The Curse of the Were-Hyena

by Bruce Hale

  With a roar like a sonic boom, the monster turned its six-feet-plus of fangs, claws, menace, and muscle on me.

  I was dead meat.

  AS THE WERE-HYENA raised its beefy arms to shred me to ribbons, Benny and Tina pulled the Table Topple, a playground trick so old, kids must have been doing it since Pharaoh was in diapers.

  On hands and knees, Benny planted himself directly behind the monster. Then, with a loud “Heeee-yah!” Tina drove straight at the distracted were-hyena, leaping into the air to deliver her best Bruce Lee karate kick.

  The monster had just enough time to widen its eyes in disbelief.

  Wham! Tina’s feet slammed into its chest. The alpha hyena staggered, the backs of its knees hit Benny’s body, and whump!—down it went.

  Before it could recover, I rushed in close and slipped the amulet around that hairy neck.

  Two powerful hands reached up and caught my shoulders in an unbreakable grip. I struggled, but those hands drew me down, down, toward the scariest face I’d ever seen, all fangs and wild eyes and nightmare bad breath.

  “No!” I cried.

  My Pikachu necklace swung free. The creature hissed at the silver dangling in its face. But it didn’t stop pulling me.

  I braced my hands against the monster’s chest, resisting. No use.

  The were-hyena’s jaws opened wide….

  And then the amulet began to sizzle on that chest like a skillet frying bacon. With an unearthly moan, the monster released me to scrabble at its own breast. But the amulet wouldn’t budge.

  It was fused to the skin.

  The other were-hyenas howled. Benny, Tina, and I scrambled back, horrified and fascinated.

  Bucking, thrashing, and writhing on the ground, the creature made every sound in its vocabulary, from whines and moans to grunts and giggles. An awful smell, like burned dog hairs and vomit and putrid flesh all rolled into one, rose from its body.

  The amulet glowed electric blue.

  And then, with a full-body shudder, the monster twitched one last time and fell still. Under our gaze, the brawny body began to shrink. The whole scene was like one of those time-lapse nature shows about a plant growing, but in reverse.

  The ears shriveled back into the head. The spotted fur retracted into the body. The muscles withered, the snout telescoped, and in less than a minute, the monstrous form turned into…

  A woman.

  “Oh!” cried Benny, throwing up a hand and turning away.

  A naked woman.

  “Is that…?” breathed Tina.

  A naked woman known as…

  “Ms. Icaza?” I said. “She’s the alpha?”

  Tina peeled off her jacket and draped it over the unconscious museum worker. “What?” she said to me, bristling. “Like a strong woman can’t be a leader?”

  “No, no,” I said, holding up my palms. “A woman has just as much right as a man to lead a pack of homicidal, half-monster freaks.”

  “You got that right,” said Tina.

  Things went a little blurry after that. I felt so dizzy, I had to sit down on a grave marker until the feeling passed. Mrs. Tamasese must have called the police, because, next thing I knew, cops and paramedics were swarming the hillside like ants on an abandoned piñata.

  “There they are!” yelled a tall policewoman. “Don’t let the cult members escape!”

  “Got ’em, Lieutenant!” Three cops surrounded Mr. Sharkawy and his Sharkettes. The museum director wouldn’t be receiving his “dark gift” after all—unless it was an all-expenses-paid trip to prison.

  The paramedics loaded Ms. Icaza and Mr. Chu onto stretchers. I was relieved to see that our teacher was stirring. Then the cops herded everyone else over to the parking lot, including two naked and confused people—the other two former were-hyenas. Mrs. Tamasese drove up in her van, tooting the horn and grinning as wide as the Pacific Ocean.

  As the ex-wrestler opened the side door and rolled her way over to us, I asked Tina, “So how’d you get caught by Mr. Sharkawy and his loonies?”

  She punched my arm. “It’s your fault,” she said.

  “Mine?”

  “I was hustling around on my bike, trying to find you guys,” said Tina. “On a hunch, I went by the museum, and just outside it, I found this.” She unfolded a sheet of paper from her pocket, and I recognized one of the HELP! notes I’d scrawled when Mr. Sharkawy had me locked up.

  “Ohhh,” I said.

  “Yeah, ‘ohhh,’” she said. “When I tried to sneak in and bust you out, they caught me.”

  I offered her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

  Tina only grunted.

  And then it sank in that she had risked her life to save me. “Um, thanks,” I said.

  “For what?”

  I coughed. “You stuck out your neck for me.”

  Tina snorted. “Like you did for me. Don’t get all soppy, Rivera. That’s what friends do.”

  My chest seemed to expand then, like I’d sucked in a tank of helium. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Friends, huh? I could do a lot worse.

  Mrs. Tamasese gave us all warm hugs. After telling us how worried she’d been, she praised our monster-busting technique to the skies. “I knew you could do it! After I called the cops, I caught your tag-team takedown through binoculars.” She wagged her head. “Ho! You kids could have a bright future in professional wrestling.”

  Then Mrs. T pulled the tall policewoman aside and spun her a story of courageous kids taking down a deranged cult. Her comic-book experience really paid off. I nearly believed it myself.

  Past the two of them, a dark sedan pulled into the lot, and the last person I expected to see got out of it.

  “Hey,” said Benny. “Isn’t that our sub?”

  His scowl as deep as the Grand Canyon, Mr. Kardoz stomped over to the ambulance, where the paramedics were about to load in Mr. Chu and Ms. Icaza.

  “Stop!” he yelled. “Hold it right there!”

  Curious, we hustled over to see what was going on.

  Two of the blue-uniformed policemen blocked Mr. Kardoz from the patients on gurneys. Mr. Sharkawy and his Sharkettes stood nearby in handcuffs, looking on.

  “What’s the beef?” asked one burly cop.

  Our substitute reached into the pocket of his sports coat and withdrew a small leather wallet with some kind of shiny badge attached. “Special Agent Kardoz,” he said. “FBI Art Crimes Unit.”

  “Yeah?” said the cop.

  “Yeah,” said the sub. “And I am taking that woman into custody.”

  Benny and I exchanged glances.

  “Art crimes?” he said.

  “FBI?” I said.

  “That explains a lot of things.”

  The husky policeman squinted at Mr. Kardoz’s badge, then at the dazed Ms. Icaza. “What’d she do?” he asked.

  “Stole a bunch of priceless African art,” Agent Kardoz growled. “I have followed her for days, tapped her phone. She was planning on selling everything to a fence for big bucks.”

  The cop whistled, impressed.

  Mr. Sharkawy tugged away from his captors and approached his employee’s gurney. “Stolen?” he said, his face pasty. “You told me you acquired the collection with help from an anonymous benefactor.”

  A groggy Ms. Icaza rolled her head to look at him. “I lied.”

  “And the tour of other museums? All the plans for this exhibit?”

  “All lies.” The former were-hyena seemed tired and grayer than before.

  Veins stood out in Mr. Sharkawy’s forehead. “You…you…”

  “And I would’ve gotten away with it, too,” said Ms. Icaza bitterly, “if that stupid creature hadn’t bitten me during our Lagos heist. Who uses hyenas as watchdogs?”

  “Aw, poor baby,” Mrs. Tamasese said sarcastically.

  “Wait,” said Benny, “you got bit by a hyena?”

  “No, I run around cackling in the moonlight for my health,” she said. “Yes, I was bitten.”


  I nodded. “So you must have changed into a were-hyena at the first full moon after you returned. And then you bit other people.”

  Ms. Icaza started to answer, then glanced at the FBI agent. “Something like that. It’s all a blur.”

  “Well, your hyena days are over,” I told her.

  She sighed. “Just as well. I was getting tired of eating corpses anyway.”

  Benny, Tina, and I did a simultaneous “Eeeww.”

  As Mr. Kardoz handcuffed Ms. Icaza to the gurney, the museum director pushed up beside her again. He looked like a second grader who’s just learned that the Easter Bunny is really his aunt Lulu in a rabbit costume.

  “And the animal magic? The amulets, the rituals?” he quavered. “I suppose all that was a lie, too?”

  Ms. Icaza rolled her eyes. “Grow up, David. Everyone knows magic isn’t real.”

  Mrs. Tamasese smirked.

  The paramedics loaded Ms. Icaza and Mr. Chu into the ambulance. I glanced over at Benny. Maybe what we’d seen tonight wasn’t make-a-Buick-disappear-into-a-hankie kind of magic, but it sure as heck wasn’t normal.

  Benny shrugged. “I guess you see what you want to see,” he said.

  “For reals,” said Mrs. Tamasese.

  But the fun wasn’t quite over yet. Two more cars pulled into the parking lot, and Benny’s dad and my dad hurried over to us. We each got a big hug.

  “We’re so glad you’re safe,” said Mr. Brackman. “I heard all about the cult on the scanner, and how you helped break it up. Is it true they had trained bears?”

  “Big ones,” said Benny.

  “You were both so brave,” said my dad. Warmth radiated through my chest at his words.

  Benny’s eyes met mine. His expression said, Hey, if that’s what they want to believe…

  “We’re just glad it’s over,” I said. And I meant it.

  Benny shook his head. “What a night.”

  “We love you boys,” said my dad.

  Aww. “Love you, too, Dad,” I said.

  “And you should both know,” said Mr. Brackman gently, “that you’re grounded for a month.”

  THE TRUTH IS a slippery beast. Tina, Benny, and I stuck to Mrs. Tamasese’s “cult” story. I have no idea what the Sharkettes told the cops about what went on that night. I only know that no were-hyena reports turned up on the TV news.

  For several days afterward, the “bear” attacks, Satanists in the graveyard, and African art theft were all that anyone in Monterrosa talked about.

  Both Mr. Sharkawy and Ms. Icaza were arrested and thrown in jail. The Sharkettes got off with a fine and community service, after they paid for re-sodding the graveyard’s grass. And those two confused nudists, the other were-hyenas? They had only the blurriest of memories from their time in monster form. Since no crimes could be pinned to them other than indecent exposure, they were fined and released.

  To our great relief, Mr. Chu recovered quickly from his concussion and various scratches. He maintained that he’d gotten some kind of weird fever from his dog bite, which was why he couldn’t recall the showdown in the cemetery. We let him believe that. It was probably better that way.

  Maybe Benny was right—you see what you want to see, and you hear what you want to hear.

  None of our parents would have believed what really happened anyway. Not even Benny’s dad, who is an actual police detective and has seen plenty of weird stuff in his time.

  After a few days, life began getting back to normal. (Or what passes for normal in Monterrosa.) Mr. Chu went totally bald again and threw himself back into teaching with his usual enthusiasm. His assignment to report on “seeing things from an animal’s point of view” was particularly thought-provoking.

  One day Benny and I returned early from recess and caught him bent over his trash can, sniffing wistfully. “Oh! Hi, boys,” he said, straightening.

  “Hey, Mr. Chu,” we answered.

  A dark cloud seemed to cross his face. “The, uh, other day…when I had that fever…”

  “Yeah?” said Benny.

  “You didn’t see—I mean, I didn’t do anything…”

  “Strange and disturbing?” I said.

  “Well, yeah,” he said.

  We shook our heads. “No way,” said Benny.

  I gave our teacher a considering look. “Although I do have to ask,” I said, “are you by any chance a fan of Hello Kitty?”

  Funny, but I never knew someone could blush all the way to the top of their head before.

  Tina began hanging out more with Benny and me—not in a cootie-producing way, just in a friendly way. She dubbed the three of us the “hyena-busters,” and began showing Benny and me some of her karate moves.

  At home, we started getting used to our new situation. My abuela moved in—just on weekdays—to help take care of me while Mom and Veronica were off doing their Hollywood thing.

  Our first weekend dinner together as a family was a lively one. My junior diva sister barely shut up enough to eat.

  “You totally won’t believe who I met our first week of taping,” said Veronica. She rattled off the names of several actors I’d never heard of. “And I got autographs, and a swag bag, and a dressing room in pink, and the director even gave me a giant stuffed bear!”

  “That’s nice,” I said.

  For once, my mom didn’t hang on my sister’s every word. She reached over and touched my hand. “Your father tells me you had some experiences with bears, too.”

  “Um, yeah,” I said. “But not the cuddly kind.”

  Her eyes grew round. “You boys were so courageous. When I think about the danger you were in”—she put a hand to her chest—“it gives me the shudders.”

  My face got warm. “Oh, well, you know…”

  “I think my brave boy deserves another slice of cake,” said my mother.

  I grinned. The look on Veronica’s face was priceless.

  Yes, life was back on an even keel. But with a slight change.

  Things were different at home—better. And somehow, I didn’t feel quite the same as before. Maybe almost getting munched by a savage were-hyena changes you. One thing for sure, I found that I have friends I can rely on no matter how weird things get. And I learned that even a nerd kid can find the strength to stand up to monsters.

  That stuff stays with you. Right?

  I sure hoped so. Because, only a week after the graveyard incident, I got the feeling I might need to use what I’d learned, and soon.

  Benny had gotten a pass from his grounding to come over and join the three of us for dinner. Abuelita had gone all festive, making chicken tamales with rice and beans, and Benny’s favorite pumpkin empanadas.

  I had just told him a goofy story from my little sister’s first week in Hollywood, and we were loading up on seconds. Then my dad chuckled, half to himself.

  “What is it, Mr. Rivera?” asked Benny.

  Dad wagged his head. “Oh, nothing. Just this loony at work.”

  “Why? What’d he do?” I asked, forking another empanada onto my plate.

  My dad pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a finger. His eyes twinkled. “Well, this guy claims that he was out walking last night and saw a neighbor’s dog get carried off by a bat.”

  “Pretty wacky,” I said. Benny gave me a look.

  “Oh, that’s not the strangest part.” My dad leaned onto his elbows. “This nut claims that the bat was the size of a Great Dane, and that it had the claws of an eagle and the head of a panther.” He chuckled again. “That’s as crazy as that Halloween story you boys told me about were-hyenas. Can you believe it?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I can.” I gave Benny a look.

  And right then, we both knew. Things in Monterrosa were going to get a lot weirder before they got normal.

  KEEP READING FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT BOOK 2:

  HOW WELL DO YOU KNOW the staff at your school? Sure, they bandage your scrapes, sweep up your spills, and dish out your lunch. But who are they
, really?

  They seem like nice people.

  But what if they’re not?

  What if they’re secretly something much, much weirder?

  Thanks to this suspicion, Benny Brackman and I found ourselves in the school kitchen one night, cowering behind a refrigerator door.

  “¡Ay, huey!” I gasped. “What the heck was that?”

  Benny peeked around the door toward the pantry in the corner. Nothing moved in the dimness.

  “Don’t ask me, Carlos,” he said. “All I saw was you, running like mad. What did you see?”

  “Freakity freaking freakiness!” I said. My heart hammered like a tree full of woodpeckers and my nerves jangled like wind chimes in a hurricane.

  “Can you be more specific?” Benny asked, squinting into the dark.

  “Too many arms, scary fast, and it nearly took my head off. Where’d it go?”

  I peered around Benny’s shoulder. Although the open fridge did supply some yellowish light, its door faced the wrong way, back toward the deep fryer. My eyes were dazzled by brightness, which made the corner where the creature had ambushed me seem even darker.

  “We should make sure what it is,” whispered Benny.

  “You make sure,” I said. “That thing doesn’t want us investigating the pantry, and I’m inclined to agree with it.” Sweat popped out on my forehead.

  Benny grumbled, but he gave in. We stared at the dark corner; we stared at the exit. All was quiet. Whatever it might be, the monster was motionless.

  “Okay,” I said, my throat dry, “we should go.”

  “You first,” said Benny.

  “No, you,” I said. “I insist.”

  Benny licked his lips, and said, “Let’s go together.”

  “Right.”

  The only problem with this plan was that the path to the exit ran much too close to the murky corner for comfort. My jaw clenched.

  Nothing to it but to do it. My muscles tensed tighter than piano strings.

  “On the count of three,” said Benny. “One…two—”

  “Go!” I yelled.

  “What about three?”

  We burst from behind the fridge with a wild cry, dashing straight for the door. As we tore past the food prep island, something big stirred in the shadows to our left. Benny raised the can of Raid above his head and spritzed like he was writing the Declaration of Independence in the air.