Werewolves @ Woolfrey's Pond: Newfoundland Creature Connections, #2

By C. E. Moretti

Summer in Newfoundland is downright scary!

Is the Lewisporte boardwalk home to a pack of werewolves?

Jacks and Mollie's spine-chilling adventures continue. They've made friends with a ghost and defeated a ghoul. Now things are more hair-raising than ever as they encounter the next supernatural creatures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Slither Inn Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386167846

C. E. Moretti

C. E. Moretti lives in central Newfoundland withe her husband, children, dogs, and an assortment of slugs and mice. She enjoys reading, writing, gardening, and werewolf care.

Book preview

Chapter One: Late Night at Lewisporte

Please, Mom, Jacks said desperately. We'll just go straight around and be back before you know it. We'll take flashlights!

Not that we need them, I pointed out. The moon is nearly full. But when my brother shot me a dirty look I relented and helped him plead his case. We've done this walk before, lots of times.

It was true: we'd visited Lewisporte every summer, and almost always found time to do the boardwalk.

Not alone, my mother said dubiously. And not at night.

It's barely dusk, Jacks said, which was true. It was the first week of July, and the sun stayed up for hours after dinner.

Let them stretch their legs, my father said unexpectedly. The whole point of this vacation is to let the kids explore their home province. How much are they going to get out of it if we never let them out of our sight?

My mother shrugged and threw her hands up in the air. All right, all right. It'll be easier to get the car unpacked and the camper set up if you aren't underfoot, I guess. But don't talk to any strangers. And don't get down off the boardwalk. And be careful when you get to the street: watch for traffic.

Yes, Mom, we said in unison, and bolted before she could change her mind.

She can never let us go anywhere without a whole bunch of instructions. Even at home she's cautious, and now that we're travelling around central Newfoundland her worry-meter is turned way up.

I don't know why. It's not like we're babies.

I'm ten, turning eleven in August. Jackson, my older brother, is already twelve.

Plus he's really organized and pretty cautious himself.

But as soon as we were on the boardwalk and out of sight of the Woolfrey's Pond campground, I wondered if we were doing the right thing.

We hadn't left Appleton until late today. We'd been staying there with friends of our parents. Now we were in Lewisporte for a week, staying in a borrowed camper right next to the pond. It was pretty exciting: I've always loved this boardwalk, even when I was being pushed around it in a stroller according to my parents.

But I'd never been here at night before.

And even though Jacks had been telling the truth about it only being dusk, the shadows were pretty long, and the light was fading fast.

It was just a teensy bit... creepy.

It's different here at night, I said quietly.

It's cool. Jacks looked over at me. Don't be scared, Mollie. It's still the same boardwalk.

I'm not, I said, but I put one hand in my pocket just to make sure my small flashlight was still there.

Besides, on a Sunday evening there'll probably be lots of people out walking, Jacks said. It's not like we're alone in the woods.

We hadn't passed anyone yet, though, and we were already near the gazebo that jutted out of the water. Wordlessly we turned to go sit there for a second.

I slapped a blackfly away from my neck. Let's not sit still. We'll be eaten alive.

Jacks jumped up and led the way, and I stuck close behind him as we walked briskly. Our footsteps echoed, a lonely sound. In spite of it being a warm, beautiful evening, there didn't seem to be anyone else out here.

There's no wind, I said out loud. Maybe people who live here don't walk on nights when the flies are out.

It wasn't just the absence of people that was making me nervous, though.

It wasn't the darkness, either.

It was the reason we were taking this walk in the first place, the reason Jacks had insisted we go alone, without our parents.

He was looking for a ghost.

Not just any ghost: he wasn't just hoping for a random supernatural encounter. He was looking for the ghost of a twelve-year-old girl named Opal.

We'd met her last week.

I liked her and everything, and I'd been hoping to see her again.

But not at night, and not under a full moon.

I shivered a little, straining my eyes as I peered forward, half expecting her to pop up in front of us at any moment.

By daylight whenever we'd seen her she'd just looked like a regular girl, only wearing old-fashioned clothes. And, okay, she'd been a little pale.

I wondered now if she'd still look normal if we saw her at night. Would she glow in the dark, or be transparent?

Next to me Jacks was taking long strides. I had to hurry to keep up. He didn't look worried at all, just hopeful.

It was getting gradually darker, the night creeping in so that it looked like little specks of blackness filling the air in front of my eyes. It was getting cooler, too, and once we passed the frog's marsh and turned onto the far side of the pond the breeze picked up, driving away the flies.

Jacks switched on his flashlight, scanning