CONTENTS
Here We Are Once More
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Until Next We Meet
About the Author
Back Ad
Credits
Copyright
About the Publisher
Back again? Ready for another tale so terrifying it might keep you up at night, afraid to look in your closet or under your bed? Your timing couldn’t be better. Much as I feared, things are changing in Pleasant Hill. Oh, the Zombie King seems to be gone—at least for now. But something even more dangerous has arrived in his place. I suspect that Nick and his friends are going to need every shred of monster knowledge they possess—and perhaps even the help of another group of monster hunters every bit as determined as they are.
For you see, dark forces have been stirring in the last few days. Forces I haven’t witnessed in nearly two hundred years. How could I have seen things that long ago, you ask? Let’s just say librarians have rather lengthy life spans.
But be not distracted. Old powers are returning, and long-dead sciences are rising from their graves . . . as it were. I’m afraid I need to do some investigating on my own. I hope the boys will be all right while I’m gone. I’m sure they wouldn’t do anything foolish—or dangerous—while I’m away. Keep an eye on them, won’t you? And take good notes. They may just end up in Case File 13.
Nick reached the top of Dinosaur Hill and searched the deserted park. “Mr. Fitzpatrick?” he called. Wind blew through the gnarled branches of an oak that had to be at least a hundred years old. But the man he was supposed to meet was nowhere in sight. He shifted uncomfortably in his too large suit coat, clutched his briefcase, and shined his flashlight into the darkness.
From the distance came a hoo-hoo that sounded like a kid doing a really bad owl imitation. Nick grimaced and swung his flashlight left and right. “Something’s wrong,” he muttered to himself. “There’s no way Fitzpatrick would miss this meeting. Unless . . .” He looked up at the night sky, where a thick bank of clouds had just cleared away. “Full moon.”
Something moved through the tall grass to his right and Nick spun around—mouth dropping open. “No!” he screamed as a large gray creature with matted fur and a long pink tail leaped out of the grass and attacked him. Raising his briefcase, he managed to hit the creature in the head with a surprisingly loud clonk!
The creature hissed, baring its long yellow fangs.
“Fitzpatrick, is that you?” Nick asked, circling to keep the beast in front of him.
The monster bared its teeth again, red eyes flaring, and swiped Nick with its dirt-crusted claws.
Nick clutched at his chest and blood squeezed between his fingers. “Wererat,” he gasped. “Must . . . get . . . serum.” He snapped open his briefcase and reached for a syringe filled with a liquid that looked a little like grape Kool-Aid. Before he could reach it, the wererat was on him, scratching, biting, and even throwing a punch with one of its paws.
“Ow!” Nick yelled as the wererat’s paw connected with his left ear. “That hurt.”
“It serves you right for hitting me with the briefcase,” the giant rat shouted back.
“That was for making the stupid owl noise,” Nick said. “It sounded totally fake.”
“Cut!” Angelo stepped out from behind his tripod and turned off his video camera. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “If you two keep ruining every scene, we’re never going to get this movie finished in time for the contest.”
Carter pulled off his rat head. His face was sweaty and his bright red hair was matted to his scalp from the rubber of the mask. He pulled the plastic fangs out of his mouth. “I like the owl. It makes the scene more creepy.”
“It makes the scene more lame,” Nick said. He turned to Angelo. “Tell him he sounded like a kid trying to hoot.”
“Maybe we could edit in a real owl,” Angelo suggested. He flipped open his monster notebook and scribbled a reminder to himself.
Carter tugged at the thick gray mittens the boys had changed into rat paws. “Are you sure we have to do the whole giant rat thing? A werewolf or a killer lizard would be so much cooler.”
“And done about a thousand times.” Nick snorted. “Dude, we’ve been over this. It’s a tribute to The Princess Bride.”
“An homage,” Angelo added—never afraid to use big words. “To the Rodents of Unusual Size from the fire swamp.”
“I know that.” Carter fanned himself and began removing the pieces of his costume. “It’s just that Nick gets to be Mr. Fraley, the hero. And you get to be the director. But in the credits I’m only listed as Wererat. It’s totally unfair.”
“You’re also Mr. Fitzpatrick, Larry the mad butcher, and girl in haunted house with toilet plunger,” Angelo said. “That’s more parts than anyone else.”
Carter rolled his eyes. “A mad scientist, a guy who sells infected sausage, a rat, and a girl. Woo-hoo.”
“Well, time to call it a night,” Angelo said. He unscrewed his camera from the tripod and packed it carefully in its case. “Have you given any more thought to how we are going to tie our film into the contest?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” Nick said. The theme of the young authors and artists contest for this year was Building a Brighter Tomorrow. Kids from fifth through twelfth grades were supposed to write an essay, paint a picture, or film a movie about how they could make the world a better place. All three of the boys thought making a movie would be awesome. But the idea of doing something about cleaning up the environment or stopping war sounded totally boring.
Instead, since they all loved monsters more than anything, they’d decided to make a movie about a kindly veterinarian who eats a bunch of sausage infected with saliva from a mutant rat and turns into a killer rodent. They made the rat costume out of a bunch of old gray shag carpeting Carter’s parents had in their garage, and came up with an awesome script that had lots of action and a super-disgusting scene where the rat eats all the cats in the neighborhood. The only problem was how to make their movie fit the theme of the contest.
“Okay, get this,” Nick said, as they picked up the rest of their props. “After Fitzpatrick realizes he’s been changing into a wererat every time it’s a full moon, he gets together with the mad butcher—who it turns out used to work for a big drug company before he got fired for experimenting on the ladies in the cafeteria.”
“I like it,” Carter said.
Angelo tapped his notebook against his leg. “But Carter plays both the butcher and Mr. Fitzpatrick. How are we going to film him doing both parts at once?”
Nick scrunched up his mouth. “Good point. Okay, forget that. We’ll have Mr. Fraley be the guy who worked at the drug company.”
“There go my lines,” Carter said.
Angelo slung his camera case over his shoulder, and the boys began walking carefully down the trail in the dark. “What does any of this have to do with building a brighter tomorrow?”
“That’s what I was getting to,” Nick said. “So Fitzpatrick and Fraley
realize there is no hope for curing Fitzpatrick. He gets shot in the next scene anyway. But in trying to find a cure for the wererat, they come up with a cure for, like, all the worst diseases, making a brighter tomorrow. It’s classic.”
“I get shot?” Carter wailed.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “But at the end of the movie, you see all these people getting cured of their diseases and the label of the medicine is called FitzRatia. You know, in honor of Fitzpatrick and the rat.”
“Cool,” Carter said. “Is there any chance I could get a medal from the president? Since I died for the cause?”
Angelo looked dubious. “That seems like a pretty weak tie-in. Don’t you think the judges will realize we just added the ending for the contest?”
“Good point,” Nick said. “Maybe we could—”
“Shhh,” Carter held up a hand and ducked. “Everybody down.”
Nick and Angelo squatted beside him. “What is it?”
Carter pointed to where the trail they were following met the Dinosaur Hill parking lot. It took Nick’s eyes a moment to adjust, but when they did, he spotted the hulking figure Carter had already seen.
“Frankenstein,” Angelo whispered. Cody Gills, known to most of the kids at Pleasant Hill Elementary as Frankenstein, was at least twice as big as any other kid in the school. For years he’d terrorized the other kids—especially Nick, Carter, and Angelo. He’d gone out of his way to find the three of them and beat them up. But ever since they’d tricked him into thinking he’d seen Nick come back from the dead, something had changed about him. Now he seemed to be scared of everything, and he’d gone from being the biggest bully in the sixth grade to being the biggest tattletale. The big boy was pacing slowly back and forth as though waiting for someone.
“Do you think he knows we’re here?” Carter asked.
“How could he?” Nick said. “We were careful to make sure he didn’t follow us when we left our houses.”
“He’s sneaky,” Angelo said. “Like a cat.”
“A cat with huge muscles and premature facial hair,” Carter said.
Nick pointed down the side of the hill to a run-down house with grass that hadn’t been mowed in months. “If we sneak through Mr. Dashner’s backyard, we can get to the street without Frankenstein spotting us.”
Carter swallowed hard. “And if Old Man Dashner sees us, he’ll call the cops. He hates kids.”
“The windows are dark,” Angelo whispered. “Maybe he isn’t home.”
Carter bit his lower lip. “Or maybe that’s what he wants you to think.”
Nick checked on Cody, who had stopped pacing and was looking directly at them, almost as if he could see through the dark. “I don’t know about you, but I would seriously rather take my chances with Mr. Dashner than deal with the new Frankenstein.”
Carter and Angelo nodded. Keeping as low as they could, they crept down the side of the hill until they were almost at the edge of Mr. Dashner’s backyard. “Do you see anything?” Nick asked, peering at the dark house.
“I wish I did,” Carter said. “When you can’t see him is when he’s the most dangerous.”
Angelo pointed to the left side of the yard. “Let’s stick close to the fence. That way, if he’s home, it will be harder for him to see us.”
“Or easier for him to trap us,” Carter muttered.
One at a time, they crawled into the deep grass. The yard smelled like dog doo, although Nick was pretty sure Mr. Dashner didn’t have a dog. The fence was old and saggy looking. Nick made sure not to touch any of the boards, afraid that if he did the whole thing might fall over.
“I think I saw a bear trap over there,” Carter said.
“Shush.” Angelo pointed to a row of tall pyracantha bushes along the side of the house. “Stick close to those,” he whispered. “But don’t touch them. The thorns are like needles.”
Nick and Carter followed Angelo as he crawled across the grass, past the bushes, and out to the driveway. Once they were there, they got to their feet and ran to the sidewalk.
“We made it,” Carter panted, stopping in the glow of a streetlight.
Nick grinned. “Dashner, zero. Frankenstein, zero. The Three Monsterteers win in a landslide.”
At that moment a shadow fell across the three of them. They turned to see Cody standing less than three feet away.
“C-Cody,” Carter stammered, backing away. “What are you doing?”
“Angie and her friends told me I might find you here.”
“What do you want?” Nick asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“Do you know how much trouble you can get in for trespassing on private property?” Cody asked. “And it’s way too dark to be hiking around the park. Someone could sprain an ankle or trip over a log. You would never know it, but most accidents happen within ten blocks of home.”
“Yeah, we’ll be more careful next time,” Carter said.
“I hope so.” Cody rubbed his hands together anxiously. “Because I’d hate to have to tell your parents on you. Even though it would be for your own good.”
Nick sighed. He kind of wished for the good old days when all they had to worry about was getting beat up.
“Hey, Mrs. B,” Carter said the next morning as Nick’s mom walked into the kitchen. It was Friday and the boys were sitting around the table before school, planning their activities for the night.
“I’m thinking we should film the cat scene,” Nick said, eating a bowl of cereal. “I know a couple of neighbors that have, like, twenty in their yards.”
Carter, who had just finished his third bowl of apple cinnamon Cheerios, slurped down his sugar-laden milk and burped. “Sorry, Mrs. B.”
“Don’t forget the mummy marathon,” Angelo said.
“What’s this about mummies?” Mom asked, sticking two slices of wheat bread into the toaster.
“Twelve hours of back-to-back mummy movies, commercial free,” Carter said. “It’s gonna be awesome sauce.”
Mom got a look on her face Nick recognized immediately and he quickly jumped in. “All of our homework’s done. It’s not a school night, and you said Angelo and Carter could sleep over. Remember?”
“I said they could sleep over, not stay up all night watching that . . . garbage.”
Angelo choked on his cereal.
Nick could see a train wreck of epic proportions coming if he didn’t do something fast. “It’s not garbage. It’s educational. You learn about Egyptian culture, the pyramids, history, hieroglyphics . . .”
Mom shook her head and got out a jar of peach marmalade. “All while innocent people get slaughtered by mummified corpses.”
“Oh, yeah.” Carter rubbed his hands together. “That’s the best part.”
Nick shot Angelo a look of desperation. The bridge was out and the train wasn’t slowing down.
“Of course we’ll be working on our project for the young authors and artists contest first,” Angelo said.
Mom perked up. “Really? That sounds interesting.”
Could it be the wreck had just been averted? Nick winked at his friends. “Yeah, we’re totally into building a brighter tomorrow.”
“Now that sounds like something worthwhile,” Mom said. “You should do more things like that.”
Disaster averted.
“I turn into a mutant rat and eat all the cats in the neighborhood,” Carter said, before Nick or Angelo could stop him. He might as well have placed a bomb directly under the railroad tracks. Mom’s lips pressed so tightly together they nearly disappeared.
Nick quickly grabbed the contest guidelines. “We’re making a movie,” he said. “About curing diseases. There are a bunch of schools competing. Even some private schools. American Leadership Academy, Walnut Creek Christian, Sumina Prep.”
“Sumina?” Angelo said. “That’s the school Pleasant Hill High is playing tonight.”
“Playing?” Mom edged nearer to the table and Nick sensed a trap.
Angelo nodded, completely un
aware. “Yeah, it’s the last football game of the regular season. It’s supposed to be a blowout. Pleasant Hill hasn’t lost a game all season, and Sumina is a small private school that’s only been around a couple of years. Some of the kids were talking about going.”
Mom grinned evilly.
“But we can’t!” Nick blurted. “We have to make our movie.”
“I understand,” Mom said, spreading the marmalade on her toast. “The arts are very important.”
They were right at the bridge and the train was still in danger. Was there any way to avoid going over? Nick nodded. “Um, right.”
“Just be aware that you won’t be watching any mummy movies until you go to the football game and bring me back a full report. I’m going to get you out doing real activities if it kills me.”
Crash and burn.
“Come on, dude, loan me a buck and a half,” Carter begged Angelo, clasping his hands in front of his chest.
“You still owe me five dollars from all the frozen bananas I bought you last summer,” Angelo said as he, Nick, and Carter walked along the Pleasant Hill High School bleachers looking for a place to watch the night’s football game.
Nick glanced toward the field and scowled. He couldn’t believe his mom was making him miss a mummy marathon to watch a stupid football game. At least Cody wasn’t here.
“According to the paper the Fighting Rams might win state,” Angelo said.
“Who cares?” Nick muttered. “We’re talking about twelve straight hours of mummies. Are you telling me you’d rather watch a bunch of guys smashing each other to the ground than Bubba Ho-tep? Elvis and JFK fight a mummy.”
Angelo shifted the monster notebook from his left arm to his right. “Technically, the character played by Ossie Davis only thinks he’s JFK, dyed black and left in a nursing home by Lyndon Johnson. The viewer is left to assume Jack is delusional. Although there is that scar . . .”
Nick shook his head. Angelo definitely knew his monster movies. Maybe a little too well at times. But none of that mattered now because they were stuck here, watching a real activity.
The Pleasant Hill football players were busy stretching and going through their pre-game warm-ups under the stadium lights while the Pleasant Hill band marched around the field. His mom might call this real, but Nick called it really boring. A bunch of jocks fighting over a dumb ball. Now if they were vampires and genetically altered gorillas fighting over an anti-matter bomb, that would be exciting.
Case File 13 #2 Page 1