by Bruce Hale
Great, I thought. We’re facing off against a pack of homicidal hyena-men, armed only with two Pokémon necklaces and a chubby cat. No worries there.
Benny and I crunched along the narrow gravel pathway between the headstones, the dying sun throwing monstrous shadows behind us. The hillside lay quiet, except for a lone bird’s nervous twitters. We reached a fork in the path.
“Let’s head back to where we were last night,” said Benny.
I was about to agree, like always, but then I got a strong prickly feeling, almost like Peter Parker’s Spidey sense. “No,” I said slowly. “Let’s go up by the crypts. That’s where they’ll be.”
“But it makes more sense to—” Benny cut himself off, looked up at me, and nodded. “You know what, let’s go to the crypts.”
I smiled.
We headed up the hill to where all the dead rich people were buried. A miniature city of fancy little granite homes for corpses, the mausoleums were lousy with Greek pillars and angel statues. In the fading light, some of the angels looked ready to hop off their pedestals and head home. I knew how they felt. My legs quivered like a hoot owl’s wings in a hurricane.
When I glanced at Benny, I noticed his teeth were clenched in a skeleton’s smile and his fists were knotted. Were we both crazy?
Duh. Why else would we be there?
As we approached the first crypt, the wind shifted, carrying the sound of voices. Benny and I ducked behind the stone structure.
Ever so carefully, we peeked around the side. I caught my breath.
Just up the hill, in a clearing between crypts, someone had set up four bright Coleman lanterns on tombstones. In the space between, that same someone had carved a wide circle into the grass, with a five-pointed star inside.
Equally spaced around the circle stood four people: Snake Woman and Mr. Stretch from the museum; the alpha hyena himself, Mr. Sharkawy; and my mom’s hairdresser, Mrs. Macadangdang.
But inside the circle stood something that shook me worst of all:
Gagged, groggy, and tied to a post was our very own Karate Girl, Tina Green.
BENNY’S HAND gripped my shoulder. “We’ve gotta get her out of there!”
Suddenly my fear evaporated like a milk shake on Mercury. “Oh, yeah,” I whispered. “We will. Preferably without being sacrificed ourselves.”
“Any ideas?”
I glanced at the rapidly setting sun. “Let the cat out.”
Benny gave me a funny look.
“It’s almost moonrise,” I said, “and she’ll make sure we have advance warning before things get supernatural. Plus, it’s not fair to leave her in there.”
“All right,” he whispered. “Loose the Honey Girl!”
I opened the carrier door. The big calico scampered out, sat down, and promptly began licking her butt.
“That’s a big help,” said Benny. “Any other thoughts?”
I gnawed my lip. “You know, if I can just hang this amulet around Mr. Sharkawy’s neck, all our troubles are over.”
He grinned. “I’ll distract him, you jump him.”
I wished we had a better plan than that, but our time was almost up. I nodded. “Give me a minute to get into position, then lure him over by that crypt.” I indicated a smaller mausoleum off to the right.
“Why that one?” asked Benny. “Good supernatural juju?”
I shook my head. “Short enough for me to climb onto.”
We bumped fists for luck, and then I crept in a wide circle, ducking from tombstone to tombstone like a graveyard ninja. I needn’t have bothered. The museum director’s hyena crew stayed totally focused on their sinister ritual.
Mr. Sharkawy recited words from a yellowed scroll, which his Sharkettes echoed. “We call upon the four directions—north, west, east, and south….”
“North, west, east, south,” his flunkies repeated in a reciting-the-Pledge-of-Allegiance tone.
“We call upon the spirit of the full moon, which rises….”
“The full moon rises,” chanted the Sharkettes.
Tina stirred, raising her head. Her eyes got huge. “Gnngh!” she said through the gag, and struggled against her bonds.
By then, I had reached the little crypt, which was built into the hillside like a hobbit house. Sneaking around back, I climbed onto its roof, staying low.
The sun sank halfway behind the horizon. Then…
“Hello there, ladies and germs!” Benny boomed, stepping into the open. “And welcome to Weirdo-Palooza! I can see the weirdos are already out in force.”
“You insolent boy!” snarled Mr. Sharkawy.
“That’s my name,” said Benny. “Don’t wear it out.”
The Sharkettes gawked in disbelief.
“Hi, Mrs. Macadangdang,” said Benny. “What are you doing here?”
The hairdresser automatically raised a hand in greeting. “I, uh…like animals?” she said uncertainly.
“Gngh mff!” grunted Tina.
Mr. Sharkawy pointed off dramatically. “Leave us, boy!” he thundered. “You profane our holy ritual with your presence.”
Benny began angling in my direction. “Hey, you turn my stomach with your ugly face,” he said, “but you don’t hear me complaining.”
I grinned. Score one for Benny. No one did irritating better than him.
With a glance at the setting sun, Mr. Sharkawy snapped, “Go, now!”
“Gee, I think I’ll stay,” said Benny. “No place nicer than a graveyard at sundown. So peaceful.”
“Then our animal ancestors will enjoy a second sacrifice,” said the museum director. “Mr. Nutters, seize him!”
The freakishly tall Mr. Nutters left the circle, spread his freakishly long arms, and rushed after Benny. He snatched, and came up with nothing but air. Grunting in frustration, he grabbed again, and once more Benny spun away.
Apparently, Mr. Nutters didn’t know that Benny was the two-time dodgeball champion of our grade. My friend had some serious moves.
But all his juking and jiving didn’t get me any closer to playing ring toss on Mr. Sharkawy. I drew the amulet from my pocket. It felt warm.
“Hold still!” Mr. Nutters barked, lunging again. Benny ducked around a tombstone, making the tall man bang his knee hard and do a face-plant in the grass.
The museum director blew out a sigh. “Must I do everything myself?” Apparently, the answer was yes, because he set down his scroll and ran at Benny.
That’s the stuff, I thought. Just a little closer…
Benny slipped Mr. Sharkawy’s grab and darted past my crypt. Much faster than his too-tall flunky, the museum director followed, hard on his heels.
I gathered myself and sprang.
As I jumped, I noticed two things from the corner of my eye: (a) Tina Green leaping up and down, trying to slip her bound hands off the post; and (b) the last red sliver of sun sinking into the ocean.
Moonrise.
My timing was as perfect as if we’d rehearsed it.
Just as Mr. Sharkawy passed my crypt, I hit him from behind like a load of bricks. Down he went, face-first. But my hand was empty.
Where was the amulet?
Kneeling on his back, I scrabbled around for the necklace, which had flown free at impact. I only had seconds before he went all hyenoid and scarfed me down like Carlos niblets.
My hands shook. It felt like I was holding back a scream.
The museum director writhed underneath me. Was he beginning to change? I gripped tighter with my knees.
“Ow, that hurts!” he said into the dirt.
There! At last my hands closed on the amulet’s heavy chain. But with a sudden twist, Mr. Sharkawy threw me off his back. He climbed to one knee.
Before he could stand, I surged forward and slipped the ancient charm around his neck. Just as I did, a huge hand closed around my upper arm.
“Gotcha!” Mr. Nutters had me.
The museum director rose to his feet, lifting the amulet and blinking at it in surprise.
“Ha!” I crowed. “Suck on that, hyena face!”
Mr. Sharkawy stared at the necklace in the light of the lanterns. A strange look crept across his features. “So you brats did steal it after all.”
It was my turn to stare. The moon had risen over the hill, as full and fat as a big old lemon pie. Yet here was the alpha hyena, examining the amulet with a satisfied sneer. What about the writhing in agony? The turning into a puddle of goo?
“Die, twisted fiend!” I cried.
But he didn’t die. Mr. Sharkawy let the talisman fall back against his chest. “Thanks for returning this,” he said. “But we’re still going to sacrifice you. Bring him,” he told Mr. Nutters.
I thrashed about. “No!”
And then, a bloodcurdling caterwaul froze us all in our tracks:
Rrrreeeauh!
Craning around, I spotted Honey Girl crouched by a gravestone with all her fur standing on end. Something was setting off the cat.
And I thought I knew what.
From someplace close, an eerie cry split the twilight. “Eeee-heh-heh-heh-heh!”
My legs went rubbery.
The real were-hyena had arrived!
IT STALKED AROUND the side of the hill, threading its way between tombstones. Silhouetted against the full moon, its shape came into sharp relief. Brawny shoulders. Shaggy head. Long pointed ears, and long arms tipped with claws.
The were-hyena gave a low chuckle, and my insides turned to guacamole.
“Guh,” I said.
Mr. Nutters’s hand slipped off my arm. He took a step back. The two women sidled away from their circle. But not Mr. Sharkawy.
His face wore a look of awed terror. Slowly he sank to his knees and raised his arms. “We salute you, sacred one who holds the secrets of the night,” he said.
Growling, the were-hyena prowled closer. Lantern light gleamed off its sharp teeth and crazed eyes, picking out a whitish blaze on the left side of its chest.
My jaw dropped. This was the alpha, not Mr. Sharkawy.
“Behold,” said the museum director, indicating Tina and the circle. “We bring you a sacrifice, that you may look upon us and be pleased. Grant us your dark gift.”
I spared a second for a glance around. The Sharkettes seemed less keen on the dark gift than Mr. Sharkawy; they kept backing away from the circle, faces slack with dread. Tina was hurling her body back and forth against the metal post, trying to tear it from the ground.
And Benny?
A voice muttered near my ear, “We had the wrong alpha.”
“Looks like,” I told him. “You help Tina, I’ll get the amulet back.”
But before we could move, we heard another “Eeee-heh-heh-heh!” from behind us. It was answered by a third insane giggle from off to our left.
Surrounded.
I’d been scared so many times the past day or so, I figured I’d reached my terror limit. But I was wrong. At that very moment, I was petrified to the max. But somehow I forced my feet to move.
“Welcome!” Mr. Sharkawy brayed, still on his knees. “Welcome, ancient ones! Bring us your beast magic!”
And he was still babbling whacked-out stuff like that when I stepped up behind him, snagged the chain, and lifted the amulet off his neck. It caught on his beaky nose. When the museum director clutched the medallion, I thought I’d lost it for good.
But then I jabbed my fingers into his armpit—a tickling technique that always works on my little sister—and Mr. Sharkawy lost his grip.
The amulet was mine.
Only one problem: now the alpha hyena had me in its sights. It stalked forward, rumbling like a vindictive volcano, mad eyes fixed on me.
I scurried backward and tripped over a gravestone, falling to my knees. The necklace burned in my hand. I had no idea how to get it around the monster’s throat—and the were-hyena clearly wasn’t about to bow down and make it easy for me.
The monster raised its arms, looming. Then it recoiled, a look of almost human revulsion crossing its face.
Fsssshht! With back arched and hiss dialed up to eleven, Honey Girl appeared directly in the monster’s path. The crazy cat was taking on a were-hyena!
“Go, Honey Girl!” I cried, rising to my feet.
For a few long seconds, it looked like a standoff. Then both creatures seemed to realize that the monster was about ten times taller than the house cat. The were-hyena snarled and stamped its foot, and Honey Girl scooted behind a crypt, leaving me exposed.
“No Meow Mix for you,” I muttered.
“Move it!” cried Tina.
I dodged around a tombstone, clutching the amulet. A glance behind showed me both good news and bad news. The good: Tina was free. The bad: Were-hyenas Two and Three had closed in on us, blocking off any retreat. Tongues lolling, they drooled like we were fresh tamales on a plate. The Sharkettes huddled together by a crypt, watching the creatures with huge, panicked eyes.
My attention stayed riveted on the alpha hyena.
“Hey, Benny?” I called over my shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“Any ideas?”
His voice sounded high and tight. “Sure. Rule Number Three: don’t get bitten.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” I said.
At this point, Mr. Sharkawy noticed that his sacrificial offering had gotten loose. Glowering, he told the monster, “The unbelievers are trying to escape. I offer all of them as your sacrifice. Take them!”
“Go ahead and try,” said Tina, settling into her fiercest karate stance. But her voice wobbled.
The alpha hyena swung its shaggy head from her and Benny, back to me.
“They’re the tasty ones,” I blurted. “Not me.” (It wasn’t my proudest moment.)
Maybe the monster didn’t really understand English, or maybe it just had its mouth set for a yummy Carlos snack. With a low grunt, the were-hyena gathered itself and sprang straight at me—a twenty-foot leap, like a killer kangaroo.
Oh, shoot.
“Yaahh!” I ducked behind a gravestone and prayed, but I knew it was no use. I’d be shredded like a cheap cabbage. My last thought was a silent apology to my dad for breaking my curfew and dying.
But the monster didn’t kill me.
“Grrraaahh!” A blur of darkness flew across the moon as someone or something else struck the alpha in midair.
Two bodies dropped, tumbling over and over as the creatures bit and scratched and fought.
“No!” cried Mr. Sharkawy. He edged forward and backward, not quite brave enough to jump in and help his monster buddy.
When the brawlers rolled into the lantern light, I could see the attacker more clearly. It was a new monster, but this was no ordinary were-hyena. He was wearing Hello Kitty boxer shorts.
“Mr. Chu?!” I said.
“Knock his block off!” Benny urged our were-teacher.
First, one monster had the advantage, and then the other did. With a howl, the Mr. Chu hyena heaved the alpha onto its back, knocking the wind out of it. The other shapeshifters whined and jittered about, but they kept their distance.
The Chu-monster got his hands around the alpha’s neck and began to choke. The alpha fought back, twisting and clawing.
“Go, Mr. Chu!” cried Tina. She and Benny had drifted over to join me.
At the sound of his name, the Chu-monster turned his head toward us. And that’s when the alpha struck. With a roar, it broke our teacher’s grip, bucked, and flung him aside.
Mr. Chu’s head hit a grave marker with a sickening crunch. He twitched and lay still.
“No! Mr. Chu!” My heart sank into my shoes. Was he dead? Had we gotten in this much trouble, this much danger, only to lose the man we were trying to save? Tears welled.
The alpha hyena rested one clawed foot on Mr. Chu’s chest, raised its monstrous head, and ripped out a chilling laugh. The other hyenas echoed it.
Then the eyes of all three creatures landed on us.
“Ulp,” said Benny.
“What no
w?” said Tina.
I sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm my panic. “I’ve got a terrible idea, but it just might work. Table Topple.”
Tina said, “You’re right, that is a terrible idea.”
The hyenas held a brief chuckle conversation—probably deciding who got to eat whom.
“But you’re our black belt Karate Girl,” I said, keeping an eye on their monster huddle. “You can handle it, right?”
Tina’s brown eyes glittered in the lantern glow. “Heh. Funny thing—I haven’t actually taken any classes.”
Benny’s forehead crinkled. “But all your karate moves?”
“Learned ’em from Jackie Chan movies,” said Tina.
“They look so real,” I said.
She offered an apologetic smile. “It’s mostly attitude. If you act like you know what you’re doing, people tend to believe you.”
Conversation over, the alpha rumbled deep in its chest and stalked toward us. Its lips peeled back from a major mouthful of sharp teeth.
“Then this would be a good time to act,” I said. I jerked my head to one side. “Go, Benny. Be the table. We’ve got this.”
Tina and I split up, one to the left, one to the right. I held the amulet ready. And as Benny slipped behind a crypt, we waved our arms about and did what we did best—trash-talking the alpha were-hyena.
“You’re so ugly, they’re thinking about moving Halloween to your birthday!” Tina shouted.
The monster snarled and turned toward her.
“You call those teeth?” I yelled. “I’ve seen sharper teeth on a comb!”
The were-hyena shifted its growl to me. All my limbs went shaky.
Tina waved her arms. “You listening to me, bat ears? You’re so ugly, you can sink your face in dough and make monster cookies.”
“Don’t insult the ancient one!” cried Mr. Sharkawy from his safe spot over by the Sharkettes. He didn’t notice, but I glimpsed a crouched figure creeping toward the were-hyena from behind. Benny was almost in position.
When the alpha whirled on Tina, I distracted it with one last insult. “Your mama’s so hairy, when your grandma gave birth to her, she got rug burn!”
That did it. No matter what species you are, human or were-creature or fuzzy wombat, you do not insult someone’s mama.
