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VIKING
An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
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New York, New York 10014
First published in the United States of America by Viking,
an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2015
Text and illustrations copright © 2015 by Curtis Jobling
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Jobling, Curtis.
Max Helsing and the thirteenth curse / by Curtis Jobling.
pages cm. —(Max Helsing: Monster Hunter ; 1)
Summary: “Max van Helsing and a group of friends try to save the world after he discovers he has been cursed by an evil warlock who intends to reclaim the earth for monsters” —Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-698-19190-7
[1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Monsters—Fiction. 3. Blessing and cursing—Fiction.]
I. Title. II. Title: Thirteenth curse.
PZ7.J5785Max 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2015006094
Version_1
For Emma . . .
Woof! Woof!
Contents
Also by Curtis Jobling’s Wereworld!
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
PROLOGUE: THE WALDEN WOODS HORROR
ONE: BREAKFAST-A-GO-GO
TWO: CROSSROADS
THREE: ALL KINDS OF VERMIN
FOUR: HUNCHES AND HEADSTONES
FIVE: UPSTAIRS, DOWNSTAIRS
SIX: THE NIGHT WATCHMAN
SEVEN: RUDE AWAKENINGS
EIGHT: BREAKING STORM
NINE: A WARM WELCOME
TEN: SHORTCUT
ELEVEN: BROTHER IN ARMS
TWELVE: THE HUNTER IN HIDING
THIRTEEN: SMASH AND GRAB
FOURTEEN: THE WRONG WRETCH
FIFTEEN: THE SCENT
SIXTEEN: THE BEAST IN THE BELFRY
SEVENTEEN: THE DUST AND THE DARKNESS
EIGHTEEN: THE PAWNBROKER
NINETEEN: HEADING DOWNSTAIRS
TWENTY: THE WITCHES OF GALLOWS HILL
TWENTY-ONE: THE TIDE OF TERROR
TWENTY-TWO: THE MENTOR AND THE MONSTER
TWENTY-THREE: THE DEVIL IN THE DETAILS
TWENTY-FOUR: THE BOX
TWENTY-FIVE: THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT
TWENTY-SIX: A NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM
TWENTY-SEVEN: A COLD DATE
TWENTY-EIGHT: VENDEMEIER’S LAIR
TWENTY-NINE: A GRAVE PREDICAMENT
THIRTY: BROUGHT BEFORE THE HANGING TREE
THIRTY-ONE: THE MURDER OF CROWS
THIRTY-TWO: JIGGITY JIG
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgments
PROLOGUE
xxx
THE WALDEN WOODS HORROR
The twigs snapped underfoot like skeletal fingers crushed before they could snatch and seize hold. The teenager’s steps were hurried, kicking up wind-tossed leaves and weather-beaten branches as she swiftly climbed the slope. She glanced back occasionally, spying through the trees the neighborhood lights, twinkling into life at dusk. Her dorm backed up to the woodland’s edge, her bedroom window overlooking the forest, this wild, wonderful world, right at her doorstep. His world.
Her eyes darted, searching the shadows on either side of the trail, checking to see that she was alone. He was a recluse for good reason; the folks who lived in this quiet corner of Lincoln, Massachusetts, were suspicious of strangers. Where better for him to hide away than up here, in the woods? She knew how he felt. She’d never fitted in, always the outsider, even in her own family. It wasn’t easy being a Goth when one’s younger sisters were preppy, pony-loving princesses. She’d imagined life might get easier once she got to college, but she remained a square peg in a round hole. Yet those misfit days were behind her now. That the two of them had found one another was a miracle. It filled her heart with hope that there was somebody out there for everybody, even the loneliest soul.
Stepping through the forest, the young woman emerged at her destination. She stopped for a moment, taking one last cautious peek back the way she’d come; nobody on her trail, nobody in pursuit. She turned about, toward her lover’s home. The old mill loomed out of the darkness, its windows boarded, the stream rushing through its broken waterwheel. It looked sinister at twilight, but that didn’t bother her.
It gave her a thrill, truth be told. Spooky things got the pulse racing, the blood pumping; they made her feel alive. A nighttime rendezvous in an abandoned timber mill? This was their secret place. She reached for the long black scarf about her neck, fingers twining through the material to brush her flesh. She would be in his arms again soon enough. She’d waited too long for his kiss.
“Lovely evening for a stroll!”
She looked up, startled to see a figure standing in the tree line at the top of the slope.
“Who . . . who’s there?” she asked, squinting through the dim, dusky light. “Come out where I can see you. I’m not scared, you know.”
He stepped out of the shadows. He was just a kid, a middle-schooler. His face was hidden within the hoodie cowl that poked out of his bomber jacket’s collar. The scuffed leather had seen better days, as had the drainpipe jeans and battered Chuck Taylors. In his right hand, a yo-yo spun lazily up and down; he made it rise and fall with the deft skill of a seasoned slacker. Over his shoulder he carried a khaki satchel, the bag resting against his hip. Finally, the boy tugged the hood back, his grin emerging in the gloom.
“You should be.”
• • •
MAX HELSING HAD HOPED HIS SMILE MIGHT PROVE disarming to the young woman in black. Unfortunately, accompanied by those words, it just came across as creepy. She gave him a sideways look, reaching a hand into her pocket. Perhaps a can of pepper spray in there? Or something worse? Not that Max was too bothered. Nothing could be as bad as last summer’s Colorado job and the Case of the Cold Canyon Killer. The petrifying spitting venom of a dust dragon had turned his baseball cap into a bonnet of stone. That was his favorite hat, he recalled with a pang.
“Sorry,” said Max, pocketing his yo-yo and raising his hands peaceably while stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I promise, I’m totally harmless.”
“That’s close enough,” she said, backing away in the direction of the ruined mill. “What are you doing here?”
Max made an embarrassed face. “Well, I was kind of hoping I could dissuade you from going in there.”
He pointed at the dark building. She stole a glance, as if it might have transformed since the last time she looked.
“Why’s that?” Her hand emerged from her pocket, clenching something solid and rectangular. It looked ominously like a gun. Max cringed; okay, so that could possibly rival the dust dragon.
“Haven’t you heard? Legend says the old mill�
��s haunted. Well, at least the locals do. They say it’s cursed. That terrible things happen to anyone who enters. Some big bad juju went on here in the past.”
“So?”
That wasn’t the reply Max had hoped for. Usually the “big bad juju” line would put even the most numbskulled norm off. The fact that it hadn’t only confirmed what he feared.
“So you’re not scared easily? Cool. Maybe we can go in together?”
The woman eyed him suspiciously. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Max strolled toward the building, its double doors slightly ajar. He peered through the gap, the dark void impenetrable. A host of smells assailed his nostrils, none of which was pleasant. He was getting the musty aroma of mold and damp, a hint of rotten timber, and the sweet scent of decaying flesh; a heady bouquet indeed. This was the place, all right.
“I said you shouldn’t be here,” repeated the young woman.
Max looked back at her. She was in her late teens, no doubt a student from the university in nearby Waltham. A Goth, too, judging by her dark attire. He might have known; they were so often Goths. He spied the scarf bound around her throat. Hiding something? Before he proceeded any further, he needed to discover just how deeply she’d been glamoured.
“There’s no harm in taking a look inside, is there?” he said finally, fishing a flashlight from his bag. “It’s abandoned, isn’t it?”
“It’s not abandoned. Somebody lives here.”
“Don’t be silly. Nobody would choose to live in a wreck like this.”
“My boyfriend does.”
Max arched an eyebrow as he seized a door and tested it. It groaned, resisting his pull. “Boyfriend? Is he a hermit?”
“He just doesn’t get along with people,” said the student, her words both cautionary and concerned as she stepped suddenly toward him. “You really should leave.”
“It doesn’t look like he’s in,” said Max, before ducking between the doors into the gloom beyond.
While she called after him, he flicked his flashlight switch. A bright beam lanced through the pitch black, the atmosphere alive with a swirling sea of dust particles. Max gagged now, the woodland aromas no longer providing adequate cover for the stench. This was the lair, undoubtedly. Behind him, the Goth girl struggled through the entrance, cursing the intruding twelve-year-old. Max ignored her objections, instead searching the chamber for signs of life. Or worse . . .
Exposed rafters were vaguely visible in the darkness overhead, the rest of the ceiling shrouded in shadows. A rusted saw was suspended from a wall bracket up high, while log chains hung like iron curtains against the boards. The odd hand tool remained pegged in place, covered in cobwebs after decades of neglect. Long-forgotten offcuts littered the dirty floor, wedges of rotten timber that crawled with spiders and slugs.
“When you say he doesn’t get along with people, what do you mean exactly?”
“He doesn’t like crowds. Can’t say I blame him.” She seized Max by the shoulder and spun him around. “I said you shouldn’t be here, and I meant it.”
Max now recognized the item in her hand, and was shocked to see it leveled at him. “Um . . . you appear to have a Taser pointed at me. What gives?”
“You shouldn’t have come here,” said the woman, snatching the flashlight from his hand. She glowered, gesturing for him to move deeper into the mill. “I gave you fair warning, but you didn’t listen, stupid little jerk.”
Max smiled sheepishly. “Seems we might’ve got off on the wrong foot,” he said, attempting to step within reach of her. If he could get in close, there was a chance he could disarm her. Slim, but better than nothing. He’d hate to be at Taser-point when the master of the house finally woke up. The teenager shone the flashlight beam directly into his eyes.
“Back up, and don’t try anything stupid. You’re going nowhere.”
Max quit trying to get close to her, his dazzled eyes now searching the earthen floor of the building. Where are you? he wondered, seeking a sign that would reveal the occupant’s resting place. His present predicament confirmed the girl’s mental state; she was in the monster’s thrall, completely under its spell.
“The man-purse,” she said. “Throw it over here, now.”
Reluctantly, Max unhitched his messenger bag, regretting the fact that he hadn’t tooled up before arriving at the mill. There was an old, homemade catapult in the bag, his earliest childhood weapon, which might have come in handy if he’d had the foresight to pack it in his pocket. The canvas satchel that now sailed through the air to land on the floor between them was his box of tricks.
“So this boyfriend of yours,” said Max as he backed up into a wall, the tools that adorned it rattling overhead. “He doesn’t sound like a people person. Is he a bit of a shut-in? Only comes out at night?”
“He only comes out for me. We have something wonderful. Special. Our love’s timeless. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I think I would,” Max muttered, eyes still flitting across the floor. Maggots squirmed blindly in the soil, trying to avoid the student’s booted feet. Unless Max was very much mistaken, the earth there was stained dark. Dried blood, perhaps? Was she standing over the beast? Maybe it would burst from the ground at any moment, just like in the movies. He shuddered. It was rarely like in the movies.
He looked back to the young woman. A goofy, lovey-dovey expression had appeared on her pale face.
“You got indigestion, or has something tickled you?”
“You’ll meet him soon. Then you’ll understand the nature of our love. Maybe, right at the end, you’ll realize what a fool you were.”
“The end? Sounds a bit final.”
“My love will be hungry when he wakes. He’ll need to be sated.” She placed the fist that held the flashlight against her chest, caught up in the Gothic drama, the beam illuminating her face from below as in a Halloween prank. Her scarf hung loose, revealing the punctured skin of her throat.
“He sounds like a real catch. I take it he’s the silent type? Broody and moody? I bet he even sparkles . . .”
“He’s intense,” she said dreamily, before frowning as she caught Max smiling. “Ours is a unique love. He and I shall live forever. He’ll make me his bride.”
“They all promise that,” muttered Max, searching in vain for a way out of the fix, still mindful of the Taser. He glanced up. The one weapon that might prove useful was the saw, and that was a good ten feet above his head, balanced against the wall at his back. How to reach it . . .
There, by his right foot; one of the chopped hunks of wood. Max slowly began to crouch, extending his hand down his leg, straining his fingers to reach the block.
“Hands where I can see them!” the young woman hissed, causing Max to snap to attention, arms in the air like those of a puppet on a string. She glanced toward the boarded-up windows, Taser still trained on the boy. The light between the planks was pale blue, the sun’s warm rays replaced by those of a chill moon. Her voice was a whisper.
“He rises.”
Max’s eyes were fixed upon the earth, expecting it to crumble and part as the creature rose from its pit. Instead, a shower of descending dust caused him to sneeze. The student raised the flashlight skyward, settling its focus upon the building’s resident.
The figure hung upside down from one of the loftiest beams in the mill. Its hairless head was opalescent, pulsating as the flashlight’s beam caressed it. Even from a distance, Max spied the twitching blue veins that carried corrupted blood through the monster’s foul flesh. Its arms, originally folded about its torso in a frigid embrace, slowly extended from either side of its body, fingers flexing to reveal long yellow nails. Translucent wings connected its arms to its bony hips. Its gnarled feet trembled, crooked knuckles cracking as it prepared to disengage from the beam. It tipped its head, neck craning to look down upon Max and the teenage girl. Coa
l-black eyes blinked. Its nose was withered away to nothing, dark, slitted nostrils twitching as it sniffed at the air. A puckered mouth yawned open, revealing a maw of jagged teeth dominated by enlarged central incisors, each fully an inch in length.
The girl returned her gaze to Max at the precise moment his sneaker connected with the block at his feet. Those Saturday morning soccer games in elementary school hadn’t been a waste of time after all. He went for a controlled pass with the inside of his shoe, surrendering the power of a penalty kick in favor of accuracy. His foot struck the piece of timber sweetly, propelling it at the student’s head. There was a resounding thunk as the rotten wood hit her temple before she crashed to the floor in a crumpled heap, Taser and flashlight tumbling from her hands. He dived forward, snatching up the stun gun as the monster hit the ground.
Max jumped and turned in time to see the creature advancing on spindly legs. The flashlight rolled back and forth across the earth, its flickering beam flashing wildly around the mill. The creature’s pale skin was stretched taut over every bone, granting it the appearance of a staggering cadaver. Its dead, hungry eyes bulged in their sockets, fixed upon the young adventurer, a dark tongue fluttering across those familiar, hideous teeth. Max checked the Taser in his hands.
“Fool,” groaned the girl from where she lay slumped at the monster’s feet. The abomination came to a halt, chuckling as it ran a grotesque hand affectionately through her dark hair. “You really think that can harm my love?”
“No,” said Max, aiming the weapon overhead and firing it up the wall.
The two Taser probes whistled through the air, wires trailing, catching themselves on the old saw blade. In a fluid motion, the young monster hunter yanked the stun gun back like a fish on a line. The rusted tool tore free from its bracket, spinning dangerously through the air toward him. Max made a silent prayer as his hand shot out to catch it, hoping to maintain a full complement of fingers. He snatched it by the handle and brought it around in a scything arc toward the creature.
The Thirteenth Curse Page 1
