hardy boys fan fiction
THE OUIJA BOARD
hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by
Phoenix
Chapter
10
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
“DAD!” Frank yelled as he leaned over his brother and checked his pulse, alarmed by how rapid it was! Gently he shook his brother, “Joe? Come on kiddo, wake up!” even as he heard his father’s rapidly approaching footsteps.
The bedroom door burst open and an alarmed-looking Fenton raced into the room. “What’s—” One look at his younger son stopped the rest of the question before it was asked. Frank was shaking Joe harder now to try and get a response.
“His lips are blue and his heart is racing!” the teen told his father as he tried to keep from panicking. Why wasn’t Joe waking up? Finally the younger boy stirred, but his drowsy, slurred mumble did nothing to ease Frank’s concerns. The older boy looked at his father, who nodded curtly and then stepped back into the hall to call Dr. Bates – he hadn’t had a chance to make that call yet.
When the kindly old doctor answered, Fenton quickly briefed him about Joe, and wasn’t surprised when the man urged them to take the boy to the hospital immediately – he would meet them there.
“Help me with him,” Fenton said, coming back into the room and moving towards the bed. Between them, they managed to get Joe up and on his feet. The teen swayed, too tired to stand up or even open his eyes as his head hung heavily against his chest.
“Enough of this,” the sleuth growled. He instructed his older son, “Wrap this blanket around him.” As soon as Frank did, Fenton picked Joe up, staggered slightly as he shifted his weight and then carried his son swiftly down the stairs, his alarm growing with how cold the blond boy felt and how his head lolled, lifelessly, against his chest. Frank rushed ahead to open the door for them, once again marveling at his father’s strength as he seemed to carry Joe almost effortlessly!
Hearing the commotion, Callie hurried out of the kitchen. “Frank?” she cried out, seeing Fenton carrying a wrapped and seemingly unconscious Joe, “What’s going on?”
“I dunno,” the teen said, “We’re taking him to the hospital. Can you wait here for my mom and tell her where we are?”
Immediately the girl nodded and then offered, “I’ll drive her myself!”
“Thanks Callie!” Frank flashed her a brief smile as she followed them out to the driveway and watched as they put Joe in the back seat of Fenton’s sedan.
Within moments, the sedan backed out of the driveway and sped towards the hospital.
* * *
Callie watched until the car was out of sight and then hurried back into the house. She’d call Vanessa to come and wait with her, and then they could both go with Laura to the hospital.
She sincerely hoped Joe would be okay although she had been shaken by the brief glimpse she had gotten of him: pale skin, eyes closed, lips a shocking shade of blue. She was no doctor but even she could tell that he was in trouble!
For one brief moment she wondered if it had anything to do with the Ouija Board but then dismissed that thought – Joe was sick, that was all. Frank had said so.
* * *
Wilson Fitzpatrick pulled up outside the old house and parked. He sat in his car for a long time with his eyes closed, listening. Around him he tuned out the sounds one by one: the rustling of the autumn leaves, the cawing of a crow – about the only animal bold enough to go anywhere near that house – and even the creaking of the trees as they succumbed to the will of the increasing wind, until the only sounds he heard were those of the house.
He frowned, not liking what he was hearing.
Wilson Fitzpatrick was no mere plumber – in fact, the Hardys might have been shocked to find out exactly what their mild-mannered neighbor truly was. Although born in Jamaica, the dark-skinned man was of a powerful Haitian descent. His great-grandfather had been one of the slaves who had worked on the building of Deathe House, and whose blood had fed it.
It was Wilson’s great-grandmother – a powerful voodoo witch – who had kept the copious notes that now resided in the basement of Wilson’s home. After her husband’s death, she had fled with her family to Jamaica and remarried a young Irishman. Wilson carried his name – but not his blood. His blood was his father’s, and thus part of this house. He alone understood Deathe House far better than any other living man….
Wilson Fitzpatrick was a witch doctor.
* * *
Frank rushed into the ER, and came out moments later with two nurses and a gurney. With the efficiency of experience, the medical staff gently removed Joe from the back seat of the car and onto the stretcher before quickly moving him into the hospital.
The teen was still unresponsive, not having regained consciousness since his brother had wrapped him in the blanket, and a very worried Frank hurried in behind them, leaving his father to park the car and join him a few minutes later.
Fenton sat down heavily in one of the hard-backed plastic chairs in the waiting room, while Frank paced. After about ten minutes, the teen stopped and stared at his father in horror.
“Frank, what’s wrong?” Fenton asked, alarmed by the look on his son’s face.
“Dad!” the boy said, quickly sitting down next to his father and speaking in a hushed tone, “His head! That gash! He must have a concussion and we – I didn’t notice!”
The detective saw the self-condemning guilt on Frank’s face and shook his head quickly. “No,” he refuted, “for him to have gotten this sick, it would have needed to be a moderate to severe concussion, and even Joe’s not good enough to pull off hiding that from you, your mom or me!”
Frank gave it some thought and decided his father was right – no matter what, he would have noticed.
“I just hate waiting!” the normally patient boy grumbled, and his father patted his leg reassuringly.
“Me too, son…me too.”
* * *
Opening his eyes, the old man slowly got out of the truck. He appraised the old house, saddened that something of such former splendor had been bathed in evil.
“You know why I’m here,” he muttered as he made his way to the front door. The house seemed to shift, and he narrowed his gaze at it. “Stop that.”
A moment later he nodded, “That’s better. Now let’s take a little look inside.” He barely touched the heavy front door and it swung open with a grating squeak.
“You really need to oil that,” the man said to no one in particular. He often times spoke to himself...and often times it just appeared he spoke to himself.
He paused on the threshold and then touched the talisman suspended around his neck. An unobtrusive leather strap from which hung a small leather pouch, always tucked down inside whatever shirt he was wearing, for it did not like the sun. In the pouch was nothing – for it was the pouch itself that was important.
As he touched the pouch he spoke loudly, “I sînt a protega by sînge!”
Something throughout the house seemed to ripple. Satisfied, the old man entered.
Wilson didn’t need to try and figure out where the kids had been. He already knew. The library – and he knew exactly where the library was. He could feel the cold around him, and knew he wasn’t alone, but he wasn’t worried. He knew what stalked him and that it could not hurt him. He knew, and so did it.
But the children who had been here last night? That was another thing – with the exception of one.
Pushing open the library door, he scowled as he stepped inside. There on the floor, right between the two cursed stones was the Ouija board…the open door.
Sighing he crouched down beside it but didn’t touch it. He couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, his keen old brown eyes scanned the stones themselves until he saw what he was looking for. It would have been very hard to miss, even if he hadn’t been…a large reddish brown stain.
Wilson sighed. This was not good. Not good at all.
“You can’t have him,” he said, standing up and wincing at the popping of his arthritic joints. “He has a brother.”
He felt the tantrum and shook his head, “But that won’t stop you from trying, will it?” The old man started to leave the room. “I will be back to deal with you in a bit.”
Bring him…. the words seemed to hang on the air around him.
“I will bring them all,” the old man said agreeably, but then his tone hardened, “to say good bye.” He looked back at the brown spot and saw it grow. “But you still can’t have him.” And then he left.
He wasn’t as sure as he sounded, that he could save his young neighbor - this spiritual leech was powerful. But he would try, and he did know its weakness.
Wilson just prayed that the bond between Frank and Joe would be strong enough.
I sînt a protega by singe… I am protected by blood…
* * *
A white-faced Laura Hardy rushed into the Emergency Room, followed closely by two equally pale girls.
“How is he?” she demanded, quickly crossing to her family and giving both Frank and Fenton a quick hug. Her blue eyes darted worriedly from one face to the other.
“Dr. Bates hasn’t—” Fenton broke off when he saw their family doctor come into the waiting room and head towards him. The doctor’s features were grim, and the detective felt his gut tighten. Immediately both Frank and Laura turned to see what had caught his attention and then hurried to meet him.
“How is Joe?” Frank demanded when they were within comfortable earshot.
“Let’s sit down for a moment,” the older man advised, ushering them towards a more private spot in the waiting room. Vanessa and Callie moved away, but watched anxiously.
The doctor waited until they were all seated and then frowned, “Has Joe complained of any pain recently?”
Three heads shook their answer: No.
“Has he mentioned passing blood in his urine or stool?”
Again three heads were shaken.
“Has he been vomiting?”
“Doctor, what is going on?” Fenton cut through to the chase, not sure he liked where these questions might be leading. “What’s wrong with Joe?”
“He’s suffering from Blood Loss Anemia.”
“What?” Laura gasped as Frank and Fenton just stared at the doctor, stunned. “What is that?”
“It happens in people who have lost a large amount of blood. The average adult has a blood volume of approximately 5,000 to 6,000 ml and can usually lose about 500 ml without any serious or lasting problems. However, when the loss reaches about 1,000 ml or more, it can have more serious acute consequences and we call that Blood Loss Anemia.”
“And Joe has – this?” Again it was Laura who voiced the question, and the doctor nodded.
“Joe’s blood volume is distressingly low – he’s lost about 1,400 ml, but we have no idea how. That’s why I was trying to find out if he’s been passing blood externally….I’ve already determined that, except for the laceration on his scalp, there is no obvious reason for the blood loss….He isn’t bleeding internally, and that’s about all I can tell you at this moment.” The doctor looked perplexed. “Right now he’s being moved into a private room and is being given whole blood to try and build his volume up. At almost 30% blood loss, I’m concerned about him going into severe shock, lactic acidosis and the strain on his heart. 40%-50% blood loss results in death…. He is still in tachycardia but I anticipate a reducing heart rate as his volume increases.”
“So—” Frank tried to make sense of what the doctor had just said. His mind was reeling and he was sure his face was as white as the doctor’s lab coat. “so what you’re saying is…that somehow my brother is hemorrhaging? But you don’t know why?”
Dr. Bates nodded and let out heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, that is exactly what I am saying. He’s still unconscious at the moment, but as the transfused blood gets into his system, he’ll become more lucid and hopefully have an explanation for us. You can’t lose that amount of blood and not notice it!”
“Can we see him?” Fenton asked.
“Like I said, Joe’s being moved into a room. Once he’s settled away, I’ll have a nurse take you up. Please…if he does wake up while you’re there, keep him quiet and ring for me right away. He’ll be incredibly weak and probably rather irritable.” The doctor stood up, “Don’t be alarmed when you see both an IV bag of saline and a bag of blood.”
Forewarned, the family went back to the waiting room where Frank quickly explained to both Callie and Vanessa what was going on. He grabbed Vanessa’s arm to steady her when the girl staggered under the news, as her hands flew over her mouth.
“Oh no!” she cried, letting Frank sit her down in a chair away from his mother and father.
“It’s okay Vanessa,” he tried to console the girl, “he’ll be okay.” Frank hoped he was right, although he did have to admit, mysterious blood loss didn’t sound good. While Joe was a reluctant patient and tended to understate an injury, the older boy was still positive his brother would have told him if he’d seen any blood where it shouldn’t have been!
The ash blond shook her head. “You don’t understand!”
“I don’t understand what?” Frank asked, sitting down next to her and looking into her gray eyes, which had gone huge in her face. He glanced at Callie, who was sitting on the other side of Vanessa now, but his girlfriend just shrugged; she had no idea either.
“I dreamt this – something very much like this!” Vanessa said, her voice a horrified whisper, “Last night! I went into a room…there were men, woman and—” she stumbled over the words, “and ch-children. And they had been hurt – impaled… horrific… so much screaming… so much pain – but then I saw the table—” She shuddered. Frank took her hand, almost as alarmed at how cold it was it as he was about the dream she was relating. It sounded horrible! “There was a man sitting at the table and—” She faltered.
“Vanessa?” Frank’s voice was soft and imploring, “and what?”
“And he had Joe.”
Frank felt sick even as he asked, “What was he doing with Joe?”
The girl’s haunted gray eyes turned sad even as she answered, “Consuming him.”
Callie turned haunted brown eyes on a stunned Frank as she grabbed his arm with a cold hand. “There’s no choice,” she said, earnestly. “We have to go back!”
Vanessa nodded – her gray eyes just as serious, “For Joe.”
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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.