by Bruce Hale
Mr. Sharkawy strode into the room, followed by a ridiculously tall man and a snaky-looking woman. All three gaped. They stopped dead at the sight of me, stuck like a mole in a hole.
I gave a nervous chuckle. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Grab him!” the museum director yelled.
Mr. Stretch and Snake Woman charged forward.
In a last, reckless move, I raised my arms above my head and rolled my shoulders forward, like an Olympic diver. It worked.
Foof! I slipped down the shaft. Mr. Stretch’s hand just grazed my fingertips as I disappeared.
“Nooo!” wailed Mr. Sharkawy.
The tube reminded me of the chute at a water park, minus the water and the fun. But unlike the thrill ride, my trip was over in mere seconds.
Whump-splash! I crashed onto a hard floor ten feet below. Something made a crumbly sound. After making sure it wasn’t my leg bones, I stood up in ankle-high water.
The sewer stench was foul enough to make my nose want to crawl back into my head. Light filtering down from the storeroom revealed a section of dark brick tunnel. Something made that cracking-crumbling sound again.
“Don’t worry!” The light dimmed as Mr. Sharkawy’s face filled the opening above. “I’ll save you.”
“Yeah, and then you’ll sacrifice me,” I said.
He wagged his head. “True.”
“No thanks.”
Mr. Sharkawy scowled. “You could die down there.”
I snorted. “Like I won’t up there? I’ll take my chances.”
The museum director’s face moved away, and I could hear him ordering his flunkies to fetch some rope. I wasn’t worried. They couldn’t catch me down here. I was safe.
I smiled.
And then, with a final crack, the floor gave way beneath me. Down I went.
Again.
YOU’D THINK THAT falling through the floor into a tunnel would prepare you for doing it a second time. But you’d be wrong.
This time around, I landed in a shower of earth and bricks with a teeth-jarring whump. My elbow hurt, my hip hurt. Clouds of dust choked me. A steady flow of stink-water sprinkled me from above like the world’s nastiest shower.
Hacking and coughing, I rolled off the rubble pile. I was bruised, I was dirty, but I wasn’t hyena food. That was something.
Only the faintest glimmer of light reached down into this subtunnel—just enough to see that it, too, was brick-lined, but with a level floor. I strained my eyes peering both ways along the passage. Darkness and more darkness.
I took stock.
Here I was, somewhere underneath Monterrosa. Psycho Museum Guy and his crew were hunting for me above. Meanwhile, the afternoon sun was sinking, my teacher was only an hour or two away from going full-on were-hyena, I had lost my best friend, and I had no idea how to get myself, and the amulet, back up where we could do some good.
Not exactly a red-letter day.
I shouted, “Hello!” The word echoed on and on. No one answered, but it got me thinking about what else might be down here with me. That gave me the shivers, so I stopped calling out.
I shuffled down the tunnel in one direction, changed my mind, and headed the other way. Which path would take me to safety?
No clue.
Torn, I hesitated. Benny wouldn’t hesitate. He’d just march off blindly without a second thought. I should be more like him—not in every way, maybe, but in his decisiveness. Heroes were decisive, after all.
I squared my shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. Okay, what would a hero do now? I wondered. What would Spider-Man do?
He’d pick a direction and swing off on his webbing, I told myself, not stand around like a dope. After a quick round of eeny, meeny, miny, moe, I chose the left-hand path. With my fingertips lightly brushing one wall, I stumbled forward, sweeping my free hand before me.
Every few steps, I paused and listened.
Odd gurgles, scuffling sounds, and mysterious muffled noises echoed along the passageway. But I couldn’t tell if they were far or close, ahead or behind, or even what was causing them.
The darkness was absolute.
In fact, I could see no more with my eyes open than closed. Shuffling forward, I began to picture the creatures that shared this darkness with me. Hideous, lamp-eyed things like Gollum. Enormous, fanged were-moles. A race of mutant cannibals whose favorite dish was young boys.
After all, if were-hyenas walked above, who knew what monsters lived in the darkness beneath Monterrosa?
My heart knocked against my ribs like a pinball against a thumper bumper. My hands trembled.
Step-by-step, I shambled onward. More sounds came, but I couldn’t tell if they were real or imaginary. Evil chuckles. Whooshes and creaks. The voices of lost souls muttering.
My fists clenched. A faint, eerie glow burned up ahead. I blinked. Was it an exit, or the source of more spookiness?
Abruptly, the tunnel veered right, and a bright light hit me in the face. Shadowy figures moved behind it.
“Die, mutant flesh eaters!” I screamed.
Blindly, I dashed forward with fists flailing, determined not to go down without a fight. My knuckles struck an arm, a chest, a flashlight. I tangled with a creature shorter than myself—a cannibal kid?
“Ow!” cried the flesh eater, and, “Quit it! Carlos, stop!”
It was the “Carlos” that got to me. That, and the fact that the cannibal’s voice sounded familiar.
“Benny?” I said, lowering my fists.
He shone the flashlight in his own face. “The one and only,” he confirmed.
I gripped his shoulders. A warm surge of relief welled up from my belly. “Oh, man, am I glad to see you!”
“I could tell.” Benny rubbed his chest. “If you were any gladder, I’d have to go to the hospital.”
“Are you all right, Carlos?” asked a woman’s deep voice.
Shading my eyes against the glare, I asked, “Who’s that?”
“Me.” A quick flip of her head-mounted flashlight revealed Mrs. Tamasese in her tricked-out purple wheelchair and orange hoodie. She grinned. “Trick or treat!”
I was floored. “But you…” I said to Benny. “But she…”
“Time’s a-wasting,” said Mrs. Tamasese.
“She’s right,” said Benny, grabbing my arm. “We’ll explain on the way.”
As we headed for the entrance, Benny filled me in on what had happened during my time in Wacko Museum Land. First, from Mrs. Tamasese he’d learned some vital info about alpha were-monsters—that they rule the pack, and that if you behead one, or neutralize it with an amulet, the whole pack will be freed from the curse. Then Benny had called the police station to check if I was still there. They, of course, had never seen me.
Thinking I’d gone back to school, he got Mrs. T to call the office, impersonating my mom. No luck there either.
With those options eliminated, Benny thought he knew where I’d be. He wanted the store owner to drive him there, but she had a better idea.
“Not many people know about these tunnels under the town,” she said, wheeling alongside us. “Smugglers built ’em, back in the day. They connect lots of the older buildings.”
I frowned. “But why look for me down here? I’ve never even heard about these tunnels before.”
“I knew you’d go back to the museum eventually,” said Benny. “You’ve got it in for that Sharkawy guy.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “He’s the head hyena for sure.”
“So we had to figure out how to sneak in without him seeing us,” said Benny.
Mrs. Tamasese cranked her wheels, easily keeping pace. “These tunnels access the museum’s basement, so we planned to break in from there.”
“A cop’s son breaking and entering?” I said. “Has the world gone crazy? What’s next, dogs marrying cats?”
“This.” Benny popped a quick punch into my shoulder as a reply.
It was funny, but as we hurried along below str
eet level, we were making much better time than we would have made up top. By the time I’d finished telling them what happened to me at the museum, we had reached a sturdy wooden door straight from an old-timey castle.
Mrs. Tamasese stopped her wheelchair. “They were going to sacrifice you?” she said, her brown face ashen in the spill of the flashlight.
“That’s what Sharkawy said,” I said.
“This is getting more lolo by the minute.” Fishing out a set of keys, Mrs. Tamasese continued, “There’s about an hour left before the moon rises and things get all hyena’d out. We’ll have to move fast.”
“‘We’?” I said. “You’re coming with us?”
The store owner unlocked and shoved open the door. Fluorescent lights from beyond revealed a grave expression on her face. “After what happened, I can’t let you go alone.”
“But your…” Benny gestured at her wheelchair.
“I may not be able to do everything, but at least I can do something,” she said. “And this is no time to sit on the sidelines.”
“I’m glad you’re in the game with us,” I said. And I was. I decided we had a better chance of success with her, an expert, than we did with the police. After all, I didn’t want Mr. Chu getting arrested—or worse.
Mrs. Tamasese led the way into a basement corridor, locking the door behind us. In no time at all, we bustled into an elevator, rose to the ground floor, and emerged from an old building two doors down from the comics store.
She rolled up to the front of her shop and reached for her keys.
“Um, if we’re in a hurry,” I said, “shouldn’t we be, well, hurrying?”
A fierce smile lit Mrs. Tamasese’s face. “When you’re going up against were-creatures, you gotta be prepared. Hang loose, guys. I’ll be right back.”
Benny and I looked at each other, then down at the sidewalk. The silence stretched uncomfortably, full of things left unsaid.
“Before, I was…” I began.
“Yeah, me, too,” said Benny.
I scratched my cheek. “And then…”
“I know,” he said. “But…” He shrugged.
“Um, I never…”
He glanced over at me. “Me neither.”
I screwed up my face and examined a cloud. “So…”
“So…” said Benny. He took a deep breath. “We good now?”
My eyes met his. “We’re good.”
We both smiled sheepishly, and he mock-punched my arm. With real friends, you don’t need a whole lot of words.
Mrs. T emerged from her shop and handed each of us a necklace.
“More amulets?” I asked, patting the pocket where I’d stashed the one we’d stolen from the museum.
“You might say that,” said Mrs. T.
I examined the necklace she’d given me more closely. From my chain dangled a figure that looked suspiciously like a Pokémon character.
“Silver,” she said. “Wear it around your neck—shapeshifters hate the silver.”
“But, Pikachu?” I said doubtfully.
“Silver is silver,” she said. “Plus, it’s a collectible.”
We donned our protective Pokémon necklaces and took a mysterious pet carrier from her. Mrs. Tamasese’s van waited behind the building. Much like her wheelchair, it was, as she said, a sweet ride. Custom-painted in purple, blue, and gold, it featured the words SAMOAN STRONG arching over a wave.
At a press of her key fob, the van chirped, a side door slid open, and a ramp unfolded.
“Cool,” Benny and I breathed together.
Once inside, Mrs. Tamasese locked her wheelchair into place where the driver’s seat would’ve been and worked a series of levers, knobs, and electronic controls that would’ve put the bridge of the starship Enterprise to shame.
The engine revved like an Indy 500 racecar.
“Buckle up, boys,” she said. “It’s gonna be a bumpy night.”
OUR FIRST big challenge? We didn’t know where to go. After all, the were-hyenas didn’t exactly have a Hyena Haven clubhouse where we could find them anytime, laughing like loonies and snacking on carrion. The museum was definitely out—Mr. Sharkawy and his flunkies would have to find a new sacrifice.
After discussing it, Benny and I decided something. Since Mr. Chu had been bitten out by the graveyard, and Benny’s dad had told him this morning that more graves had been dug up, and we’d seen our first were-hyena at the graveyard, our best bet was—major duh—the graveyard.
As we motored out of town in Mrs. Tamasese’s van, I checked the sun. It peeked between charcoal clouds, as fat and golden as a low-hanging grapefruit.
I shivered. We had maybe half an hour before moonrise.
My stomach growled for its missed dinner. I ignored it. I was too keyed up to eat anyway.
Benny’s phone rang. From his first few responses, I figured it was his mom, wondering where he was. He put the call on speakerphone.
“—and just because we haven’t told you yet doesn’t mean you’re not grounded,” said Mrs. Brackman. “Come home right now!”
“Um, I can’t,” said Benny.
“What do you mean? Of course you can. Your father won’t like this.”
He glanced over. “We’re…doing something important for school, Carlos and me. It’s for Mr. Chu.”
Yeah, we’re trying to stop him from becoming a raving were-creature, I added silently.
“Hi, Mrs. Brackman,” I said sheepishly.
“Carlos, your grandma has been looking for you,” Benny’s mom said. “And she’s not happy.”
I grimaced. “Tell her I’ll be home as soon as this project is over?” I asked. “And that I’m sorry.”
“I’m not your messenger,” said Mrs. Brackman.
“Please?” I asked. “As a favor?”
The sound of a sigh came over the phone. “All right,” she said. “Oh, and boys? I got an urgent call from Tina Green’s mother.”
“Really?” Benny said. “What about?”
Mrs. Brackman’s voice sounded worried. “Tina didn’t come home from school. And she had told a friend that she would be doing something involving you two.”
“Us?” I said. Benny and I stared at the phone as if it could clear up the mystery. I felt a pang of guilt that I’d completely forgotten my promise to include her in the big finale with the were-hyenas. On the other hand, she’d be much safer out of the action.
“She’s not with you now, is she?” asked Mrs. Brackman.
“Uh, no,” I said. “But she’s, uh…”
“She’s working on the same project as us,” said Benny. “When we see her, we’ll tell her to call home.” And that wasn’t even a total lie.
Benny’s mom said good-bye. But not before making us promise to keep a positive outlook, make good choices, and come home for grounding right after our project was over.
Telling her we’d be happy to, unless were-hyenas gobbled us up, fell under the category of Things Mothers Don’t Need to Know. So we promised we’d be home as soon as we could. Benny hung up.
“You don’t think Tina went sniffing around those wackos at the museum?” I said. My throat felt tight at the thought of her falling into Mr. Sharkawy’s clutches.
“I sure hope not,” said Mrs. Tamasese. “She seems like a nice girl, and she’s got a terrific collection of Wonder Woman comic books—one of the best.”
“Tina’s smart,” said Benny. “She’ll stay out of trouble.”
But I wasn’t too sure. I kept remembering how eager she’d been to cure Mr. Chu of his problem. Could she have gotten into trouble with the were-hyenas?
I borrowed Benny’s phone to call her. The call went to voice mail.
Then we turned onto Oswald Road, and all thoughts of Tina fled from my head. The closer we got, the more my stomach bubbled like posole stew. As the van approached the cemetery access road, Mrs. Tamasese said, “You boys sure you want to do this?”
I looked down at my hands. “We have to. If we don�
��t step up—”
“Nobody will,” Benny finished.
The former wrestler nodded. “Okay, then. Look, I can only go so far. This old graveyard”—she gave a bitter smile—“isn’t exactly wheelchair-friendly. But I’ll keep watch, and if things get too hairy, I’ll call for backup.”
“Hairy,” said Benny. “Hyenas. I get it. Heh.” But his humor sounded forced.
The shadows of the oak trees stretched long dark fingers across the road. The sun raced toward the horizon, and I could feel the full moon waiting to burst over the hill like a huge rotten egg.
My limbs tingled. I felt thirsty. I wished I was at my own kitchen table with a huge mug of hot chocolate.
At the end of the road, Mrs. Tamasese turned her van around and parked. “Remember, I’m your wheelman,” she said. “If things get kapakahi—”
“Cup of coffee?” said Benny.
“Messed up,” said the former wrestler. “As soon as the situation goes south, make a run for the van. Now, what did I tell you about those were-creatures?”
“Get to the alpha before he changes, if we can,” said Benny.
“Watch out after they change, because they’re superfast and strong,” I said.
“And above all…” said Benny.
“Don’t get bitten,” we said together. My voice trembled, despite our bravado. I hoped Benny hadn’t noticed.
Satisfied, Mrs. Tamasese nodded. “Carlos, you got your amulet?” I patted my pocket. Mrs. T turned and gestured at the mysterious carrier we’d stashed in the van for her. “I almost forgot. Take Honey Girl with you.”
“Honey Girl?” asked Benny, picking up the container.
I slid back the cover to reveal a fat, fluffy calico cat. Mmmrow, said Honey Girl.
“Cats can sense the supernatural,” said Mrs. T. “Plus she might act as bait.”
My eyebrows climbed my forehead. “Really? You’d risk your cat with those monsters?”
She snorted. “The risk is all on their side. Honey Girl can handle herself.”
Although I had my doubts, we took the carrier with us when we left the van.
“Good luck, boys,” Mrs. Tamasese called. “Give ’um!” And she flashed us a Hawaiian “hang loose” sign.