by R. L. Stine
He turned to his friends. They stared down at the monster costume. They were all breathing hard, their faces twisted in fear.
It fooled them, too, Tristan realized.
Mr. Moon has us all terrified.
“I’ll bet he has the whole house rigged with surprises like that,” Ray said.
“He wants to scare us to death,” Bella added. “But why? Why is he doing this to us? He can’t really think one of us is a werewolf—can he?”
“Bad news,” Rosa said in a trembling voice. She poked her head into the next room. “There’s no back door in here.”
Tristan stepped up beside her and peered into the room. It was a small den. He saw a couch, two armchairs, a TV against the far wall.
Through the bars on the den window he could see the full moon. It had floated higher over the trees.
Midnight is drawing closer, he thought.
What’s going to happen then?
“Where are you kids?” Mr. Moon was calling from the front of the house. “Come back to the living room. Don’t waste your time trying to escape.”
“He—he’s coming after us,” Bella whispered. Her eyes darted around, making a full circle, looking for a place to run.
Or hide.
“Don’t make me angry, people!” Mr. Moon called. “This is supposed to be a party—remember?”
“Please don’t make him angry,” Angela shouted from the front of the house. “Do as he says, kids. You don’t know what he’s like when he’s angry!”
“What should we do?” Rosa whispered, glancing nervously down the hall.
Tristan spotted a black telephone on a table beside the couch.
“Maybe we can’t escape,” he said breathlessly. “But we can call for help.”
He darted into the den and grabbed the phone.
He clicked it on. His hand trembled as he pressed the 911 emergency number.
Hurry! Hurry! he thought. Someone answer!
He heard Mr. Moon’s heavy footsteps coming closer.
“Hello? May I help you?”
Yes! A woman’s voice came on the line.
Tristan shouted desperately into the phone. “Please, help! This is an emergency! We’re being held prisoner!”
“Prisoner?” the woman replied. “Can you give me an address?”
“Yes.” He struggled to remember it. Suddenly his mind was a blank.
Finally it came back to him. Pressing the phone hard against his ear, Tristan told the operator the Moons’ address.
“And you say you are being held prisoner in that house?” the woman asked.
“Yes. Four of us! He won’t let us out of here.” Tristan cried. “Hurry! Please! You’ve got to rescue us!”
“I’m sorry. I’d like to help you, but I can’t,” the woman said. “One of you is a werewolf.”
13
Now Tristan recognized the woman’s voice. Angela Moon.
Angrily, he tossed the phone to the floor.
“Are the police coming to rescue us?” Rosa asked.
Tristan shook his head. “No. It was another trick.”
“Upstairs!” Ray cried. “Maybe there are windows we can open upstairs. We can lower ourselves out a window.”
“Or maybe shout for help,” Bella said.
Too late.
Mr. Moon burst into the hallway and came lumbering up to them.
Tristan saw that he was sweating hard. His white vampire makeup had run onto the collar of his black jacket.
Mr. Moon spread the cape to block them from running past him. He glared at them angrily.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re staying until midnight. Don’t you want to see which one of you turns into a werewolf?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He ushered everyone back to the living room.
As he followed his friends, Tristan thought hard.
Why does Mr. Moon suspect that one of us is a werewolf? he asked himself.
Did he hear Ray and me howling like wolves in the hall at school? Did that make him think we were werewolves?
Or did he see Bella eating fried chicken in the lunchroom—and chewing all the chicken bones? Does he think that makes Bella a werewolf?
Or is he just plain nuts?
Tristan didn’t have long to think. Mr. Moon led them across the living room toward the fireplace. “Here is what we need for our next scary game,” he said.
He pointed to a tall pile of dark fur objects in front of the fire.
At first Tristan thought he was staring at a stack of carpets. But as he moved closer, he realized it was a pile of animal skins.
“Do these look familiar to one of you?” Mr. Moon asked, eyeing them intently. “How about it? Has one of you seen skins like this before?”
No one replied.
Angela Moon looked on from the front doorway. She had removed her angel wings. But the gold halo still bobbed above her blond hair.
“These are werewolf skins,” Mr. Moon announced.
Staring at the dark-furred skins, Rosa trembled and let out a soft cry.
“Gross,” Bella muttered.
“These are the skins from werewolves Angela and I have captured in the past,” Mr. Moon continued. His thick eyebrows moved up and down on his head like dark caterpillars. The firelight made his white vampire face glow orange and yellow.
“We keep the skins of all the werewolves we capture,” Angela said from behind them. “Once we have their skin, they cannot go prowling any longer.”
“We make sure the werewolf is powerless,” Mr. Moon added. “Go ahead. Count the skins. Angela and I have been very successful.”
Bella leaned close to Tristan. “They’re not kidding,” she whispered. “Those skins look like real wolf fur.”
A shiver ran down Tristan’s back. “We’re going to play a game with these skins?” he asked.
Mr. Moon nodded. “A very simple game.” A cold smile spread over his face.
“What do we have to do?” Rosa asked in a tiny voice.
“Put on the werewolf skins,” Mr. Moon replied.
“No way,” Ray muttered.
Bella had her hands pressed against the sides of her face. She stared at the pile of dark fur. “But…but they’re disgusting,” she whispered.
Tristan jumped as Mr. Moon screamed at the top of his lungs: “You heard me! Put on the skins—NOW!”
14
“Don’t lose your temper, dear,” Angela said from across the room. “You know it isn’t good for you.”
“I’m not kidding around here,” Mr. Moon snapped angrily. “I’m going to trap a werewolf tonight. If you kids don’t cooperate, you could all end up in the cage with it.”
Angela crossed the room and stepped up beside the animal skins. She put a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Don’t put them in the cage yet. Give them another chance. It’s supposed to be a party—right?”
Angela motioned for Tristan to take a werewolf skin.
He grabbed the one off the top with both hands. His fingers sank into the bristly fur.
The skin was a lot heavier than he imagined. The fur felt scratchy and tough, like thousands of little nails. Patches of gray skin showed through.
“Ohh.” Tristan groaned as a sharp odor greeted his nose. “It stinks!”
The skin smelled like rotting food.
Rosa held a ratty-looking skin up in front of her. “This is so sick,” she moaned.
“Put them on,” Mr. Moon ordered. “Hurry.”
Ray slid his skin over his shoulders. “Are you sure this is a wolf skin? It smells like a skunk,” he complained, holding his nose.
Bella had her eyes shut. She held her skin as far away from her as she could. “I’m going to be sick. Really. I’m…I’m going to lose my dinner.”
Her teeth clenched tightly, Rosa pulled her skin around her. “Oh, no. It’s crawling with bugs.” She began to twist and squirm.
Tristan still clutched his
skin in front of him. He took a deep breath and held it. Then he pulled the heavy fur around his shoulders.
The fur bristled the back of his neck. Tristan felt his back start to itch.
He couldn’t hold his breath any longer. He let it out in a long whoosh.
The odor of the skin rose around him. He gagged. Struggled to keep his stomach from lurching.
The skin weighed heavily on his back. Gripping the ends with his hands, he felt bugs crawl over him.
“How long do we have to wear these things?” he asked Mr. Moon.
“This is so sick,” Bella moaned. She slapped at her side. “The bugs are biting!”
“Pull the skins tighter,” the teacher ordered.
“Yes. Let us see what you look like,” Angela said, still smiling that frozen smile.
With a sigh, Tristan pulled the wolf skin tighter around him.
Beside him, Rosa was breathing hard, her whole body shaking. “I’ll never get this rotten smell off me,” she whispered.
Bella slapped at a bug. She had tears running down her cheeks. Mr. Moon stepped up and adjusted the skin over her back. “Tighter,” he said. “Come on, Bella. Pull it tighter.”
“It really itches,” Ray groaned. “Can we stop now?”
Mr. Moon studied each of them one at a time.
“What’s the point of this?” Tristan cried. “Why are we wearing these ratty skins?”
“I want to see who looks the most comfortable in a wolf skin,” the teacher replied. He brought his face close to Tristan. “You look pretty comfortable in yours. Maybe you’ve worn a wolf skin before? On nights of the full moon?”
“You’re crazy,” Tristan replied sharply.
Mr. Moon’s eyes bulged. His face reddened. “Don’t ever say that to me again!” he bellowed. “I know what I’m doing here.”
He pointed to the stack of skins. “Do you see all the werewolves I have captured?”
“Easy, dear,” Angela said. She raised a small silvery camera to her eye. “Stand still, everyone. I have to take your picture.”
She aimed at Ray first.
The white flash made Tristan blink. His arms and back itched from the heavy fur. He felt bugs crawling up into his hair.
“This boy over here looks pretty comfortable,” Angela said.
Tristan raised his eyes in time to be caught by another flash of light. It took him a while to realize that Angela was talking about him.
Still blinking, he saw Mr. Moon and his wife both studying him. Mr. Moon stepped forward and adjusted the skin over Tristan, pulling it higher on his shoulders.
“Mmmmmm, yes,” he said, rubbing his white chin. The makeup came off on his hand. “Yes, you look very comfortable in fur, Tristan.”
The teacher grabbed Tristan by the shoulders. His hands pressed down roughly on the bristly skin. He lowered his face and stared Tristan in the eye.
“Is there anything you would like to tell us?” he demanded. “Is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the group?”
Tristan tried to move away. But the teacher gripped him tightly.
The putrid smell of the animal skin swirled around Tristan. He suddenly felt sick, dizzy.
The heavy skin seemed to press down on him. His legs began to shake. Then his knees folded and he dropped to the carpet.
“Let’s hear you howl,” Mr. Moon said.
The teacher was breathing hard now, his face wide with excitement. Sweat poured down the white vampire makeup. His black eyebrows waggled up and down, as if he had lost control of them.
“Come on, Tristan. Let’s hear a real wolf howl,” he urged, clapping his hands.
Angela snapped another photo of Tristan. “Go ahead. You can do it. Just open your mouth and howl like a wolf.”
“You know you want to,” Mr. Moon said, eyes flashing excitedly beneath the dark, wriggling eyebrows. “You know you want to let out a real wolf howl. The way you do every full moon!”
“Tristan isn’t a werewolf,” Bella cried angrily. “Stop accusing him!”
“Leave Tristan alone!” Ray said. He pulled off the wolf skin and dropped it back on the pile of skins.
Mr. Moon spun around to face Ray. “Yes, maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe Tristan isn’t a were-wolf. Maybe you are!”
Angela flashed another photo of Ray. “Let’s hear you give it a try, Ray,” she said.
“Howl for us, Ray,” Mr. Moon ordered. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it. Just the way you howled in school the other day.”
“Huh?” Ray’s mouth dropped open.
“Did you think I didn’t hear you?” Mr. Moon asked. “I’ve heard you howl in school. You can’t keep it inside, can you! You can’t hide your animal feelings.”
“You—you’re crazy!” Ray declared. He crossed his tattooed arms in front of him. “We want to go home now,” he told Mr. Moon, staring hard at him. “We’re not going to play your games anymore.”
Mr. Moon leaned close to Ray. “We don’t want the werewolf to escape—do we? If I don’t capture it, it may harm innocent people tonight.”
“But we’re not werewolves!” Ray screamed.
“Prove it,” Mr. Moon replied. “Go ahead. Prove it. Let’s hear you howl.”
Ray let out a disgusted sigh. Then he opened his mouth and howled at the top of his lungs.
Mr. Moon nodded thoughtfully. “Very good.” He turned to Rosa. “Now you.”
Rosa shook her head. “This is crazy.”
“You’re going to be in major trouble when we get out of this house,” Tristan said to the teacher.
“I don’t think so,” Mr. Moon replied. “The police will thank me when I capture a werewolf.” He pointed to the pile of skins on the floor. “The police always thank me.”
“Come on, everyone,” Angela chimed in. “Let’s get into it. Let’s get in a party spirit.”
“They’re both sick,” Rosa muttered to Tristan.
“Everybody, howl,” Mr. Moon ordered. “At the count of three. Everyone!”
They had no choice. They tossed back their heads and howled like wolves.
The high wails rang out through the house. The windows rattled against the metal bars. Tristan covered his ears over the shrill sounds.
Maybe some neighbors will hear, he thought.
Maybe neighbors will hear our cries and wonder what is going on. Maybe they’ll call the police or come over to check it out.
“Very good! Very good!” Angela snapped a few more photos.
She turned to her husband. “What do you think?”
He rubbed his chin. “I think I know who the werewolf is,” he said.
15
“I still have my eye on Tristan,” Mr. Moon said. He narrowed his eyes at Tristan, studying him hard.
Tristan shuddered.
This can’t be happening, he thought.
He glanced out the window. The moon hung high in the black sky, bright and full.
It’s getting late, Tristan realized.
Mr. Moon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But Bella could also be the one,” he said.
Bella uttered a startled cry. “Huh? Me?”
“She howled as if she had done it before,” Mr. Moon told his wife.
“I agree,” Angela said.
Mr. Moon nodded, his eyes on Bella. “As I listened, I could picture her covered in wolf fur. Running on all fours. Howling at the moon. And then—pouncing. Pouncing on an innocent victim. Attacking…attacking.”
“No way!” Bella screamed.
Rosa put an arm around her trembling shoulders. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Don’t let him frighten you.”
Bella let out a sob. “This is a bad joke,” she cried. “It’s all a bad joke.”
“It isn’t a joke!” Mr. Moon screamed. “It’s serious. You wouldn’t call it a joke if you were a werewolf’s victim! You wouldn’t call it a joke if you were torn to pieces by a raging wolf creature!”
“Take it easy, dear,” Angela sa
id. “Take a deep breath. You know how you get.”
Mr. Moon glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Ten-fifteen,” he said. “Our werewolf will soon start to change. Once it is captured, the rest of you can all go home.”
“Let us go home now!” Ray cried. “This is a total waste of time.”
“You won’t get away with it,” Bella said in a trembling voice.
Once again Mr. Moon pointed to the pile of skins on the floor. “That’s what they said!” He started toward the door. “I think it’s time for the next test.”
He returned a few seconds later carrying a large wooden crate. The crate had FRAGILE stenciled all over it in big black letters. A yellow label on the side read: ISLAND OF BORNEO.
Mr. Moon dropped the carton to the floor with a heavy thud. He pulled a claw hammer from his back pocket and began to pry open the lid.
“I think you will find these little guys interesting,” he said, struggling with the lid. “They come all the way from the South Seas.”
Tristan heard soft squeaking sounds from inside the carton. What does he have in there? he wondered. Some kind of animal?
Mr. Moon gave a hard tug with the hammer. Wood cracked as the lid pulled back.
“Hey—no!” he screamed as four little brown creatures jumped out.
They were round. About the size of a softball. Their long, pointed quills brushed the carpet as they ran.
“Are they porcupines?” Tristan asked.
The Moons chased after them. Angela dove to the floor and made a wild grab.
But the creature darted out of her grasp and disappeared into the hall.
She stood up, holding a handful of brown quills. “They’re all getting away!” she screamed.
Mr. Moon spun in a circle, ready to capture them. But the four round creatures had scooted out of the room in different directions.
Tristan could hear their squeaks as they vanished down the back hallways.
Mr. Moon lumbered to the carton, leaned over it, and peered inside. “Ah-ha! One little guy didn’t get away,” he said.
The teacher reached into the carton. He lifted out the small round animal and held it tightly between his hands. “You wanted to stay and play, didn’t you!” Mr. Moon declared.
