Spooky Buddies Junior Novel (3 page)

A
few blocks away, Warwick walked down a different street. A group of trick-or-treaters came toward him. Most of the kids were dressed as goblins, skeletons, or other scary creatures. One girl was dressed as a fairy princess. “Hurry up!” the fairy princess called to her dad, who was walking behind the group of kids she was with. “The best candy is on the next street!”

The kids hurried forward, with the girl's dad rushing to keep up.

Warwick shuddered. “That pink goblin was hideous!” he said. “This is dreadful. Evil creatures are roaming the streets and controlling the townsfolk. Someone has beaten us to it—this town has already been taken over!”

Warwick couldn't believe it. He'd spent more than seventy years looking forward to taking over Fernfield himself.

But maybe he still could. He knew he would first have to find Hoot and the Hound—and then act fast.

Hoot was soaring above the town, watching for the glow of his master's staff. Finally he spotted it. Yes! The Warlock would be pleased with him.

Billy and his friends didn't notice the owl landing in a tree nearby. They'd just stopped in front of a darkened house. It was the only one on the block without any decorations.

“Remind me never to come trick-or-treating here,” Bartleby said. He peered at the address on the house. “At…1114 Pine Lane. Talk about no Halloween spirit!”

“1114 Pine Lane?” Billy repeated. He pulled out the photograph he had stuck in his pocket. “Hey! The boy from the story lived here. This was Joseph's house!”

“Go knock on the door, Billy,” Alice urged. “Maybe he still lives here.”

“He'd be, like, a thousand years old,” Billy replied. But he walked up to the house and rang the doorbell anyway.

Nobody answered. Billy turned back toward the others, who were waiting on the sidewalk.

“I guess nobody's home,” Billy told them.

But just then, the door opened behind him. The other kids gasped as someone stepped out. It was Mr. Johnson, the spooky old man from the cemetery!

“Look behind you!” Sam whispered loudly, pointing.

“Ha-ha, good one,” Billy said. “I'm not falling for…”

He trailed off when he noticed his friends' faces. They all looked pretty scared. What if they weren't joking?

Slowly, he turned around. Mr. Johnson glared down at him.

Billy gulped. “Um…hello…sir,” he stammered. “I was wondering if this boy still lives here.”

His hand shook as he held up the photo of Joseph. Mr. Johnson looked at it.

“No,”
Mr. Johnson said sharply. “This boy hasn't lived here in quite some time. Every year a kid like you comes asking about that story. Why can't you leave it alone? Now go away!”

“Okay,” Billy said immediately. “Sorry, sir.”

As he backed away, Mr. Johnson noticed the staff Billy was holding. It glowed softly in the moonlight.

“Where did you get that, boy?” Mr. Johnson snapped. “Hand it over! It's very dangerous!”

He grabbed for the staff, but Billy pulled away just in time.

“Aaaaah!”
Billy yelled. “Run!”

He and his friends raced away as fast as they could.

Hoot observed the scene for a moment more. Then he flapped his wings and took off, the full moon lighting his way.

Warwick was still wandering around town. “Where is that useless owl?” he muttered.

He watched as a group of kids went to the door of Mrs. Carroll's house. Mr. Carroll, dressed as Frankendude, answered and passed out candy.

“All the goblins and ghouls are flocking to his door,” Warwick noted. That must mean there was some evil going on at the house. Warwick needed to find out. He waited until the kids left, then knocked on the door himself.

Mr. Carroll looked surprised when he answered. “Aren't you a little old to be trick-or-treating?”

“No,” Warwick said. “Now give me what rightfully belongs to me!”

Just then Hoot arrived. He flew down and landed on Warwick's arm.

“Master,” the owl said, “I have good news.”

Frankendude stared at the talking owl. “Oh, I get it!” he said. “You're a ventriloquist. Very impressive.”

He gave Warwick a candy bar, then shut the door. Warwick stared at the candy. The sorcerer had said it was a treat, so he decided to take a bite. He didn't realize it was still in the wrapper.

Yuck! He spit it out.

“This is what they call food these days?” Warwick complained. “Now what's this good news, Hoot? Have you found my staff?”

“Yes. A young warlock has it,” Hoot replied.

Warwick frowned. “I leave for seventy-five measly years and someone tries to replace me! Where's the respect?” With a grunt, he followed Hoot.

“T
his way, Master,” Hoot said, leading the way.

The owl flapped along the street. Warwick looked ahead and spotted Billy holding
his
staff. And Billy wasn't alone.

“He's got all sorts of terrifying creatures following him,” Warwick commented with disgust. “How will we get to him?”

The warlock couldn't waste any more time. He needed to get his staff back and then move on with his plan. He walked up to Billy.

“Young warlock,” he addressed the boy, “do you know who I am?”

Billy and his friends looked confused. “Uh, I'm not sure,” Billy said.

“I am Warwick the Warlock!” Warwick declared. “The most evil warlock known to man! All you ghouls will be my slaves! Now give me my staff.”

Billy's eyes widened. Now he knew why this guy looked familiar. He'd seen his picture in that police file!

Warwick lunged for the staff. Billy did the only thing he could think of—he pointed the staff at Warwick.

“Protect us!” he commanded in his best wizard voice.

The staff lit up. Warwick gasped. “Oh, no!” he cried.

A second later a bolt of magical energy shot out of the staff. It hit Warwick, sending him flying back. He landed in a fake coffin on someone's lawn, and the coffin's lid slammed shut.

“Whoa,”
Billy said, completely shocked.

“How did you
do
that?” Sam asked, equally shocked.

Billy shook his head. “I have no idea. But look at this!” He pulled the police sketch out of his backpack and showed it to the others.

“Dudes!” Pete exclaimed, “he really is the warlock!”

“Let's go find Sheriff Dan,” Alice added.
“Now!”

They all took off. A moment later, the coffin's lid flipped open. Hoot landed on a nearby fake tombstone and peered down into the coffin.

“Are you okay, Master?” he asked.

Warwick sat up. He didn't look okay. The magical bolt had frizzed his hair. His robe was smoldering.

“I clearly underestimated that warlock,” he muttered, glaring down the street after the kids.

Warwick picked himself up. He smoothed down his hair and shook the ashes from his robe. Determined to make things right, he returned to Mrs. Carroll's door with Hoot perched on his arm. Once again, Mr. Carroll answered.

“Oh, hey,” Mr. Carroll said. “Loved your bit. But everyone only gets one piece of candy per trick.”

“I need your help, monster,” Warwick said with narrowed eyes. “You're big and scary and the perfect henchman for the job.” Then, without warning, Warlock pulled out a potion and splashed it on Mr. Carroll.

“Servis mentus!”
Warwick chanted.

Mr. Carroll's eyes suddenly turned green.

“You will now do exactly as I say,” Warwick commanded.

“Yes, Master,” Mr. Carroll responded. He was hypnotized.

Warwick smiled. Finally, something was going right. “I want you to find a young warlock carrying a staff with a glowing black jewel,” he said. “Seize it—and eliminate him.”

“Yes, Master,” Mr. Carroll replied.

He stepped off the porch. His foot landed right in a jack-o'-lantern, but he kept walking with the pumpkin stuck on his foot.

Then Warwick and Hoot followed Frankendude out of the yard.