Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

The Candyman sang and skipped his way merrily down the labyrinth of gingerbread corridors. The Children of the Gingerbread House followed behind him in a single file.

oooooo

He moved restlessly, his face screwed into a frown. His thoughts ran haywire; he dreamed silly kiddy dreams…

They were all trapped in a house of some sort…

He was seated on a comfy couch watching TV; he watched the trapped victims' multiple journeys through the Gingerbread House…

Frank Hardy took a deep breath before reaching out to open the door right before him. He was currently in the Indoor Candied Playground. If he was correct in his assumptions, then the room before him must be the kitchen.

He needed to get into the kitchen.

Please, let it be the kitchen! Frank pleaded. It has to be the kitchen! he muttered desperately as he slowly turned the doorknob.

He was almost in tears and he knew it was because he was close to the breaking point. Frank knew that some sort of psychological war was being waged here, but he also knew that the human mind was a fragile thing. Intellectually knowing what was being done could not hold back the feeling of overwhelming hopelessness and terror threatening to overtake his good sense forever. He was all alone; the candied environment, the sweet nauseous smell, and the oppressive feel of being trapped were all working against him minute after minute. Soon cracks would appear in his mental walls. In fact he could already feel some of those cracks. He had to find a way out! And soon! Very soon!

Frank twisted the door knob, opened the door and walked through.

Mad relief flooded him.

It was the kitchen. He did it!

And more; so much more!

Before him was hope. He was not alone anymore.

First give them hope…

They were in the kitchen planning and plotting.

They were building something.

They were six. Then they were three, and then two…

Divide and conquer, he watched and he mused.

Frank stood on top of his brother's shoulders as his fingers worked carefully affixing the last of his homemade kitchen-chemistry bombs to the ceiling.

"Hold steady now Joe," Frank told his brother as he added the finishing touches.

Joe's only response was a grunt.

"Okay, now to fit in the fuse…" Frank muttered.

Michelle handed him a length of twine that she had soaked in cooking oil at his instructions. Frank had to hide his smile at Michelle's rather shocked look. He could see that she was disturbed by the fact that he had just constructed four little bombs out of simple everyday kitchen gear.

She's probably wondering what sort of a parent would allow their kids to learn such knowledge and worrying about their bad influences on me and Joe, Frank mused. It was easy to guess how a social worker might view his actions.

Meanwhile, Yvonne was anxiously watching the door for any signs of John and Enrico returning. They had gone for another run around the house just to test out Frank's theory. If they followed the instructions to the letter, and encountered the same order of rooms, AND successfully found their way back into the kitchen, THEN there was a good chance his theory was right.

And they would attempt to blast their way out through the ceiling.

"Are you absolutely certain, Frank?" Yvonne could not help but to ask the moment Frank leapt off his brother's shoulders.

"Don't worry Yvonne," Joe told her with a reassuring smile. "My brother would never do something this risky if he wasn’t confident!"

Frank had to smile at his brother's confidence in him. At the same time, he could not help but feel more and more anxious. What if he was wrong? He could just as easily cause a collapse and bury them all alive.

But they had no choice. Time was running out. They would all die anyway. So they had voted to take the risk to blast a way out instead.

The door opened, and John and Enrico marched through, wide smiles on their hopeful faces.

"The order of the rooms was just like you expected them to be, Frank!" Enrico crowed.

"Good work, kid," John said. "I think we can definitely take that risk."

Frank smiled. He felt the weight of fear melt off his shoulders.

Only to crush that hopes totally…

They hid behind makeshift shelters. The four males exchanged grim looks before each lighted the fuse before him.

Frank watched as the spark caught and the fire swiftly burned its way upwards. He tensed, ready to dodge under the shelter the moment the fire neared the homemade explosive.

There were just so many things that could go wrong. And he needed the four bombs to go off at approximately the same time. But he had re-worked the scenarios so many times that he knew he could only pray now. He was certain he made no mistakes, given the information he had gathered.

The four sparks burned even closer to their objective.

"Okay, everyone, GOOD LUCK!" someone yelled.

Frank saw Joe giving him a 'thumbs up' before disappearing behind the table with Enrico.

Then he felt it.

The room slowly moving.

CRAP.

He forgot.

Time.

He forgot the timing. He forgot all about the rhythm of the house.

He burst out from his shelter and raced desperately for the burning fuses.

"Kill the fire…. KILL the FIRE!" he yelled.

But he was too late.

The spark leapt onto the explosive and BOOMZ.

Frank was flung backwards. He watched in horror as the orange flames rolled outwards from the source and towards him. He could see the ceiling crumbling right above Joe, and watched horrified as both Joe and Enrico scrambled desperately to get out of the way.

Then someone was dragging him away from the fires.

He fought against that all the way.

How he loved watching horror movies…

He was alone, Frank thought dully as he worked his way slowly and painfully through the aftermath of the ill-planned explosion.

There was no one left but him, he knew with a certainty from the depths of his soul. He had been searching for hours now.

He killed them all.

It was his plan, so it was his fault.

He killed his brother.

The physical pain from his injuries was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.

He could not take it. He ran.

Poor boy, his heart hurts for him too…

He failed.

He choked back a sob as he stumbled on and on. It did not matter anymore where he was heading.

It was his fault.

He hurt, and so he ran.

In one door, and out another door, and then in the next door.

Tears blinded him as he continued running until he ran smack into something hard and cool. He stopped to stare uncomprehendingly at it for a moment. Something from that silvery surface called out to him. Something in that silvery surface beckoned to him. He peered into the silvery lightness and gasped. He pressed harder against the surface and the silvery surface shimmered.

When the body finally stepped away from the huge wall-sized mirror, the eyes were vacant.

And in the mirror, two persons exchanged a bear hug. Soon, a dark haired youth was happily playing ball with another fair-haired youth.

He shivered.

"Here darling, have some more of my homemade gingerbread cookies!" a sweet feminine voice called out to him.

He turned and smiled lovingly at the dark-haired pixie-faced girl holding a tray filled with warm cookies.

"Thank you, darling." He smiled and took a bite.

His eyes returned to the TV screen before him. He frowned. That dark-haired youth felt familiar to him. Then his dark-haired beauty snuggled into his arms beside him. He was a happy man. He loved her, he knew.

He loved her. He loved…who?

Something tickled the back of his mind. He loved…he loved…

Finally! He remembered!

"I love you, Iola," he told her with a smile.

The pixie face stared back blankly at him.

"I loved you, darling," he tried again.

She smiled back at him lovingly.

His heart started to pound.

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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.