The Curse of the Were-Hyena Read online

  ALSO BY BRUCE HALE

  The School for S.P.I.E.S. Series

  Playing with Fire

  Thicker than Water

  Ends of the Earth

  Text and illustrations copyright © 2016 by Bruce Hale

  Cover art © 2016 Scott Brundage

  Cover design by Tyler Nevins

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.

  ISBN 978-1-4847-7627-8

  Visit www.DisneyBooks.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Bruce Hale

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One: Freaky-Deaky Teacher

  Chapter Two: Alarming News from Amazing Fred’s

  Chapter Three: Odd Plan Out

  Chapter Four: Countdown to an Exorcism

  Chapter Five: Chickening Out

  Chapter Six: Principal Charming

  Chapter Seven: Never Face Bad News on an Empty Stomach

  Chapter Eight: Hop on Chop

  Chapter Nine: Great White Sharkawy

  Chapter Ten: The Tree Stooges

  Chapter Eleven: Fright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed

  Chapter Twelve: Scare Package

  Chapter Thirteen: Karate Girl Jumps In

  Chapter Fourteen: Meeting Mr. Stenchy Pits

  Chapter Fifteen: Grand Theft Amulet

  Chapter Sixteen: Mr. Chu’s Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

  Chapter Seventeen: Teacher Creature

  Chapter Eighteen: Shocks and Bonds

  Chapter Nineteen: Escapes of Wrath

  Chapter Twenty: The Wonder Down Under

  Chapter Twenty-One: Graveheart

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Angry Nerds

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Hyena and Mighty

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Nude Awakening

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Welcome to Monstertown

  Preview of Mutant Mantis Lunch Ladies

  About the Author

  To the kid at Pine Grove Elementary who said I should write a mystery involving monsters, and to the boys of El Camino Elementary who helped me with the hero

  Thanks also to my beta readers, Arturo Vega and Raquel López

  WHAT DO YOU do when your favorite teacher starts turning into a were-hyena? Flee in terror? Try to cure him? Bring him carrion snacks?

  Forget about homework habits and curriculum goals—this is the kind of practical stuff they should cover at back-to-school orientation.

  But they don’t.

  Maybe if they had, I wouldn’t have found myself stuck up a tree with my best friend, Benny Brackman, scared out of my wits and smelling his funky feet.

  “Did you have to kick your shoes off?” I asked, trying not to inhale through my nose. This was hard, since I was panting and his stinky feet were just above me.

  “You know I climb better when my toes can grip,” said Benny.

  “Yeah? Well, climb higher!”

  “I can’t,” he said. The narrow branch swayed under his weight.

  I gripped it tighter. “If you don’t, we’ll be monster kibble.”

  “I bet it gave up.” The whites of his eyes gleamed in the dimness. “Has it gone away yet?”

  I glanced down. At the base of the oak tree, a half-human, half-hyena creature from my darkest nightmares paced in and out of the silver moonlight, snarling up at us. Its furry, ultrabuff body would’ve put a WWE wrestler’s to shame. Its powerful jaws looked as if they could snap your neck like a carrot stick.

  “Still there,” I said. “And it’s not a happy monster.”

  “Don’t worry, Carlos,” said Benny. “Everyone knows dumb old were-hyenas can’t climb trees.”

  At this, the monster cocked its shaggy head and growled. Its red-rimmed eyes narrowed.

  “Benny!”

  “What?”

  “A, don’t insult something that’s trying to eat you…” I said.

  Sizing up our tree, the hyena-man took a few steps back.

  “Why not?” said Benny.

  “It only makes it try harder,” I said. “And B—”

  In a rush, the were-hyena launched itself at the tree trunk, scrabbling with claws like hooked daggers.

  I gulped. “—and B, why wouldn’t it be able to climb? Bears can climb.”

  And sure enough, those sharp claws sank into the bark, and the monster hauled itself higher up the trunk.

  Benny’s eyes popped. “That’s not fair!” he cried. “In all the wolfman movies we’ve watched, have you ever seen a werewolf climb a tree?”

  “Never,” I said. “But, Benny?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This isn’t a werewolf. And this isn’t a movie.”

  Time out. I know, things are just getting interesting, but I’m being a bad narrator.

  I started our story at an exciting part, like our teacher says we should, but I just realized you have no idea who we are or how we came to get treed by a were-hyena. (Not that we actually came there to get treed by a were-hyena, but you know what I mean.)

  Let’s back up to the day when everything changed. The day when we realized our town was misnamed—that instead of Monterrosa, it should be called Monstertown.

  I’ll start with the day the monster movies became real.

  MONSTERS ARE all around us. The thing under the bed that kept you up, spooked and sleepless, in first grade? Totally real. The creature in the lake that your parents called a figment of your imagination? Real, too.

  Just because you haven’t seen them—yet—doesn’t mean they’re not there.

  Now, I’m the first to admit it: I read lots of books, watch lots of movies, and have an overactive imagination. Yes, I once ran screaming from a museum when I thought I saw a suit of armor twitch. And yes, I had to sleep with all my lights on and a speargun beside me for a week after I saw that shark movie.

  But my actual life has officially gotten weirder than my imagination.

  And that’s saying something.

  The change from normal to loco began on the day my teacher growled. But to really understand it, you have to understand my teacher.

  Mr. Chu is the coolest teacher at Monterrosa Elementary—and I’m not just saying that in the usual my-teacher’s-cooler-than-yours way. Everybody thinks so. I mean, sure, he teaches the same subjects as the other fourth-grade teachers, but the way he teaches leaves them all in the dust.

  Like how he wore a toga and juggled olives for our unit on ancient Rome. Or how he helped us understand probability by charting how movie sequels nearly always stink like a dead rat in the attic. Or the time he demonstrated gravity by tossing a chair out a second-story window.

  After Mr. Chu turned our classroom into a lab and had us figure out how much electricity it would take to bring Dr. Frankenstein’s monster to life, all the kids at school wanted to be in our class.

  Mr. Chu was short, stocky, and as bald as an NBA all-star (but without the muscles). He kept order in the classroom with a smile and a calm word, never losing his cool.

  Until that dreadful day.

  It was oral report time, otherwise known as cruel and unusual punishment. (Even with a great teacher, I’d rather eat live potato bugs than give an oral report. Come to think of it, that would make an awesome report.) Zizi Lee had just finished telling us everything that had gone wrong on her family’s trip to China. She sat down.
/>   Those of us who hadn’t gone yet looked anywhere but at the teacher. I studied the corner of my desktop, where some poor kid long before me had carved BORN TO PUN.

  Then I heard it:

  “Carlos Rivera,” Mr. Chu boomed in his game-show voice, “come on dowwwn!”

  I gulped. Suddenly sweat gushed from my pores like a river and my throat went desert-dry. (Too bad this wasn’t a science report; I had my own microclimate.)

  Picking up my shoe box, I shuffled to the front of the room. My buddy Benny Brackman gave me a thumbs-up. His blue eyes sparkled under his mop of curly hair, and he seemed as enthusiastic about my report as he was about anything that caught his fancy. (Or maybe he was just happy he’d already had his turn.)

  From two rows over, Tyler Spork made a pfft sound of disgust. His sidekick, Big Pete, snickered.

  I tried to ignore Tyler, who was winning the competition for Biggest Jerk in Room Thirteen by a landslide. Setting my box on the edge of Mr. Chu’s desk, I wiped my palms on my jeans and faced the class.

  “Um,” I began. Twenty-six faces stared at me. “I, uh…”

  Sheer brilliance so far. Obviously, public speaking was a breeze—like tap-dancing on a tiny log as it shot down the rapids.

  “Fascinating,” cooed Tyler. “Do go on.”

  My face went hot.

  Several girls shushed him. I glanced at Mr. Chu, who was frowning into space, head tilted, a million miles away.

  I cleared my throat. “My, uh, report is about my dog, Zeppo.”

  The teacher made a face as if he smelled something bad. A few kids chuckled.

  Reaching into the box, I found a photo and held it up. “Zeppo is a dachshund-Labrador-poodle mix. We call him a doxadoodle.”

  Tyler yawned, but some of the girls went awww, like girls do.

  I pressed onward. “The, uh, thing that makes me crazy about Zeppo is that he’ll chew anything.” (Our oral report theme was Something That Makes Me Crazy. I told you Mr. Chu was cool.)

  Putting away the picture, I lifted something else out of the box. “Exhibit A: my undies.”

  This got a huge ewww! from the class. Benny grinned widely. I glanced back at our teacher and noticed him leaning toward the box, sniffing, with this weird look on his face.

  “Um, as you can see, Zeppo chewed up almost everything but the waistband. But that’s not all….” I replaced the no-longer-tighty-whities and pulled out a mangled plastic tube. “Exhibit B: our vacuum cleaner. And he didn’t just chomp on this hose—he got the bag and cord, too.”

  Tyler leaned across the aisle toward Big Pete and stage-whispered, “What a dweezle. Too bad the dog didn’t chew up his report.”

  More chuckles from the class. More blushing from me.

  Normally Mr. Chu has a zero-tolerance policy for rudeness. I turned to see why he hadn’t said anything, but he hadn’t even noticed Tyler’s comment. Our teacher was laser-focused, his nose right over my shoe box. In fact, Mr. Chu didn’t even blink when I returned the hose and fished out a second photo.

  What was up with him?

  “Exhibit, um, C,” I said, showing the picture around. “The wall. Yup, my dog actually chewed on the wall.”

  But as I reached for my final item, the mauled tennis shoe, Mr. Chu surprised me. He peeled back his lips and growled—a serious growl, like a Doberman giving one last warning before taking off your arm. His eyes rolled upward, showing only the whites, which totally creeped me out.

  All the little hairs on my body stood straight up. It felt like someone had dumped a six-gallon slushie down my back.

  Stepping away, I squeezed out a nervous laugh. “Uh, very funny, Mr. Chu. Nice dog impression.”

  My teacher kept snarling at the box, like he hadn’t even heard me.

  “Mr. Chu?” I said.

  Finally, he blinked and shook his head. “Mmm? Oh. Fabulous report, Carlos. Let’s hear it, everyone.”

  My classmates clapped, but with some confusion. I hadn’t finished yet. But now, apparently, I had.

  Collecting my shoe box, I mumbled a thank-you to Mr. Chu.

  He sniffed again, glowered, and muttered, “Dogs,” the way you’d say “cauliflower” if it turned up in your ice cream sundae. Then he scratched at his bandaged hand, which he’d told us came from a “bite from a strange-looking dog” when he was walking past the graveyard last night.

  Call it a wild hunch, but something told me our teacher didn’t much care for man’s best friend.

  I shuffled back to my desk and stowed my shoe box.

  From the next row, Benny caught my eye. Weirdness, he mouthed.

  “Weirdness,” I agreed.

  But the weirdness was only just beginning.

  As we returned from recess, I passed behind Mr. Chu’s desk, where he sat grading homework. What I saw made me stumble over my own feet: on his cueball-smooth head, a tiny forest of short, dark hairs had sprouted.

  Since earlier that morning.

  And not just behind the ears where he still had a little hair left, but all over.

  Benny noticed it, too. “Wow, Mr. C! Your hair’s really coming back.”

  Our teacher lifted a hand and ran it over his scalp. “I’ll be darned,” he said. “I guess that emu oil must be doing the trick.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said.

  At that, an odd light came into Mr. Chu’s eyes. He gave a high-pitched giggle that lasted an uncomfortably long time—long enough that other kids returning from recess shied away.

  I looked over at Benny. “Guess he’s really happy to have hair again,” I said as we returned to our seats.

  Our math lesson started out all right—with a scavenger hunt to see how many geometric shapes we could find in the classroom. We all spread out, searching high and low, recording what we spotted.

  I’d already found a circle (Mr. Chu’s coffee mug), a triangle (Amrita’s notebook, from above), and a square (Tyler Spork’s head). I was searching for some good parallel lines, when—

  “Whoa!”

  I turned. Last time I looked, Tina “Karate Girl” Green had been standing on a desk in the far corner, checking the high knickknack shelf. No worries there—Karate Girl was one of the best athletes in class. But now she teetered off-balance.

  Tina was going to fall, hard, and no one was near enough to help.

  Before I could even open my mouth to shout, a blur whizzed past me, heading for the corner desk. It vaulted a low table as Tina began to topple.

  But this was a waste of time. No way could anyone reach her before she cracked her head on the nearest desk. Tina’s eyes went wild and scared as she tumbled.

  I winced, waiting for the impact.

  And then, just before Tina hit—schoomp!—the strong arms of Mr. Chu scooped her up. Her face was pure amazement.

  I gaped. Mr. Chu had raced all the way across the classroom and saved her, in, like, two seconds? Seriously? The same Mr. Chu who claimed that jelly doughnuts were a major food group and that he hid from exercise because he was in the Fitness Protection Program?

  What was going on here?

  The whole class gathered around, drawn by the excitement.

  “Way to go, Mr. Chu!” Big Pete pounded his thick hands together, and everyone joined the applause.

  “Wow, you’re so fast!” Amrita gushed.

  “Uh, thanks, guys,” said our teacher. He blushed, but under his embarrassment I thought I read confusion, like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d done it.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  Later, as our class filed out the door to go to lunch, Benny fell in beside me. “What’s the deal with Mr. C?” he muttered, glancing around.

  I checked behind us. Our teacher was still at the back of the line, out of earshot. “Beats me,” I said. “All of a sudden he’s Mr. Sniffy.”

  “And his hair grows like a time-lapse plant,” said Benny.

  “And he’s faster than a speeding bullet. Do you think maybe…?”

  Benny nodded. “Of cour
se. It’s obvious.”

  “What is?”

  “He’s becoming a superhero.”

  My face scrunched up. “Seriously? Then what’s with all the hair?”

  “Well, maybe he’s becoming a furry superhero, like Wolverine or Black Panther.”

  I frowned. “I think Black Panther wears tights. And Wolverine—”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Benny waved away my doubts. “We’ve got to research this, pronto, and there’s only one place for that.”

  “Yup.”

  “The comics store,” we said together.

  ITS ACTUAL NAME was Amazing Fred’s Comix & More, but everyone called it the comics store. The green-and-black building stood just off Main Street, sandwiched between a real estate office and one of those shops that sell fruity-smelly soaps to moms.

  As soon as the last school bell rang, Benny and I practically ran to the store. Yes, it would’ve been awesomely cool if our teacher really was becoming a superhero. Super-Chu—he grades twenty tests with a single stroke! No PTA can withstand his might!

  But I wasn’t sure.

  Mr. Chu had been acting so strange all day, it had me worried. I thought he might have a freaky brain tumor or some exotic disease. (Okay, I hadn’t worked out how a disease could give you superfast reactions, but still.) Or if he was turning into something, it might be something a lot less…super. Like an alien pod person, for example.

  We just had to know. And a comics store was a good place to start.

  When Benny and I opened the door, the first two bars of Darth Vader’s theme music played from a speaker deep inside the store, like always. Amazing Fred’s was long, low, and rectangular, kinda like a shoe box. Murals along each wall mixed popular superheroes like Spider-Man and Batman with vampires, zombies, and a wide assortment of monsters.

  Games, cards, collectibles, and magic books jammed every space not filled by rows of bins holding comics and graphic novels. I wouldn’t say the comics store is our home away from home. But I will say that Benny and I have blown more allowance money there than in all the candy shops in town, combined.

  As we entered, three high school students were thumbing through graphic novels in the back, snickering and talking together in low voices. The rich smell of expensive coffee drifted through the air. On the wall, the painted image of Predator caught my eye, and my stomach tightened.