Full Moon Halloween

by R. L. Stine

  Tristan stared hard at the creature. It reminded him of a Koosh Ball, round and covered with long, prickly fur. Its face was completely hidden behind its quills.

  Holding it carefully in front of him, Mr. Moon carried it over to Tristan and his friends. “Cute little guy, huh?” The teacher smiled, his eyes flashing with excitement.

  “It’s called a plog,” he explained. “It comes from the island of Borneo, many thousands of miles from here.”

  Bella eyed it suspiciously. “What are we going to do with it?” she asked in a tiny, frightened voice.

  Mr. Moon’s smile grew wider. “Plogs are very gentle, very sweet-natured,” he replied. He stroked the creature’s quills with one finger. “See how much he likes to be petted?”

  He lifted the plog close to Bella’s face. She jumped back with a short cry.

  “The plogs have only one natural enemy,” Mr. Moon continued. “The werewolf. They are quiet and tame most of the time. But if a werewolf is near, they attack. And so the people of Borneo use these little guys as werewolf hunters.”

  “Enough talk,” Angela said, crossing the room. “Let’s pass the plog around. Let’s see who our werewolf is.”

  “Pass it around?” Tristan asked, taking a step back.

  “It will attack only if you are a werewolf,” Mr. Moon replied, staring hard at Tristan. “So you have nothing to fear—right?”

  “None of us has anything to fear!” Tristan cried. “We’re not werewolves.”

  He lowered his gaze to the round, quilled animal between the teacher’s hands: “You really think we’ll believe that this little thing is a werewolf hunter? It’s just a porcupine or a hedgehog or something.”

  “Then you won’t be afraid to take him,” Mr. Moon said, his smile fading. He shoved the plog into Tristan’s hand. “Go ahead. Hold him.”

  Tristan had no choice. He took the plog into his hands. It felt warm and prickly. The quills were hard. The points scratched his hands.

  He could feel the plog’s rapid heartbeat. Through the thick carpet of quills he could see tiny, round black eyes staring out at him.

  “The plog isn’t interested in you,” Mr. Moon said, frowning as if disappointed. “Pass it to Ray.”

  Tristan hesitated. “Do you want it?”

  Ray held out his hands. “Sure. No problem. Hand it over.”

  Ray held the plog for a full minute. “It’s kind of tickly,” he said. “It makes my hands itch.”

  “Pass it to Bella,” Mr. Moon instructed.

  Bella let out a sharp gasp. “No way,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Pass it to Bella,” the teacher repeated softly.

  Ray held the plog up to her. Bella stepped back and raised both hands in the air.

  “No. I won’t take it! I won’t! You can’t make me. I won’t take it!”

  16

  Mr. Moon took the plog from Ray. Holding it in front of him, he stepped up close to Bella. “And why won’t you take it?” he asked softly.

  Bella had her arms crossed in front of her. “Because it’s dumb,” she answered. “This whole thing is dumb. I want to go home.”

  “But now we all think you are the werewolf,” Mr. Moon said. “Now we all think it is you, Bella. Don’t we?”

  “No way,” Ray replied.

  “We all agree with Bella,” Rosa said. “This is dumb.”

  Mr. Moon turned and stared at Rosa as if seeing her for the first time. “Almost forgot about you,” he said. “Here. You take it.”

  He pushed the plog into Rosa’s hands before she could back away. She cupped the creature in her hands and held it up in front of her face.

  “Are you satisfied now?” she asked Mr. Moon angrily. “I’m holding it—okay? See? It’s not doing anything. It—ouch!”

  Rosa let out a cry of pain as the creature sank its teeth into the palm of her hand.

  “It bit me!” she screeched.

  The plog dropped from her hands.

  Mr. Moon dove for it. But it shot out of the room and vanished into the hall leading to the kitchen.

  “Now they’ve all run away,” Angela said, shaking her head.

  “We’ll round them up later,” Mr. Moon said. Rosa was smoothing a finger over her injured palm. Mr. Moon grabbed her by the arm. “It seems we may have caught our werewolf,” he said.

  “You’re both insane! Totally insane!” Rosa screamed.

  “If we’re insane, why did the plog bite only you?” the teacher demanded.

  “I don’t know. Let go of me!” Rosa jerked her arm free.

  “Calm down, everyone,” Angela said. “Do you need a bandage for that hand, Rosa?”

  “She doesn’t need a bandage,” Mr. Moon said.

  “In a short while she’ll be growing wolf fur over the cut.”

  “I think it’s snack time,” Angela said, her eyes on Rosa’s hand. “Anybody hungry?”

  No one answered.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “Everybody likes special treats on Halloween.”

  “Come into the dining room,” Mr. Moon said. “We’ve prepared some very tasty treats for you.”

  Tristan and Rosa hung back as the others trooped to the dining room.

  “Is your hand okay?” Tristan whispered.

  Rosa nodded. “Just two little puncture holes. That stupid plog has sharp teeth.”

  “There has to be a way out of this house,” Tristan said.

  “I don’t want to stay here another minute,” Rosa replied.

  “We’ve got to try upstairs,” Tristan whispered. “Or maybe the basement.”

  “But—how?” Rosa whispered back.

  “Hurry, you two,” Mr. Moon called to them. “Stay with the group. Don’t try anything funny, Tristan. Don’t try to help the werewolf escape.”

  The long table had been set with an orange-and-black tablecloth. A silver platter was placed in the center of the table.

  What is that piled on the platter? Tristan wondered. He squinted at it, trying to make out what it held.

  “Oh, gross,” he groaned when he realized what it was.

  He stared at the stack of red and purple raw meat.

  “A nice assortment of animal guts,” Angela said, grinning her sick grin. “I’m sure you remember them from our little guessing game before?”

  “We don’t want good meat to go to waste,” Mr. Moon added. “Come on, kids. Fill up your plates.”

  He grabbed a disgusting, shiny pink intestine off the platter and shoved it into Rosa’s face. “Go ahead. You know you love it. Start eating.”

  17

  “You—you really want us to eat that stuff?” Tristan gasped.

  Angela handed him a china dinner plate piled high with raw meat.

  Rosa turned away from Mr. Moon. “Raw animal organs? No. Please…” She held her stomach.

  Angela plopped a slimy purple blob of meat on Tristan’s plate. “Go ahead. Eat up.”

  “No way!” Tristan cried.

  Beside him, Ray stared at the yellow intestine section on his plate. With an angry growl he picked it up and heaved it across the dining room.

  It made a wet splat on the wallpaper and bounced to the wooden floor.

  Mr. Moon stepped in front of Ray. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to play with your food?” he asked.

  The teacher lifted a shiny purple organ off the tray—and shoved it into Ray’s mouth. “Eat. Go ahead. You know you want it. You know you love it.”

  Ray made a loud gulping sound as the raw wet meat slid down his throat. Then he bent to the floor and started to retch.

  Mr. Moon turned to Tristan. “Do I have to feed you, too?” he barked.

  Tristan saw that he had no choice.

  He picked up the wet raw meat in one hand. It’s so cold, he thought. Maybe I can choke it down without tasting it.

  He raised it to his mouth. He took a deep breath and held it.

  He pushed it into his mouth.

  Ohhh!. It’s too big t
o swallow whole, he realized.

  He bit into it. It was soft and squishy, like raw liver.

  He tried to chew it.

  But his stomach heaved. He gagged. Then he bent over and spewed it out.

  “You’re pretending,” Mr. Moon said, standing over him. “You love the taste of raw animal guts, don’t you, Tristan?”

  Tristan tasted the sour meat on his tongue. He gagged again.

  “Why don’t you admit it, Tristan?” Mr. Moon continued excitedly. “Why don’t you admit that you are the werewolf and allow your friends to go home?”

  Still bent over, Tristan struggled to catch his breath. Why is he picking on me? he wondered.

  What can I do?

  How can I prove to him that I’m not the werewolf?

  18

  When he straightened up, Tristan saw Bella choking down a long yellow intestine. She had her eyes shut. She was chewing rapidly, swallowing, swallowing, swallowing.

  “She likes it!” Mr. Moon screamed happily. He clapped his hands. “See? She likes it!”

  “Maybe Bella is our werewolf,” Angela said.

  Bella finished the intestine and hunched over, gasped for breath.

  Once again Tristan pictured her in the lunchroom at school, chewing the fried chicken bones.

  That doesn’t make Bella a werewolf, he thought. I know Bella isn’t a werewolf.

  Bella can’t be a werewolf.

  Bella was holding her stomach, still swallowing rapidly. Trying to get the awful taste from her mouth.

  “Ohhhhh!”

  With a sharp cry, she turned and vomited the yellow stuff onto the rug.

  “Perhaps everyone needs a drink,” Mr. Moon suggested. “As soon as Rosa has her snack, we will bring you all something delightful.”

  What will it be? Tristan wondered. Blood?

  Rosa had a red, heart-shaped blob on her plate. She tried to raise it to her mouth.

  But it slid out of her hand. It hit the floor and bounced under the table.

  “Gross,” Rosa muttered, her face twisted in disgust. “It’s so slimy and cold.”

  Angela handed her another red piece of raw meat. “Don’t waste food, dear,” she scolded. “Come on. Down the hatch. We’re all waiting.”

  “I—I can’t!” Rosa cried.

  “Eat it—NOW!” Mr. Moon bellowed.

  Closing her eyes, Rosa tried to nibble a tiny piece of it. But her stomach lurched, and she tossed it to the floor beside the other one.

  “They don’t like my cooking!” Angela joked.

  Mr. Moon had his eyes on Tristan. “One of them likes it,” he said. “One of them is pretending it makes him sick.”

  He stared a long while at Tristan. Then he turned and studied Rosa again.

  “I’ll get the drinks,” Angela said. She picked up the platter, still piled high with raw animal parts. Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

  “It’s getting late,” Mr. Moon said. “I know the werewolf wants to go out trick-or-treating. To find an innocent victim for his goodie bag.”

  He slammed his fist on the dining room table. “But not tonight!” he bellowed. “The werewolf will spend Halloween in a cage!”

  Tristan took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heartbeat. The toy guns at his waist suddenly felt heavy. He had completely forgotten he was in costume.

  He pulled off the holsters and tossed them against the wall. Then he tore the red bandanna off his neck.

  The others had taken apart their costumes, too.

  Angela returned carrying another tray. This one contained four silver goblets.

  “After that special treat, I’m sure you are all thirsty,” Mr. Moon said.

  Angela set the tray down on the table. Then she handed a goblet to each kid.

  Tristan peered at the dark, wine-colored liquid in the silver cup. He raised it to his nose and sniffed it.

  A slightly sweet aroma.

  “Don’t worry. It doesn’t taste bad,” Mr. Moon said. “In fact, I think you will like the taste.”

  “What is it?” Ray asked, staring into his cup. “It isn’t blood—is it?”

  Mr. Moon laughed. “Would you like that, Ray? Would you like a nice, warn cup of fresh blood right now? Is that what you crave?”

  Ray rolled his eyes. “I just asked,” he replied. “I mean…it looks like blood.”

  “The moon is getting high, Ray,” Mr. Moon said, motioning to the barred window. “Are you starting to feel yourself change? Are you starting to feel your wolf nature rise? Are you suddenly hungry for a nice drink of blood?”

  Ray shook his head and didn’t answer.

  Holding her silver goblet in front of her, Bella stepped up to Mr. Moon. “What are you going to do when the clock strikes midnight and no one turns into a werewolf?” she asked. “What are you going to do then?”

  Mr. Moon gazed at the pile of skins on the floor in the next room. He turned a cold smile on Bella. “I’ve never been wrong before,” he said softly.

  “Drink up, everyone,” Angela said cheerfully.

  “What you hold in your goblets is called wolf-bane,” Mr. Moon explained. “One of you has probably been warned about wolfbane. It’s an herb discovered by people in the forests of middle Europe.”

  “It’s used to keep werewolves away,” Angela added.

  “It’s one of the few things that works against them.”

  “Yes. Werewolves are allergic to wolfbane,” Mr. Moon said. “It poisons them. They cannot drink it.”

  Tristan gazed into the goblet. He tilted it slightly. The dark liquid was thick, like motor oil.

  “Angela and I mixed the wolfbane herb in the liquid ourselves. It’s a very strong mixture—instant death for a werewolf,” Mr. Moon said.

  He motioned for them to raise their glasses. “We’re all going to drink now,” he said.

  Once again his eyes moved down the line of kids and came to rest on Tristan.

  “Three of you will drink the wolfbane down easily. One of you won’t be able to drink it. And then we will know. We will know….”

  Tristan glanced at Ray. Ray made a disgusted face as he raised the goblet.

  Rosa had her eyes on Tristan. She tilted the cup toward him as if making a toast.

  “Drink up,” Mr. Moon ordered. “Now. Drink up, everyone. The cage is waiting. Let’s see who our werewolf is tonight.”

  Tristan lifted the rim of the cup to his lips—

  —and the doorbell rang.

  19

  Mr. Moon and his wife turned to the front hall. “Who could that be?” Angela asked.

  “Don’t anyone move,” Mr. Moon ordered.

  They both hurried to the door.

  Tristan set his cup on the table. “Come on—” he whispered. “This is our chance. Let’s get out of here!”

  “Now we can try the kitchen,” Ray said.

  No one said another word. They all set their goblets on the table and took off.

  Tristan found his way into the kitchen. He ran past the disgusting tray of animal parts on the counter.

  The kitchen had one narrow window looking onto the backyard. Tristan tugged back the curtains.

  “Oh no”

  The window was barred like all the others.

  Ray hurried to the kitchen door and struggled to open it. He twisted the brass knob one way, then the other. He tried pulling. Then he lowered his shoulder to the door and pushed hard.

  “It won’t budge,” he groaned.

  “The doors are bolted electronically,” Tristan said. “Like the bars on the windows.”

  “There has to be a way out!” Bella cried. “I—I can’t stand this anymore!”

  Rosa placed a hand on Bella’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get out,” she said.

  “But—how?” Ray cried, glancing around the big room frantically.

  “The basement!” Tristan cried. “Maybe there is a way out through the basement.”

  “If there are windows…” Ray mutt
ered.

  “But how do we get there?” Rosa asked, spinning around to search.

  Tristan spotted a narrow hallway leading off the kitchen. “One of these doors has got to lead downstairs.”

  They took off again.

  As they ran, Tristan could hear Mr. Moon and Angela at the front door.

  “What great costumes l”

  “Very scary!”

  “What are you supposed to be? A mummy?”

  They were oohing and ahing over trick-or-treaters passing out candy.

  We should have screamed for help, Tristan realized. Maybe the trick-or-treaters would have helped us.

  Maybe they have a parent along with them. We should have run to the front door and shouted.

  Too late.

  He heard the front door slam.

  Rosa pulled open a door at the end of the short hall. “Yes! Here it is!” she cried. “Basement stairs.”

  They didn’t hesitate. They made their way down the stairs. Tristan shut the hall door behind him as he followed the others down.

  The basement air felt cold and damp. Tristan heard the steady drip drip drip of water somewhere in the distance.

  A huge gray furnace as big as a small house rumbled in the center of the room. It was surrounded by mountains of junk.

  Piles of old newspapers and magazines. Stacks of old clothing. Beat-up furniture. Cardboard cartons piled to the ceiling.

  “Check it out. That window isn’t barred,” Rosa said, pointing.

  Tristan gazed at the small window. It was at the basement ceiling, at ground level.

  Was it big enough to climb through?

  He heard the ceiling creak overhead. He knew that Mr. Moon and Angela were searching for them upstairs.

  We have only a few seconds, he realized.

  Ray stood under the tiny window, gazing up at it. “It’s pretty small,” he said.

  “The rest of us are too big. But you can squeeze through,” Rosa told him.

  “I’ll give you a boost,” Tristan said.

  He cupped his hands and allowed Ray to place one shoe in them. Then he tried to hoist him up the stone wall toward the window.

  “Whoa.” Tristan cried out as Ray slid back to the floor. “You’re too heavy,” he groaned.