by Robert Gray
I didn’t have one, but, as it turned out, Wolf did.
A low rumbling rose from the other side of the living room. Then the rumbling turned into a howl, or rather a mash-up between a piggish snort and a howl.
“What the?—”
It was all Warren had time to say before a ball of fur and pink skin and fangs lunged at his throat.
Wolf tore, snorted, and howled.
“Get ‘em off me! Get ‘em off me!” Warren screamed.
And then the front door opened and, and I saw Mom, Dad, and Sam standing there. Griff too, I realized, because suddenly Warren did a face plant to the ground.
“How horrible!” Sam said. “Wolf is a were-pig.”
I couldn’t agree more.
Griff grabbed Warren by the arm and hauled him into the grr-aj for a little interrogation. No way I was missing this, so I followed after them, leaving my family to the kitchen, where Dad was busy updating URNS by way of Ouija board.
Warren wasn’t all that tough once Griff threw him into a chair and started asking questions. He writhed in his seat while his eyes dashed around like two scarab beetles trapped in a jar.
Feeling brave, I even threw in a few questions of my own, like for instance, “Who is the food critic Nancy Burnblum?”
He had no idea who I was talking about, even after Griff threatened to feed him a knuckle sandwich, which sounded disgusting to me. Must be something he picked up at Ghoulicious.
“The Source operates in secrecy. There are many humans who work for us that have no idea who we really are,” Warren said.
I guess it was true. Carly Beth’s mom used to work there, and she had no clue about the “infestation problem.”
“The newspaper’s a front to push more nightmares onto humans. Read any article, and you’ll find a horror story used to keep the humans’ nightmares alive and well. The Source feeds off them. The nightmares keep It and us growing, more and more powerful.”
“Spare me the speech,” Griff said.
“If The Source is so great, why is it too scared to show its face?” I added.
Warren laughed nervously. Sweat dripped down his sunken cheeks. He didn’t look attractive at all. “The Source is everywhere. I bet It’s watching us right now.”
I pushed aside a curtain and peeked outside. “The only thing out there is darkness. I guess next you’re going to tell me The Source is hiding out there in the night.”
Warren shook his head. “The Source isn’t hiding in the dark, It is the dark.”
Okay, so this made me a little scared, and I took a second look out the window, searching deeper into the night.
“The Source will destroy you all,” Warren said, and then he went into a fit of hysterical laughter. “And it will destroy me for my failure.”
I could hear the wind whipping around the house, the leaves rustling.
“It’s coming for me now. Can you hear It?”
The lights began to waver.
And then they went out.
Something reached for me, and I screamed.
“It’s just me,” Griff said. “Don’t move.”
When the lights flickered back on a few moments later, Warren was gone.
THIRTY-FOUR
THE BOOK’S INVITATION
Over the next few days, I thought a lot about why The Source didn’t take me and The Book of Shrieks and be done with all of us. It certainly seemed capable of doing just that.
The only thing that made sense was that The Source must’ve been afraid of the book. But as I sat in my room, flipping through the pages, I couldn’t figure out what there was to be afraid of. Sure, the book had kicked some butt while we were in the underground lair, but ever since then, the book had been blank, which upset me a lot, because I didn’t even have my spell book anymore.
On the bright side, my life was finally getting back to normal. Dad, with the help of URNS, had faked McDougal’s death, and even managed to make it a respectable one. Turned out McDougal had died while in Zimbabwe trying to educate the young and unfortunate children on how to properly hate Halloween. Humans are such suckers for all that humanitarian stuff, and the township decided to build a statue in honor of McDougal. Fortunately, they didn’t have to. There was a rather authentic one sitting in McDougal’s office.
The following week, the statue was erected IN MEMORY OF PRINCIPAL ALBERT MCDOUGAL. Everyone from the school took the morning off to attend a public ceremony that the mayor herself spoke at.
She gave a nice speech, though I could tell she had a hard time concentrating. She kept pausing to stare at the statue’s befuddled expression, and even commented more than once on how life-like it appeared.
The acting vice principal, Mr. Stringer, became the temporary principal. He seemed a nice enough person, and I have to say, without McDougal’s tyrannical laws, school was almost a pleasure to go to. Even better, I hadn’t seen or heard from Stacey, Becca, and Jasper since the lair. As happy as this made me, I had my suspicions they hadn’t left my life completely. Regardless, I planned to enjoy their absence while I could.
There were some weird feelings between my friends and me, though. Not that we didn’t get along. If anything, we were closer. But nobody wanted to talk about the inevitable: that in a few days I’d be heading home.
I hated good-byes. I was going to miss all the excitement around here … and I was going to miss the human world.
There. I said it.
While living here, I felt part of something special. I mean, monsters are great, and I would never give up being one at heart, but it was also nice to have friends that understood what it was like to be a human teenage girl, too.
As for Three Petes, Griff told me that he met up with them a few days later at Cherryridge Cemetery, and they handed Griff a garbage bag full of John Wart’s squirming body parts, which he tossed through the portal for URNS to deal with. It would take doctors about ten miles of thread to put ol’ John Wart back together again. URNS decided Three Petes did such a good job, they hired them to be portal patrol at the cemetery, in case The Source should appear there again.
In a few days, I’d be going home through the same portal, so I would see Three Petes before I left and get all the juicy details about how they diced up John Wart.
Carly Beth and I visited The Source newspaper office yesterday. It still looked normal, that is, we didn’t see an underground tunnel leading to the insect-infested lair, which was a good sign.
We even found out about the mysterious Nancy Burnblum, who had finally returned to work. Turned out she was just an ordinary food critic and had been on vacation with her family. She must’ve dropped a business card by accident at Ghoulicious Pizza. Go figure.
Oh yeah, and the pizza place, I almost forgot. My dad gave it to Carly Beth’s mom. Mrs. Reynolds couldn’t stop thanking us. I didn’t know why. It sure seemed like a lot of work to me, but whatever. I still didn’t understand all these human emotions.
Carly Beth, Lucy, and Steve had surprised me with a going-away party at Ghoulicious, which was a lot of fun. It was the Halloween party I never got to have.
Steve hugged me so much at the party that my ribs still ached, while Lucy kept saying how she was gonna miss all the excitement around here once I left, and every time she said it she would turn away from me all misty-eyed.
I was gonna miss Steve and Lucy a whole bunch, too.
Carly Beth insisted on coming over to help me finish packing. She said it was the least she could do for giving her mom the pizza place. I agreed, and when moving day arrived, we spent the morning gathering up my stuff, which wasn’t much.
She was taping up a box of things I had gathered in the human world—mostly presents I’d received at my going-away party: a portable music player-thing that Lucy and Carly Beth had pitched in to buy me, all loaded up with Carly Beth’s favorites; a pizza cutter that Steve had given me (though I suspected he took it from Ghoulicious); and some horror books that Mrs. Reynolds thought I would enjoy�
�when she started sniffling.
I glanced up from my own packing to see tears running down her face.
“What’s the matter?” Like I had to ask. We weren’t going to see each other ever again, and it made me feel miserable, too.
“Maybe … you’ll be able … to … come back … and visit,” Carly Beth managed between sniffs.
“Maybe.”
When my mom and dad walked in, Carly Beth and I let out the waterworks. Tears always seem to come easier when parents are around.
“I’m gonna miss you so much,” I said.
My parents looked at each other and shrugged.
“I guess it’s a human thing,” Dad said.
As I wiped away the last of my tears, one of the boxes started to shake. I pulled the strip of tape off the box and out flew The Book of Shrieks, the pages flipping as if by a gust of wind. The book stopped halfway through and words started appearing the same way they did the last time, you know, like they were rising up from the water.
And when they settled …
Eve Hallows:
We have chosen you to be the guardian of our most cherished secrets.
If you accept this request, turn the page.
The words sunk back into whatever abyss they’d come from.
I glanced at Carly Beth and then to my parents, who’d been standing over my shoulder.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do this. This isn’t your responsibility. We’ll find another way,” Dad said, placing his hand on my shoulder.
I shook my head, remembering what Warren had said, that the book would only work for me.
“But, Dad, the book chose me, maybe because I’m the only human that lives with monsters.” I, of course, had no idea if this was true or not, but it sounded good. “Besides, I want to do this.”
And before my parents could protest, I turned the page.
Spread across both pages was a map. At the edge of the right-hand side, I noticed an “X” marking the location of the next book I needed to find—The Book of Shadows.
The book was located on an island full of gigantic skyscrapers, a place labeled Manhattan.
“That’s like two hours from here,” Carly Beth said. She rushed over to the box she’d taped shut and ripped it back open.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Looks like you’re not moving after all.”
Mom and dad shared concerned expressions. They were obviously having a hard time deciding if they should let me get involved in such a dangerous mission.
“I won’t be doing this alone,” I said. “I have the book to protect me. And you guys. And my friends.”
“The book did choose her,” Dad said to Mom. “And she’s right, without Eve we’ll never get all the books before The Source does.” Seeing that Mom wasn’t convinced, Dad added, “And once I tell URNS of this latest development, I’m sure they’ll send plenty of help, too.”
Mom’s snakes hissed and snapped as she mulled this over.
“Fine. But you tell them that’s my little girl. If anything happens to her …”
“We know, mom, you don’t have to get all gorgon on us.”
Monday morning I was back at school, tired and feeling very anti-Monday.
But not even Monday could stop me from smiling all day long. Because I still had my family and friends, I still had my adventures, and I still had a lot to learn about this new world, a place that was beginning to feel horribly like home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Gray is a writer. If that job description doesn't impress you, how about fantasy writer? Too general? Well, he doesn't get insulted if you call him a horror writer. If horror's not your thing, then scratch out horror and replace it with suspense. And for the kiddies, you can slap on a YA or MG in front of that title.
Gray lives in Bushkill, Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.
You can communicate with him online at these fine locations:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/robertgrayfiction
Twitter: http://twitter.com/rgrayfiction
Blog: http://evehallows.blogspot.com/
Email: [email protected]
Table of Contents
THE ADORABLE NEWS
GOODBYE, GRAVESVILLE
THE DEAD LADY
THE TRIANGLE
INTO THE NEW WORLD
FRUIT, CLOWNS, PIZZA, AND OTHER TERRORS
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS WITH THE HUMAN KIND
FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
EVERYONE GETS SICK OVER ME
MONSTER STROMBOLI
SOMETHING FOUND AND SOMETHING LOST
FIGHT IN THE CAFETERIA
TIME KILLERS
THE WRATH OF MCDOUGAL
FIRE!
INSIDE MY STUDENT FOLDER
I VISIT THE SOURCE … SORT OF
CARLY BETH’S SECRET
A TRIP TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE
REUNIONS AND WRESTLING
GHOULICIOUS GETS A NEW MANAGER
VOLUNTEERS WANTED
CHERRYRIGE SEMATERY
OLD FRIENDS … AND FIENDS
WE OPEN A PORTAL
THE SOURCE SENDS ME A MESSAGE
OLD SCHOOL NEW STUDENT
DANCE MACABRE
THE AUDIENCE GETS A REAL SHOW
WAR …?
AN ULTIMATUM
THE SOURCE’S LAIR
IT’S NOT OVER UNTIL THE WERE-PIG HOWLS
THE BOOK’S INVITATION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR