Monsterstreet #1

by J. H. Reynolds

  But by a dozen beasts!

  20

  Once and for All

  The wolves stared back at him, baring their fangs and piercing him with their cold black eyes.

  Max’s heart raced. Blood pulsed through his veins like hot oil. He couldn’t breathe—it felt like someone was sitting on his chest, trying to crush him.

  He waited for the beasts to pounce, to rip apart his flesh and devour him. But their furry snouts remained still. Frozen. Lifeless.

  That’s when Max saw that the wolves were all stuffed. Hunting trophies. Decorations for the hermit’s shack.

  And they were just wolves—plain old four-legged wolves.

  Except for one.

  The giant man-wolf nearest to the window stood on only two legs, forever peering out into the dark forest. As if waiting for someone.

  And the creepiest thing about it was . . .

  It was wearing Max’s hoodie.

  That’s the werewolf I saw in the window two nights ago, Max surmised. I thought the hermit had transformed, but it was just this stuffed wolf. But why is it wearing my hoodie?

  He stepped closer to get a better look.

  Max felt a morbid satisfaction at seeing his father’s killer. But another thought soon crept into his mind . . .

  Maybe the hermit was bitten by this original beast twelve years ago just before he killed it, and the wolf blood is just now ripening in him.

  Just when Max thought he couldn’t become any more confused, he saw something that changed every clue, suspicion, and logical thought he had entertained about the hermit.

  He glanced down at the scrapbook in his hands and squinted to get a better look at the photograph. That’s when he recognized something he hadn’t seen before.

  The hermit’s eyes.

  They were as gray as a storm cloud.

  Just like . . .

  Jade’s father! Max thought, overcome with puzzlement. I almost didn’t recognize him with the beard!

  Max remembered what Jade had told him—that her father had always warned her never to go into the forest. But if the reason he forbade his daughter to go into the forest and scared her with tales of a hermit was so that she wouldn’t discover his secret obsession, then what was Gramps and Grammy’s reason for forbidding Max? Did they already know that the hermit was the beast, and that the beast was Mr. Howler?

  Right then, a terrible howl tore through the night. It rattled Max’s ears and electrified his brain. It was more excruciating than nails scratching across a chalkboard. Strangely, he felt drawn to it.

  He removed the hoodie from the stuffed man-wolf and quickly put it on. The feeling of it wrapped around him made him feel less afraid. He grabbed the rifle from the wall. It had scratch marks on the handle, and the barrel was rusted, as if it hadn’t been used in some time.

  Max then observed four tiny sluglike stones sitting on the corner of the dresser.

  “Silver bullets!” he said in astonishment.

  Without time to think, he swiped them into his hand. They felt cold as ice cubes against his sweaty palm. He inserted one of them into the chamber of the gun, just like Gramps had shown him the day before, and put the rest in his pocket.

  Then he gathered up his courage.

  Hurried to the door.

  And headed into the night.

  To end the beast once and for all.

  21

  Not Afraid Anymore

  Max rushed through the maze of trees, his thoughts focused on killing the beast and finding out the truth about his father.

  As he traveled through the croaking woods, the night wrapped around him like a blanket. Sucking him in. Devouring him with fear.

  He panted for breath as the full moon crawled up its invisible ladder into the sky, spilling its soft glow upon the forest below. All the while, the sounds of the night pounded in Max’s ears, as if the volume of the world had somehow been turned up. The crickets, the frogs, and the owls all felt like they were inside his head!

  Max aimed the barrel of the rifle ahead. He knew that if the beast were to jump out and attack him, he would only have one shot. And he wanted it to count.

  Suddenly, a bone-chilling howl sounded in the near distance, causing the hairs on Max’s arms to stand up.

  “AA-RRR-OOOOO!”

  A moment later, a second howl sounded in the distance.

  Was it an echo?

  Or . . .

  Another werewolf?

  What if Jade is a werewolf too? Max thought.

  He raced toward the howls, knowing the full moon was nearing its peak.

  Across the creek bridge.

  Over fallen logs.

  And then Max saw a beast leap high over the barbed-wire fence and into the field. The werewolf’s silhouette ran toward the pumpkin patch. Toward Jade’s house.

  Panting.

  Salivating.

  Hunting.

  Max tried to catch up, but it was no use. Mr. Howler was much faster. Though, somehow, Max was now running more rapidly than he ever had in his life.

  Just when he thought the beast was about to arrive at the Howlers’ house, it changed its course.

  “No!” Max cried out, watching the werewolf move in the direction of his grandparents’ cabin. “I have to warn them!”

  Max gripped the rifle tighter in his hands.

  He imagined Gramps sitting in the den while Grammy rested in bed. They would never see the beast coming!

  Max was still halfway across the field when he saw the werewolf slow down.

  Was he injured? Afraid? Preparing to attack?

  Max watched as the beast stepped out of the moonlight and onto the shadowy porch of the cabin.

  I have to get closer! This may be my only chance to take a clear shot! Max told himself.

  But then something unexpected happened.

  As the werewolf crossed the porch . . .

  Its fur began to disappear.

  Its ears changed shape.

  And its snout transformed into a nose.

  That’s when Max realized . . . the beast wasn’t Mr. Howler.

  22

  The Patch

  “It can’t be!” Max whispered, stopping dead in his tracks.

  The air vanished from his lungs.

  His knees wobbled.

  His blood turned cold.

  It was Gramps standing there on the porch, wiping his boots on the doormat and reaching for the door.

  Gramps is a werewolf! Max realized in terrified disbelief.

  The old man glanced over his shoulder and looked right where Max was standing. Max crouched down in the grass, hoping Gramps hadn’t seen him.

  After a moment, the old man disappeared inside the house.

  Max remained hidden, completely in shock and unsure what to do next.

  He looked down at the rifle. He knew that as long as the silver bullet was in the chamber, he could protect himself.

  I can’t shoot my own grandfather—even if he is a werewolf, he decided. He wouldn’t try to hurt me, would he?

  Max considered running as fast as he could to the nearest town to find help, but something in him wanted to stay. Even if it meant risking his life.

  He wanted answers. All of them.

  Cautiously, he stood and approached the cabin.

  A slight breeze swept over him, making him feel as if he had just passed through a ghost.

  He could now see Gramps through the side window of the house, walking from room to room. The old man seemed in a hurry.

  Maybe he’s coming after me, Max thought, then considered something that didn’t make any sense. But if Gramps was the werewolf I stabbed last night, then why isn’t his eye wounded?

  Just as Max remembered the second howl he had heard in the forest, footsteps rustled behind him. Sly, methodical footsteps—like a predator sneaking up on its prey.

  He slowly turned . . .

  There, looming above him, was someone he never expected to see.

  “G
oing somewhere, dear?” Grammy asked with a mysterious smile stretched across her face.

  Max stumbled backward and fumbled the rifle in his hands. He was so terrified that he dropped it.

  “I was—I was just—” Max tried to come up with an explanation, but he somehow sensed that Grammy would know he was lying.

  Max then noticed something that made his skin crawl.

  A black patch.

  Over Grammy’s left eye.

  “You—you were the one I stabbed in the woods last night?” Max said, realizing that Grammy’s need for bed rest wasn’t because of a migraine.

  Grammy nodded and patted the silver dagger tucked into the belt around her apron.

  “Don’t worry, dear. My eye will heal back to normal in no time. Werewolves don’t stay wounded for long.” She paused. “And I see you recovered your father’s red hoodie. Ah well, it’s no use now—the third night of the full moon is here.”

  Max’s head spun with questions. Everything in him told him to run, but he was paralyzed with fear.

  “You and Gramps are—are both werewolves?” he asked. “H-have you always been this way?”

  Grammy stepped forward.

  “There will be plenty of time for explanations,” she said. “We’re just glad you decided to come back to the cabin before the full moon reaches its peak.”

  “W-why?” Max asked, petrified that they might eat him.

  Grammy leaned down and peered at him with her one good eye.

  “Because you’re just in time for your big surprise,” she whispered.

  23

  The Boy Who Cried Werewolf

  They’ve been planning to eat me the whole time! Max thought.

  Just then, Gramps walked out of the cabin. He looked at Max, relieved, but said nothing.

  The old man made his way over to Grammy, and the two of them peered up at the sky together. The full moon had just reached its peak, and moonlight spilled over the forest like a beam from a flying saucer.

  It slowly crept across the earth and into the nearby field.

  Chasing after Max.

  Closer.

  And closer.

  As soon as the moonlight touched Max, a sensation like fire burned through him.

  He fell to his knees. And crumpled over.

  “What’s—happening?” he choked out in agony.

  Gramps and Grammy remained silent. Observant. And knowing.

  Max felt his blood searing through his veins like lava. His insides shifted, causing him to twist and turn. It felt like something inside him was trying to claw its way out. His vision became blurry, then sharp again, then sharper.

  He looked down in terror. Hair spurted out of his pores, covering his arms and hands.

  His teeth sharpened like razors.

  His entire face and body became unrecognizable with fur.

  He looked up and saw the blood-red moon hanging above him.

  Then a monstrous howl rose from his chest and filled the night, invading every pocket of the forest.

  “A-RRR-OOOOO!”

  I’m a werewolf! he thought in terror.

  A cacophony of sounds invaded his ears. He could hear the heartbeats of a thousand creatures hidden in the darkness!

  His vision sharpened further until he could actually see all of them—owls, rabbits, mice, squirrels.

  I have night vision!

  He then discovered that his nose had turned into a grotesque snout that could smell everything from the leaves of the forest to Grammy’s ambrosia-scented perfume. It was like having superpowers.

  And the hunger! Oh, that ferocious pang of hunger! It ruled him. All those creatures he could hear, see, and smell, he now wanted to taste.

  And then . . .

  He tried to say something.

  But no words escaped his lips.

  All he could hear were his own grunts and . . .

  Barking?

  Max felt trapped inside his new form, like an astronaut sealed inside a space suit.

  He looked up at Gramps and Grammy for answers.

  “Werewolves can’t speak when in wolf form,” Gramps explained, still his human self. “But we can communicate through our thoughts. It’s a wolf telepathy we inherited when one of our ancestors was bitten by a wolf in the eastern forest over a hundred years ago.”

  Am I dreaming? Is this a nightmare? Max wondered.

  “You’re not dreaming,” Gramps assured him, reading Max’s mind. “You were born this way. Just like us. Just like your father.”

  Max thought of the stuffed werewolf standing next to the window in the hermit’s shack. A grim epiphany struck him like a lightning bolt . . .

  Was my father the original beast all the townspeople were afraid of?!

  Grammy sighed.

  “What you’ve heard are mostly schoolyard tales,” she said, studying his thoughts. “It’s our code not to harm humans. The wolves of the eastern forest did kill a few sheep and hogs to feed their families, but only because much of their hunting grounds had been plundered by hunters. The real reason the population of Wolf County dwindled is because people started moving away to the cities—where everything is more convenient. Farmers are a dying breed nowadays.”

  But why has this all been kept a secret from me? he wondered, overwhelmed by the wildness within.

  “Because you weren’t ready for the truth,” Grammy said. “We—and your mother—wanted you to have as normal a life as possible up until your first transformation. Once she informed us that you’d been showing the Signs—hearing things that no human should hear, smelling scents from a mile away, and catching falling items before they hit the ground—we sent your dad’s red hoodie with the silver zipper to help suppress the beast within you until you could get here. And we put the dagger beside your bed for the same reason. We couldn’t be sure that you were fully one of us until tonight—the third night of the full moon after your twelfth birthday.”

  I don’t understand. What about everything I’ve seen? Max wondered. The chickens? The muddy prints in my room? And the dog next door?

  “You had your first spell a couple nights ago,” Grammy explained. “Eating chickens and rabbits. Attacking the dog next door. The muddy prints in your bedroom were your own from when you went sleep-hunting in the woods. That’s why we locked you up in your room last night so that your scent couldn’t be tracked.”

  Tracked? By who?

  “By the monsters,” she explained.

  “That’s what we call the hunters,” Gramps added, then stepped forward. “This may be hard for you to hear, Max, but I think it’s time we finally tell you what really happened to your dad.”

  24

  The Truth

  “As soon as you were born, your father began thinking about what kind of life you were going to have,” Gramps said. “He didn’t want you to have to go through the same things he did—always being hunted and always having to hide who you truly are. So he moved you and your mom out here to the farm, set up a small lab in the basement, and began searching for a cure.”

  A cure? Max thought, finding it hard to concentrate because of his new growling hunger.

  The old man nodded. “He knew that silver repelled wolf blood, so he began a series of experiments based on that hypothesis. At first, he tinkered with simple inventions like making a silver zipper for his favorite hoodie and crafting a silver dagger that would restrain the beast within. But those were merely temporary suppressors—your dad soon found a way to be rid of the wolf once and for all.”

  Gramps reached into his overalls pocket and pulled out a small vial. A bright silver liquid glowed within it.

  Is that . . . Liquid Silver? Max telepathized.

  “Found the blueprints in the cellar, did you?” Grammy interjected. “When you drink this, the silver absorbs into your bloodstream and dissolves the wolf blood in your veins. He offered it to your gramps and me, but wolf blood is all we’ve known our entire lives and we’re settled in our ways. Your father
wanted you to have a choice.”

  But how—how did he die?

  Gramps sighed and peered deep into Max’s yellow eyes.

  “One stormy October night—Halloween, in fact—your father went into the forest to gather the last samples for his experiment. He needed pure wolf blood to run his tests, and the wolves in the eastern forest had been helping him. But that same night, the hunters swarmed the forest to finish off the wolves. Your father died trying to protect them—they were his family too, you know. He was able to help lead quite a few of them to safety before the hunters shot him.”

  Max’s head spun with questions.

  Was Mr. Howler the one who shot my father?

  “No one knows what gun killed your father,” Grammy said. “But when Mr. Howler heard your howls two nights ago, he tracked your paw prints into the forest with the intention of killing you. We knew he was on your trail—and we couldn’t let him figure out that you were the beast—so we had to capture him and the girl last night while they were eating dinner. We couldn’t risk him tracking your scent during the full moon or you attacking them during one of your spells.”

  So Jade knows everything too?

  “She does now,” Grammy continued. “We locked them both up in the cellar until the full moon passed—just to be safe. Their dog too. Don’t worry, though—you can talk to Jade tomorrow morning after the sun comes up. She’s still a bit in shock from the news that we’re all werewolves. The good news is that she’s doing everything she can to convince her father to make peace with our kind—Grammy and I both agree that she can be trusted.”

  Max thought of Jade, wondering what she was thinking at that very moment. He was thankful that she was trying to protect them, but he wondered whether she would still be his friend after the full moon had passed.

  You don’t think Mr. Howler will still come after us once you release him?

  “Just to be safe, we’ll give him a healthy dose of your father’s amnesia powder,” Grammy said, holding up a clear plastic container filled with what looked like purple baking flour.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to use it on him,” Gramps added with a wink. “But more important is this . . .”