Claw of the werewolf, p.6
Claw of the Werewolf,
p.6
Mrs Watson threw her arms around her son. “Where have you been?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” smiled Luke. “But I thought I’d left you behind!”
“You look different,” Alston Negative said to his own son.
“I’m working under cover,” replied Resus. “Oh, hang on…” He reached into the folds of his cloak and produced his false fangs. “Hey, my cape’s working again!” he beamed, clipping them into place.
Just then, the door to Everwell’s Emporium opened and Eefa Everwell dashed out. “They’re back!” she called to Tress Wunder, who came running out behind her.
“And they’re safe,” spluttered Skipstone, collapsing into another coughing fit. As he fumbled in his jacket pocket for a handkerchief, a piece of paper dropped out onto the ground. Mrs Watson snatched it up to stop it from blowing away.
“It’s not us we need to worry about, but you,” said Luke, leaving his parents and kneeling beside the frail old man. “Resus, can you still remember the spell?”
“Rats live on no evil star,” announced the vampire, joining him.
“Good,” said Luke, reaching into his back pocket. “Now we just need a pen, and then we can—”
He froze. “The M.T. Graves book… It’s gone!”
“It can’t be,” said Cleo, frantically checking Luke’s empty pockets. “We need it!”
Luke shook his head. “It must have slipped out when I was in the body bag.”
“Or when you were pretending to fight Wompom,” groaned Resus. “It could be anywhere!”
“The other Horror Heights books will still be in your room,” said Cleo, jumping to her feet. “I’ll go and get one!”
Samuel Skipstone shook his head slowly. “There is no time,” he said sadly. “I am afraid this is goodbye.”
“It can’t end like this,” cried Luke in frustration. “We came back to save you!”
“You have saved me,” the author smiled fondly up at him. “I now know that my work has been of value. It has helped someone I care for very much! It was a joy to meet you, Luke Watson…”
And with one final breath Samuel Skipstone lay back and closed his eyes.
Luke’s own eyes flooded with tears. “It’s not fair!” he shouted. “All we needed was one of your books!”
“Try this one,” said a voice behind him. A heavy golden book thudded to the ground beside Luke: The G.H.O.U.L. Guide. He looked up to see Zeal Chillchase standing over him. “I said I’d find you.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Luke fearfully.
“I’m going to watch you save Samuel Skipstone,” replied Chillchase.
Deciding he simply had to trust the Tracker, Luke quickly reached into Skipstone’s jacket and found an old, roughly hewn pencil. “I need some paper,” he said.
“Here,” said Mrs Watson, handing over the piece that had dropped from Skipstone’s pocket.
Resting it on the author’s chest, Luke carefully wrote out the spell: Rats … live … on … no… evil… star.
For a moment nothing happened, then a wisp of silver light rose from Skipstone’s mouth and hovered for a moment before dashing into the pages of The G.H.O.U.L. Guide. The book vibrated slightly, then a golden face began slowly to appear on the cover.
Luke, Resus and Cleo all held their breath. Had the spell really worked? Slowly, the author’s eyes opened and he looked around. “I seem to have put on a little weight,” observed Samuel Skipstone.
“Yes!” exclaimed Luke, hugging Cleo at the same time as giving Resus a high-five. Everyone around them cheered. “We did it!”
“Amazing!” said Mrs Watson, taking the pencil and paper from her son before he poked someone’s eye out with it.
With a soft hiss, Samuel Skipstone’s body gave a small shudder, then dissolved into ash. “And only just in time,” said Resus. “But what do we do about these?” he added, as the breeze stirred the ashes and threatened to scatter them.
“I have just the thing,” said Tress Wunder, producing one of her silver quill boxes and gathering up Skipstone’s remains into it. “Perfect!”
Clutching The G.H.O.U.L. Guide to his chest, Luke stood to face Chillchase. “Now I suppose you have to take us to our new homes,” he said.
“Hang on a minute,” interrupted Mr Watson, before Zeal could reply. “I’ve seen some strange things since I’ve lived in this street — most of them in the past two minutes! — but no one is taking my son anywhere. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Actually, Dad, I have,” said Luke. “I’ve been collecting relics from Scream Street to find a way out of here for you and Mum, but I went too far and tried to scare someone with my werewolf. Mr Chillchase was right to stop me.”
“You’ve been trying to find a way home?” asked his mum.
Luke nodded. “I nearly did it, too. We were so close.”
“Just minutes away, in fact,” added Resus, stepping up beside his friend.
“I’m sorry, Luke,” said Cleo, joining them. “Even though we found all six relics, it was all for nothing.”
“Are these the relics you tried to tell me about?” asked Zeal Chillchase, crouching to open the golden casket and examine the objects inside.
“They most certainly are,” replied Samuel Skipstone, his golden face smiling out from its new home. “A werewolf’s claw, the blood of a witch, a mummy’s heart, flesh from a zombie, a skeleton’s skull and…” He paused, scanning the ground. “There should be a vampire’s fang there too, but that appears to be missing.”
“It’s there,” said Luke, indicating the spectacles. “It just needs a little magical attention.”
“To think you three did all that to try to help us!” said Mrs Watson proudly.
“So what happens now, Mr Chillchase?” asked Alston Negative.
“Are you taking our children?” demanded Niles Farr.
“G.H.O.U.L. has ordered for them to be moved to new locations,” said the Tracker flatly. “However, that cannot be arranged if I am unable to find them.”
“You mean we can stay in Scream Street?” exclaimed Cleo.
“I haven’t seen you — or these so-called relics,” announced Chillchase with a faint trace of a smile. “So I guess there is nothing I can do.” He grabbed the still-unconscious figure of Sir Otto and slung him over his shoulder. “Your landlord and I, however, do have a lot to discuss!” And with that he marched away towards the gates of Sneer Hall.
“Meanwhile, back to the relics,” said Luke. “Eefa, could you change these glasses back to their original form, please?”
Tress Wunder stepped forward. “Allow me,” she said. “I’m feeling much better now, and it’s the least I can do after all the trouble I’ve caused!” She waved her hand over the pair of spectacles, and in a final burst of orange light they changed back into a vampire’s fang.
Instantly, the doorway sprang into life again, and there was a murmur of surprise among the adults. Luke’s world shimmered into life beyond the rainbow of colours, and Mr Watson peered cautiously through the arch. “What’s that?” he asked.
Luke grinned, handing The G.H.O.U.L. Guide to Resus. “It’s our old street,” he said. “The doorway has opened just in front of our house.”
Luke’s mum peered through the lights to see her home just metres away. “You mean it’s …”
“…a way out of Scream Street,” Luke finished. “And I’m not waiting for anything to go wrong this time!” He turned to Resus and Cleo. “Thank you for everything.” The trio hugged.
“I will not cry,” Cleo muttered under her breath. “I will not cry.”
“Suit yourself,” laughed Resus, tears running down his own cheeks. “I’m just glad Luke made me wash off my face paint!”
Luke stepped away from his friends and took one final look around him at Scream Street. “Come on,” he said to his mum and dad. “Let’s go home.” He started towards the glowing doorway.
“No,” said Mrs Watson.
Luke stopped. “No?” he asked. “Why?”
“We are home, Luke,” replied his mum. “Look at you: you’ve got friends, you’re helping people … you’re happy! That’s what I call home.”
“But… You’re terrified here!” insisted Luke.
“We’re getting used to it — slowly,” said his dad. “Besides, I don’t fancy going back to my old job. It’s no life, spending every minute working. I get to spend much more time with my family here.” He winked at Alston Negative. “Even if the neighbours are a bit odd!” The vampire bared his fangs with a smile and Mr Watson pulled back comically. As he did so, he knocked the piece of paper from his wife’s hand.
“What’s this?” asked Luke, picking it up and beginning to read.
“Er, you just wrote the spell on it two minutes ago,” said Resus. “It came from Mr Skipstone’s pocket. Don’t tell me you really have got shape-shifting brain freeze!”
“I don’t mean that,” said Luke. “I mean this headline.”
Cleo peered over his shoulder to read aloud, “Announcing the wedding of Arran Skipton to…” She stopped. “Arran Skipton?”
“My son,” explained Samuel Skipstone. “I told you he dropped a few letters from our surname to protect his family from being traced by G.H.O.U.L. Skipstone became Skipton.”
“But my mum’s name before she got married was Skipton,” said Luke. His eyes widened and he stared at the author’s golden face. “You don’t mean.?”
Samuel Skipstone nodded. “Now that you’ve decided to stay, I can reveal everything. You’re my family, Luke. My great-great-great-great-great-great-grandson, if you want to be precise.”
Cleo stared, open-mouthed.
“Wicked!” grinned Resus.
Luke felt a lump in his throat. Thoughts of his old life evaporated like a rapidly fading dream. Scream Street was where his family belonged — where he belonged. He smiled up at his parents. “You OK?” he asked.
“I’d say we’re more than OK,” said his mum. “Who knew we had a famous author in the family?”
“This calls for a celebration,” said his dad. “Let’s go to thirteen Scream Street!”
Luke took the silver box containing Samuel Skipstone’s ashes from Tress Wunder and turned to Resus and Cleo. “Yes,” he smiled. “Let’s go home.”
Chapter Twelve
The Problem
Steven Black hurried to school through the park, jumping at every noise and shadow. He was certain he’d spotted Luke Watson the night before, watching him from the bushes, but he hadn’t seen him since.
Forcing away the memory, he made his way over the crossing outside the supermarket and took the shortcut along the road where Luke and his family had once lived. The Watsons had disappeared shortly after the werewolf had—
“Stop it!” he told himself sternly. “It wasn’t real. It didn’t happen. As the doctors and therapists have all said, it was just a bad dream!” But the dryness in his throat remained.
As he reached Luke’s old house, he noticed a slight shimmer in the air beside him. In fact, now that he looked, there appeared to be some kind of rainbow-coloured doorway hovering over the pavement. Through it he could see tall, misshapen houses and some kind of shop in the centre of a square.
All thoughts of school forgotten, the bully stepped through the arch…
Tommy Donbavand was born and brought up in Liverpool and has worked at numerous careers that have included clown, actor, theatre producer, children’s entertainer, drama teacher, storyteller and writer. His non-fiction books for children and their parents, Boredom Busters and Quick Fixes for Bored Kids, have helped him to become a regular guest on radio stations around the UK and he also writes for a number of magazines, including Creative Steps and Scholastic’s Junior Education.
Tommy sees his new comedy-horror series as what might have resulted had Stephen King been the author of Scooby Doo. “Writing Scream Street is fangtastic fun,” he says. “I just have to be careful not to scare myself too much!” Tommy lives; in Lancashire with his family and sees sleep as a waste of good writing time.
You can find out more about Tommy and his books at his website: www.tommydonbavand.com
Other Scream Street titles:
Fang of the Vampire
Blood of the Witch
Heart of the Mummy
Flesh of the Zombie
Skull of the Skeleton
Coming soon:
Invasion of the Normals
For Kirsty, who opened the door for me
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.
First published 2009 by Walker Books Ltd 87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Text © 2009 Tommy Donbavand
Illustrations © 2009 Cartoon Saloon Ltd
The right of Tommy Donbavand to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This book has been typeset in Bembo Educational
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data: a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-1429-8
www.walker.co.uk
Tommy Donbavand, Claw of the Werewolf
