The Five Masks of Dr. Screem (7 page)

We took off, running hard.

I led the way toward the front of the temple. Glancing back, I could see the men still struggling over the boiling cauldron.

We ran along the side of the temple to the back. No one followed us.

We stopped and stared into the distance. Nothing but sand. Behind the temple, the desert seemed to stretch on forever.

Peter put his hands on his knees and struggled to catch his breath. “Wow! Was that a close call!” he said. His voice was muffled by the mummy mask.

He raised a foot. “Look. I have tar stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”

I shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it. What are we going to do now? How are we going to get home?”

The sky darkened. The wind grew colder.
The sand shifted and moved like ocean waves.

A hard gust of wind sent a burst of sand into my eyes. I cried out. It felt sharp, like cut glass.

The wind howled. Sand seemed to rise up from the ground, wave after wave.

Peter and I covered our heads. The sand swept over us. Pounded us. It felt as if my skin was erupting in a thousand cuts.

I struggled to breathe.

Another high wave of sand crashed into me. I toppled into the temple wall.

I couldn’t see. All I could hear was the roar of the wind and the crash of the sand.

And then … silence.

The sandstorm stopped as suddenly as it had started.

I took one deep breath after another. I brushed sand off my costume with both hands.

Peter turned to me, dazed. He shook his head, and sand flew out of the mask in all directions.

“Scary,” he muttered.

I glanced at the temple wall. Whoa. Wait a minute.

Was that door there before?

I stared at the door. And a row of windows next to the door. A sign read:
SERVICE ENTRANCE. ALL DELIVERIES HERE
.

I stepped away from the wall. “Peter — look!” I cried.

I recognized where we were.

“Peter,” I said. “We’re at the back of the History Museum.”

We heard a horn honk. Two cars rolled along Museum Drive.

We stood there for a long moment, catching our breath.

“We’re back — and we have two masks,” Peter said finally.

I sighed. “It wasn’t exactly easy,” I said. “My eyes still sting from that sandstorm. And I can still smell the boiling tar.”

Peter pulled out the list of masks. “We have to keep going,” he said. “It must be getting late.”

He read the list. “The Himalayan snow wolf mask is next.”

I stared at him. “Himalayan snow wolf? We talked about them in school. They live in the Himalayan Mountains.”

“Is that far?” Peter asked.

I think he was joking.

“The snow wolves live on snowy mountain peaks,” I said. “We don’t have any snowy mountain peaks. We don’t have any mountains in Hillcrest.”

“So … where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?” Peter asked. “A wolf preserve?”

“Our town doesn’t have a wolf preserve,” I said.

Peter banged his head with both fists. “Think. Think,” he urged himself. “Where would Screem hide a snow wolf mask?”

Suddenly, I had an idea.

“Are we really going to climb this in the dark?”

Peter didn’t sound like his usual crazy, energetic self. He sounded afraid.

I pointed to the sky. “The moon came out,” I said. “Look. It’s lighting the path for us.”

Peter gazed up the hill. “But the path curves around the hill. Some of it will be totally dark. And it’s so steep —”

I patted his shoulder. “This is the only steep hill in town. The only hill that’s a little like a mountain. And it’s even called Wolf Hill!”

“But we don’t know the mask is up there,” Peter said. “What if we climb all the way to the top and there’s no mask?”

“Then we look somewhere else,” I said.

His whole body sagged. Like a balloon losing its air.

“Come on, Peter. Step up,” I said. “This isn’t like you. Normally, you’d be dancing up this hill.”

“But … this whole thing is impossible,” he whined.

“Of course it’s impossible,” I said. “But we have to do it.”

Leaning into the wind, I turned and started up the path. My shoes slid on the gravelly, sandy surface.

I glanced back. Peter was following close behind, kicking small stones out of the way as he climbed.

It’s funny that our town is called Hillcrest. Because it’s very flat. There are only a few big hills in the whole city.

Wolf Hill is the steepest hill in town. It rises up over our small downtown section. Hillcrest ends at the hill. On the other side, there is only farmland.

You can’t drive to the top because there’s no road. There’s only a rocky dirt path that curves around and around as it takes you up the hill.

Hikers like to climb Wolf Hill because of the amazing view of the town down below. Last winter, some crazy teenagers tried snowboarding near the top. They nearly sailed off the rocky cliffs. Police got there before anyone was hurt.

The sand gave way to gravel and stone as I pulled myself up the path. The half-moon sent pale light in front of me like a spotlight. But the
path kept turning away from the light. I struggled not to stumble in the long dark patches.

“Peter, how you doing?” I called back to him.

He mumbled an answer. He had fallen behind. I stopped to take a breath and let him catch up.

The wind whistled around the hillside. There were no trees up here. Tall weeds jutted up on both sides of the path. They swayed and rustled in the wind.

Just above us, the path led right out onto a narrow rock cliff. Peter stepped past me and peered down the side of the cliff. “Wow. We’re up pretty high,” he said.

He stepped out onto the rock. Then he raised his hands in the air and screamed, “I’m falling! Help! I’m falling!”

My heart skipped a beat. I dove forward and grabbed his arm.

He laughed. “Gotcha.” He backed off the rock. “Just wanted to give you a thrill.”

I let out a groan. “Peter, you are
so
not funny.” My heart was still pounding.

That dumb joke made me angry. But in a way I was glad to see the old Peter back.

I gave him a push. “Keep climbing. We have to get to the very top.”

His eyes peered out at me from beneath the mummy mask. “Do you really think the snow wolf mask is up there?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? I just think if I was Screem, that’s where I’d hide it.”

I moved past him and, leaning forward, continued to climb. The path curved sharply and grew steeper as we followed it up.

Rocks slid under my shoes and went tumbling over the cliff side. I nearly fell into a shallow rut. I twisted my ankle. Stopped for the pain to fade. Then continued up.

We climbed for another ten minutes or so.

“Peter?” I turned back to see how he was doing.

And felt the ground move.

It took me a second or two to realize my shoes were sliding on loose stones. I lurched back, struggling to catch my balance.

But my feet slid off the path. My legs went out from under me.

And I dropped over the cliff side.

And fell, screaming all the way down.

My scream cut off as I hit a rock ledge below. I landed on my stomach.

My hands slapped the stone surface and kept my head from bouncing on the rock. I felt my breath rush out in a whoosh.

I started to choke. Gasping, I struggled to pull air into my lungs.

I crouched on my hands and knees, finally breathing normally. I shut my eyes to stop the world from spinning.

I heard Peter calling to me from the path above. His head peeked over the cliff edge. I waved to him.

“I’m okay!” I shouted.

I gazed around. I hadn’t fallen very far. I had landed on a wide rock ledge. Smooth stone, white in the moonlight.

Squinting hard, I could see the path at the far end of the ledge. No problem getting back up to Peter.

I pulled myself to my feet. I took a step away from the cliff edge, toward the path.

Then I stopped. And stared at the face peering at me from the path.

At first I thought it was Peter. I thought he had come down to help me.

Then I saw that it wasn’t human. It was an animal.

It didn’t move. It kept its head low, as if ready to attack.

I gasped when I realized I was staring at an angry snow wolf.

Whoa. Wait. Not a wolf.

I squinted hard. It took a few seconds to realize what I was seeing. A dark animal wearing the snow wolf mask.

I lurched forward. Stretched out both hands — and grabbed at the mask. The creature uttered a low growl.

The mask snapped off. I snatched it away and stared in surprise at the snarling animal.

A dog.

A giant black dog. Its eyes glowed red. It bared its teeth and snapped at me.

Gripping the mask in both hands, I jumped back.

The dog lowered its head again and growled. Its red eyes glared up at me angrily.

I took another step back.

The dog moved onto the rock ledge. It had me
trapped. It was too big for me to edge past it. And if I took another step or two back, I’d step off the cliff.

“Nice doggy. Nice doggy,” I said.

It growled and bared its teeth in reply.

The big dog arched its back. It was getting ready to attack.

I struggled to think. Could I do a forward roll over the dog, onto the safety of solid ground?

Maybe a simple cartwheel?

No time. The big creature roared as it leaped at me.

It lowered its heavy paws onto my shoulders — and sank its teeth into my neck.

“
Owwwwww
.”

With a shrill cry of pain, I shrugged my shoulder and shoved the dog off. I raised the snow wolf mask in both hands. I knew it would take me somewhere weird and frightening. But I had no choice. I had to get away from the vicious dog.

I took a deep breath — and jammed the wolf mask down over the insect mask.

And then a blinding flash of light made me shut my eyes.

The light seemed to swirl around me. Cover me like a weightless blanket.

I waited for the jolt of pain of the dog’s bite. But I didn’t feel it.

I couldn’t feel anything. Just the coldness of the white light.

Cold. So cold.

I opened my eyes and gasped. I was standing in deep snow.

A bright moon low overhead made the snow gleam like silver. I blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

I glanced around. The snowy ground dipped, then rose again. A tall, white mountain peak loomed in front of me. And to my side, a snowy cliff with nothing but purple sky behind it.

I’m in the mountains
, I realized.
Snowy mountains
.

Where had the mask taken me? I sniffed the air. I smelled something new. I couldn’t quite place the smell.

I took a few unsteady steps forward in the snow. The snow was soft and flaky and fell away from me as I walked.

I gazed down at a set of paw prints. Animal paws making a straight track along the side of the cliff.

I stopped after another few steps. I felt awkward. Heavy. As if I’d put on a lot of weight.

A picture flashed into my mind. I saw a rabbit. The rabbit was dead and torn to pieces. I could
smell
the dead, raw rabbit. I could see its meaty legs and its tender middle. The red meat clinging to its bones.

I felt hungry.

Wait. Stop
,
Monica
.
Why the crazy thoughts
?

My stomach growled. I sniffed the air again. I recognized the smell. A human. I was picking up the scent of a nearby human.

I turned slowly — and saw Peter standing on top of a low snowdrift. His mummy mask gleamed under the moonlight. He had his hands wrapped tightly around himself.

“Peter?”

I tried to call to him. But only a grunt escaped my throat.

I tried again. And grunted again.

What’s up with this
?

I lowered my gaze to the snow. I stared at the animal paw prints. They stretched in a straight line from
behind
me.

They were
mine
!

My stomach growled again. I felt like growling, too. I suddenly felt an anger I’d never felt before. Pure animal anger.

I’m an animal
.

The words rang in my ears. And repeated.
I’m an animal
.

So that’s what the wolf mask had done. It carried Peter and me here to this high, snowy mountain slope. And it turned
me
into a snow wolf.

A grunting snow wolf staggering forward on four legs.

Hungry. And angry.

I pawed the snow. I looked around.

I pictured the dead rabbit again. I could taste its cold, wet, pink-and-yellow insides. What tasty morsels did the stomach hold?

I raised my head to the sky and let the wind tickle the fur on my ears. Then I sniffed again. Humans were too bony to eat. But Peter had such a sweet scent.

I started to drool. My belly grumbled.

Peter might steal my rabbit. I pictured him grabbing the rabbit in two hands. Ripping it apart. Tossing the fur into the snow and raising the fresh, tasty meat to his face.

No way.

Peter can’t have my food
.
A wolf doesn’t share
.

I knew what I had to do. I had to get rid of Peter.

He stood watching me.

And I can smell his fear
.

I staggered toward him on my strong animal legs.

He let out a cry and stumbled backward, off the snowdrift.

He landed on his back in the deep snow.

I didn’t give him time to stand up.

I pounced.

I clamped my teeth onto his neck and scooped him up in both front paws. Then I raised myself onto my back legs. With my new animal strength, I lifted him above my head.

I released his neck and opened my mouth in a howl of victory. My howl echoed off the high mountains above us.

The long triumphant howl burst from my chest and out through my open snout. It felt good to show off my strength.

Peter screamed and struggled, kicking and thrashing.

But he was no match for my animal power.

When the wolf is angry
,
the wolf will ACT
.

Holding the shrieking boy in my claws, I staggered on my hind legs to the edge of the snowy cliff.

And with a beastly roar, I tossed him over the side.