The Curse of the Were-Hyena

by Bruce Hale

  Once we hit the sidewalk, we uncovered our flashlights and I caught Benny up on the news at my house.

  “Wow,” he said. “So you won’t see your mom and sister at all?”

  “Only on weekends,” I said. “They’ll stay in L.A. during the week.”

  Benny’s grin gleamed white in the moonlight. “Hey, you’ll be like an only child. Wish I could be one. Got any bright ideas about getting rid of my brother and sister?”

  “Ha ha,” I said. “This is serious. What if my mom decides she likes living there? What if she and my dad get…” I couldn’t say it.

  “Divorced?” said Benny.

  “Well…yeah.”

  He flapped a hand. “Never happen.”

  “It happened with Tyler Spork’s parents. His mom got a job in San Francisco and never came back.” My gut gave a nervous twist.

  “She never came back because Tyler’s a major doo-doo-head,” said Benny.

  I considered, and felt a little better. “Well, there is that.”

  What I didn’t confess to Benny was my envy. I mean, what guy gets jealous of his baby sister? But Veronica was on her way to stardom, and I was just a regular, boring kid. I felt a burning in my belly, hotter than jalapeño salsa. I needed to show my parents that I could be special, too.

  Did Benny feel the same way?

  We took the shortcut across the Little League diamonds. Washed silver by moonlight, they were as empty as blank sheets of paper. The metal thingy on the rope ting-ting-ed against the flagpole. A lonely sound.

  Neither of us had dared to try sneaking out our bikes, so we had a long walk ahead. Down a deserted Main Street, left on Duffett Avenue, and up Oswald Road we went, heading for the graveyard. The houses stood farther and farther apart as we hiked onward. Finally, we reached a stretch of road bordered only by wild land.

  Most of the way, Benny kept up a running commentary. But as we drew closer to our destination, even he fell silent.

  At the turnoff to the cemetery, we paused. Our eyes met. This was it.

  It felt like a hive of bees was having a fiesta in my chest. From the knees up, I jittered and twitched. But my feet stayed planted.

  Somewhere in the dark woods beside the road, a twig snapped. We both jumped. After a breathless minute when nothing else moved, we relaxed. A little.

  “So…” said Benny.

  “So…” I said.

  “Here we go.”

  “Yup. Here we go.”

  We stood there for another minute.

  “Just a quick in and out,” said Benny.

  “Yup, just plant the trap and go.”

  I took a deep breath, and then a step, followed by another. Benny matched me, stride for stride. As we scanned the darkness, our heads swiveled like a mambo dancer’s hips.

  The graveyard access road coiled onward, a strip of lighter gray in the charcoal gray of the woods. No streetlamps lit its length. Much like our plan, our flashlights seemed pitifully inadequate.

  The night held its breath. A strange bird called. Trees rustled like shrouds in the soft breeze. The smell of freshly turned earth rose around us, full and rich and dirt-y.

  When I splashed my flashlight beam across the grounds, it revealed tombstones tilting like lines of LEGOs sinking in a swamp. Nearest the road, one grave looked half-dug, with soil piled randomly around it, almost like the mess Zeppo made when he was trying to find an old bone.

  Benny spotted the heap. “What’s that?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Dunno. Maybe they didn’t finish yet?”

  He added his light to mine and approached the grave. Trailing behind him, I said, “Um, shouldn’t we stay on the road?”

  “It may be a clue,” said Benny.

  “You’ve been watching too much Scooby-Doo.”

  His flashlight picked out an odd bundle of cloth on the far side of the grave mound. It looked like the shape lay half in, half out of the hole.

  “What the…?” Benny said.

  At the exact same moment, we both froze. We recognized the shape for what it was: a fresh corpse, dragged from the ground, half stripped of its clothing, and partially eaten.

  ¡Dios mio! A wave of horror and nausea rushed through me. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

  “It’s a…dead body!” I wheezed.

  “And something’s been munching on it!” Benny gasped.

  When I gulped, I could taste spicy meat loaf in the back of my throat.

  Benny’s fists clenched, and he swayed, shoulders up around his ears. He was babbling something under his breath that sounded like “Don’t scream, don’t scream, don’t scream.”

  All of a sudden the potent cocktail of dread and disgust proved too much for me. I hunched over, hands on knees, and lost my dinner and dessert.

  Benny was so overcome by the sight of the corpse, he didn’t even razz me about my ralphing. He stayed rooted in place, staring and rocking back and forth.

  After a moment or two, I wiped my mouth. Keeping my gaze away from the dead body, I grabbed Benny’s arm. “Come on.” Half-dazed, he didn’t resist.

  We sidled back toward the road, sweeping our flashlights from side to side so that whatever had done the munching couldn’t sneak up on us. My imagination supplied zombies, wild dogs, and yes, great big were-hyenas.

  “You don’t suppose a…” I began.

  At that moment, a high, screaming laugh shattered the cemetery’s peace.

  Eeeee-huh-huh-huh-huh!

  “…were-hyena dug that up?” said Benny. “Oh, yeah.”

  My free hand fumbled with his book bag. “Quick, the trap!”

  “Let me!” he said, trying to slip it off his shoulders.

  For a few seconds, we fought each other, fingers clumsy with panic. My heart thudded like a jackhammer. Finally, we tore open his bag and removed the heavy bear trap.

  “Help me!” Benny whispered, setting the sinister device on the ground. Its heavy jaws were closed, and two long springs on either side were held in place by clamps. A thick, yard-long chain ran from the trap to a steel hoop.

  “What do I do?” I asked, scanning the cemetery for signs of movement.

  Straining to part the jaws, Benny grunted, “Take one side.”

  Together, we managed to spread the two halves of the trap until it clicked open. Its wicked teeth glinted in the flashlight beam.

  “Now the bait,” said Benny.

  I groped through my fanny pack and dug out the chunk of hamburger. Unwrapping the tinfoil, I hesitated. “But—how do I put it on the pan without losing a hand?”

  “Here,” said Benny. “You—”

  Eeeee-huh-huh-huh-huh!

  That maniacal laugh rang out again, even closer. Ice water squirted through my veins. We swung our flashlights about wildly, trying to spot the creature. No luck. A sturdy oak tree grew about fifteen feet away, and I was tempted to climb it immediately.

  Snatching the hamburger off my palm, Benny plopped it onto the pan in the trap’s center. “It’s not active until you take these off.” He fumbled with one spring’s clip, and I knelt to remove the other.

  “Hurry!” I said.

  And then, a low rumbling from behind us made all my muscles tighten like the steel spring in my hands. My breath stopped. My legs shook like maracas. My mouth went dryer than a Death Valley Triscuit.

  Slowly, stiffly, I swiveled my head. What I saw on the road turned my insides to melted mozzarella.

  THE CREATURE towered well over six feet tall. Roughly man-shaped, its proportions were all wrong, with too-long arms and a too-big head. And what a head! That face, straight out of nightmares, with mad little eyes, batlike ears, and a wet snarling mouth that put me in mind of a great white shark—all fangs and hunger.

  A string of drool dangled from that mouth, glistening in the moonlight.

  “Nngh!” said Benny.

  “Guh,” I agreed.

  My hands trembled so badly I managed to pull the clip off the spring completely by accid
ent. Ever so slowly, I rose into a half crouch, stopping when the beast growled again.

  Someone whose voice sounded like a terrified Mickey Mouse said, “Let’s go!” I think it might have been me.

  “A-a-almost done,” said Benny.

  I gulped. “Now, Benny! We’re standing between it and the hamburger.”

  The nightmare figure advanced a step. I edged away from the trap.

  Benny continued to fiddle with it. “N-n-no w-worries,” he said. “Hy-yi-yenas are c-c-cowards.”

  The were-creature roared and unfolded to its full height, brawny arms spread.

  Hairs I hadn’t even grown yet stood on end like porcupine quills.

  “Ix-nay on the oward-cay!” I cried. “It understands English!”

  I backed toward the oak tree, never taking my eyes off the were-hyena. Benny joined me. I had no idea whether he’d finished prepping the trap, but at this point we had one or two other things to worry about. Like how to avoid getting eaten.

  “N-no sudden moves,” I said. “It makes them chase you.” I must have picked that up from some nature documentary.

  The monster took another step toward us.

  We turned and ran, screaming our heads off. (Oh, yeah, like you wouldn’t have done the same in our shoes.)

  Ignoring our neat little trap and its hamburger patty, the were-creature unleashed an unnerving cackle and gave chase. His speed was amazing. If we hadn’t been four times as close to the tree as he was, we never would’ve reached it in time.

  Up, up, up, we scrambled, gibbering in terror. When we got as high as we could safely climb, we clung to a limb and watched. The massive were-hyena paced back and forth below the tree, chuckling and snarling to itself, as if debating whether we’d taste better plain or with mayonnaise.

  After a few minutes of this, either we maxed out on scared-ness or our brains went numb with shock, because Benny and I were able to have a more or less normal conversation. That is, until Benny made his comment about how dumb were-hyenas can’t climb trees, and the monster set out to prove him wrong.

  It took a running start and leaped up onto the trunk, sinking those sharp claws into the bark like a cat on a scratching post—a really big, homicidal cat. My stomach flipped. Then the monster took one hand off the tree to climb higher and slid back down instead, carving strips into the bark.

  “Awww!” Benny taunted. “Poor widdow hyena fall down, go boom.”

  “Shhh!” I shushed him furiously. “You’re making it worse.”

  Benny grimaced. “Sorry. I got caught up in the moment.”

  The were-hyena snarled and made another attempt, this time managing to wriggle his way up to eight feet below our perch. From this distance, his eyes were pits of blackness rimmed with red, and his teeth looked like a set of ivory steak knives, ready to slice. The stink of rotting flesh wafted upward.

  The creature wore no shred of clothing, and though some of its actions were human-ish, it could’ve been anyone from our postman to a total stranger. No way to tell.

  Benny broke off a piece of dead branch and hurled it down. It missed by a mile. The monster growled.

  “Hit it with something!” cried Benny. “What’ve we got?” He patted his pockets and peered woefully down at his book bag and flashlight lying on the ground, next to the trap. “I’ve got zip. You?”

  Unlike Benny, I still had both my light and the fanny pack. Carefully, I brought it around onto my lap to take stock. A whistle, a can of bug spray, a piece of beef jerky, and a Snickers bar.

  Not exactly an arsenal.

  I shook the spray can about a jillion times, held it as low as my arm could reach, and gave it a long blast until it was empty—ffffsssshhht! Misty clouds of chemicals billowed out.

  Right off, Benny and I began coughing and choking. The were-hyena kept inching upward, undisturbed.

  “The wind’s—cough—blowing the wrong—hack—way,” I spluttered. I chucked the can at the monster, and it bounced off one beefy shoulder. The creature didn’t even blink.

  “At least—hack—mosquitoes won’t bug us while we’re being eaten alive,” said Benny. “What else you—cough—got?”

  “The flashlight!”

  I clicked it on and shone it directly into the were-hyena’s eyes. Instantly, they glowed a spooky shade of green. The monster hissed, whipping its head back and forth to avoid the beam. I followed with the light. Then it simply shut its eyes and kept on inching upward.

  “¡Porque!” I cried. “Not fair!”

  Benny snatched the beef jerky from my bag and waved it about, saying, “Look, Laughing Boy! Din-din!” He pitched it off to the side.

  The were-hyena watched the strip fall with a total lack of interest. Its attention returned to us, and I swear, it wore a “Really? That’s all you got?” expression on its face.

  “Yeah, I’m not crazy about jerky either,” muttered Benny. “Carlos, what’s left?”

  Aside from the whistle and my nearly empty fanny pack itself, only one item remained: my Snickers bar.

  Benny reached for it, but I grabbed the candy first.

  “Throw it!” he said.

  “But what if we’re up here all night?” I said. “We might get hungry.”

  “If he eats us, it won’t matter.”

  Still I resisted. “It’s the last of my Halloween stash. Monsters don’t like candy.”

  “But they do like fourth-grade boys,” said Benny. “Throw it!”

  Reluctantly, I unwrapped the candy bar. The were-hyena’s ears perked up at the rustling wrapper. After saying a silent good-bye to the treat, I chucked the Snickers away from the tree.

  Amazingly, the were-hyena reached for it, missed, and tumbled back down the trunk.

  “Shut the front door!” I said.

  With a half smile and a shrug, Benny said, “Well, it is part human.”

  After that, the monster abandoned tree climbing. Benny hadn’t had time to release the bear trap’s second spring, so the were-hyena easily gulped down the hamburger bait, followed by the Snickers bar.

  “Aw, man!” said Benny, watching the creature.

  “It wouldn’t have worked anyway,” I said. “We forgot to anchor the trap to anything.”

  “Aw, man,” he repeated. “Monster trapping is so much easier in the movies.”

  For what felt like a whole Ice Age but may have been only a few hours, the were-hyena prowled about the base of the tree, growling up at us and chuckling insanely. Then we heard a sound:

  Eeeee-huh-huh-huh-huh!

  Another were-hyena called from across the graveyard! Our monster answered its cry, and they held a brief, eerie conversation. Finally, our creature cast us one last baleful look and loped off into the darkness.

  Benny and I sagged against the trunk. My belly slowly unclenched.

  “A second were-hyena,” I said.

  “Yup,” said Benny.

  “So we don’t even know if ours was the one that bit Mr. Chu,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “So all this might have been for nothing?”

  “Yup.” Benny winced.

  A headache throbbed behind my eyes. “What we really need,” I said, “is a new plan.”

  BY THE TIME Benny and I made it home, yawning and stumbling, the sky was just beginning to lighten in the east. I tumbled through my window and collapsed into bed without even taking off my clothes.

  When my dad came in, it felt like I had barely closed my eyes.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead,” he said, shaking my shoulder.

  “Gnnf,” I replied, turning over.

  Dad whisked the covers back. Seeing I was fully dressed, he said, “You know, there’s this new invention called pajamas. You might want to check ’em out.”

  “Umza mumza,” I mumbled.

  My tongue was a pulverized sausage, and my eyelids were stuck together with superglue. When I pried them apart, I saw him standing by my bed in his work uniform: crisp, white long-sleeved shirt, nice slacks, an
d shiny work shoes. Dad always says computer programmers don’t need to dress up, so that’s why he does.

  “Let’s go, buddy,” he said. “Your grandma won’t be coming over until after school, so I whipped up some breakfast. Let’s move it.”

  I never knew it was possible to shower and eat while asleep, but somehow I managed it. This, I thought, must be why grown-ups drink coffee.

  “Come on,” said my dad, twirling his car keys around a finger, “I’ll drop you and Benny at school.”

  A few minutes later, as we were waiting for Benny to come out of his house, my dad glanced up from his smartphone. “You know, whenever you want to talk more about what’s going on with Veronica and your mom, I’m here.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. The window glass felt cool against my forehead.

  “It won’t be easy—for any of us—but it’s your sister’s dream come true.”

  “I know.” I stared at Benny’s front door.

  “We need to be supportive,” said my dad, scrubbing a hand over his lower face.

  “I’m happy for her,” I said. “Really.” And I was. But my brain was still stuck on last night’s failure in the graveyard—how it hadn’t exactly made me a hero, and how if we didn’t do something drastic, Mr. Chu would be overtaken by his inner monster tonight.

  “Is something else on your mind, buddy?” said my dad.

  I bit my lip. Time to do something drastic.

  “Yeah,” I said. “There is.” Then I took a deep breath and proceeded to spill everything about Mr. Chu’s curse, about all we’d learned, and about how we were trying to save him.

  Benny arrived partway through my tale. During the brief ride to school, he chimed in with details. When we were finished, my dad stopped the car across the street from the school and stared at us, shaking his head.

  “Boys,” he said, “that’s the best Halloween story I’ve ever heard. But you’re a week too late.”

  “But, Dad, it’s not a story!” I said.

  He chuckled, reaching across me to open the passenger door. “With your imaginations, you boys should be screenwriters.”

  “We’re telling the truth, Mr. Rivera,” said Benny. “Honest. Something’s horribly wrong with Mr. Chu, and we have to stop it. Today.”