Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

She could hear them screaming, both of them. She could tell where the tortured shrieks were coming from, but she didn’t need to hear. She knew where she was going.

She always knew.

***

His lungs were burning with an unrelenting fire. His stomach churned boiling water. His bloodstream was coursing with liquid fire. It was now spreading down his arms and to his fingertips.

He screamed louder than he had ever done before. It wouldn’t stop. He begged for death. The fire roared in defiance. He knew what that mean.

He was to suffer much more before he was welcomed into death.

***

An unearthly cold was seizing his lungs, making it nearly impossible to breathe. The pain was so horrible and so overwhelming; he wished that he could die.

He screamed. His body was freezing; shutting down. He wanted to give into death, but something lingered at the back of his mind, something he wasn’t ready to let go of just yet.

Joe.

How could he wish to leave this life and not try to save his brother? He loved Joe. But…’Your brother hates you…’ Callie’s words echoed through his pain-racked head. Joe hated him…

The ice seized his lungs again. He could feel it spreading and growing. Tears streamed down his face. “I WANT TO DIE!” he sobbed as the liquid ice traveled slowly and steadily through his bloodstream.

But Death wouldn’t answer.

***

She was almost there. He was breaking. If she did not reach him soon, there would be no room for hope. They would be lost forever in his façade of hopelessness.

But she would get there in time. She always did.

***

H was exhilarated; pumped with adrenaline, like he always was when he came so close. They were almost broken. The poem was almost to a close. Then he could end it all. Finally.

There was only one problem. She had returned. She always returned at the height of his glory. But she had never been able to defeat him. Still…

He turned to Betty, Garret, and Jared, who were lined up before him, eyes flashing crimson. “Faithful servants,” he hissed, “do my bidding now. Find her, and kill her. I do not care how you do it, but I want her dead. Now.”

They left with only one task in mind: Kill the girl.

***

He sensed her before he saw her: a tiny glimmer of hope. He didn’t know where it came from or what had caused it, but he held onto it.

Callie must have sensed that his desperation was depleting. “Don’t keep hope,” she murmured. “Hopelessness is the foundation of your fate. You want to die, don’t you? To escape the pain?”

Frank struggled for an answer, wanting to say yes, to end it all. But he could not. For some reason, there was a bit of hope lingering in his heart. Then he heard it, a promising voice in the back of his head.

‘I don’t hate you, Frank.’

“Joe?”

“NO!” Callie yelped, directing more ice to consume him. He screamed again, but this time, not so loud. The pain had lessened. “Your brother is dying, Frank! He cannot speak with you. Even if he could, he would not. He hates you. He does not wish to waste his time on you.”

‘Frank, I am alive, and I need you to come save me. There IS hope. Don’t give up.’

“I won’t give up!” Frank gasped, ignoring another burst of smothering pain.

“You made a very good choice, Frank,” a new voice interjected. It was soft and sweet, like that of a small infant’s. Frank was oblivious as to who was speaking.

“Giving up is a horrible thing to do.”

This time, he saw the speaker and gasped. She was a child, no older than four years old. Long, white-blonde hair fell down her small back in tiny ringlets. Her skin was white—not pale, just white—and her full, little lips were a light shade of pink, as were her cheeks. She dressed in a snow-white dress that reached her ankles, with short, ruffled sleeves that revealed her chubby arms. She wore no shoes. But what really got him were here eyes. They were silver. She was the most beautiful child he had ever seen.

Callie seemed to think otherwise. “You! Away from us, you hideous creation!”

“No, spirit,” the little girl said softly. “Leave us alone.”

With a cry of anger mingled with surprise, the demon-Callie was sucked away into nothingness.

The pain instantly disappeared and Frank was left lying on the floor, gasping for breath. The girl knelt over him, concern in her compassionate young eyes.

“Are you okay? You need to get up!”

Frank forced himself to stand. “How—how did you do that?”

“The spirits can’t be near me,” the girl stated. Frank waited for more of an explanation, but none came.

She took his hand in her soft one, and he was amazed at the strength of her grip. “Come on, we have to save your brother before it is too late.”

She began to lead him away, and although it was dark, she seemed to know exactly where she was going. And Frank didn’t doubt her judgment.

He stopped. She did too, but there was a look of confusion on her honest face. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want to save your brother?”

“Of course I do. But, first, tell me who you are. What are you doing here?”

The child hesitated, then, ignoring his last question, smiled and said, “My name is Hope.”

Frank repeated the name. “Hope.” He liked the sound of that.

***

He was blinded by the pain. Fire; fire was everywhere. His whole body was on fire. He screamed again, and Iola chuckled.

“Now you know how I felt, Joe.”

“NO! NO!” he screamed madly.

He heard all the voices at once. ‘You are getting what you deserve…Soon, you will face your judgment…you are breaking…what you deserve…what you deserve…what you…what you…deserve.’

A new voice entered in. “I love you, Joe. You don’t deserve this. Don’t give up.” The voice was calm, but there was an edge of panic in it. Frank?

***

Frank was there, but he could not see the personal demons Joe was dealing with. He looked down upon his brother and saw nothing but a terrified young man squirming and shaking and screaming for death. It scared him.

***

He tried to move, to open his eyes. But the fire was too strong, too painful. He waited.

Another voice joined in with his brother’s, this one foreign and young. “Leave him alone, you spirits.”

He heard the screams of fury and shock, and then silence. He did not open his yes, but lay there, random bursts of pain still jolting his body. He felt his brother’s hand gently touch his perspiring forehead, but did not open his eyes, in pain and ashamed.

“It’s okay, little brother,” Frank’s voice came soothingly. “I know how you feel. Just take deep breaths. The pain will go away.”

“I—It’s all over, Frank,” Joe croaked, and Frank saw that tears were still running down his face. Frightened, Frank turned to Hope and asked, “What’s wrong with him? He’s not recovering like I did.”

It felt odd, asking a four-year-old what to do, but somehow, it just seemed…right.

“He has no hope left,” the girl said knowledgably. “He was tortured longer, and had something very bad happen in his past. This was worse because Iola’s death.”

“But—Callie—” Frank was suddenly struck with a wonderful prospect. “You mean I didn’t really lose Callie? It was all a…’vision’, like Joe was?”

Hope did not answer, but stared up at him with her big, silver eyes. Although she had said nothing, Frank was still filled with a glorious hope and faith that Callie was alive and not the monster he had experienced earlier.

***

Betty, Garret, and Jared tramped into the depths of the basement. It was time to do what their master had bid them; the one thing that had been impossible to accomplish thus far.

The child had to die.

***

Joe opened his eyes. The first thing that he saw when he did this was Frank’s face. He knew it wasn’t the monster because of the kind, loving gaze that was being directed at him from those brown depths.

Joe heaved himself to a sitting position, sweating and gasping for breath. “Frank,” he cried hoarsely. “There’s nothing left. No hope, no chance, no—”

“There is hope,” Frank persisted.

Joe’s eyes moved to the child. They grew wide as he said, “Frank, there’s a kid here! What are we going to do? We have to—”

Without saying a word, the little girl walked forward and took Joe’s hand in her soft, chubby fingers. “It’s okay,” she whispered soothingly.

At her touch, Joe felt a wonderfully comforting feeling in his heart, spreading a beautiful, consuming warmth throughout his body. The stinging pain disintegrated, and he felt good—hopeful—again. He smiled. Something about this girl seemed oddly familiar.

Frank, relieved, said, “Joe, this is—”

“Hope,” Joe finished for his brother, still pondering the familiar appearance of the girl.

Frank stared at him in amazement. “How did you know that?”

Joe shrugged. “I just do.”

Frank turned to Hope. “What next?” he asked her. He now had no doubt in his tiny savior.

As Joe stood up, Hope answered, “You cannot escape this house until you have vanquished the darkness,” the four-year-old said eerily. “You have to take him on before you will physically be able to walk out of here.”

“Okay, who is him?” Joe asked, hoping their new ally would tell.

But Hope merely replied, “You will know who he is when you see his face, like you did mine.”

Frank was about to respond when he felt a sudden fear wash over him. By the look on Joe’s face, his brother had felt it, too. He looked up to see Betty, Garret, and Jared in the doorway. They were looking at little Hope, murder in their eyes.

Let the author know what you think of this story

Home Library Authors Rogue's Gallery Vehicles Chums Message Board Rap Sheet Links Contact

Disclaimer

The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The Hardy Boys Fan Fiction authors of the Hardy Detective Agency have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.