Charlie Hernández & the Castle of Bones

by Ryan Calejo

  We were thrown sideways into the gap between the seats. At the same time, our cabin door flew open, and literally every single piece of luggage in the overhead bins slid out of their cubbyholes, crashing down on us in an avalanche of leather handles and plastic wheels. Something hard—probably the corner of one of those suitcases with the metal-plated edges—smacked me on the back of the head hard enough for me to see stars.

  Next to me, Violet was swiping hair out of her eyes with a dazed look on her face and someone’s laminated luggage tag (MARIA RUIZ) stuck to her cheek. Even though we were both a bit out of it at the moment (and at least one of us was hurting), we both thought of the exact same thing at the exact same time: “MR. OVAPRIM!”

  I scrambled to my feet and was about to run out into the hall (first I had to scale the mini mountain of suitcases that had settled between us and the door) when—

  THWUMP!

  —something landed on the roof so heavily that it caved in several inches under the impact.

  Before I even knew what was happening, there was a shriek of metal as ginormous razor-sharp claws ripped into the ceiling of our cabin, peeling back a triangle-shaped section as easily as if it were a tin of sardines.

  An instant later an enormous black snout poked through the gap. It sucked in a huge breath, held it for a split second, then let it out in a mucusy explosion.

  What the—

  The creature’s drool-slicked upper lip pulled back like a rumpled curtain, showing off a mouthful of curved daggerlike teeth.

  Violet, thinking fast, grabbed our backpacks and yelled, “Run!” and we both went stumbling into the hall, which now looked like the creepiest level in some horror-themed RPG. Overhead, the strip lights flickered and buzzed. Strange sounds—deep metallic groans that were almost human—were coming up through the floorboards beneath our feet. Ahead of us, more pieces of luggage had spilled out from the other cabins and were now scattered everywhere, some forming freaky shapes that half resembled unconscious bodies. I didn’t see any sign of Mr. Ovaprim.

  “Charlie, c’mon!” V grabbed my hand and yanked me forward. As we flew up the hall, I turned to look out one of the windows—and felt my insides shrivel like pork rinds. Only, at first I didn’t even know what I was looking at. At first I thought they were dogs—some kind of feral, bear-size dogs with giant heads and rippling silvery coats. But then one threw back its head, letting out a wild, terrible howl—

  And just like that I knew.

  These were no dogs.… These were lobisomem.

  These were werewolves!

  * * *

  In most cases, having one werewolf anywhere in your vicinity (within, say, fifty square blocks) would be bad enough. Especially when you consider that most of them—if not all—are strictly meat-eaters, which puts human beings smack-dab in the middle of their favorite foods menu. But I wasn’t looking at just one werewolf. I wasn’t even looking at two or three or four. I was looking at an entire pack of them, a hunting party, maybe as many as twenty or thirty, racing alongside the train, their hungry black eyes glittering in the night, ears pinned flat against the huge domes of their heads. Boy, and I’d already thought I knew what it felt like to be at the top of the endangered species list. Just as we reached the door at the end of the car, I became aware of a low, steady growl at our backs. Don’t look! I told myself, but of course I couldn’t help myself.… I turned, slowly, and saw the creature emerge from our cabin on its hind legs, stalking more than walking, moving more like a person than any canis lupis I’d ever seen. And interestingly enough, it sort of dressed like a person too. It wore a long brown cape, cinched at the waist by a thick rope, with a hood that fell over its face. Rosary beads were wound tightly around its muscular forearms. A golden cross dangled from its fur-covered neck. Its hungry, red-rimmed eyes narrowed on me. Then, in one lightning-fast move, it arched backward, letting out a spine-chilling howl.

  From right outside the train’s window—from everywhere, it sounded like, all around us—came the even more spine-chilling sound of answering howls.

  It’s me, I realized with a fresh jolt of terror. These things are after ME!

  The lobisomem’s dark eyes once again locked with mine. I had time to think, ¡AY, DIOS MÍO! and then the thing exploded into motion, bounding up the corridor after us, its long, curved claws tearing up fluffy chunks of moldy beige carpet.

  “CHARLIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Violet screamed.

  I didn’t respond. Didn’t have time to. Just followed her through the door and out onto the narrow platform that jutted out the back of the car.

  The moment I was through, Violet shut the door. But no sooner had she run the steel safety bar than the werewolf slammed into the door from the inside, making the entire lower half pop outward.

  “WHAT ARE THOSE THINGS?” Violet screamed.

  “Werewolves!” I screamed back. “And I think they’re after me!”

  “Oh, you think so, huh? What gave it away?”

  “It looked right at me!”

  “I know! I was being sarcastic!”

  A simple metal coupler held together by two huge screws connected the train cars. Underneath it, dark steel tracks and even darker earth flashed by in a dizzying blur.

  “Next car, Charlie!” Violet shouted. “Go!”

  As I took my first unsteady step out onto the coupler, a high-pitched whistle split the air, and the wind gusted around me, swirling my hair and blowing it into my eyes—like I needed any help messing this one up, right? I felt myself start to tip sideways… felt myself begin to fall… and dove for the next car just before my foot slipped off the greasy metal surface. I made it—barely—and Violet was right behind me, landing next to me in a crouch just as the werewolf rammed the door again. This time the safety bar popped off like the top on an exploding pressure cooker. It whistled past my face close enough for me to hear it over the screech of the wind before clanking away into darkness. Another inch to the left, and El Justo Juez wouldn’t have been the only headless member of La Liga.

  “Quick!” Violet threw open the door, and we hurried into the next car. I could hear shouts of terror coming from behind the row of closed doors to our right as we flew down the corridor and thought about how useful jaguar legs would be in our current… situation? Predicament? (I wasn’t sure what you called it when a pack of man-eating werewolves were trying to make you their next Happy—er, unhappy—Meal). So I concentrated, focusing my mind, and a moment later felt the tiniest tingle down my spine. It was working! Or so I thought—

  “Charlie, what the heck?” Violet shrieked, gaping at me, and I had to flinch, she was yelling so loud. Then I turned, catching my reflection in the window, and let out a shriek of my own. No jaguar legs. Instead I’d manifested the strangest-looking pair of ears I’d ever seen: long and pointy and tipped with strands of wispy black hair. ¡Santo cielos! They were the ears of a lynx!

  “So freakin’ embarrassing…,” I started to grumble, and that was when a dozen or so claws knifed through the ceiling like daggers. They speared so far down that I had to duck to avoid an impromptu haircut. The thick metal ceiling whined and squealed as it was peeled viciously back. Two of the overhead lights exploded in a shower of sparks. Moonlight flooded into the car like a spotlight.

  “Hurry!” I shouted as we reached the next connector door. “¡Dale!” Violet didn’t hesitate; she quickly threw it open, and we scrambled out onto the dark platform. Above us, I could see hulking shapes dancing in the moon’s pale glow: the lobisomem tearing their way into the train.

  I peered around the next car, trying to see what was going on up ahead. And what I saw was even more werewolves, dozens of them slipping out of the pitch-dark woods and pouncing on the engine car like it was some wounded animal.

  There was a deafening screech of metal. Orange-red sparks suddenly flew up between the tracks and wheels in a wide, dazzling spray: The conductor had slammed on the brakes. But it wasn’t going to be enough to stop the train. We’d
picked up too much speed.

  “We’re going to have to jump!” Violet shouted.

  Beneath the platform, the ground was still whipping by, a green-black blur in the night.

  “I’m not liking it, V.… What’s plan B?”

  “We get eaten alive by a pack of ravenous carnivore freaks.”

  That didn’t sound too good, either. “On second thought, plan A isn’t looking that bad.… On three!”

  “Three!” Violet shouted—typical Violet—and she grabbed my hand and leapt off the platform, pulling us both into empty space.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  There was a long, terrible moment of falling, of the wind whipping in our ears, of leaves and branches raking at our arms, legs, and faces.

  And then we hit the ground. Hard. My knees buckled, and I felt my leg muscles go. Worse, the ground was sloped—badly sloped. Rolling and bouncing and banging my head on pretty much everything within head-banging range, I tumbled over and over again, spinning through the air, until—

  Crunch!

  I landed about thirty or so yards down below, on a bed of dried leaves. For what felt like a long time I just lay there, staring up at a bright full moon through the black lace of leaves. I felt like I’d been beaten like a piñata, pummeled by a dozen or so mean little sugar addicts desperate for their candy fix. Suddenly I felt very sorry for Mr. Puerquito—the pink baby piglet piñata my mom had bought for my birthday party when I was six.

  Wincing, propping myself up on my elbow, I mumbled, “Qué clase de día, caballero,” sounding an awful lot like my abuelita complaining about a rough day, and looked around. We were in deep forest now, out in the middle of… the middle of nowhere.

  “V, you still alive?” I said, pushing to my feet, wiping leaves off my face. When she didn’t immediately answer, I checked around me and realized she wasn’t there—she wasn’t anywhere! A surge of panic raced through me as I shouted, “VIOLET! V?” Had she been knocked unconscious? Broken something? Been eaten by a lobisomem? The possibilities were endless, and not one of them reassuring. “VIOLET! YO, VIOLET!”

  Still no answer. But then—

  “Over here!” she called back.

  I was so relieved to hear her voice that it took me several seconds to realize just how far away it sounded. We must’ve tumbled down two completely different paths.

  “Charlie, you okay?”

  “More or less.” Rubbing an ache in my side, I turned toward the sound of her voice, only I couldn’t see much of anything; it was all shadows and hanging black vines.

  “Remind me never to get on a train with you again,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice, which meant she was totally fine, and that made me smile too.

  “Yeah, well, just remember whose idea it was to jump.” And for the record, it was hers.

  I began to pick my way through the trees, careful not to trip over any of the rocks or roots… and exactly five steps later, I went completely, absolutely, perfectly still.

  I thought I’d known fear back on the train, but it was nothing—nothing—compared to the sheer mind-numbing terror I felt right at this moment—right as I realized I was now standing face-to-face with another lobisomem.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The thing looked like death itself—and probably smelled twice as bad.

  Its sleek gray mouth was pulled back in a snarl, exposing row upon row of vicious-looking teeth in serious need of toothpaste, flossing, and as many electric-powered toothbrushes as this thing could get its hairy, oversize paws on. Its eyes, beady and doll-like, glared out at me from deep inside its enormous dome-shaped skull, and from even deeper inside this thing, way down in the black pit of its mouth, came a terrible sound—a low, rattlesnake-like hiss that made my skin prickle and the blood freeze in my veins.

  I’d barely gotten a chance to utter a scream that sounded suspiciously like a squeak before the lobisomem shoved me to the ground with its massive front paws and pinned me there, its dark brown cape hanging in my face, its enormous weight pressing down on my chest like an anvil. Then it threw back its head and let out a howl so loud that I literally felt it move through the ground beneath me like an earthquake. It’s calling for its buddies! was the first thought that popped into my head, and it wasn’t a comforting one. Wild with panic, I tried twisting out from underneath it again, and just as I did, a wall of darkness swooped down out of nowhere. It slammed into the lobisomem with a loud smack! that sent it tumbling, end over end, into the woods. With no idea what was going on—no idea about anything at the moment, really—I whipped my head around in both shock and panic (and some gratefulness, too, obviously… but mostly shock and panic) and felt my eyes bug out.

  Looming over me was an ogre. And not just any ogre—an Okpe: a race of baddie warrior ogres native to Argentina. The thing stood at least fifteen feet tall and just as wide around, with feet so monstrously ginormous that, initially, I’d mistaken them for boulders.

  From my abuela’s stories, I knew the Okpe were legendary for being completely invulnerable to human weapons. And now I understood why. Almost every square inch of it was encased in thick rocky armor—from the top of its head to the muddy soles of its giant ogre feet. Pretty much the only part of its freakish anatomy that wasn’t armored was the ogre’s face: a fleshy, flabby, pinkish sort of thing that looked almost half formed, with drooping jowls and a smashed-in lump of a nose. No joke, dude looked like un lechón asado—a roasted pig—and an ugly one at that!

  As I scrambled to my feet and started to back away—and back away slowly… very, very slowly—the ogre raised a massive rocky fist in my direction and grunted something that sounded a whole lot like “Jorge.” Or maybe “torre.”

  In that instant Violet came up next to me and whisper-shouted, “Hurry, I think I heard another werewolf!” then must’ve seen the Okpe, because her face paled like a boiled egg.

  “I SAID RUN!” the ogre roared, and his voice rumbled through the forest, making the trees around us shudder. “¡CORRE!”

  We didn’t need to be told twice.

  We took off into the dark woods, running side by side, neither of us even daring to glance back. There was so much panic, so much pure, unfiltered adrenaline burning through my veins right then that my arms swung in blurs and my feet flew over the ground like the wind. But nothing—and I mean nothing—was cycling faster than my brain. See, none of this made even a lick of sense. Okpes weren’t good ogres—if there even was such a thing as good ogres. No, in fact, they were terrible creatures, creatures known for kidnapping little kids and slurping the marrow from their bones just for the fun of it! They were feared all over Argentina, from Buenos Aires to Ushuaia. Most flea markets in the region even sold charms and bracelets that would supposedly keep them away. So with all that said, what the heck had just gone down? I mean, why had that thing saved me? Why hadn’t it tried to kill us?

  Does it really matter, dude? answered a tiny, panicked voice somewhere in the back of my brain. You’re alive! Be thankful!

  Only I got the feeling that it did matter. That it mattered a lot.

  As we reached the place where the slope began to level off, I heard a strange sound coming from above us and craned my neck around to look. And what I saw stopped me dead in my tracks: Hordes of Okpes were streaming toward the top of the slope, flowing toward the train tracks like a rocky tidal wave, their massive shapes seeming to form out of the night itself. They swung clubs and spears and huge rocky battle-axes as they charged out of the tree line on the backs of gigantic, tusked hogs, slamming into the werewolves and scattering them like bowling pins.

  Howls pierced the night. The ogres had surprised the lobisomem. But it wasn’t enough. The werewolves were already regrouping, already tackling ogres off their hogs by the dozens. The hungry, primal sound of their howls caused gooseflesh to break out over every square inch of my body, and I was still standing there, watching the battle with my eyes bugging and my jaw felt like it had come completely unhinged, w
hen a strong hand gripped my shoulder.

  I whirled with a shriek, expecting to see another snarling lobisomem—or maybe another Okpe (and, odds were, one nowhere near as friendly as the last)—

  But what I saw was a girl.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  She was young, somewhere in her late teens, maybe, with long reddish hair that was tangled in places, sort of like dreadlocks, and slicked back from the kind of face you really only see in telenovelas—all high cheekbones and sharp angles. She wore a simple white tank top and jean shorts cut off at the tops of her thighs, the strands of blue-white denim dangling like cobwebs. Her eyes were the deepest, darkest shade of brown I’d ever seen, the sort of perfectly earthy color you only find in the bark of the most ancient trees. Her skin was a few shades lighter, and her feet were bare. Lines of dark mud had caked between her toes and up her heels, but she didn’t seem to mind. Like, at all.

  “Vengan conmigo si valoran sus vidas,” the barefooted girl said.

  “Charlie, talk to me…,” I heard Violet shout from a few yards away. She’d picked up a fat branch and had it cocked back like a baseball bat. “Is she on our side, or am I gonna have to channel my inner José Canseco?”

  “Want me to ask her?”

  “Well, what’d she say…?”

  “Come with me if you value your lives,” I translated. Then, glancing around, I realized we were standing on the edge of a dark road that curved around the hill we’d just come tumbling down. Parked at the side of the road beside a sign reading ¡PELIGRO! CAÍDA DE ROCAS—DANGER! FALLING ROCKS (which should have read: DANGER! WATCH OUT FOR BATTLING SOMBRAS) was an old pickup truck. It looked like something from the fifties with flared fenders and rust spots dotting the sides of the hood and the driver-side door.

  Another howl tore through the night. This one close—nowhere near the main battle.