Curse of the werewolves, p.1
Curse of the Werewolves, page 1
Praise for The Supernatural Society
“Frightening, fearful, fun. A rowdy romp of a read, equal parts monstrous, magical, and moving (apologies for the ample alliteration). Rex Ogle’s new book will pull your heartstrings—until your heart stops dead.”
—Neil Patrick Harris, New York Times bestselling author of The Magic Misfits
“Three friends on an action-packed, monster-filled adventure? And laughs? Sign me up!”
—Max Brallier, New York Times bestselling author of The Last Kids on Earth series
The Supernatural Society
Curse of the Werewolves
.sterces sah dik yrevE
.tsom naht gniyfirret erom era srieht gninrael era eerht esehT
Rex Ogle
asiraM oT
…deid ohw…
seirots yracs ym syojne llits tub
.syas ehs os ro…
Rex Ogle has had lots of jobs. Some involved waiting tables, moving boxes, or cleaning toilets. Other jobs involved creating stories for Star Wars, LEGO, Power Rangers, Minions, DC Comics, and Marvel Comics. Now Rex is a full-time writer and the author behind Free Lunch, winner of the YALSA Award for Excellence in Nonfiction. And he’s written the second book in The Supernatural Society series. Why? Because while it was fun to clean toilets, it is much more fun to write about monsters.
RexOgle.com
Contents
a second grave warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
a brief adieu
a second grave warning
To the human (or are you?) holding this book:
Did you see the cover of this book? Rex Ogle is once again attempting to take credit for my story. The nerve! Who does this creature think he is? I wrote this story—me, Adam Monster. Not Same some...some... Texan lumberdork who reads comics all day.
And as if that weren’t bad enough, YOU have returned.
*sigh*
Did I or did I not warn you in the last book NOT to read my story, and also NOT to pursue this one? I most certainly did. Yet you are back... Tell me—and be honest—why would you want to put yourself through the this again? I assure you, this book is even more gruesome and ghastly and gross than the last last.
I would completely understand if you choose to stop reading right this second. book. After all, my life has already been filled with plenty of rejection. First my parents were mortified at my face, then they disowned me, casting me out into the wild of the world. Upon seeing me, girls often say, “What a wretched face you have!” Boys often say, “What awful clothes you wear!” Dogs often bark, “What an awful stench you have!” And more than one monster says, “What a terrible temper you have! Why are you trying to Kill ax murder me? Is it because I ate those children?”
(The the answer is yes. I am a monster, but I do not condone eating children...most of the time.)
So please, go ahead. alphabet, Abandon me as so many others have. I do not mind. What’s one more person pretending not to know me?
Go on. Ditch this book. Drop it in a landfill. Drown it in the ocean. Or better yet, feed it to a coyote or a bear and or a lion. If you have the means, shoot it into outer space. Or, if you are conscientious of the planet, simply recycle the paper. Saving trees is quite noble, and I fully support it.
Whatever you do, do NOT find read any further.
...
Criminy! Why are you still reading?! Perhaps a bullet point list will help reason with your rebellious nature and aid the my argument:
#1. Because I am a MONSTER. Thus the only secret stories I know are MONSTROUS.
#2. Because this story will teach you nothing, and then your parents and teachers will be angry with you for not spending this time learning MATH. Math is useful. This story is NOT.
#3. Because the following chapters contain message MONSTERS, MYTHS, MAGIC, and MAD SCIENCE—which means if you do not find it mundane, then you will be panicky unnerved, upset, distressed, and of course, TERRIFIED.
Do you really want that?
What do you mean, “yes!”?!
*double sigh*
I am NOT going to beg you.
...
Okay, fine. I am on my hands and knees begging, pleading with you... Please please please please please please please please please please PLEASE do NOT read this book. If you do, you’ll be stuck reading it forever...in your GRAVE.
What are you giggling at? Cut that out!
I can see there is no talking you out of it. You are a glutton for punishment. If you cannot sleep tonight because of the nightmares, do NOT call me. I tried to warn you.
Sincerely, and WORST, yours darkly,
—Adam Monster
p.s.
Oanbcced aegfagihni, Ij hkalvmen foiplqlresdt muyv twaxlyez
waibtchd ceofdgehsi, cjikplhmenrosp, aqnrds ctruyvpwtxoygzraabmcsd.
Deofng’th biej skclamrneodp. Yqorus’vteu gvowtx tyhziasb.
You’re welcome.
—Adam Monster
Chapter 1
under a full moon
Will’s life was over.
No, he was not dead—yet—but it felt like everything was ending. And that feeling threatened to overwhelm him. Of course, that’s what happens when you find out you’ve been bitten by a werewolf.
Dear Reader, I am getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? You need some setup for our story to begin. Apologies. Let me clear my throat of phlegm and spiders, then I’ll start over...
Ahem!
Ew. Those weren’t spiders in my throat. They were maggots.
* * *
It was the second day of November when Will Hunter walked home after school with new friends Ivy and Linus. The adopted siblings were talking and laughing, but Will’s mind was occupied elsewhere. He waved a “See ya later” before jogging inside. He pulled out his mom’s cell phone and tried to call his dad for the 128th time. He waited impatiently as the phone rang. And rang. And rang again. And again. And again. Until:
“You’ve reached the voice mail of Mr. Henry Hunter. Please leave a message at the beep.” Beep!
“Dad. It’s Will...again. I was calling because...um, I wanted to say hi, I guess. We haven’t talked since I moved to the island of East Emerson. It’s only been a month, but it feels like...like a really long time. I know you and Mom aren’t speaking because of the...the d-i-v-o-r-c-e, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk. Right? Um...am I gonna get to see you for Thanksgiving? Since Mom can barely cook, you always said it was our holiday.” Will smiled at the memory, of him and his dad spending hours in the kitchen, making pumpkin pie and turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and green beans, which were boiled for hours with bacon to make them soft and salty... “Turkey Day is only three weeks away. Are you...coming here? Or could I...I don’t know...maybe come see you? Just, uh...can you call me back? Please.”
Will didn’t know what else to say. He ended the call.
He held Mom’s cell phone in both of his hands for several minutes. He wondered, if he wished hard enough, would his dad call back? He stood there for a long time, trying to will the phone to ring.
It did not.
Will’s stomach grew heavy, like he’d swallowed a bunch of rocks. It felt like the room was spinning, like he might puke. So he took off his backpack, letting it slide to the kitchen’s linoleum floor. He lay down beside it. It seemed odd to lie down in the middle of the room, but for whatever reason, it made his anxiety lessen.
Will tried to focus on his breathing like his friends had taught him.
A few minutes later, a large, wet tongue licked his face. “I’m okay, Fitz,” Will lied to his dog. The Saint Bernard knew better. With a quiet whimper, Fitz lay down next to his best friend, resting his head on Will’s chest. The two stayed there for a long time.
Eventually, Fitz got up and walked out of the room, then returned a few moments later with a video game controller in his mouth. The dog dropped it into Will’s lap.
“You always know what I need,” Will said, scratching Fitz behind the ears. Will went to the living room couch and turned on the TV. Playing video games helped lift his spirits—at least until his mom, Ms. Vásquez, came home from her job at the hospital.
“Is your homework done, mijo?”
“No, but I’ll do it later.”
“Video games off. Homework on,” said Ms. Vásquez.
“What’s the point?” Will mumbled. “Getting good grades isn’t going to make Dad come back.”
“¿Perdóneme?” Mom asked.
“Nothing,” Will said. He tossed the game controller on the coffee table and started storming up the stairs.
“Guillermo Hunter. Do not walk away from me like that.”
“My name is Will,” he snapped. Though technically, Guillermo was on his birth certificate. It meant the same as William, and Dad always called him Will. But Dad wasn’t here.
“Please. Talk to me, mijo,” Mom said earnestly. She was sitting on the couch in her nursing scrubs, her
Ms. Vásquez got up, crossed to the stairs, and took her son’s hand. “I know the divorce has been hard. We had to leave Brooklyn, you had to leave Marcellus and your friends, we had to move to a new town. It’s a lot of change, and change can be scary—”
Scary? Will thought of all the things he had seen since moving to East Emerson: vampires, zombies, giant spiders, razor-toothed mermaids, underground tunnels with a heartbeat, terrible messages decoded with a golden pyramid key, a witch that had tried to kill him and his new friends... The word scary didn’t begin to cover it.
“—but change can also be good,” Mom finished.
“What’s good about Dad forgetting me?” Will asked.
His mom squeezed her lips together. “He hasn’t forgotten you, Will. He could never do that.”
“Then I guess he just forgot how to use a phone,” Will said, pulling his hand free. “That must be why he hasn’t returned my calls.”
Will stomped up the stairs to his room. When he slammed the door, the photos on the walls shook.
Dear Reader, I know you think Will is a punk, a brat, and a bit of a turd. Though he is certainly behaving like a punk, a brat, and a bit of a turd, he is not any of these things. Do not judge him too harshly. Sometimes, life gives each of us an obstacle to overcome—one that will make us lash out at those we love, be they mothers, friends, or neighbors. That is what Will is doing: lashing out. His anger is eating him up inside. But he isn’t really angry with his mom. He’s angry at his dad. Despite his turd-like behavior, my heart aches for Will. It is never fun when your feelings are hurt, especially by a parent.
It is also not fun when someone stabs you with a pitchfork or sets you on fire. Both of these things have happened to me—many times, actually. But neither of those things hurt quite as much as my own parents abandoning me. When parents—the very people who brought us into this world—hurt us, it can leave horribly deep wounds. And right now, Will’s wounds were still fresh after his father’s departure...
After Will slammed the door, he threw himself onto his bed and hid his face in the pillow, trying to will himself not to cry.
* * *
When Will finally got up, his eyes burned and his throat was raw. The sun had set, and he could smell Mom cooking downstairs. The salty scent meant hot dogs—which, Hungry Reader, I recently learned are not made of actual dogs, but of pigs. You might think me ridiculous, but shouldn’t these tasty meat tubes be called hot pigs instead?
Where was I? Oh, yes...
Will stopped at the kitchen threshold. “Sorry,” he whispered to his mom, “about earlier. I’m not mad at you.”
“I know,” Ms. Vásquez said. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel, then hugged her son. She kissed him on the forehead. “Siéntate. Dinner’s ready. I’m sorry it’s hot dogs and mac ’n’ cheese again, but I don’t get my first paycheck until next week.”
“It’s okay,” Will said. Though secretly, he didn’t like being broke.
As they ate, Mom told Will about her day. “...and then I said, I don’t think I can change another catheter. Seven is enough for one shift, thank you very much! Do you know where a catheter goes?”
Will did. He scrunched his face and waved his arms. “Stop, Mom! That is not dinner conversation.”
“Then tell me about your day.”
“The usual. Walked to school with Ivy and Linus, went to class, had lunch, went to more classes.”
“I’m so glad you’re making friends.”
“Two friends,” Will said. “But yeah, they are pretty great.”
Mom pointed her fork at Will. “How did your math test go?”
“It was canceled. Mr. Villalobos couldn’t stop scratching and sneezing and blowing his nose. He could barely write on the board. He said it’s just monthly allergies. Apparently, he’s allergic to dogs, which is hilarious because Mr. Villalobos is a werewolf. Can you believe it? He’s allergic to himself!”
Ms. Vásquez sighed. “Will, these strange little stories are very creative—but I don’t think you should make up things about your teachers.”
Except Will was not making up stories. He was telling the truth. East Emerson was a beautiful beach town with piers and lighthouses and salt in the air. But it was also a strange town with strange happenings—the least of which was a werewolf math teacher. Ms. Vásquez did not know that. A town curse kept everyone from seeing monsters. When they did notice something strange, they immediately forgot or stopped thinking about it. Will and his friends were the few exceptions. Will’s mom was not so lucky—if that’s what you call lucky.
Will hated lying to his mom. Even though he had no choice but to lie after she made him promise to stop talking about the monsters, magic, myths, and mad science that he saw in this new town. So he tried not to bring it up, but sometimes—like just now—he accidentally told the truth.
“Sorry,” Will said. He shoved the last bite of dog and bun into his mouth, smearing yellow mustard across his cheek. He took his mom’s plate and his own and washed the dishes. Fitz followed him to the sink and started growling.
Will looked outside the window. A hare sat on a tree branch, watching him.
This wasn’t just any hare, Smart Reader. After all, this is East Emerson, where the weirdest of weird lives and breathes. This hare had a red cybernetic eye, an antenna, different-colored arms and legs stitched together like a doll, and tiny dragon wings. Its name was Faust, and it belonged to a rather wicked witch named Ozzie.
For the last two days, the patchwork hare had been watching Will and his friends. Whenever Faust showed its whiskers, they pretended not to see it. They didn’t want the witch to know Will and Ivy remembered what happened after she had tried to erase their memories...
The phone rang. Will raced to answer it. “Dad?”
“Uh, no, it’s Ivy. Remember me? The Korean girl who lives across the street?”
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Will whispered. “Hey.”
“Wow. Don’t be too happy to hear from me,” Ivy said. “Anyways, have you looked out your window? It’s a full moon.”
“So?”
“The magic fox’s warning. Remember? The silver fox that talks and gives us cryptic messages in rhymes about how we can save the town? Get over here. We have work to do.”
Outside the window, the hare flew off into the night sky, passing briefly in front of the full moon. Will took a deep breath. Anything was better than waiting for his dad to call—even throwing himself into danger. “I’m on my way.” Will dried his hands, then shoved his shoes on. “Mom, I’m running across the street to hang with Linus and Ivy.”
“Be home before ten,” Mom called after him.
Will jogged across Ophidian Drive. A Korean girl and a Black boy waited at their front door. Ivy wore her usual ball cap along with a soccer jersey and sweatpants cut into shorts. Linus wore loafers, ironed pants, and a crisp white button-up shirt. He pushed his glasses up his nose.
Ivy scanned the sky before whispering, “Did you get a visit from Franken-Hare too?”
“Faust? Yeah, I saw it spying on me.”
Linus huffed. “I would like to see this flying creature as well.”
Ivy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you can’t. You just have to trust us for now. You know that Will and I have magic sight that lets us see all the weird, wild stuff.”
“I am aware,” Linus stated. “You have a magic ring. And Will is just...well, statistically and improbably lucky?”
“More like cursed,” Will whispered. He didn’t know why he could see what most could not. He wondered if he was born like this...or if maybe his dad could see stuff too... He wished his father would return his calls.
“Still, if I am to be a valuable asset to this team, I need to be able to see through the town curse as well, don’t I?” Linus crossed his arms. “As a man of science, I prefer to perceive things with my own two eyes rather than trust my sister, who pranks me almost every morning.”
Ivy snorted with laughter. “Oh, man. Today’s was hilarious. I put plastic wrap on the toilet seat, and—”
