Full Moon Halloween (8 page)

“No! We’ve got to get homel” Tristan cried.

He grabbed the bolt handle with both hands and struggled to slide the bolt open.

It wouldn’t budge.

“You’ve got to let us out of here!” Bella shouted in a trembling voice. “It’s almost midnight and—”

BONG…BONG…

Tristan heard the big clock begin to chime again.

“Can you raise the bars?” Rosa asked. “We can all climb out a window.”

“I’m pushing that button,” Angela replied. “But it isn’t working, either. I’m really sorry. Something has broken, I’m afraid.”

BONG…BONG…

Tristan struggled with the front door. He tried twisting the knob and pulling the bolt at the same time.

“It won’t work,” Mr. Moon said. “It’s all electronic, you see.”

BONG…BONG…

“We can phone for help,” Angela said. “I’m sure the phones are still working.”

BONG…

“Too late!”
Tristan growled.
“Too late for that now!”

He could feel the change coming over him. The change he had felt on so many full-moon nights.

He could feel the pull of his skin, tightening over his bones.

His arms and legs began to itch as the stiff, dark fur poked up from his skin.

A low growl started deep in his chest and worked its way up through his throat—and out of his snout.

Changing…. Once again Tristan’s body was changing.

The ears pointing up. The fur sprouting everywhere. The pointed teeth shooting out from his gums. Hot drool hitting the floor in front of him.

His body stooped now…stretching…

The skin stretching…the bones grinding as they changed his shape…

The color seeping from his eyes…He stared
at the black-and-white, world…. Stared as an animal…

And felt the hunger.

The gnawing hunger that rumbled his belly.

The hunger that made him rage and roar.

And raise his hands—wolf paws now!—with the long claws curling out of them.

“OWOOOOOOOOO!”

He turned and saw Rosa. Yes, Rosa, too.

Rosa the wolf creature. Scraping the air with her claws.

Thick gobs of white drool spilling over her fangs.

Roaring with the hunger, the same hunger Tristan felt.

Tristan turned and stared at Mr. Moon. The teacher had his arm around his wife. His eyes bulged, and he shook in terror and shock.

If only he had listened to us, Tristan thought.

Rosa and I confessed to him. We told him we were werewolves.

But he didn’t believe us. Poor fool.

BONG…BONG.

The last two chimes of the clock.

Tristan turned to the window. The full moon so high in the sky now. So high it couldn’t be seen from the window. From above the trees, its pale light washed in through the bars.

He and Rosa pawed the carpet. Then moved
toward Mr. Moon, Angela, Bella, and Ray.

“No—please!” Angela screamed. “Please—!”

“You…ignored the curfew!” Rosa growled.

“Our parents…they wanted us home by eleven,” Tristan whispered. “They wanted us home so no one would see this!”

The four trembling victims backed up against the living room wall.

Tristan and Rosa moved closer, snapping their jaws, their long tongues licking their pointed fangs.

“But now you know the truth about us!” Rosa snarled.

“And now,” Tristan growled, “we can’t let any of you out alive!”

“Meat!” Rosa roared. “I’m soooo hungry!”

Tristan staggered forward. He raised his clawed wolf paws and prepared to attack.

His heart pounded so hard, he could hear the blood rushing through his veins. The excitement was always overwhelming on these nights.

The hunger…the animal feelings…the gnawing need to attack, to devour!

“Please!” Angela shrieked, covering her face with her hands. “Please—no!”

Tristan bent his legs, prepared to spring.

The loud chime of the front doorbell made him stop.

Tristan and Rosa both froze, hearts pounding,
jaws still snapping.

Another chime of the doorbell.

“Open up in there!” a stern voice shouted. “Police.”

Tristan let out a gasp and sank back beside Rosa.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Mr. Moon cried. He darted past the two werewolves and ran to the front door.

“Thank goodness. Thank goodness you’re here!” he shouted through the door.

“Open up,” the officer ordered.

“I…I can’t,” Mr. Moon replied. “The bolt is stuck.”

“We’ll break it down,” the officer replied.

A hard crash. The door shook.

Another hard crash. The bolt cracked off. The door swung open.

Two blue-uniformed police officers burst into the room, followed by Michael Moon. The officers were both tall and powerful-looking. One had long, curly red hair hanging from the back of his uniform cap.

“What’s the story here?” he asked, his eyes moving around the room.

Michael ran over to his parents. “I escaped through the basement,” he told them. “I had to bring the police. I couldn’t let you do it again. I couldn’t let you torture these kids with your horrible Halloween games.”

“You—you don’t understand!” Mr. Moon cried.
He turned and pointed at Tristan and Rosa with a trembling finger. “They—they’re real!” he stammered.

“Yes!” Angela spoke up. “Those two. They’re real werewolves!”

Tristan felt a stab of fear. He clamped his jaw shut. Ignoring his heaving chest, he backed alongside Rosa into the shadows.

“Capture them!” Mr. Moon screamed. “Hurry! Capture them! They’re real werewolves! Capture them!”

The officers turned to look at Tristan and Rosa.

Tristan felt his fur bristle. He tensed his legs—and prepared to attack.

“Nice costumes,” the red-haired officer said to Rosa and Tristan.

The two policemen turned back to the Moons.

“But they’re not costumes!” Angela screamed. “Those two are
real
werewolves!”

“Mom—stop it,” Michael said sharply. “I’ve already told these two policemen about your little problem. How you and Dad like to scare kids to death.”

“No! Listen!” Mr. Moon screamed. “It’s true this time! You’ve got to believe me!”

Both officers pulled out handcuffs. “Are you two going to come quietly?” one of them asked.

“No! Listen!” Mr. Moon shrieked.

“You’re making a big mistake!” Angela cried. “We’re not making it up! Those two are werewolves!”

“Yeah, sure. And I’m the son of Frankenstein!” the red-haired cop cracked. They slapped the cuffs onto the Moons.

Michael shook his head sadly. “I’m really sorry,” he muttered to his parents. “But I had no choice. I couldn’t let you do this again.”

The cops turned back to Tristan and his friends. “Are you okay?”

All four of them nodded.

Tristan’s heart pounded. The hunger gnawed at his belly. He wanted to toss back his head and howl. He wanted to sink his teeth into something soft and juicy.

I need food, he thought. I need
meat
—now!

His wolf body shook with the hunger. But he held himself back.

Michael Moon walked over to the four kids. “I’m sorry about my parents,” he said. “But they’re not well. They have mental problems.”

“You’re making a big mistake!” Mr. Moon shouted from across the room. “You are letting two werewolves get away!”

The officers dragged Mr. Moon and Angela to the door.

“My parents go from town to town, inviting kids to their totally scary Halloween parties. But they’re
too scary,” Michael continued. “They keep kids trapped here. They make them eat disgusting things.”

“That’s really sad,” Rosa whispered. A glob of drool ran down her snout. She quickly mopped it up with her furry paw.

“Every Halloween they throw a party just like this one,” Michael said. “It’s so sad. I—I don’t know what will happen to us now.”

“Yes. So sad,” Tristan repeated. A growl of hunger shook his belly.

“But look at those two kids!” Angela cried. “They are wolves! They are really wolves!”

“Sorry,” the red-haired cop said. “You’ve pulled this too many times.”

He led the Moons to the door. “You’d better come too, son,” he told Michael. “Will you kids be able to get home by yourselves okay?”

“No problem,” Tristan growled.

“No—wait!” Bella cried, finally finding her voice. “Ray and I—we’re not safe. We—”

Ray stared at Tristan and Rosa. “We need help!” he shouted.

Too late.

The door closed behind the Moons and the two cops.

Silence now.

Their faces wide with fright, Bella and Ray backed away from the two werewolves.

“AAAIIIIEEE!”

I let out a scream and heaved my backpack against the wall.

Mom spun around from the kitchen sink. Dad jumped up from the breakfast table. “Sam, what is your problem?” he called.

“The stupid zipper is stuck again,” I said.

I knew what was coming. Another lecture about holding my temper.

I counted to five under my breath. Mom was a little slow this morning. She usually starts the lecture by the count of three.

“Sam, you promised,” she said, shaking her head.

“I know, I know,” I muttered.

“You promised you would work on your temper,” Dad said, walking over to me. Dad is very tall and broad like a middle linebacker. His friends all call him
Giant
.

I dragged the backpack up from the floor and tried the zipper again. “I said I would be careful not to lose my temper at my new school,” I said.

“You wouldn’t be starting at a new school if you
didn’t get into so many fights at your old school,” Mom said.

She gave me the hard stare. I call it the Evil Eye. It made her look like some kind of dangerous bird, like a hawk or a buzzard or something.

“Like I don’t know that!” I snapped.

“Easy,” Dad warned, raising one of his huge, beefy hands.

“I know, I know. I got kicked out of school, and you’ll never forgive me,” I said angrily. “But I didn’t start that big shoving match. Really. It wasn’t my fault.”

Mom let out a long sigh. “Haven’t we talked about blaming others for your problems, Sam? You had to leave your school because you were fighting. You can’t blame anyone else for what you did.”

“Yak, yak,” I muttered. I finally got the stupid backpack zipper to move.

“Don’t say ‘yak yak’ to your mother,” Dad scolded. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Maybe I’ll have that word tattooed on my forehead. Then I won’t have to say it. I can just point.

Dad took a long sip from his coffee mug. He had his eyes narrowed on me. “Sam, I know you’re tense about starting a new school.”

I glanced at the clock. “Tense—and late,” I said.

“Oh, my goodness!” Mom cried, spreading her hands over her cheeks. “We completely lost track of the time. Quick. Get your coat. I’ll drive you.”

A few seconds later, I was seated beside Mom in
the Taurus. I stared out at the gray November day. Most of the trees were already bare. The whole world appeared gray and washed-out.

The car roared as we rocketed down the narrow street. Mom drives like a NASCAR driver. The houses sped past in a blur. I pulled my seatbelt as tight as I could.

“A fresh new start,” Mom said, trying to sound cheerful. She hadn’t brushed her curly, red hair. It stuck out in all directions over the collar of her brown car coat.

“Mmm hmmm,” I muttered.

I didn’t want to say anything. I had my fingers crossed, praying that I could get out of the car without hearing another lecture.

“I know you’re going to do really well at Broadmoor School,” Mom said. She squealed to a stop halfway past a stoplight.

“Mmm hmmm.” I kept my eyes out the window.

Suddenly, Mom reached out and squeezed my hand. “Be good, okay, Sam?”

Her sudden touch shocked me. We’re not a real touchy-feely family. We’re not constantly hugging each other the way families do on TV.

Once in a while, Dad will slap me a high five. That’s about as far as we go.

I could see Mom was serious. And worried.

I swallowed hard. “I’ll be different,” I told her. “No problem.”

She pulled the car to the curb. I stared out at my new school.

As I climbed out of the car, my chest suddenly felt kind of fluttery. My mouth was dry.

I really
am
nervous, I realized.

Of course, if I had known the terror that was waiting for me inside that building, I would have been a lot
more
nervous!

I would have turned and run and not looked back.

“Sam, your saxophone,” Mom called from the car. “It’s in the trunk—remember?”

“Oh. Right.” I did forget.

She popped the trunk, and I pulled the big black sax case out.

I hope this school has a good band, I thought.

I’ve been taking sax lessons since I was barely as tall as the sax. I played in the jazz band at my old school. And some friends and I used to hang out and play in my garage.

Everyone says I’m really talented. I love to play. I love the idea of being able to make all that noise and make it really
rock
.

“Sam, what are you doing? Daydreaming? Don’t just stand there. You’re late,” Mom called.

She squealed away from the curb. Made a U-turn onto someone’s front lawn. Then headed back for home.

I balanced the backpack on my shoulders. Moved the sax case to my right hand. And stared at my new school.

What a gloomy sight.

My old school was brand new. It was modem and bright. And it had four separate buildings, and every building was painted a different bright color.

My old school was very outdoorsy, like those California schools on the TV shows. We walked to class outside. And there was a huge lawn with a little pond where everyone hung out and relaxed.

Broadmoor School wasn’t like that.

It was a square-shaped, old building. Three stories tall with a flat, black roof. I guess it had been built of yellow brick. But most of the bricks had faded to brown.

On one wall of the building, the bricks were charred black. It looked as if a deep shadow hung over that wall. I guessed there had once been a fire there.

The grass in front of the building was patchy and choked with tall weeds. A barbed-wire fence ran around a small playground on the side. A U.S. flag snapped and flapped in the strong wind on top of a flagpole beside the entrance.

It doesn’t look like a school, I thought. It looks like a prison!

I climbed the three steps and pulled open one of
the front doors. The door was heavy, hard to pull open. The glass in one of the windows was cracked.

I stepped into the front hall and waited for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. A long, dark hall stretched in front of me.

The walls were painted gray. Rows of black, metal lockers made them even darker. Only about half of the ceiling lights worked.

I took a few steps. The
thud
of my shoes rang out down the hall.

I glanced around, searching for the office.

Where is everyone? I thought.

Yes, I’m a few minutes late. But why isn’t there anyone in the hall?

I’m assigned to Room 201, I reminded myself.

Is that on this floor? Or is it up one floor?

I began moving quickly down the hall, my eyes moving from side to side as I struggled to find a room number.

I passed a glass display case with one dust-covered basketball trophy. Above the case, a small blue-and-yellow banner read: GO, GOLDEN BEARS!

Two classrooms were dark and empty. I searched for room numbers but didn’t see any.

Maybe they don’t use this floor, I thought. Maybe all the classes are upstairs.

Lugging my sax case, I made my way down the long hall. The only sounds were the scrape of my shoes on the concrete floor and my shallow breathing.

The sax case began to feel heavier. I switched it to my other hand. Then I started walking again.

I turned a corner—and heard footsteps. Very light and rapid.

“Hey—!” I called out. “Is anyone there?”

My voice sounded hollow in the empty hall.

About three doorways down, I saw a flash of movement.

A figure darted out into the hall.

At first, I thought it was a little kid. He was only two or three feet high.

But then I realized he wasn’t wearing any clothes.

He had his back to me. He didn’t seem to know I was there.

His skin was greenish-yellow, covered in patches with green fur. He walked stooped over, on two legs.

His skinny arms stretched in front of him, nearly to the floor. He had small, pointed ears that stood straight up on a slender, bald head.

A giant green rat! I thought.

But then he stopped. And turned.

His mouth gaped open as he saw me.

He
hissed
at me. A frightening, angry sound like a snake about to attack.

And then he stepped into the light. And I saw him…saw him clearly.

And I cried out in shock and amazement.

The green, ratlike creature
had a HUMAN face!