hardy boys fan fiction
THE OUIJA BOARD
hardy boys nancy drew fan fiction
by
Phoenix
Chapter
8
hardy boys fan fiction
THE CHAPTERS
Frank Hardy woke up at his usual time. Eight a.m. It seemed that no matter what day of the week – Saturday included – his body just hated being asleep for even one moment longer!
Groaning and a bit stiff, he lay in bed and glared at his clock. For a moment he was confused about the stiffness until the image of hauling his brother’s dead weight out a broken window made him wince. It had been real.
Of course he already knew that. One look at his red and tender palm, burned on the scalding door, was more than proof enough on that regard!
Shaking his head, Frank sat up and swung his long legs over the side of the bed and onto the floor, shivering as he did so. Another chilly October morning made the hardwood flooring in his room less than welcoming. He made a mental note to bring his small mat back into the house from where he had left it to air out on the back porch railing yesterday. The dark-haired teen hadn’t given it another thought since – well, until now.
Quickly he moved into the bathroom to relieve his bladder, wash his face and make his hair presentable, before moseying on downstairs to see about breakfast. He almost woke his brother up out of spite, but decided against it – one of them should be able to sleep in!
“’Morning Mom, Dad!” Frank said going into the kitchen, not surprised to see his parents already up. Like him, the elder Hardys rarely stayed in bed past eight. Often times Frank wondered where they had gotten Joe….
“Morning son,” Fenton Hardy greeted, glancing up from the morning paper. It was one of those rare Saturdays when the detective was home and not in a rush to get somewhere.
“Sweetie,” Laura moved around to give her son a good morning peck on the cheek and then motioned for him to sit down, “Eggs this morning; I’ve got to pick up some more pancake mix when I’m out.”
Frank grinned as he sat down – his mother’s cooking was one of the reasons why the teen had opted to continue living at home while going to university! Within moments, his mother had a plate of eggs and sausage in front of him, and a glass of orange juice poured.
“Is it safe to assume that the sleepyhead isn’t up?” Laura asked, sitting down at her place at the end of the table, opposite her husband.
“Very safe,” the boy chuckled as he dug into his breakfast. He was starved!
“Didn’t you boys offer to help Mr. Fitzpatrick this weekend? Seems I remember something about painting?” the sleuth asked, putting down his paper and digging into the plate of food his wife put down in front of him. “Thanks, darling,” he smiled warmly at her.
Frank hid a grin and looked away. While his brother thought it was embarrassing, he loved seeing those little looks that still passed between his parents after over 20 years of marriage. “Yeah, paint and cleaning out the garage detail.” Wilson Fitzpatrick had been a well-beloved neighbor since the Hardys had moved into their house when Joe was still a baby. A widower, the retired plumber lived alone with only his dog – a border collie named Rufus – for company. His grown children had long since left Bayport, and Frank and Joe often times helped out the elderly man when he needed odd things done. They never minded, the Jamaican immigrant kept them entertained with stories, and well fed with sandwiches!
“Speaking of which,” Frank continued, “I’d better give Joe a shout – the day will be half gone if I have to wait for him to get up!” Starting to push himself away from the table he paused and added, “Uh…by the way, Joe had a bit of excitement last night and he’s got quite the nasty cut on his forehead.”
Fenton raised his eyebrows questioningly while Laura just shook her head. “Dare we even ask?”
The teen shrugged, “Ask him – I’m not too sure, yet, about it myself. But I thought I’d pre-warn you.”
“That boy,” Laura rolled her eyes as Fenton ran a hand across his face and let out an exasperated sigh. “I swear to God, sometimes I think that boy was born with a trouble magnet firmly affixed to his butt!”
“He didn’t get it from my side!” Fenton immediately quipped.
Laughing, Frank was out the kitchen door before he could hear his mother’s response.
* * *
“Joe! Hey Joe! Come on! Get up – we gotta get to Mr. Fitz’s!” Somewhere deep into his sleep an intruding voice insisted. Groaning, the teen reluctantly roused to semi-waking. He just felt so tired…
“Come on, Joe!” the voice continued, irritatingly close.
“Go away,” the teen growled; too drained for pleasantries.
“I’d love to, little brother,” came the amazingly amicable reply, “but since you’re the one who volunteered our services, I figure you should at least show up.”
‘Was that today?’ Joe thought, slowly turning onto his back and rubbing a hand across his eyes, trying to wake up. “I’m up,” he finally grumbled.
“Good. Mom made eggs today,” Frank went on, “we’re out of pancake mix.”
“Not hungry,” the younger boy yawned – he couldn’t believe how tired he was!
“Not hungry?” he heard his brother snort, “yeah, whatever. See you downstairs, bro.” And then he was gone.
Slowly, with great effort, Joe pushed the blankets off and started to sit up. It was just so tempting to close his eyes and go back to sleep…but Frank was right – he had been the one to offer Mr. Fitzpatrick the help, so –
Groaning, he dragged his leaden body out of bed and towards the shower, barely even opening his eyes and hoping the water would help revive him.
Twenty-five minutes later – and only feeling a little less groggy – Joe slowly went downstairs and into the kitchen. He steeled himself for his parents’ reaction when they saw his forehead.
His mother had her back to him when he went in, rinsing up some of the breakfast dishes, and neither his father nor Frank were anywhere in sight.
“Morning Mom,” he said as he let the swinging door close. His mother glanced over her shoulder and then whipped around, an alarmed look on her face.
“Joe! Are you feeling okay?” She moved towards him and put her hand lightly on his forehead, careful to avoid the injury.
“I’m okay, I just tripped and knocked my head,” he simplified; it wasn’t that he was trying to keep anything from his mom, he just didn’t have the energy to go into it right now. All he wanted to do was crawl back in his bed and go to sleep!
“I’m not talking about the cut, honey,” his mother said gently, “but you’re so pale. Joe, are you sick? You don’t feel warm,” she added and then frowned, “actually you feel a bit cool.”
“I’m fine – a bit tired though,” he admitted, “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“Ah, probably the flu then, there is a nasty one going around,” Laura agreed. “Here sit down, I’ll get you something—”
“Actually Mom,” Joe cut her off quietly as he gave her a weak smile, “that’s okay. I’m not really very hungry.” Oblivious to the worried look that grew on his mother’s face, he moved towards the fridge, “Very thirsty, though.” Taking out a bottle of water, he uncapped it and drained it in one long drink. Putting the empty bottle in the recycling, he managed a smile. “Much better. I think I’m going to wait in the living room for Frank.”
Before Laura could respond, Joe did just that, moving out of the kitchen and dropping down heavily on the couch. His eyes were closed and he was asleep almost immediately.
* * *
Frank came down the stairs and groaned when he saw his brother asleep on the couch.
“Oh give me a break, Joe,” he complained, giving the younger boy a gentle shake, “I was up later than you! Now come on! Up and at’ em!”
“I don’t think he’s feeling very well, Frank,” Laura said, coming out of the kitchen, and the older boy frowned, only now noticing just how gray his brother was.
Tired blue eyes opened and looked up at him. “You ready?”
“Are you okay?” Frank asked, instead of answering, as he reached out to touch his brother’s forehead, but Joe brushed him off.
“Yeah, bit tired though.” He dragged his body up off the couch. “Let’s go.”
“How’s your head?” the nineteen-year old persisted.
“Fine,” was the rather bland response.
Frank and Laura exchanged worried glances as they watched Joe move clumsily towards the door. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” the older boy promised and then hurried to catch up.
Laura watched them leave, her blue eyes clouded with worry. Reluctantly she went to get her purse; she had some errands to run. But before leaving, she popped upstairs, found her husband in the attic digging out the Halloween decorations, and told him of her concern about Joe.
The detective gave her a thoughtful look as he straightened up from a box he had been looking in. He shrugged. “He’s probably just coming down with the flu or something. I wouldn’t worry too much, yet…” Seeing that she didn’t look too convinced he added, “and I’ll be around all day anyway.”
“You’re right, I suppose,” Laura sighed, “but still—”
“But still he’s your baby, so you worry.” Fenton moved towards his wife and gave her a brief hug. “Go on, hon…it’ll be fine.”
Swayed by his confidence, Laura stood up on her tiptoes, gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek and then hurried back downstairs. She made a mental note to pick up aspirin when she was out. If Joe was coming down with the flu, he’d appreciate them later!
* * *
Wilson Fitzpatrick smiled warmly at the teenagers as he saw them coming across the lawn towards his house. The widower was sitting on his front porch enjoying a hot cup of black coffee and welcoming another fine day. He loved autumn.
“Frankie! Joey!” he greeted them cheerfully. He had known the boys since they were babes and was about the only one who got away with referring to them in such a manner. “What a wonderful day to be alive!”
Frank grinned. “That it is! Good morning Mr. Fitz.”
“Morning.” Joe’s greeting was much more subdued and the old man’s face crinkled thoughtfully, immediately picking up that something wasn’t right with the younger Hardy.
“Where’s Rufus?” the older boy asked, referring to the black and white border collie that was the old man’s constant companion.
“Inside, being lazy,” the man chuckled as he stood up. “I do appreciate you boys helping me with this….If one of you wants to start on the fence, I’ve got the paint and brushes out back. And then the other can give me a hand sorting through the stuff in the garage.”
“I’ll paint,” Joe offered immediately, already heading towards the back of the house.
“O-kay.” Frank watched his brother, surprised and with increasing concern; normally the younger boy would have preferred the lifting to painting. In fact, Joe hated painting! Finally turning away, he followed the old man into the garage.
* * *
Joe sat on the ground and leaned his head against the fence. He hated painting but he didn’t have the energy to even consider the alternative. At least this way he could sit for a bit.
‘What is wrong with me?’ he wondered vaguely, closing his eyes for only a moment, not recognizing the weariness that tugged at him. It just didn’t make sense! With great effort, he forced his eyes open, leaned back and picked up the paintbrush.
This was going to be a long day!
* * *
“So, you going to tell me what happened last night?” Frank asked two hours later when he sat down on the grass next to his brother to take a break. Mr. Fitzpatrick had brought out a pitcher of lemonade and some tuna sandwiches. The older boy noticed that Joe didn’t eat anything, but downed two tall glasses of lemonade. He tried to make the question casual sounding but he was worried; not liking how pale the younger boy was, or this lack of appetite. However when Frank had asked him if he was okay, he’d been brushed off with another ‘yeah, just tired.’
Joe started at the question, as they had been sitting together quietly for a few minutes now, and then he shrugged, “I have no idea, Frank. Someone was trying to scare us, is my best figuring, but as to who it might be – I really have no idea.”
“Some scare!” Frank growled, not bothering to hide his anger at whoever it was, “they almost killed you!”
Joe gave his brother a tired smile. “But they didn’t – thanks to you, big brother.”
The older boy scowled. “That isn’t the point, Joe! I wasn’t supposed to be there, remember? And neither were you!”
The blond teen flushed slightly as he shrugged and turned his face away. “What did you want me to do?” he asked, looking back at his brother a moment later. “Callie and Vanessa were insistent about going – they wouldn’t listen to me and I couldn’t let them go by themselves!”
“Well no, of course not,” Frank acquiesced, “but Joe, you know exactly how dangerous that house is!”
“Yeah, yeah and I’m bigger too,” Joe grumbled and then rubbed a hand across his face, wincing when he inadvertently rubbed his forehead.
Frank chewed his lip as he regarded his brother. He wasn’t really mad at Joe; more worried than anything else and he knew, first hand, how persistent Callie could be when she had her mind set on something. It was her most endearing AND most maddening quality – at the same time! But before he could say anything else, the back door opened and Mr. Fitzpatrick came out of the house with Rufus hot on his heels.
The dog started excitedly towards the boys but then stopped dead in its tracks; his hackles rose as a low growl emanated from deep in his chest. Slowly the dog advanced – stiff-legged; his brown eyes firmly fixed straight ahead towards – Frank felt the blood drain from his face – towards Joe!
* * *
And in Deathe House, blood soaked into stone….
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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.