Monsterstreet #1

by J. H. Reynolds

  Jade relaxed. But just as a thin smile began to form upon her lips, a dog barked in the distance.

  It was coming from the forest.

  “Did you hear that?” Jade asked, tensing up once again.

  Max nodded.

  Jade immediately began walking toward the woods. Max followed.

  “Petunia!” she shouted. “Petunia! Here, girl!”

  Jade stopped at the barbed-wire fence and shined her flashlight along the ground. That’s when she and Max both saw . . .

  Paw prints. Leading into the forest.

  Jade glanced at Max, and he could tell what she was thinking.

  “Just for a few minutes, okay?” Jade pleaded. “We’ll stay in the shallow part of the forest, then come right back. Petunia couldn’t have gone far.”

  “I don’t know,” Max said. He was usually up for breaking rules, but in the daytime when it wasn’t pitch-dark. “Those don’t look like normal paw prints. Maybe we should come back tomorrow. When it’s light out. I mean, we don’t even have anything to protect ourselves with. What if—”

  “Please. I don’t want to go alone,” Jade admitted.

  Max could sense the desperation in her voice. But as he peered into the darkness, everything inside him told him not to enter.

  Gramps’s warning soon haunted his thoughts. No matter what you do while you’re here, don’t cross the barbed-wire fence into the eastern forest.

  Max debated whether to turn back.

  There could be anything in there, he thought. And then he remembered a single word Gramps had mentioned that afternoon . . . monsters.

  “I can’t go in there without you.” Jade’s voice broke his trance.

  Max studied the anguish in her eyes and took a deep breath. He looked up at his bedroom window in the distance, wishing he had grabbed his father’s dagger out of the nightstand drawer. But he couldn’t risk waking up his grandparents now, and there was no time to waste.

  Reluctantly, he zipped up his hoodie. And together, he and Jade walked into the forest.

  8

  Into the Woods

  “Petunia! Where are you, girl?” Jade cried out again and again.

  The beam of her flashlight sliced through the darkness as she and Max wandered through the misty woods.

  Max counted their steps, thinking that if they became lost, they could simply turn around and walk straight back to where they had started.

  One, two, three, four . . .

  With each step they took, he felt his pulse rise and his breath quicken. Something about the path felt strangely familiar.

  Deeper and deeper into the forest, they traveled.

  Over fallen logs.

  Across a rickety creek bridge.

  And through a tangle of brush.

  Until they arrived at a swamp.

  It was veiled with moss and dead reeds. The water looked black, like a giant pool of ink. The sounds of the night rattled in Max’s ears like a macabre symphony: frogs croaked from the banks, crickets chirped, and owls hooted.

  “What is this place?” Max asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Jade answered. “But it looks scary. I hope Petunia didn’t come this far.”

  Max was just about to recommend that they turn around when he saw something at his feet that made him shudder.

  A trail of blood.

  Speckled with bits of white fur.

  Leading to the other side of a nearby tree.

  “Oh!” Jade cried, turning away. It took her a moment before she could speak. “Is—is it Petunia?”

  Max crept forward and peered around the trunk of the tree. On the other side were the mauled remains of a small animal that had recently been eaten. Its fur was scattered around like pieces of cotton.

  “She should be wearing her silver dog tag. Do you see it?” Jade asked, now crying.

  Max had never seen anything so disgusting, but he didn’t want to let on how gory the scene actually was. He looked around for the dog tag but found nothing.

  “H-honestly, Jade . . . there’s not much left to see,” Max said.

  This only made Jade cry harder.

  But then Max saw something peculiar.

  Something pink.

  The victim’s long, furry ears.

  “It’s—it’s not a dog,” Max said, morbidly relieved. “It’s a rabbit.”

  Jade opened her eyes, hurried to the other side of the tree, and knelt down beside the slaughtered creature.

  “It’s not Petunia!” she declared, feeling both relieved and saddened by the sight of the dead rabbit. “But the blood is fresh, like something just attacked it.”

  It was then that Max looked out over the marsh and saw the fog dissipating. Beyond it, he noticed something he hadn’t seen before.

  “What is that?” he asked, rising to his feet.

  Jade went pale.

  An odd shape loomed before them on the other side of the swamp . . .

  . . . shadowy . . .

  . . . ominous . . .

  Like a monster.

  9

  House of the Beast

  Max’s eyes adjusted, and he saw that the threatening shape was not a monster at all, but a dilapidated old shack.

  The stone chimney was half missing, and patches of the roof were covered in vines. And the windows—those grimy, dark windows that might as well have been black mirrors into another dimension—looked straight out of “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”

  Suddenly, a light flicked on inside the shack!

  Max and Jade quickly hid behind a cluster of gnarled roots coiling out of the ground. Max could see the silhouette of someone—or something—moving inside. The stranger wore a wide-brimmed hat and looked larger than a normal person.

  “That must be the hermit of the eastern forest,” Jade said, pointing to the window where the man stood.

  “The who?”

  “My dad said he left Wolf County years ago. He was one of the hunters in the hunting party—the one who killed the beast. I’ve only heard stories about him, but—”

  Just then, Max thought he saw the hermit’s silhouette begin to twist and turn. The man’s movements grew more violent, and it looked like something was trying to claw its way out of him. Then the light went out, and the shack grew dark again.

  “We should get out of here,” Max urged.

  “But we have to find Petunia,” Jade reminded him.

  “We’re already too far into the forest,” Max said. “We can come back tomorrow during the day to look for her. But you and I need to get out of these woods. Now.”

  Jade looked at the shack again.

  “The paw prints lead right to it,” she said. “I have to at least look inside to see if she’s in there.”

  Max tried to discourage her, but Jade was already running toward it.

  He followed after her, trying to keep up. When they arrived at the side of the shack, they pressed their backs up against the outer wall beneath the window of the room where Max had seen the hermit contorting. Jade tried to peek inside one of the windows, but even up close it was too dark to see anything.

  “I don’t want to turn on my flashlight. It’s too bright. Can you hold up your lantern?” she asked.

  Max slowly lifted his light to the window, and the two of them stood on their tiptoes, trying to get a better look.

  But before their eyes had time to fully adjust, they both froze in fear.

  Something stared back at them from the other side of the window.

  Something big.

  And furry.

  With razor-sharp fangs and bloodthirsty eyes.

  “W-w-wolf!” they cried out at the same time.

  Max fell backward in fright, dropping the lantern.

  The glass shattered.

  The flame extinguished. All went dark.

  “Run!” Jade shouted. “The hermit’s a—a—”

  “Werewolf!” Max cried out.

  The two of them sprinted back into the forest, skeleton
-finger branches scratching their faces. Max thought he could feel the beast’s breath on the back of his neck and hear it trailing right behind him.

  “Faster!” he shouted to Jade.

  Back across the bridge.

  Over the fallen logs.

  Faster.

  Panting.

  Faster.

  But as Max climbed back through the barbed-wire fence, his red hoodie caught on its piranha teeth.

  “No, no, no,” he cried, trying to free himself.

  He glanced back into the woods and thought he could hear the ravenous sounds of the beast drawing nearer.

  And nearer.

  Was it all in his imagination?

  Jade turned back to help Max. She reached for the barbed wire and pushed him out of his hoodie. He tumbled to the ground.

  “You run toward your grandparents’ cabin, and I’ll run to my house,” she yelled. “Maybe we can throw off the scent.”

  “I have to get my father’s hoodie before—”

  “There’s no time!” Jade urged.

  “You don’t understand! Gramps said it will protect me,” Max challenged her, no longer thinking the hoodie a silly precaution.

  “A lot of good it’s doing you!” Jade called back.

  Max didn’t say anything.

  Jade looked at him for a moment, then finally commanded, “Just go! I’ll shine my flashlight from my window to let you know I’m safe!”

  Max tore through the ghostly field. Up ahead, he saw the shape of his grandparents’ cabin, and wondered if he would make it there alive.

  His heartbeat and breath quickened. He sensed that at any moment his legs could be ripped out from beneath him or fangs could tear into his shoulder. But before he knew it, he was back in his bedroom. Safe and sound.

  Immediately, he looked out the window toward Jade’s house. A thin beam of light waved back and forth through the darkness of her upstairs bedroom like a faint lightsaber.

  She’s okay! he thought. We’re safe now.

  But as he would soon find out, he would never be safe in Wolf County. And when he looked through the telescope to the barbed-wire fence, his red hoodie was no longer there.

  10

  Old Enough to Know

  “Mornin’, boy. Time for work,” Gramps said, shaking Max’s shoulder.

  Max slowly stirred in his bed.

  “Work?” he groaned.

  Gramps tossed a pair of overalls to him, and the straps slapped his face.

  “Meet me at the well in five minutes,” the old man said, then disappeared out the door before Max could say a word.

  Max sat up in bed, stretched his arms, and yawned. He looked around his room and noticed that the mud on the floor was gone.

  Who cleaned it up? he thought.

  When he peered out the window to the forest, it seemed to be smiling at him. He couldn’t help but wonder if his adventure with Jade the night before had all been a bad dream.

  Reluctantly, he put on his clothes and went to meet Gramps outside. The sky was tinged with pink and gold, and the pine needles and grass glistened with morning dew.

  “Over here!” Gramps called out.

  Max saw Gramps beside the well and slowly approached him. The old man handed a tin pail to Max.

  “Sleep all right?” Gramps asked, gripping a rusted lever and showing Max how to pump water into the pail.

  “Not really,” Max admitted, attempting the task.

  “Hmm. Well, I hope you’re hungry. Grammy’s cookin’ up a warm breakfast as we speak,” Gramps said.

  Max suddenly realized that he wasn’t hungry at all. In fact, he hadn’t been hungry since dinner the night before. He figured that the sight of the slaughtered hog, as well as the rabbit’s carcass, had made him lose his appetite.

  Max looked out to the forest, recalling the horrors of his nightmare. It had all seemed so real.

  “Gramps?” he began. “Does anyone live in those woods?”

  Gramps glared down at Max curiously, as if he was suspicious that the boy knew something he wasn’t supposed to know.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Max shifted his weight on his feet and tried to keep a straight face.

  “I mean—why did you and Grammy tell me not to go in there?”

  “It ain’t our property, that’s all,” Gramps said. “I always told your father the same thing, but he never listened.”

  Something about the old man’s words seemed hollow. Like an eggshell with no yolk inside.

  “My father went in there, didn’t he? And that’s why he died?” Max asked, determined to get a straight answer.

  Gramps accidentally dropped the pail of water. He glanced down at Max with startled eyes. After a brief moment, he took a deep breath and sighed.

  “I suppose you’re old enough to know now,” Gramps said. “But fair warning—there are going to be some things that are difficult for you to learn while you’re here.”

  “Like what?” Max asked.

  Gramps knelt beside Max and lowered his voice.

  “All right, then. You said that the girl next door told you about what happened around here twelve years ago?” he asked.

  Max nodded.

  The old man continued, “When the disappearances began, your father was more bothered by them than just about anyone—mainly because he was worried about you and your mom.”

  “Did he join the hunting party? The one that killed the beast?” Max asked.

  Gramps looked at him, surprised that he knew about such a thing.

  “The so-called beast wouldn’t have been killed without your father, that’s for sure. Not many people know this, but he saved quite a few lives by what he did.”

  “My father . . . was a hero?”

  Gramps nodded, then added, “But not without a cost.”

  “What cost?” Max asked.

  “His life,” Gramps whispered.

  Max felt his throat close up. His mind raced with questions. Finally learning the truth of his father’s death made his absence seem larger and more painful. But still, he wanted to know more.

  A thought soon crossed Max’s mind that he had never considered before.

  “Where—where is he buried?” he asked.

  Gramps looked away. Max could see that there was pain in his eyes. But there was something else there too—something Max couldn’t decipher.

  “He wasn’t buried,” Gramps said.

  Max squinted questioningly.

  Gramps continued, “What I mean is, we never found his body.”

  11

  Sharpshooter

  Max stared up at Gramps in shock and confusion. But the old man remained silent.

  Just then, Max saw an old rifle leaning up against the side of the well. The wood was weathered, and the silver barrel was tarnished.

  “It was your father’s rifle,” Gramps said, observing Max’s curiosity. “Though he spent most of his time with his books, he always found time to go hunting. Could shoot a flea off a dog’s back from a hundred yards away. He had a gift. Do you know how to shoot?”

  Max shook his head no.

  Gramps turned and picked up the rifle. He handled it like it was an extension of his own body.

  “You unlatch it here, put the bullet in, relatch, then cock it,” Gramps explained while demonstrating each maneuver.

  He handed the rifle to Max, then picked up a coffee can from the ground near the barn and set it up on the fence.

  “Press the butt against your shoulder here, line up the sight, and pull the trigger when you’re ready.”

  Max’s hand shook. His heart pounded in his chest.

  “Slow and steady,” Gramps said, watching Max’s every move.

  Carefully, Max aimed at the tin can.

  He held his breath. Gulped. And pulled the trigger.

  POW!

  The can didn’t move.

  Max blushed with embarrassment.

  “It’s okay. It was only your first try,” Gramps
encouraged him. “Tell you what. Maybe we’re too close.”

  Gramps walked a hundred yards down the field next to the barn and set the can on a fallen log. It was so far away it looked like nothing more than a tiny speck glinting in the sunlight.

  Maybe my dad could shoot a can from a hundred yards away, but not me, Max thought.

  When Gramps arrived back at Max’s side, the old man said, “Now, there ain’t a scope on this old thing, so you’ll have to really focus.”

  Determined to prove himself, Max lined up the sight at the end of the rifle just like Gramps had demonstrated. He could barely see the can.

  “Just let your eyes do the work,” Gramps whispered.

  In that moment, Max relaxed his eyes, and his vision sharpened. He saw the can lined up with the sight.

  He pulled the trigger.

  POW!

  The can popped off the log and rattled into the grass. Max could hardly believe it.

  “Hmm,” Gramps said, somewhat surprised. “Lucky shot, boy. You might be a natural, just like your father. You never know when you might need to protect yourself out here.”

  Max smiled, feeling proud. It was the first time anyone had ever told him he was like his father.

  Just then, the meal bell rang from the front porch of the cabin. Max turned to see Grammy standing there in a red-and-white checkered apron, her hands on her waist.

  “Max, would you mind gatherin’ some eggs from the coop for me? Breakfast is almost ready,” she called over to them.

  “Sure, Grammy!” he shouted back.

  “You go ahead. I’ll refill the water pail. Never keep a lady waiting,” Gramps said. “We’ll talk more about your father later.”

  Max left Gramps and headed toward the red barn.

  It was a ramshackle structure that looked like it might collapse at any moment. There were holes in the walls, its red paint was faded from sun exposure, and the wood-plank siding was rotted.

  Max pushed open the barn doors, and a whiff of manure stung his nostrils.

  As he approached the chicken coop in the back of the barn, a feather floated right in front of him, landing on the tip of his nose. He then saw a carnival of feathers dancing all around him.

  Strangely, there was no clucking.

  And when he looked closer . . .