Tony Rivers, a junior, had also been in the school that night. You wouldn’t think a pretty girl like Maude would have had such smells within her, Miss Ferguson said.
Her abdomen had been torn open, spilling out glistening loops of yellow entrails.
It dangled there like it had no bones at all. Some creature with superhuman strength–surely, it could not have been a man–had snapped Maude’s back like a twig and draped her supine body over the balance beam. She would not soon forget what she’d discovered in the gym. What she found when she investigated sent her flying back to her office in a seizure of panic and horror. Maude was a talented gymnast who harbored hopes of a college scholarship and often stayed well into the evening to practice her tumbling runs and stunts.Īround eight o’clock on the night in question, Principal Ferguson had heard a brief shriek of terror. She had been working late as she did most nights, partly, we believed, because she was lonely, having no family to go home to, and partly to accommodate Maude’s practice schedule. Instead, we asked the skeptics to consider the facts of the case as Principal Ferguson reported them to the Rockdale Gazette. The rest of us refrained from pointing out the errors in this fount of superstition. It was common knowledge, they contended, that werewolves only struck during full moons, often adding that one only became a werewolf by surviving the bite of another werewolf. There had been only a fingernail paring of moon that late February night, and a small but vocal minority of us argued that this precluded the possibility that Maude’s killer had been a lycanthrope.
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