The Curse of the Were-Hyena

by Bruce Hale

  ANNNKH-ANNNKH-ANNNKH! honked the fire alarm.

  ¡Santa María! I jumped like a grasshopper on a griddle. Glancing around, I caught Big Pete slinking away from the alarm with a guilty smirk.

  For a second, I was tempted to rat him out. Then I remembered my mission. When a plan goes wrong, heroes improvise.

  My classmates milled about, confused. The adults were distracted.

  Showtime.

  Drawing on acting skills I’d barely tapped in the class play, I pretended to shrink against the wall in fear. Through the velvet rope, I staggered backward. A glance confirmed my target. Hitting the wall, I groped behind me for the hyena amulet.

  There! I snatched the necklace off its hook with a jerk and stuffed it down the back of my pants. Okay, it was a little weird to have a mystical amulet in my tighty-whities, but in the heat of the moment, that was the only safe place I could think of.

  Pushing off the wall, I joined the swirling group of kids. Mr. Kardoz and Ms. Icaza both bellowed instructions that nobody could hear over the alarm. José snatched a tall staff from the display and raised it in the en garde position, ready to defend himself in case something came to life.

  With a look of horror, Ms. Icaza rushed across and took the artifact away from him. Someone else knocked over a statue, and the museum worker hurried to right it.

  Unable to make himself heard, Mr. Kardoz got physical. He spread his arms wide and steered students toward the exit stairs like a demented snowplow, mouthing, Go, go, go!

  I caught Benny’s eye and nodded. Mission accomplished. Just as we hurried into the stairwell, something made me glance back. Past the giant substitute teacher, I saw the trim figure, gleaming hair, and penetrating eyes of the museum director, Mr. Sharkawy.

  And he was staring straight at Benny and me.

  BY THE TIME we marched out the doors and down the museum steps, the fire trucks had arrived. A squad of yellow-clad firefighters rushed past us and into the museum. They ignored Mr. Sharkawy’s protests that it was a false alarm, and told us they’d have to check each floor before letting everyone back inside.

  His face a thundercloud, the museum director stalked over to where Benny and I were standing. “You! You’re responsible for this.”

  We raised our hands in surrender. “Not us,” Benny said.

  Snug between my tighty-whities and my skin, the hyena amulet radiated warmth, almost like a living thing. I shuddered. I forced myself not to reach back and pluck it out of my shorts.

  Mr. Sharkawy leaned down and got into our faces, wagging his finger like a club. “I don’t know why you did it, and I don’t know how, but you little troublemakers bloody well did it.”

  “We didn’t do anything,” I said. “Honest.”

  “Confess!” cried the museum director.

  Sweat rolled down my forehead, despite the cool morning. I knew if I gave up the real culprit, Big Pete would pound me into the ground so hard I’d pop out in Antarctica. Nobody squeals on a bully and lives.

  “What is this?” a deep voice growled. For the first time, Mr. Kardoz’s massive bulk was as welcome as a snow cone in the Sahara.

  “Your students pulled my fire alarm,” said the museum director, sidling back from him like a hyena from a hungry lion. “I’m absolutely certain of it.”

  “Did you catch them in the act?” asked the substitute.

  “No,” said Mr. Sharkawy. “They—”

  “Do you have any proof that they did it?”

  “No, but—”

  “Bah, enough!” The giant shouldered Mr. Sharkawy aside, grabbing me by the arm and steering us away. “You are bothering my students,” he rumbled. “Nobody bothers my students but me.”

  I could’ve kissed our sub. If he hadn’t been a huge, scary guy who strangled weasels for fun, that is.

  He led us off to join the others. Somehow, Benny and I resisted the temptation to stick out our tongues at the fuming Mr. Sharkawy.

  As everyone lined up on the sidewalk for the trip back to school, Tina kept her distance, giving us the “be cool” signal. Benny and I watched Ms. Icaza talking with a firefighter and the museum director snarling into his cell phone like a mad dog.

  When I saw Mr. Sharkawy foaming at the mouth, a thought struck me. I nudged Benny. “You think he could be the one who bit Mr. Chu?” I said. “The alpha hyena?”

  Almost as if he’d heard us, the museum director turned our way and bared his teeth.

  “If he’s not,” Benny said, “at the very least, he’s an alpha weirdo.”

  “Too true,” I said. “Hey, by the way, nice job tussling with Tina.”

  He tried to look modest. “Thanks.”

  “Looked like you were really enjoying it,” I said.

  “Well, it was…”

  I grinned and broke into song. “Benny and Tina, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage—”

  And then Benny showed me what tussling was really all about.

  As our class started walking back to school, Benny and I tried to take advantage of our freedom and slip away from the group. But Mr. Kardoz’s KGB training must have included seeing out of the back of his head. He caught us before we’d gone twenty feet.

  Back in school, at the tail end of lunch period, Benny and I regrouped.

  “Well, here we are,” I said.

  “Yup,” said Benny.

  “Right back where we started.”

  “Uh-huh.” Benny made a face. “Stuck on the inside, and trying to get out.”

  I nodded. “I think this is what Mr. Chu would call ironic.”

  Now that we had the amulet, Benny was all in favor of either: (a) busting out of school right away; or (b) trying out the amulet on every suspicious-looking person, starting with our substitute teacher and ending with Mr. Sharkawy.

  I convinced him that: (c) since it was lunchtime, we really should eat something first; (d) there were more suspicious people in Monterrosa than we had time to visit in a week; and (e) if we hung the necklace around Mr. Sharkawy’s neck, he’d know that we stole it, and he’d call Benny’s dad to arrest us.

  Since Benny really hates being arrested by his dad, he agreed to at least have lunch with me. (Good thing, too. Lunch on Taco Thursday is one of the cafeteria’s most realistically foodlike meals.)

  After we dumped our leftovers in the trash and our trays and plates on the dirty stack, Benny and I found a quiet corner of the playground. Our goal? To sort out our next move.

  “You know what worries me?” I said.

  “That they’re putting fewer M&M’s in every bag?” said Benny.

  I leaned on the chain-link fence. “Besides that. What worries me is how we’re going to get out of the house after we’re home, since we’re supposed to be grounded.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Out the window, like always. What’s the big deal?”

  “Um, maybe you’re not familiar with the word grounded,” I said. “They’ll be watching us like hawks.”

  Benny’s forehead crinkled. “Oh, yeah.”

  “And we’ve got another problem,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Since there’s more than one were-hyena, we need to figure out how to tell which one is the alpha. We won’t get a second chance with the amulet.”

  Benny was lost in thought for a moment. “Mr. Chu knows,” he said in a small voice.

  My throat went dry. The only person who could identify the alpha was going to turn hyena-man himself in a few hours, as soon as the moon rose. I took a deep breath. “Then maybe we should…go visit him?”

  Benny gulped. “Let’s do it now, before school’s out. The longer we wait, the more hyena-fied he’ll be.”

  I couldn’t argue with that logic. We hunted down Tina on the tetherball court and somehow convinced her to distract Mrs. Johnson. (In this case, “somehow” meant promising Tina that she could come along when we faced the alpha hyena.)

  Tina must have held up her end of the bargain,
because this time Benny and I managed to sneak out the side gate without detection.

  I wagged my head. “And to think we spent all that time and effort on the field-trip plan.”

  Benny snorted a laugh. “We should’ve just unleashed Tina on Mrs. Johnson in the first place.”

  “At least we got the amulet out of it.”

  Still, it didn’t pay to get too cocky. We crept along a line of eucalyptus trees until we were well out of sight of Monterrosa Elementary, then stood up and walked like normal people.

  It felt weird being the only ones out of school. We saw no other kids—except for some rug rats with their moms. A few grown-ups stared at us curiously. But Benny kept marching along the sidewalk like we belonged there, and no one bothered to stop us.

  Even so, I was relieved when we turned off the busier streets and into Mr. Chu’s neighborhood. Here, fewer people were out and about. The houses looked older, the yards shaggier. A scruffy yellow mutt barked like he meant to rip us to shreds and didn’t shut up until we’d gone way down the street. Those sharp white teeth gave me the jitters. All I could think about was were-hyenas on the loose.

  Finally we reached Mr. Chu’s house. From the curb, it looked normal enough. Cocoa-brown shingle roof, the usual number of doors and windows. The yard bloomed with drought-resistant plants like deer grass, lupine, and sage. (And yes, I got an A on my drought-resistant gardening report.)

  As we started up the walkway, hummingbirds fluttered in my stomach. I caught Benny’s arm.

  “Wait. We should have a weapon.”

  “What?” he said.

  “In case Mr. Chu gets out of control.”

  Benny flapped a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. He won’t hurt us—we’re his favorite students.”

  “So is Tina,” I said, “and he fought her over a chicken.”

  But Benny wasn’t listening. “He’s not evil, just sick.” He snapped his fingers. “Hey, we should bring him something.”

  “It’s a little late to pick up candy,” I said.

  Glancing around, his eye fell on the clumps of purple lupine. Benny ripped up a handful. “This’ll do.”

  “Sure,” I said. “If he’s so far gone that he can’t tell you raided his garden.” I scanned the yard for a weapon, but nothing presented itself.

  Benny strolled boldly up to the front door and rapped on it. Nothing. I pushed the doorbell and we waited. More nothing.

  His forehead creased in a frown. “You don’t suppose he’s already…” He made monster claws.

  “Not yet,” I said. “It’s still daylight. Maybe he’s napping? We should go.”

  “I bet he’s in back,” said Benny, hopping off the doorstep and heading around the house.

  “Wait!” I said. “We can’t just—”

  But apparently we could. Benny marched over to the tall wooden fence, worked the gate latch, and stepped into Mr. Chu’s backyard.

  My pulse raced. My hands went clammy.

  Afraid? Oh, just a little. We were entering an actual teacher’s backyard! Without permission! Few kids could claim to have done that. Checking the street behind us for witnesses, I followed Benny.

  The side yard was sunk in shadows. Laurels, a sycamore, and some massive bushes I didn’t know the names of overhung a khaki-colored strip of lawn. An odd grunting came from somewhere ahead of us.

  “Mr. Chu?” I called, grabbing a broom that was leaning against the house. It wasn’t a real weapon, but it was something.

  “It’s Benny and Carlos,” said Benny. “From class?”

  No reply.

  “Do you think something happened to him?” Benny asked.

  I shrugged. My bare arms tingled like they were being brushed by termite wings.

  Benny bit his lip.

  We crept forward along the flagstone path that stretched beside the house.

  “Mr. Chu?” I called again. “We just wanted to see how you were—”

  Stepping around the corner, we both stopped dead. My chin dropped so far, it practically hit my chest.

  Wearing only a blue T-shirt and some Hello Kitty boxer shorts, Monterrosa Elementary’s Teacher of the Year was vigorously rubbing his butt on the ground, muttering, “Mine! Mine!”

  “On the bright side,” said Benny. “At least he’s wearing undies.”

  WARILY, we approached Mr. Chu, stopping a good ten feet away. He glanced up at us, giggled, and scuttled over to the nearest laurel trunk. Once more, he did the butt-rubbing.

  I winced. Some things you really don’t want to see your teacher doing.

  “Um, how’s it going, Mr. Chu?” said Benny.

  “Stellar!” said our were-teacher. “Simply stellar!” His grin was wide enough to drive a truck through, his new hair was matted, and his eyes looked puffy and feverish. Let’s just say he wasn’t ready for class picture day.

  I gripped my broom. Benny edged forward and cautiously laid the lupine on the ground before him.

  “We, uh, brought you some flowers,” I said.

  He chuckled, long and loony. “Loveliness!” Then he leaned over and took a huge bite of the purple flowers. After several vigorous chews, he spat out the petals. “Bad flower!”

  Benny cleared his throat. “Carlos and I wanted to see how you were feeling.”

  Twice our teacher raked the ground with his foot, just like Zeppo does when he’s marking his territory. Then Mr. Chu’s eyes cleared and he frowned up at us. “What are you doing with my broom? And why aren’t you two in school?” For a second, he seemed almost like his old self.

  I tossed the broom aside. “We were worried, uh, that you…” I began.

  Then the moment passed, and he scrambled across the yard after a bird. We trailed behind him.

  “Mr. Chu!” said Benny. “We need to ask you something important.”

  “Cat poop!” Our teacher turned his back on us, sticking his face down into the tall grasses.

  “No, we really do,” I said.

  He shook his head and indicated the grass. “Cat poop. Disguises your scent!” Our teacher cackled, flopped down on his back, and started rolling where the cat had done its business.

  “Eeeww!” cried Benny and I together.

  We rushed to his side, each taking a hand, and tried to drag him off. Mr. Chu only wriggled harder, like Zeppo does when he finds a dead seal on the beach. And as it turned out, our teacher was about as easy to move as a dead seal. When at last Mr. Chu had gotten enough stink on him, he sat up.

  “We need to ask about the, um, thing that bit you,” I said, fanning the air.

  Our teacher’s eyes grew as big as tortillas. “Straaannnge doggie.”

  “That’s right,” said Benny, crouching beside him. “What did it look like?”

  “The doggie?” he asked.

  I squatted down. “Yes. What did the doggie look like?” At last we were getting somewhere.

  Mr. Chu studied a cloud and seemed to consider the question. “Like doggie,” he said.

  I shook my head. Benny clapped his hand to his forehead. The eye-watering stench of cat poop wafted around us.

  “Mr. Chu,” I said, “remember how you’re always telling us to add details to our writing?”

  Idly, he scratched his side. His nostrils flared, drawing his attention away to the world of scents.

  “Just give us some details about the dog that bit you,” said Benny. “Please?”

  Head lolling around on his neck, Mr. Chu scowled. At last his eyes focused. “Fangs, sharp fangs,” he said. “Black…eyes. Crazy eyes.”

  The memory seemed to be disturbing him. His lips curled into a sneer, and it seemed like his canine teeth had grown longer and yellower. Suddenly Mr. Chu’s hands clawed the air. “Bad doggie…”

  Benny and I stood, taking a step back. I wished I hadn’t tossed the broom.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said. “We want to stop the bad doggie. Anything that might help us recognize it? Fur color? Height?”

  “Special markings?” asked
Benny.

  One of Mr. Chu’s hands swatted at the left side of his chest. “White”—he struggled for the word—“blaze. Here.”

  As if the words had used up all his humanness, our were-teacher snarled and dropped to all fours. His eyes rolled back into his head until all we could see were the whites. An eerie keening, like “Eee-hee-hee-heeee” poured from our teacher’s throat.

  ¡Dios mío!

  “Uh,” I croaked.

  Goose bumps rippled in a wave over my neck, shoulders, and arms. With feet as clumsy as concrete blocks, I backed up the way we’d come.

  “F-feel b-better soon,” Benny stammered, joining me. As we sidled away, neither of us could tear our gaze from the sight of our teacher’s freak-out. When we were maybe five feet from the corner of the house, Mr. Chu flung up one hand to the sky.

  “Moooon!” he yowled, his eyes as white and blank as two Ping-Pong balls.

  That did it. Benny and I yelped, spun, and broke into a shambling run.

  “Coming soooon!” Mr. Chu’s howled prediction chased us around the corner of the house, into the front yard, and down the street.

  My heart was thudding so fast, it must’ve sounded like a tap-dance class for octopuses. Gasping and gibbering, Benny and I ran for blocks, not stopping until we reached Porter Street. There we stood panting, hands on knees, until we caught our breath.

  “That…was something,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Benny.

  “He’s gotten much more…hyena-fied.”

  “Much,” he agreed.

  My eyes met his. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Benny nodded. “If we don’t succeed tonight, we’ll be holding classes in the zoo.”

  I straightened up. “Then let’s get cracking.”

  On the walk back, Benny took an unexpected right at the corner of Grove Street.

  “School’s this way,” I said, pointing left.

  “No duh,” he said.

  I crossed my arms. “Don’t play around. We’ll be in enough trouble as it is.”

  Benny got that light in his eyes. “I’ve been thinking….”

  “Never a good sign,” I said.

  “And I think you’re right.”