Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

And Joe felt a sense of immense relief as his father moved just in time to avoid that slashing blade. Frank would never be able to live with hurting their father in any way, he knew.

Did his dad hear him? Joe wondered.

“Yes, he heard you,” the Candyman answered in a most casual tone. “They’re just next door, by the way.”

Joe’s first instinct was to jump off his chair to run next door. But he could not. Something held him in place, and he was forced to watch with a pounding heart as his father and brother fought.

“Let me go!” Joe managed to force the words out through clenched teeth, his eyes still glued to the TV screen. “Please!” He begged, desperately, as he watched his dad barely avoid another slash from Frank’s blade.

Suddenly he realized that the Candyman was standing behind him, hands resting on his shoulders. He could feel the warm moist breath next to his right ear.

“I see you’re starting to understand the nature of the power I wield, Joe. And I am goading Fenton on. He’ll kill Frank if I want him to. But I do like you, and I can teach you. What say you we make a bet and a deal?” the Candyman whispered enticingly into his ear, and Joe’s eyes widened as he listened.

oooooo

Fenton could feel sheer desperation coursing through him. It was the desperation of a cornered animal condemned to die; terror rose in him, primitive and raw, furiously stoking the anger that was already there. The part of him that wanted to live took over, blanking out all other thoughts but that of survival. It gave him an unexpected surge of strength and agility.

Somehow, he won. His attacker was now held immobile under his body weight, his own knife raised high, ready for the deadly downward plunge.

Adrenaline-laced triumph egged him on, his anger demanded retribution of sorts. Yet something held him back. Somehow, the word ‘kill’ did not sit well with him. He took another look with anger-glazed eyes at his attacker who now lay so subdued beneath him.

The familiarity of those brown eyes shook him. It dulled his need for blood just a little. But that little was enough for the civilized Fenton to regain a hold on himself. It enabled him to recognize who it was he almost killed.

He sprang off his son’s pliant body, shocked by what he almost did. When he was a safe distance away, the knife in his hand dropped and clattered onto the floor. He sank onto his knees, staring at his trembling hands. The hands that carried Frank as an infant and brought him up into the young man that he was today; the same hands that almost ended his son’s life.

He loathed himself.

So he simply sat there and watched as Frank slowly started to move again. He closed his eyes.

oooooo

In the wet and drizzly sky not so high above West Fire Island, two seaplanes circled, looking for a suitable place to land. There was nowhere on the island itself where they could land. It was either dense forest or soft swampland.

“Strange,” Max murmured as he thought he saw some little houses on the island. “Wasn’t this island supposed to be uninhabited?”

But it was a dark, wet and misty night. He could have been mistaken.

Then the pilot from the other plane signaled. They found a newly constructed wooden pier and he was requesting instructions. Max and Ezra Collig exchanged a look and he turned and gave a curt nod to Jack Wayne. Jack Wayne was Fenton’s personal pilot and a good friend who could be trusted to keep a secret. Since the pilot of the other plane was one of his own men from the FBI, Max had to acknowledge the irony that the cavalry to the rescue also consisted of thirteen men.

Soon, everyone was gathered in the tiny clearing just beyond the wooden pier.

“Dammit!” Ezra cursed. “Why aren’t our CB radios working?!”

“Something’s jamming them, sir,” one of his men responded as he tried his radio and got only static.

Max glared at the handsets for a moment before calling for everyone to gather around him.

“Remember what I said before? We improvise. Here’s our map of the island. We’ll split into four teams, and each scour a quarter of the island. The time now is five to midnight; we’ll meet back here at half-past midnight to report on our findings. Remember, be careful, watch out for SS agents, and do not engage the enemy when you find him. Understand? Report back here first,” Max finished. “Now go!”

A hesitant and youthful voice asked, “Wouldn’t it be better to wait for dawn, sir? I mean, Halloween’s tomorrow night, isn’t it?”

Max turned and stared the young man from BPD in the eye.

“You’re mistaken, Ron,” Max said curtly. “Halloween starts in five minutes, and it ends tomorrow night. That’s why we need to hurry.”

And in a more quiet tone that went unheard by anyone but himself, “we might be too late already…”

oooooo

Fenton was fighting his way out of the darkness. As the darkness faded, a sharp spike of pain spiraled up from the base of his neck where Frank had hit him. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. At least Frank knew exactly where to hit, so he should not have to worry about the possibility of concussion.

“Fenton? Can you hear me?”

That was a familiar voice. Laura?

He forced opened his eyes and found himself in a huge golden-brown room dimly lit by twelve giant candles placed in a circle in the center of the room. He was tied firmly to a high-backed chair. The amount of rope around him and the way it was knotted virtually guaranteed immobility.

In the center of the room was a huge circle drawn on the floor. Within that circle was a mass of drawings and symbols which he could barely see in the flickering candlelight, much less decipher. What chilled him were the 12 thick wooden boards placed at equal intervals around the circle, each equipped with what looked like sturdy leather cuffs.

At the far end of the room stood a wall-length mirror. For some reason, that mirror seemed to glow in an eerie light. Fenton shivered involuntarily.

“Fenton?” The voice called him again, and he turned towards it, to see his wife looking worriedly at him. “Thank God you’re all right,” Laura said, clearly relieved.

“Laura…” Fenton whispered.

For a moment, he just looked at his wife, took in all her features. Her sparkling blue eyes that had drawn him in since the first time he met her. Then he looked away. He had failed her. “I’m so sorry, Laura,” he whispered.

“Good to see you back compos mentis with us, Fenton, buddy.” That was Mike’s voice, Fenton realized. “Let me guess, you let your kid slug you too, huh?”

Fenton returned a weak smile. “Any idea how I got here?” he asked Mike.

“I watched Gray drag you in here; I guess I got the same treatment,” Mike responded with a careless shrug that did little to hide his growing dread.

They were all screwed and they all knew it.

The detectives and their spouses were all tightly bound to identical heavy high-backed chairs. The thirteen chairs were arranged in a semi-circle – to give all of them a perfect view of what would be happening within that ritual circle later.

The single door to the room opened, and all eyes were invariably drawn to it. And the thirteen tightly bound parents waited with bated breath. Gray and Sam walked in. Sam laid himself down to sleep by the door, and Gray did the same by the mirror. Fenton wondered if there was any significance to that.

Then the first of the children filed in, dressed in identical singlets and shorts.

“Joe!” Fenton heard Laura call out in a voice that was both joyful and fearful.

But his youngest ignored them. Frank walked in next, followed by the rest.

Fenton (and the rest of the detectives) watched with a heavy sense of dread as Joe (and the other kids of theirs) headed straight to the circle in the center of the room. Fenton felt his heart pick up pace when he saw Joe lie down onto the wooden board and stretch out his arms and legs. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Frank bend down to secure his own brother firmly to that wooden board.

No! Please, not Frank! No! Fenton thought bleakly. He could hear the other parents calling out desperately to their own children, trying frantically yet futilely to reason with them, to get through to them. Fenton alone did not bother to call out. This was a show of power, a demonstration of absolute control over their children. And he had a bad feeling that he needed to conserve his energy for what was to come.

So he ignored them all, instead focusing his full attention on his eldest. Please don’t let it be Frank! he pleaded. Then he saw Frank lying down on the board next to Joe, and he could breathe again. And the knowledge that not being The Thirteen meant death came crashing down on him, and his eyes stung. He watched dully as their children slowly strapped each other down one by one. A part of his mind noted that they were strapped down in order from the youngest to the oldest…and that meant…

“No! John…” A pain-filled voice cried out when John finished strapping down the twelfth victim, then sat down at the center of the circle and waited. Fenton felt his heart go out to Mathew. He did not deserve this. No one deserved this! And he wondered how would he feel about Mathew later if John killed Frank and Joe? He returned his gaze to John, noted his blond hair and blue eyes, and felt a chill race up his spine. He always assumed that Frank might be The Thirteen, but looking at John made him realize that it could just have easily been Joe. It could have been anyone, and so he would always feel pain regardless of whoever was chosen. Then again, this might all be moot, since they might not get to live the aftermath.

And the door opened once more.

Footsteps could be heard, getting louder and louder with each passing second. Maniacal laughter followed, echoing into the room from the corridors beyond. The parents shuddered at that mad laugh, and the husbands comforted their wives who heard it for the first time.

The candle flames danced and flickered casting moving shadows where there should be done. A tiny squeak could be heard that was quickly suppressed. Someone else was sobbing.

The eight detectives exchanged glances, their mouths drawn into grim lines. It seemed that they would finally know the identity of that psycho. Fenton only wished that they were meeting in a situation where they at least had a fighting chance.

And a man appeared at the open door…

The room stilled for a moment, even the candles stopped flickering – or so it seemed to those who sat tied to their respective chairs. The detectives all fought to rein in their terror, but could not help the shivers that ran through them, despite being so well conditioned from what they had seen thirteen years back, and what they had just gone through to get here.

It was not the gore that spooked them back then. It was the absolute craziness of it all; so bizarre, yet so probable that it shook their sense of humanity. And then there was the Candyman in all his brightly colored candied finery looking like he stepped out of the pages of a comic book.

Now, Fenton admitted, what spooked him most about the man before him was the fact that he was like him. Pardon his confusing language, but his brain was struggling to function at the moment. He wanted to laugh. The Candyman looked about the same age as Fenton, and was dressed in jeans and a polo top, just like Fenton wore when he readied himself for a game of golf.

“Surprised?” The Candyman addressed Fenton. “I’ve learned that I have no need for frills, unlike the last time.”

The Candyman gestured and suddenly Fenton felt like he was two inches tall, seated before a giant. Just as quickly, that sharp flare of terror dulled. But something remained. Fenton could feel the sweat forming on his brow. A sidelong glance and the sound of heavy rasping breaths told Fenton he wasn’t the only one thusly affected.

“You’re a monster,” one of the detectives said, his voice portraying disbelief and shock.

Mocking laughter filled the air.

“Monster? What’s the definition of a monster? One that inspires horror or disgust, I believe? Do I inspire horror? I suppose. But what about you? Did you not almost kill your own child? In fact, I had to step in to stop one of you! What makes you any less than the monster that you called me?” There was no mistaking the contempt in that voice.

“You bastard! You set us up! You wanted me to kill my own son!” Fenton was first to react to that accusation while the others were still trying to overcome the almost truth of the Candyman’s statement. “But our kids lived, guys. We did not kill them!” Fenton firmly reminded the others.

The Candyman smiled. He loved a worthy opponent. “And you Fenton, you abandoned your best friend and partner. You left Sam behind when it was so clear that he was vulnerable.”

Fenton felt as if someone plunged a blade into his guts. And the Candyman had to twist that blade.

“Twice…”

Twice, yes, I abandoned Sam twice… Fenton acknowledged guiltily.

“They call me a demon childe, do you know that?” the Candyman said quietly and dreamily to no one in particular.

Then Fenton heard a tortured gasp, and a familiar feminine voice rasped most painfully, “No, please, not you, not you…. Why?”

Everyone turned their attention to Madeline. But her bright shuttered eyes were on the Candyman. They knew she knew him.

“Why? Jack, why?” she asked. “Did you ever love me, or was it all a pretense?” She had to know. Then anger rose. “You used me!” she accused. She ignored all the sympathetic glances thrown her way. Suddenly another thought hit her. No! No… “Jack, please, tell me you didn’t. You didn’t kill Harry, tell me you didn’t kill Harry,” she begged, horrified.

“No, I did not kill Harry,” the Candyman said, only to add, “You did. You and Fenton.”

There was silence for a moment. Everyone was clearly shocked by that statement. Laura’s mouth opened to angrily refute that statement, but Madeline beat her to it.

“I would never kill my husband, and Fenton’s no killer!”

The Candyman merely laughed and shook his head at her denials.

“I met Harry at a bar. He was drowning in his sorrows. His wife fell out of love with him and loved another…that was why cancer claimed him; he lost his will to live on…. Don’t you have anything to say, Fenton? Did your wife know?”

Fenton was taken by surprise and was for a moment too shocked to react to the accusation that he was responsible in any way for Harry’s death.

But Laura, Laura, bless her, turned on the Candyman and hissed, “Harry lost his will to live, but that has nothing to do with my husband!”

“What a loyal and spirited woman you married, Fenton!” the Candyman threw Laura an appreciative glance before reaching out to grab her chin and tilt it upwards towards him. “Can you be absolutely certain that he has always been faithful? All those trips he had away from home, all those lonely nights?”

“My husband has never and will never cheat on me.” Laura’s tone was absolute as she glared angrily back, her fear gone for the moment.

“I admit I was tempted,” Fenton said quietly, and met Laura’s eyes as she turned around to face him. “But Laura, I never cheated on you. I’ve liked you since the first time we met at that party so many years ago. I grew to love you more and more with each passing year. And now, now I know I love you, and that there’s no one else for me.”

“I know.” Laura said simply, and Fenton felt humbled by her easy acceptance and her faith in him. He knew he was indeed a fortunate man.

For a moment, silence reigned as the two looked each other in the eye, reliving their past together, relishing each joyful moment and learning chapter of their lives.

The silence was shattered by a single crisp and loud ‘CLAP”. That was followed by a second, then a third…

“Bravo!” the Candyman applauded. “Well Fenton, I hope you know how fortunate you are, to have the unwavering faith of such remarkable persons as Joe and Laura, and no doubt Frank. I’m tempted to test that faith further…. But, enough said. It’s almost time…”

“Time for what?” Fenton asked. He knew it was for whatever occult ritual the Candyman had planned in his mad belief in the supernatural. But the precision of everything around him also told him that the Candyman was obsessive about the timing. That The Spell of the Power of The Thirteen hinged on perfect timing. If he could delay everything long enough and screw up the timing, then maybe they could drive the Candyman over the edge. Then maybe they would have a chance…

“Why, time for me to go home, of course!” Jack the Candyman answered, his brows lifted in surprise, as if he was amazed that the esteemed detectives before him had not figured it all out yet. “Your kind took me from my home, separated me from my sister, and destroyed everything I knew. So your kind’s going to pay the price and get me home.”

“And you think killing 12 people will get you home? Please, think, Jack. Marianna and Drusilla may not be your flesh and blood, but they called you ‘father’ for eight years, Jack. Are you going to just kill them?” Madeline tried to appeal to her former husband whom she had thought was dead for two years. “As for your sister, we can help you, Jack. We’re all detectives, very good ones. Let our kids go, and we’ll not take another case until we find your sister, all right?”

She turned to solicit approval from the other detectives and received unanimous nods in return.

“If you don’t believe us, you can continue to hold our kids hostage,” Madeline tried again. “Just don’t kill them.”

The man who was Madeline’s husband appeared to mull over that offer, then shook his head most regretfully. “Sorry Maddy. You’ve been a good wife for eight years, and Mari and Dru are good kids. I can’t risk you guys coming back to attempt a rescue – do you think I don’t know what you are all thinking about? And, I do want to go home…”

“The Spell of Thirteen, whatever that is, requires thirteen sacrifices, right?” Laura suddenly cut in, her eyes pleading. “Well, there are 13 of us parents here. Let our kids go and take us instead.”

She could hear everyone holding their breaths as the Candyman pondered on that offer.

“Yes, take us instead…” A number of other voices seconded Laura’s offer, making her feel better about having made it in the first place. She was scared that she had been a little on the presumptuous side, but she was desperate. Nothing else mattered. Only that her babies got to live.

The Candyman gave Laura a candy-sweet smile, causing chills to run down her spine.

“I knew I liked you for a reason, Laura,” he said. “But, I still need a Thirteen.”

Laura felt her mouth go dry. She saw Fenton pale. She had no idea what being The Thirteen entailed, but from Fenton’s reaction, she knew it could not be anything good.

“You chose John to be The Thirteen,” Mathew said calmly. “I’ll take his place. It’s only fair. Whatever we did to prevent you from going home 13 years ago, we’ll pay that debt today. Just let all the kids go.”

But the Candyman ignored him and focused instead on Laura, and then turned his attention to Fenton.

“We’re the same age, you and I. What if I chose you? Could you kill them? Could you kill your own wife?”

Fenton stared back at the crazy psycho. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He was totally unprepared for this. He was prepared to die for his family. But to kill… His hands started trembling despite the tightness of the ropes. He could feel the tremors spread up his arms.

“Make your decision now, Fenton. Yes or no? The parents or the kids? I don’t have time to play with you here,” Jack said in a bored tone as he headed back to the circle.

He could hear the others calling out to him, telling him things. But his mind was not registering anything. As the Candyman neared the circle, the voices turned into pleas.

Do it, Fenton… Please…you have to…For the kids…We won’t blame you…not your fault…please…

Then, he heard the one voice that made the decision for him.

“I’ll always love you, Fent.” That was Laura.

“Wait!” Fenton called out. He took a deep breath. “I…I’ll do it,” he choked out. “Just let the kids go…let my kids go….” He closed his eyes; he did not want to see anyone from now on, not even Laura. It hurt too much to even think about it.

The Candyman halted. He turned around and eyed Fenton, his own eyes taking on a dreamy appearance. “If my own father were that strong-willed and loyal…” he murmured a little sadly. Then he shrugged and continued into the ritual circle.

“You said we could replace our kids!” An outraged and terrified voice yelled out.

“No offense intended, my friends. I have great respect for all of you. Especially for your family, Hardy. It seems that your son was right about you after all,” Jack said in a respectful tone. “Sorry, but I’ve already got another offer.”

He turned his attention to Joe. “Wake up, Joe…and you know what to do.”

Fenton’s eyes shot open. He heard Laura gasp. He watched, a chill in his heart, as Joe began to move. He watched the leather straps around his younger son loosen, even though no one was there to undo them. That was when he finally factored in the possibility of real supernatural involvement. Not that he never entertained that possibility. He just refused to acknowledge it.

And the guilt factor rolled in. He should have! He should have explored all possibilities! Now, his family was going to pay the price for his rigid thinking and refusal to accept the supernatural. And Joe…what was the deal that psycho was talking about?

He called out to his son, desperate to know. But Joe ignored him, even though he could see that his younger son was definitely no longer a walking automaton. He watched in dread as Joe carefully and gently strapped John onto the board he vacated.

So Fenton turned on the Candyman instead.

“Please, Jack, he’s only 17, just a kid. Let him go, and I’ll do anything. PLEASE!” he begged, even though he knew in his heart that it was hopeless. He could hear his wife making the same pleas.

“You should be proud of your son, Fenton,” Jack said. “More importantly, you should have more faith in his negotiating skills.”

After Joe finished securing John to the board, he stood up. He threw Jack a defiant look before walking over to his parents. For a moment, he let sadness and regret flow through him. Then he pushed it all aside. He was doing the right thing, he knew. He knelt down before his mom, and lifted his eyes to her. He could see her love and fear for him in her eyes. It warmed him like nothing else.

“I love you, Mom. You’re the greatest,” Joe said simply.

“Joe, whatever…” Laura started.

But Joe silenced her with his finger. Hush, trust me, he told her. Then he reached up, gave her a kiss on her forehead and a hug and he moved on, as his mother stared at his retreating back with tear-filled eyes.

He stopped before his dad.

“Joe…please don’t…” Fenton tried to dissuade his son from whatever deal he had made.

But Joe merely shook his head.

“It’s really the best option, Dad. Trust me.” Joe said, and added in a firm tone loud enough for everyone to hear, “This way, no one dies.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Then Joe reached over to give his dad a hug, just like the one he gave his mom. Love you too, Dad, he whispered. He could hear his dad whispering back the same words. After a while, he stepped away from his father. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak.

“Dad, I need you to promise something. I would like everyone to promise me something,” Joe started off a little hesitantly.

Fenton looked his son in the eye. “What?” he asked.

“Anything, kid,” someone else answered.

“That you’ll get to the bottom of that Halloween Project conducted 26 years ago. It was done by someone from the Secret Service, that’s all I know,” Joe said, then rushed to add, “You don’t have to solve that case of course, just promise that you’ll try your best, that’s all…” Then he faltered and he finished off in a much softer tone, “I mean, it’s okay if you can’t find out anything.”

Before anyone could react, the Candyman announced in a loud clear voice, “It’s time, Joe.”

Joe gave a curt nod and headed back into the circle, ignoring everything else that was being said.

The clock struck one.

“Ah, the thirteenth hour!” Jack stated, a happy smile on his face. “The thirteenth that was also the first!”

Fenton watched horrified as Joe reached for the golden blade at his feet. He watched in fear as his son used that blade to cut himself on his palm. He watched as the blood dripped into a little chalice.

By then, everyone was quiet. It was clear that there was no longer any point in talking. So they watched instead. They could only hope that whatever that young kid said about no one dying was true.

And the father and mother watched with a heavy heart as their younger son walked towards Frank.

Joe dipped the golden blade into the chalice, and then turned towards his brother. He lowered the tip of the blade onto Frank’s exposed right shoulder and started tracing a series of symbols, murmuring the lines he had been taught along the way. When he finished, he moved on to the next. And the next…

Finally, he was done.

He started to move back to the center of the circle for the final part of the spell, but stopped just outside of the center and turned to the Candyman.

“I’ve done my part, and will do the rest. I will not back off. Now, let them all go!” Joe demanded.

The Candyman smiled and turned to Fenton.

“I really do like your son. Your family is most remarkable,” he said.

Then he tilted his head a little and started to focus on each one of the children still strapped onto their boards. And slowly, one by one, they awakened. There was no mistaking the joyous exclamations from the respective parents. They shot Joe a grateful look. All except for Fenton and Laura. They still had no idea the nature of the deal Joe made. It worried and terrified them in equal measure.

Fenton watched with mixed emotions as Joe ran towards his brother, careful not to muss up the symbols. He watched as Joe hugged Frank and they exchanged a few words. He could see Frank’s struggles and heard his elder son’s angry voice as Joe moved away. He knew whatever was coming up would not be a happy ending for his family. And in that moment, he hated everyone else in that room. Most of all, he hated himself. He hated himself for failing his family.

Then the Candyman’s voice shook him out of his self-induced guilt.

“Thirty-one seconds left, Joe.”

Joe stepped into the circle, and finished up the remaining incantations. When he finished, he lifted his head and stared straight into the mirror.

Everything in the room stilled.

Fenton held his breath. It seemed that nothing was happening. He was terrified that would drove Jack over the edge and that might be bad for everyone since they were all immobilized.

Then, they all heard it.

Something creaking and grinding. The candle flames started to flicker just a little bit more wildly. Or was that just their over-tensed imagination?

The mirror at the end of the room started to shimmer and bulge. The silvery surface dulled and faded to grey. The grey darkened and turned to black.

Fenton suddenly realized that his younger son now stood with Arthur Gray just before that black hole that was the mirror. And Joe looked just like Gray. Terror rose from Fenton’s guts. Denial screamed through his mind, but no words came out of his mouth. A part of him was still hoping, still pleading.

The Candyman laughed.

And Joe…Joe…

The Candyman turned to Fenton and gave a respectful salute.

“I am most impressed with your son. He did not tell you everything because he did not want you to feel bad if you failed. Honestly, I feel a little sorry for your family. I do not believe the others will help you. But he does. He believed too much in the goodness of his kind, I say. But that was his choice. For his sake, I will tell you this. He will stay with me until the past comes to light, and the ashes of the Halloween Project are laid to rest. Right that wrong, Fenton, and I’ll return your son to you.”

Then he turned to Frank.

“Your brother has faith that you can do anything, Frank. I certainly hope you do not let him down.”

“Let him go!” Frank shouted back. “Or take me with you!” he pleaded when Jack ignored him. But Jack still ignored him.

Then Jack tilted his head to one side, as if listening for something.

“Ah, I hear the cavalry approaching. It’s time for us to go, my friends.”

The door burst opened and a number of people rushed in.

“Hands in the air or we’ll shoot!” someone shouted with his gun pointed at the three standing before the mirror.

Jack merely laughed as he stepped backward and faded into the black hole of the mirror while Gray and Joe shielded him. Then Gray stepped back into the darkness and disappeared, and Joe followed. The black hole became a mirror again. The members of the FBI and BPD stared at what happened in utter disbelief.

Three voices screamed NO! But Joe was gone.

The room began to shake, as if there was an earthquake occurring. Cracks started to appear in the ceilings and dust rained down on them. Screams of terror could be heard.

The mirror shattered.

Sam started to stir.

The cavalry rushed in to untie everyone and to get them out safely. And just after the last person was forcefully bundled out of the room, the entire ceiling collapsed, taking whatever secrets the room held with it….

To be continued… next Halloween, perhaps?

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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.