Red Rider's Hood by Neal Shusterman Read Free Book Online Page B

special film to catch them in the dark. The grainy images of snarling beasts were more disturbing than anything I had seen in my sixteen years. They didn’t quite look like natural wolves, but like something almost prehistoric. Like a cross between bear and wolf, but with teeth sharp as a shark’s. It was horrifying. It was fascinating. My eyes were drawn to each of those pictures, and I couldn’t look away.
    â€œWe used these photos to identify them,” Grandma said. “There’s something about the eyes, the hair color, and the set of the jaw that doesn’t change. Once we had a good picture of them in werewolf form, it was easier to figure out their human identities.” She pointed to one particularly nasty-looking wolf. “That was Xavier.”
    I couldn’t look at the picture for long. I couldn’t get the feeling out of my mind that he was glaring back at me.
    â€œGrandma, why don’t you tell us how it happened the first time, and how you beat Xavier and his gang.”
    Grandma took a moment to look both of us in the eyes. “I thought it would be a story I would take with me to my grave. I wish I could have, but seeing how the evil’s back just as strong as before, it’s time the story was told.”
    Grandma pulled a loose brick from her fireplace, and from behind it took out a music box. “I’ve always kept this at hand,” she said. “Just in case.” She opened the lid of the music box, and it played “Amazing Grace.” There wasn’t any jewelry in its red velvet lining. Instead there were bullets. Silver ones. They were tarnished to the point of being almost black, but you could still tell they were silver. I found myself backing away at the sight of them, and I almost tripped over the little table behind me.
    â€œIt’s true, then,” I said. “Silver bullets kill werewolves!”
    â€œIt’s simple science,” Grandma said. “Werewolves are allergic to certain metals. They have a violent reaction to silver. Get some silver wedged in their body, and the allergic reaction kills them in less than a minute. The problem for their prey is surviving during that last minute. That’s why bullets work best. You can get them from a distance, and run away safely.” And then she got sad. Thoughtful. “Your grandfather and I—we knew what was going on in town. No one else wanted to admit it. No one else dared to believe it. So we did research. We traveled the world, digging through crumbling books in old libraries to learn all we could. All the details. How fast does a werewolf run? How deep does a bite have to be before they pass the curse on to you?”
    â€œHow deep?” I asked.
    â€œNot deep at all,” said Marissa, giving me a smug smile. “I’ve been doing research on lycanthropism, too.”
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œLycanthropism,” said Grandma. “That’s just a fancy word for the werewolf curse. But really, it’s nothing more than a supernatural virus. It gets passed on in the saliva, like rabies. Ifa bite breaks the skin, there’s a pretty good chance you’ve got it.”
    I shivered.
    â€œAfter your grandpa and I learned all there was to learn, we came back. We brewed ourselves a wolfsbane cologne and wore it everywhere we went, keeping track of the people who avoided us because of the smell. To be double sure, we went to their homes every full moon, to see if they were there or not. The ones who were never home we knew were werewolves.
    â€œThen one full moon, we went out on our motorcycles, and went after them one by one. Xavier was the hardest. He always kept himself shielded by the pack. He’d let all the others take the silver bullets meant for him. Selfish to the last.”
    â€œBut in the end, you got him,” I said.
    â€œYes, we did, Red.” But she didn’t say any more about it.
    It was all too hard to take.