Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the chilly forest even more dank, dark, and foreboding. A slight wind blew in from the south, and giant thunderheads could scarcely be seen through the canopy of trees and the blackness of the night. One could not pretend that they weren’t there, however, for the constant growls of thunder and quick flashes of lightening were ever constant, and always growing.

Frank and Joe Hardy had first caught sight of the inn nearly fifteen minutes ago, as they stumbled and groped up the steep mountainside. As they neared the old house, the terrain became increasingly rocky and hard to manage, but they pressed on, and were soon standing on the rotting porch, watching as the shutters falling off of the windows fluttered in the breeze, and waiting hesitantly for someone to answer the doorbell that Joe’s finger hovered over, having just pressed it.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he whispered to his brother, who was looking uneasy as well. “What if no one is here? What if it’s been abandoned for a long time?”

Frank shook his head quickly. “No, we didn’t just climb this mountain for nothing,” he said in a forced calm voice, more to assure himself than his younger brother.

He leaned in to look in the peephole—a small, bullet-sized hole roughly drilled into the door— and nearly jumped back in fright when he saw another eye—this one, an unearthly shade of purple—staring back at him, holding horror and excitement alike.

“What is it?” Joe asked, adrenaline pumping with his voice.

Before Frank could answer, the door swung open and a tall, portly woman towered over them, stooping so as not to hit her head on the frame of the door. Her graying brown hair hung loosely over her massive shoulders, and her sharp purple eyes glared at them suspiciously. “What do you want?” she hissed, glancing around furtively.

She was nervous, Frank noticed. Her large, salami-shaped fingers kept groping at her ankle-length, faded skirt, clenching and unclenching. A few beads of sweat were trickling slowly down her chubby face, and her inhumanly gigantic feet kept shifting uncomfortably.

“Uh…” Joe couldn’t take his eyes of the giant of a woman, half petrified and half intrigued.

“Speak, boy!” the woman demanded in harsh tones, then grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him inside. Frank was about to protest when the same was done to him. The woman slammed the door shut, bolting it in eight different places. “It’s safer inside,” she explained, then turned to the brothers expectantly.

But the boys were too intrigued with the interior of the inn to give the strange woman much notice. The floors were sinking in, and the walls were yellowing, with mold growing steadily on the ceiling. A large, moth-eaten couch sat along one wall, and in the center of the den was a small table that slanted greatly to the left, for its left leg was half gone. A humongous stone fireplace was the only touch of homeliness in the uncomfortably cramped living room, and even it was lacking greatly in elegance.

Beyond the sitting room, the boys could see three doors, two of which were propped wide open. One, it seemed, led to a kitchen that was no better off; it’s table was dirty, the curtains holy and scarce, and Frank could have sworn he saw a rat scurry happily across the dingy wooden counter. The second door had a flight of stairs that led up in a spiral so steep and circular it made Joe a bit dizzy just looking at it. The third door was not only shut, but bolted in no more than ten places, with several pieces of decaying furniture propped against the handle. Joe figured it was another exit.

The woman snapped them out of their reverie by demanding sharply. “Speak! I don’t have all night and I have preparations to make.”

“Preparations for what?” Joe asked curiously. The woman glared at him threateningly and once again inquired what they were doing there.

Staring into her sharp, supernaturally violet eyes, Frank answered hesitantly, “Our car shut down about two miles from here. We saw the sign for your inn and thought…”

“I see. Thought you’d intrude on my privacy, eh?” the woman snapped, then shrugged. “S’alright, I suppose,” she drawled, studying each boy in turn. “It’s been a long time here with just Garret and Jared to keep me company.”

“Who are Garret and Jared?” Joe questioned.

“My husband and brother. And I’m Beatrice. We’ve lived up in these mountains for decades.”

“So, if you don’t like people invading your privacy, why do run an inn?”

A flash of fear rippled across Beatrice’s face, if only for a second. “Nobody comes here anymore. Folk’s ain’t into this kind of place anymore. I think it scares them to death.” These last words she spoke with such urgency, such passion and reverence, the boys felt a tremor of terror cut through their bones.

Beatrice’s fearful manner dropped abruptly and she asked lightly, “Anyone want some dinner?”

The brothers looked hesitantly at each other, not sure of how to respond. Although Joe’s stomach was rumbling, and Frank felt a desolate emptiness, both felt that it would be unwise to eat in a home with such unkempt conditions.

“Tell you what,” Frank said reasonably, “my brother and I aren’t really that hungry right now, but we’ll come down later, okay? What we really need is somewhere safe to stay the night.”

Beatrice smiled forebodingly. “Then you’re in the wrong inn,” she muttered. “He’ll be coming tonight, I know it,” she whispered, the eerie smirk disappearing completely, only to be replaced with a terrified face that suggested she was viewing a gruesome vision. “He always comes when he senses them.” She glanced out a halfway boarded-up window. “I sure hope Garret and Jared come back from town soon. I don’t want’em tramping around in those woods too long after dark, ‘specially with him around.”

“Who?” Frank asked quickly. “And what are you so scared of?”

Beatrice ignored his question, and instead asked, “You say your car broke down, did you?”

Confused, Frank nodded.

“It broke down right at the sign for my inn, didn’t it?”

Again, a nod.

“It’s true then.” She took one more terrified peek out the window, and then turned once more to the brothers.

“Alright, your rooms will be the last two at the top of the stairs. No need for a key; they don’t lock.”

Frank and Joe glanced at each other uneasily.

“Right,” Joe said in what he hoped was a polite voice. “We’re going to head on up and freshen up before dinner.”

As they tromped up the stairs, Frank turned to his brother. “I don’t like this,” he admitted.

Despite their unusual predicament, Joe couldn’t resist a mocking grin. “Told you.” He then frowned. “Beatrice is just too weird. What was she talking about, making preparations for? And why are her husband and brother out this late? Who is he? And what’s she so terrified of?”

Frank shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Frank, are you there?” The high-pitched, ghostly voice echoed through the upstairs hallway as the boys reached the upper-level landing. It was barely audible, but both boys heard it.

“Who’s there?” Frank demanded, taking a step forward, trying to place the eerie, mocking voice.

“Don’t you know me?” the voice asked, sounding hurt. A flash of long, blonde hair disappeared into a room at the end of the hall. Frank’s room.

He realized who this strange girl was and took off at a run, Joe a few yards behind him. What was she doing here?

A shrill, piercing scream sounded from inside the room. Frank rushed inside. The room was empty.

Creak…creak…creak… A soft, almost inaudible groaning noise could be heard from somewhere up above. Slowly, Frank lifted his eyes and saw his worst nightmare.

A flash of lightning illuminated the room for a short moment, and Frank was able to glimpse a figure that swayed gently back and forth…back and forth…to and fro in an endless pattern by her neck, which was twisted and cracked in a gruesome position, broken by the noose wrapped around it. Her blonde hair ruffled quietly in the breeze that seemed to have sprung up from nowhere, her blue lips curved in a mocking smile. Her eyes were frosty and unseeing, plagued with horror and pain. Her face was pure white, and cold, even to look at. The lightning ceased, and thunder rumbled precariously. Another flicker, and the body was illuminated.

Callie Shaw was dead.

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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.