Hardy Detective Agency featuring Hardy Boys Fan Fiction

Triskaidekaphobia: the fear of the number 13. For example: the fear of having 13 people in the same room with you, or the fear of living on the 13^th floor.

Superstitious people believed that the number 13 brought bad luck. Fools, all of them were! What a bunch of ignorant fools they were!

He laughed at those superstitious fearful people. They had no idea of the power that lay behind that very magical prime number, that number '13' has the power to open doors. So how did such a powerful number come to be a numerological pariah? That made for some interesting theories.

But he was only interested in one at the moment, the one that best fit his plans.

And that was the story that the association of bad luck with the number 13 is attributed to the belief that Judas the betrayer at the table of The Last Supper with Jesus made thirteen.

'Anywhere one goes, there will always be a Judas,' he thought philosophically. 'And even amongst Judases, there will be a Judas of all Judases…'

Make no mistake; the number 13 is a powerful number. It is a prime number, and a Fibonacci number. And of course also a baker's, a devil's or long dozen…for those who chose to see it that way.

But what mattered to him was that 13 is prime.

PRIME.

Twelve plus one made thirteen. Twelve and one are both power numbers, and twelve is also almost universally regarded as a perfect number, signifying harmony and all good things. One is, of course, the first of everything and the start of all things.

So, so special is the number 13!

And the number 12….

He took a quick glance at the twelve screens to his left before returning his attention to the notes before him. His twelve little Judases were all coming along as expected. He smiled at the brief sight of the twelve bodies twisting and turning in the throes of terror, trapped within the gingerbread walls.

He spared another glance at the thirteenth screen. The ONE. That one was coming along fine too. What a quick learner that one was.

'Soon,' he thought happily. 'Soon they will pay for their crimes, and I will get to go home.'

A movement from the very last screen caught his eye. He swiveled his chair around to give that screen his full attention.

The brown-headed youth had somehow managed to shake off his fear and was currently examining the gingerbread cell he was in. The youth's hands were shaking as he slowly felt his way around his cell looking for an exit point.

He glanced at the name tag below the screen. Frank Hardy, it said.

He returned to his work station and flipped through his notes, and read several sheets of paper. He frowned and for a moment was lost in deep thought. A while later, his lips curled into a parody of a smile as he started to pack things neatly into their respective folders, and then flipped several switches before him. He had a particular subject that required his full and personal attention for a while more.

Then he turned his full attention to the screen before him. He placed both his hands on the sides of the screen, and stared unblinkingly at Frank as the youth slowly moved from gingerbread wall to gingerbread wall. He focused totally on the expressions on the youth's face, taking detailed note of every single nuance that appeared. He took note of every single change to the stance of the body. He missed absolutely nothing.

It could have been five minutes, it could have been fifteen. But time hath no meaning in the domain of fear.

And finally, he watched as the youth started to become ever more agitated. He could almost hear the racing heart, and the short gasping breaths.

The youth was clearly slowly losing it; his eyes darting left and right, up and down, desperately searching for something and seeing nothing. And soon, the youth was curled up in a corner of his cell, rocking back and forth with tears streaking down his face.

He leaned back into his chair and contemplated the youth before him. That youth still had fire in him. Perhaps one more run through the house? He sat there and considered his options. Perhaps he could use the younger brother? He thought about it for a long while more. Finally, he stood up, a smile of satisfaction on his face. He had come to the conclusion what to do, and soon everything would be ready for the next stage of his work.

He turned and headed out of the door into another room. There was a single bed in the room. Strapped to that bed was his Judas of all Judases. He reached out to ruffle the once blond hair, now dull, dirty and matted. He tilted the chin upwards so he could look into those vacant blue eyes.

Vacant empty eyes that would soon be filled with a purpose.

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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.