hardy boys fan fiction
HOLE IN THE WORLD
hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by
Medieval Liz
Chapter 11
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
Saturday, September 26, 3:20pm
The arm pinning his own to his sides was incredibly strong and, despite Frank’s frantic struggling, he couldn’t get loose. He had to get to Joe! His younger brother hadn’t listened to him when he tried to yell for him to go back, not that the hand over his mouth gave him time to say much, and now Joe was laying at the bottom of the stairs. He was possibly hurt, or even unconscious, and it was all Frank’s fault.
The door to the idling van opened quickly and he was handed to another masked man inside. The exchange was so quick that Frank barely had time to inhale, let alone yell, before one hand over his mouth was replaced with another. And now it seemed like even stronger hands now pinned him down to the floor of the van.
His eyes flicked to the side when he heard the door to the stairway open. Beyond the masked man running toward the van, Frank saw his brother laying unnervingly still on the floor. His blue eyes were wide open though and looking straight into Frank’s. He wanted to scream, ‘Joe, I’m sorry!’ but the hand kept him silent. He could only plead with his eyes that his brother would forgive him for getting him hurt.
And then the van door slid shut.
Alone with his abductors, Frank suddenly felt very small and very afraid. He fought against the grips holding him down valiantly, but futilely. He was helpless as they waited and a minute later the final masked man climbed into the front seat.
Without a word, the van squealed out of the garage and onto the busy New York streets. Frank’s chest was rising and falling rapidly with every frenzied breath, but he could do nothing but watch as the masked man with the grey eyes took a needle from one of the others.
Frank closed his eyes and groaned into the hand over his mouth as the needle pierced the side of his neck. A cold burning exploded beneath his skin and almost instantly his body went numb.
Then it went dark…
HBHBHB
Unknown Date & Time…
“Okay boys and girls, you know the drill. Sixty seconds. Ready… Begin.”
His hands hesitated over the pieces laid out on the black velvet.
“Today, Frankie-boy!”
The voice was right behind Frank and he jumped slightly at the sharpness of it. He moved quickly to catch up to the others. Nimbly, his fingers picked up the pieces and fixed them into place on the barrel and slide of the Browning .25 Automatic pistol. The firing pin, the cocking indicator, the receiver. He turned the barrel a one third turn counter-clockwise, locking it in the receiver. With a flick of his thumb he disengaged the safety, released the slide, and replaced the magazine with a snap.
The shadow of the man behind him peered over Frank’s shoulder. “Sixty-one seconds, Frankie-boy. Not fast enough. Do it again.”
“I did it faster than anyone else,” Frank complained weakly. He knew objecting was pointless, but still he wasn’t willing to give them what they wanted without a fight. “I started later then they did.”
“And who’s fault is that. Now do it again.”
Scowling, Frank took the weapon apart, making sure to put the pieces onto the fabric exactly as they had been a moment before. He heard a stopwatch click behind him, and glancing back he heard the man chuckle. “Time’s wasting.”
Frank bit his tongue to keep the snide remark from passing his lips. He turned back and went through the same motions and had the weapon put together quickly.
“68 Seconds, Frankie! You’re getting slower, now do it again!”
“That’s not fair!” Frank yelled. “You started the timer without telling me.”
“Do it again!” The man roared.
His anger and frustration displayed pointedly on his face, he once again took the weapon apart. “You want slow, I’ll give you slow,” he muttered under his breath. For the third time in ten minutes he assembled the pistol, taking his time in doing it this time.
“Damn it, Hardy! Almost 90 seconds! Maybe your brother could do better, what do you think? Should we bring him here and see how he does?”
The blood froze in Frank’s vein. “No!” The thought of his brother trapped here with him was a double edge sword. He would be with Joe, but then Joe would be in as much trouble as he was. And that was something Frank couldn’t let happen.
He felt strong hands grip his shoulders painfully and warm breath on his ear as the voice hissed, “Then do it!”
In seconds he had the weapon apart and, as soon as he heard the stopwatch start, his fingers were working furiously. In no time he was done.
The man chuckled. “49 seconds, very good. You can go now, Frankie-Boy.”
HBHBHB
Unknown Date & Time…
Frank was laying on his cot, his arms crossed beneath his head as he stared up at the square window in the ceiling. Too many nights he had laid awake, fantasizing about his Father, or the police, or Batman, breaking through that window to take them home. But as every other night, there was only the stars above.
It was because he was awake that he heard the pair of voices raised in a heated argument in the observation room on the floor above the dormitory. He shifted his head to the side where he could see the outline of another window. It was dark in the room beyond, but occasionally Frank would see the crimson glow of a cigarette and knew they were being watched again.
The voices were muffled, but when he concentrated he could hear bit and pieces of the argument.
“…private funding! Don’t need you…”
“…Communism is dead… obsolete now…”
“… trials are conclusive… theory works!”
“…Christmas is Finished!”
The window suddenly shattered, waking the others, and a chair plummeted to the floor. It bounced twice before it skittered to a stop at the foot of one of the other cots. The light in the room flickered on and Frank stared up at the two silhouettes that stood in the remains of the large window.
The cigarette flared again and the face of the smoking man was illuminated briefly, his fiery eyes glaring straight at Frank.
HBHBHB
Saturday, March 23, 6:45pm
An electric guitar was playing the same melody faintly. Once, twice, eight times before the drums began. It was still quiet, but slowly it grew louder until he could no longer ignore the pounding.
Rich brown eyes fluttered open, Frank’s vision hazy and thick as though looking through an empty glass. He blinked a few times against the darkness, wincing as a violet light flickered on over head. The shadow of a man was standing against the faint light, arms stretched above his head as he screwed the light bulb into the fixture.
Frank’s back was stiff, and he shifted on the lumpy mattress he was laying on. He heard the jangle of metal against metal and felt a tug against his wrists. Frank’s heart beat increased as he realized the position he lay in, stretched out on his back with his arms above his head. He tilted his head back, looking at the pinch he had felt a moment ago against his arm.
Fear started to overtake him at the sight of the handcuffs chaining him to the metal frame of the headboard above him. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pulled on the restraints. The sudden noise alerted the man in the room with him and the shadow turned around to face him.
hush little baby, don’t say a word
and never mind that noise you heard
it’s just the beast under your bed,
in your closet, in your head*
The lyrics of the song burned into his memory as did the face that looked down at Frank with empty grey eyes. The puff of red hair stuff out in all directions, the skull-white face glowing in the black light hanging from the ceiling. The lips didn’t move when the artificial voice sounded, the latex mask hiding the true face beneath.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, young Hardy.”
Frank screamed.
The grotesque clown was on him in a second, a leather gloved hand silencing his scream. “Ah ah ah,” The voice said, sounding unnervingly like Darth Vader, “There will be none of that now. We need to have a talk, but I can’t have you screaming again. Can I trust you to be quiet, or should I gag you?”
He was panting beneath the hand, desperately trying to will the nightmare away. But he wasn’t dreaming. Frank shook his head as much as he could under the fierce grip and slowly the hand was taken away from his mouth.
“Good boy,” The clown said its mechanical voice. “I’m sure this is all very confusing for you, Frank, but I assure you it’ll all be over very soon.”
“Wh-who are you?” Frank managed to stutter against his rising panic.
“That’s not important,” came the answer. The clown sat on the edge of the mattress and tested the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. “I do regret it coming to this, Frank, but your Father wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“My Dad?” Of course it had to do with his Dad! One of the greatest Detectives in the country Fenton Hardy had made a number of enemies and if he was working on an important case it was possible the criminals would come after his family. His Dad had warned him and Joe about that possibility several times when he was working dangerous cases, but he couldn’t remember his Dad saying anything to him recently.
“You could have just gone home if he stopped pushing the investigation,” the Clown explained. “I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but I like you Frank. You’re a good kid, and shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Then let me go home now and I won’t have to.”
The clown laughed, and with his distorted voice it was a terrifying sound. Frank cringed at the sound but the man beneath the mask didn’t seem to notice. “Smart ass,” the clown ruffled Frank’s dark hair and got up from the bed. “Just cooperate with us, Frank, and this will be painless for everyone.”
“Easy for you to say,” Frank jerked his wrists, clanging the cuffs against the bed frame.
“I suppose I do have the better deal in this,” The clown bent down and picked something up from the floor next to the bed.
Frank watched as the clown tilted a brown glass bottle against a thick cloth. The bottle was closed and before he could wonder what it was for, the cloth was pressed tightly over his mouth and nose. The chemical on the rag burned his throat and nostrils and he twisted his head to the side trying to get away from the fabric.
His head was spinning and his vision was blurring again. As the darkness overwhelmed the last thing he saw was the glowing clown mask grinning malevolently over him.
“Enter Sandman” by Metallica
Words and Music by James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich and Kirk Hammett
Copyright © 1991 Creeping Death Music (ASCAP)
International Copyright Secured All Rights Reserved
If you want to see an picture of the clown I used for the masks, do a Google Image search for ‘Pennywise the Clown’
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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.