Frank heard nothing other than his brother’s terrified scream. Not the laughter of the maniac who had imprisoned them there. Not the gloating chortles from Betty, Garret, and Jared from the entrance, where they had joined their master. Not the shrieks and wails of the monsters that had converged in a corner of the room, ready to kill.

Joe was afraid of him.

Why? Why was his own brother, the most important person in the world to him, afraid of him? What had he done to make it so?

He had done nothing—the people who had tortured and nearly killed his brother had used a demon that took on his own appearance. Joe was so demented by now that he actually believed that Frank had tried to kill him. Frank couldn’t blame him, though. Only minutes before, he had been the same way, certain that Joe was going to stab him through the heart. But seeing Joe alive had given him hope, and had restored him some. But not for long.

Somehow, he had to get through. He glanced over his shoulder. Betty, Garret, Jared, and him were standing in the doorway. There were evil smirks on the first three’s faces, but Frank believed that if the latter’s face could be seen from beneath the cloak, the same could be said for him.

“Joe, please—” Frank said softly.

“You—hurt me,” Joe gasped, sobs racking his aching body. As if on cue, fresh blood poured from the many open wounds. Frank stared, and panicked as his brother’s eyes became glassy.

“Joe—stay with me!” he yelled.

“Why?” Joe moaned in a hoarse whisper. “You—h—hate me. W-want me to d-die.”

“No, Joe, never. I would never want that of you. Why would you even—”

“Made—giant spider—attack,” Joe spluttered, his eyes sliding in and out of focus. One thing was for sure. Despite of all the visions and supernatural occurances of the night, Joe’s condition was real. If he didn’t get medical help soon, he would die.

‘He’s planning on killing us anyway,’ Frank thought despairingly, then shoved the thought out of his mind.

He felt sick to his stomach. A giant spider? Joe had an fear of spiders anyway—suddenly, he felt very guilty for all the teasing he had done through the years because of it. “Joe, I never—”

Joe spoke again, and his words came out in gasps. Frank had a bad feeling that there were some major internal injuries. Joe needed a doctor. “They all—say—it’s you. Can’t all—be—wrong. You say—it’s—a—” he paused for an exhausting coughing fit, “—demon. It’s—lie. You’ve—always—hated me.”

“Joe, I love you more than anything. They’ve corrupted your mind. But we’re together again. We can beat them.”

Joe looked confused. ‘We—can?”

Tears filled Frank’s eyes. “Joe, we’re stronger than all of this. Remember—” he cast a meaningful look at Hope, who smiled at his next sentence, “‘But the needy will not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the afflicted ever perish.’”

Joe smiled slightly. “Psalm—nine—eighteen.”

“You can do this,” Hope whispered. “You have to beat him at his own game.”

“NO!”

He was no longer standing around, watching the scene with an amused expression. He was striding toward the brothers and girl. As he walked, he chanted, “‘Come, all you who are willing. Come if you hear me calling. Come to your doom, for I assure you, it is coming soon.’”

“The last part of the poem,” Hope whispered. He grasped the girl’s upper arm and shoved her toward Garret and Jared who held her fast. Frank sprang up to her aid and was punched in the nose, stomach, and temple in succession. He fell to the ground beside Joe, dazed and bleeding from his nose. It felt broken.

Joe tried to turn his head. “Frank—” he croaked. “You—okay?”

Frank opened his mouth to answer, and blood spilled into his mouth. He coughed and rolled to his side with difficulty, spitting out blood. “Yeah,” he gasped.

He stood over the brothers. “The game is finally coming to an end. Again.” It was almost as if he was talking to himself, for he didn’t look them in the eye, but rather around the room. “I always win. They always think they can defeat me.” He jerked a thumb at the restrained Hope. “She always thinks that hope can restore them. But she was wrong. She is always wrong.

“Before I win the game, I always tell the other players what exactly the game is about,” he said in a sinister voice. “And so, before you taste death and get what you so greatly deserve, I shall enlighten you. Then, I will kill you—slowly and painfully—so that you can each watch the other die.” He shivered with excitement.

That was his favorite part of the game.

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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.