The Frankenstein Journals

by Scott Sonneborn

  Then I found an article from many years later, with a color photo of Samuel holding a baby. Both of them had bright green eyes!

  The article didn’t say much other than that the famous Samuel Hammer had a newborn grandson.

  The only other article that mentioned the grandson was Samuel Hammer’s obituary from a few years later.

  The obituary also mentioned something else: the address and phone number of the detective agency Samuel Hammer worked for!

  Even though Samuel wasn’t around anymore, his office would have records or maybe even someone who had known him!

  Either way, I’d be able to find his grandson — my second cousin!

  The second cousin I’d found, that is. (Since he was related to me because his grandfather’s eye was put into my dad, maybe that made him my “second cousin one eyeball removed”?)

  I raced to the phone, but there was no answer when I called.

  Maybe everyone in the office was out solving a crime or something.

  I put down the phone and ran out the door.

  It was the only lead I had. And if I had it, there was a good chance Fran had it too.

  The explorers had promised to get me anywhere in the world I wanted to go. Now I knew exactly where that was.

  Samuel Hammer’s office in Los Angeles.

  Sixteen hours later, I was crossing Spring Street in downtown LA.

  Samuel’s office was just around the corner.

  I was so excited, I couldn’t help but run the last block to the address. And then I saw it!

  I was looking at an empty lot.

  I had been in such a rush to follow the clue, I hadn’t even taken the time to think about it.

  Samuel Hammer had been a famous detective in the 1940s. That was like 80 years ago! It shouldn’t have been a huge surprise his office wasn’t there anymore.

  That’s why no one had answered the phone. The whole building was gone!

  “Don’t panic,” I told myself again. “I’ll figure something out.”

  But the only thing I could think of was “at least things can’t get worse.”

  And then things got worse.

  Fran Kenstein worse!

  Fran was on the other side of the street!

  I ducked into the shadow of the building next door. Fran didn’t even glance my way. She was totally focused on where she was going, walking quickly with an evil smile on her face.

  I had seen that smile before — when she had talked about taking my cousins’ body parts to build her monster!

  Was Fran following the same clue from Dr. Frankenstein’s journal as I was? Did she know how to find Samuel Hammer’s grandson? Was she on her way to him now?

  I had to find out.

  I trailed her, or tailed her, or whatever you call it as she walked all the way down Grand Avenue. She walked so far that the sun set, and a full moon rose.

  My huge feet were aching, but Fran kept walking faster and faster.

  Fran marched right up to a building that covered an entire block. Metal letters on top of the building spelled out the words “Los Angeles Convention Center.”

  Fran pushed her way through a glass door. I counted to three and followed her inside. And ran right into a man-sized badger!

  There were dozens — no, hundreds — of people-sized animals walking around in there!

  Were they victims of one of Fran’s insane experiments? What had she done to them?

  What would they do to me?

  I slowly backed my way toward the door. That’s when I saw the banner hanging from the ceiling. It read, “The Los Angeles Convention Center Welcomes You to THE PROFESSIONAL SPORTS MASCOT CONVENTION!”

  Okay, whew! These weren’t half-human animals. Or even half-animal humans. They were people in mascot costumes! I recognized the dolphin from that football team. And the dinosaur from that basketball team. I wasn’t sure what the orange fuzzy thing with the big yellow nose was supposed to be, but I knew I had seen it on TV.

  It was actually pretty cool.

  Or would have been, if it weren’t for Fran.

  She still hadn’t seen me in the crowd. She was too busy looking for someone else.

  Which could only mean one thing . . . One of my cousins was inside one of these mascot costumes!

  If Fran was following the same clue from Dr. Frankenstein’s journal as I was, she had to be looking for Samuel Hammer’s grandson.

  But which one was he?

  The mascots were covered from head to toe by their costumes. All you could see of the person underneath were their eyes.

  Fran looked at costume after costume. But she didn’t see what she was looking for. Frustrated, she moved deeper into the sprawling convention center.

  And that’s when I saw him. He was standing near the men’s room, dressed as a grouper. Or maybe a marlin. Definitely some kind of blue fish.

  His eyes were focused on a man dressed as a blue jay. Maybe that’s what made me notice the bright green in the eyeholes of the fish head.

  The same bright green eyes as Samuel Hammer! The same bright GREEN as my left eye!

  I’d found him!

  Now I just had to make sure Fran didn’t.

  As soon as Fran was out of sight, I raced up to my cousin.

  I didn’t know how long I had before Fran wandered back. I had to warn him now.

  “There’s something I’ve got to tell you right away,” I said. “You’re the grandson of Samuel Hammer, the famous detective, right?”

  “Shh! Quiet!” whispered the man in the fish costume. “Did the Chief send you?”

  “Chief?” I asked, confused. “Wait, you mean that Indian Chief mascot over there? No, I . . . well, this is kind of hard to explain, but my name’s J.D. and —”

  “Look, that’s swell. But can you scram?” he replied. “Don’t mean to give you the bum’s rush, but I’m kind of busy here.”

  “Actually, no,” I told him. “This can’t wait. See, there’s this girl named Fran Kenstein who is hunting for my cousins. So if you’re the grandson of Samuel Hammer, the famous detective —”

  “Detective? Who’s a detective?!” cried a man dressed in a blue jay costume. He had been about to go into the men’s room. Instead, he took off running for the exit.

  “Thanks, kid!” sighed my cousin.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied.

  “No, I meant everything’s all wet because of you!” he exclaimed. “I’m a detective, just like my granddad. And I’m undercover on a case! I was following that guy in the blue jay costume!”

  “Oh,” was all I could think to say.

  The detective reached inside his fish costume and pulled out a police walkie-talkie.

  “All units near the convention center, this is Detective Sam Hammer of the MCU! Requesting backup! Suspect on the run!” he said into his walkie-talkie. “Suspect is approximately six feet tall and dressed as a blue jay. Over!”

  The detective put his walkie-talkie down and slipped out of his costume. “The two-time loser inside that blue jay costume is a hood named Lavenza,” he said to me. “I’ve been tailing him for days. Lavenza’s a thug for hire. Big-time crooks call him when they are planning some very bad business. He was just pretending to be a mascot to meet the criminal who wanted to hire him.”

  The detective looked at the bathroom Lavenza had been about to enter. “Which means that palooka is probably in there!”

  The detective put his hand on the bathroom door. “Stay out here,” he warned me. “It could get dangerous in there.”

  He was right. Only the danger didn’t stay inside!

  A man in a wolf costume slashed through the door with his claws!

  He knocked the detective over.

  And then he ran right at ME!!

  All I saw was hair.


  The man running at me was covered in it. He was so furry, the hair covered the blue suit with square buttons that he was wearing. He raced right past me and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Are you okay?” the detective asked.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “I don’t know how he could move so fast in that costume.”

  “Hooey! That was no costume,” he said. “Could costume claws do this?”

  The detective pointed to the bathroom door — or what was left of it. It was shredded.

  “That,” said the detective, “was the Werewolf! I’ve been trying to bust that mug for months. Now shake a leg! We gotta catch him!”

  He grabbed my big left hand and dragged me into the crowd after him.

  “We?” I asked. “I’m no detective! I don’t know the first thing about detecting. Wait, is that even a word? See! I don’t even know that.”

  “I didn’t get a look at him, kid,” said the detective. “I’ll need you to help me spot him.”

  “Um, don’t you think a hairy Werewolf will kind of stand out in a crowd?” I asked as I tried to keep up with him.

  “In this crowd?” he replied. “No dice.”

  The convention floor was packed with hundreds of people dressed as lions, tigers, and every other animal you could think of.

  Including wolves.

  It was probably the only place on the planet the Werewolf could walk around without being noticed. Which must have been why he picked it.

  “My name’s Sam, by the way,” said the detective as we ran past penguins, sharks, and falcons, looking for the Werewolf. “Sam Hammer the Third. Say, how’d you know I was here undercover?”

  “I didn’t,” I told him. “I just recognized your bright green eyes.”

  “You got the eye of a detective, kid,” he said, impressed. “And I should know. I inherited mine from my grandfather.”

  “I think I inherited mine from him too,” I replied.

  As we made our way through the crowd, I told him my story. I took out my journal and showed him the drawing of his grandfather’s eye. Which went into my dad. Which made us related.

  Sam didn’t even bat a green eye. “When you put it like that, I guess that does make us related,” he said. “I’m not surprised. You definitely followed the clues to me like a born detective.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m just lucky I found you,” I told him. “I knew about your grandfather, but there was hardly anything online about you.”

  Sam’s face turned red.

  “That’s because I haven’t cracked any cases big enough to get in the papers,” he said. “Not yet. But I will. I learned everything I know about being a gumshoe from my granddad. Including how to flap my gums.”

  “Flap your gums?” I asked.

  Sam shrugged. “That’s how detectives in the 1940s used to say ‘talk,’” he told me. “And if it was good enough for my granddad, it’s swell enough for me.”

  I didn’t ask him why people in the 1940s said “flap your gums” when it was a lot easier just to say “talk.” It was probably the same reason people in the Middle Ages said “thou” instead of “you.” Or why people used to ride horses instead of cars.

  People a long time ago just liked to do really strange stuff.

  “No gumshoe in this city of angels ever cracked more cases than my granddad did,” said Sam. “I’ve spent my whole life trying to be as great a detective as he was. And until I do, I’m not gonna stop!”

  And then he stopped.

  We had reached the end of the convention center. There was no sign of the Werewolf.

  Sam took out his walkie-talkie.

  “This is Detective Hammer of the MCU,” he shouted into the walkie-talkie. “I’m in pursuit of the second suspect. He may have left the building. All units, be on the lookout for the Werewolf. Description — hair: long. Claws: sharp.”

  Then Sam saw something through the crowd. His face went white.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Is it the Werewolf?”

  “No dice. It’s much worse than that,” said Sam. “It’s my boss.”

  The Chief of Police marched up. He was followed by several policemen. They had the man in the blue jay costume in tow.

  “Let me do the gum flapping,” Sam told me. “You take that notebook or journal or whatever it is in your back pocket and draw the Werewolf. You had the best look at him. I want you to draw as many details before you forget them.”

  The Chief’s dress uniform was blue. His gloves were white. His face was red. A very angry red.

  “I can explain, Chief,” Sam started.

  “No!” roared the Chief. “I’m going to explain something to YOU! I shouldn’t have to remind you of this, but you’re a detective in the MCU,” roared the Chief. “That stands for the Monster Crimes Unit! That means you’re supposed to investigate monster crimes. You know, crimes committed by the Mummy or the Vampire — guys like that.”

  Holy crud!

  Did that mean Sam had run into my dad?

  Now didn’t seem like a good time to ask. Sam was too busy being yelled at by the Chief.

  “Lavenza is not a monster!” the Chief shouted as he pointed at the man in the blue jay costume. “He’s just a crook in a silly bird costume. And it’s not even a monster costume! That means it’s not your job to go after him!”

  Then the Chief turned to the police officers holding Lavenza. “Take him back to headquarters and put him in a cell. I’ll figure out what to do with him later.”

  The policemen took Lavenza away, leaving the Chief behind.

  “But this was a monster crime, sir,” Sam insisted. “Lavenza only works for criminals who are planning big crimes. And he was here to meet the Werewolf! They’re in cahoots!”

  The Chief groaned. “Here we go again with the Werewolf! You’ve been talking about him for months! But you’ve never been able to find a single shred of evidence that he even exists.”

  “I know, but this time I’ve got an eyewitness who got a good look at him!” Sam said. “J.D., show the Chief what you saw.”

  I handed the Chief my journal, open to the page where I had drawn the Werewolf.

  The Chief studied the picture. “Oh, okay, now I see,” he said. Then he roared, “I see a child’s drawing of some guy covered in fur. Which describes pretty much everyone here! You probably just saw someone in a wolf costume.

  “Look, Sam,” said the Chief in a gentler voice, “I know how important it is to you to live up to your grandfather’s legend. He was a great detective. The greatest, in fact. But this isn’t your case. Because it’s not a monster crime. If Lavenza was here to meet another criminal, leave it to the regular cops to figure out who it was.”

  “Actually,” said a voice from the crowd. “You don’t have to leave it to anyone. I can tell you exactly who it was.”

  Oh, no — I recognized that voice. It was Fran! She smiled as she walked up to the Chief.

  “Don’t listen to her!” I told the Chief.

  “I give orders. I don’t take them!” scowled the Chief. “Now what are you talking about?” he asked Fran.

  “That peculiar-looking boy!” said Fran, pointing at me. “He must be a criminal! I saw him with the man in the blue jay costume. They were talking together. It looked like they were plotting something!”

  “Is that so?” said the Chief, turning to me.

  “NO, IT’S NOT!” I said.

  “I trust the boy, Chief,” Sam insisted.

  “And why is that?” asked the Chief. “Do you know him?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “Well, we just met a few minutes ago. But he’s my cousin. Well, not technically. But —”

  “I see,” interrupted the Chief. He turned to me. “What’s your name?” the Chief asked.

  “J.D.,” I stammered.

  “Last name?”
he asked.

  “It’s just J.D.,” I told him. “It stands for John Doe.”

  “I see,” he scowled. “And what is your address?”

  “Well, since I left the orphanage, I don’t exactly have one,” I admitted.

  “Hmm . . . a John Doe with no known address,” the Chief said to Sam. “And that doesn’t sound at all suspicious?”

  “Well, I can see how that might sound a little hinky,” Sam admitted.

  The Chief turned to Fran. “Thank you for coming forward,” the Chief told her.

  “Only too happy to help,” she beamed.

  “Wait, you can’t believe what she says!” I said. “You don’t know who she is!”

  “My name is Fran Kenstein,” Fran told the Chief.

  Fran held out her wallet. “Here is my ID with my address.”

  “Now I know who SHE is,” the Chief said to me, “which is more than I can say for you, John Doe with no known address.

  “You see, Sam?” the Chief told Sam. “Just like I told you, this isn’t a case for the Monster Crimes Unit. Lavenza was here to meet this kid! But I’ll tell you what. Since you’re so eager to be involved, I’ll let you bring the boy back to HQ so he can be processed.”

  Something bounced against the inside of my shirt. I looked down and realized it was my heart! I was going to jail!

  How could the Chief believe Fran? If he only knew what she was really like . . .

  But of course he didn’t. Only I did. Well, Fran did too. But she wasn’t telling.