding that it was easier to crawl than to walk, he started slowly down the corridor on his hands and knees, almost crying from frustration. Too slow, damn it, it’s taking too damn long! Terry thought. He knew that even if he had some way to stop the egrigor, there was no way that he could reach Bear Ross's bedroom before the monster had slaughtered Bear.

Hearing an unearthly scream ring out from the bedroom, Terry’s bladder released, flooding the front of his trousers, as he thought, My God, it’s over, he’s dead ... poor Bear is dead!

But then the scream rang out a second time, almost deafeningly loud, despite the noise of the alarm, which it had to compete with.

As the shrieking went on Terry thought: No human larynx could make that kind of noise!

And confirming the thought, the egrigor staggered out of the private room, clutching at its face and shrieking one long, continuous shrilling shriek as it lurched back into the corridor.

Reeling around like a wino, the egrigor headed toward the stairwell.

Terry Blewett continued to claw his way across the floor toward Bear’s room, where he saw the policeman sleeping comatose, seemingly unhurt by the egrigor this time.


The skull flexed against the Black Wolf’s jaws like a rubber ball, refusing to burst. Fighting the bile which threatened to rise in his throat, the wolf continued to bite down. Until finally, the skull shattered, spraying him with a mixture of bone shards and brain matter.

As the skull finally burst open, the Black Wolf heard a deafening shriek of pain and horror.

He jumped away from the corpse in terror, thinking at first that the scream had emanated from it.

But as he leapt away, the Black Wolf saw the egrigor standing in the doorway to the freezer room, clutching at its face. Although it had not physically changed at the desecration, the Black Wolf recalled Professor Bukharin saying that it was still connected to the corpse of Kostyn Pavolich and would feel the pain of any injuries inflicted upon the corpse.

The Black Wolf forced himself to start forward to inflict more desecration on the Russian’s corpse. But before he could do so, the egrigor let out another unearthly shriek ....

And exploded.

With a sound like a stick of dynamite igniting, the egrigor burst apart into a great cloud of blinding, phosphorescent dust. Dust, which filled the room, choking the Black Wolf.

The wolf started to stumble toward the door to fresh air, but the phosphorescent mist quickly dimmed and then rapidly evaporated into the air, leaving behind no sign that the egrigor had ever been there.

After one last look at the mangled corpse of Kostyn Pavolich, the Black Wolf raced out through the back door of the morgue, to throw up in the small car park.

Then he started to race through the night, knowing that it would take at least an hour or two to run the wolf out of his system so that he could transform back into Ernie Singleton. He also knew that he had to return to the morgue to pick up his tools, torn clothing, and most importantly his Range-Rover, or else the desecration of the corpse would quickly be traced back to him.


At the hospital, half a dozen burly interns and male nurses finally responded to the sound of the alarm on the second floor.

One of them checked that Bear Ross was all right, and two of them helped Terry Blewett to the lift to take him downstairs to have his twisted ankle attended to. The others checked on Mel Forbes, who was still out cold.

“How is he?” asked Terry, afraid of what he might be told.

“He’s okay,” said a male nurse: “Just unconscious. When he comes to he’ll have one daddy of a migraine for a few days, but after that he should be all right.”


It was less than an hour before dawn when Ernie returned to the morgue, naked in human form. He quickly collected his tools and clothing and headed the Range-Rover toward Merridale, greatly relieved that he had managed to get away without being seen by anyone.

THE END
© Copyright 2024 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia