Alex Van Helsing Voice of the Undead - By Jason Henderson Page 0,5
It was growing. The worm landed on Alex’s headboard and grabbed on, because not only had it gotten bigger and split five or six ways, but it now had arms.
The creature appeared to be made of some dense, dark reddish material that reminded Alex of congealed blood. It was about eight inches tall, with claws for hands and claws for feet on four spindly limbs, and a face comprised of a single, swiveling set of teeth.
For a moment Alex stared at the blood-thing. Then it hissed, whipping its toothy head toward him, and he swiped hard at it with the stick. It leapt. The stick caught it at what Alex could only take for shoulders and it zinged through the air, landing on the door. Alex’s stick followed through and took out a lamp his mom had sent him. The air filled with hundreds of multicolored glass shards.
The creature sprang with a whiny squeal and was on his chest, tiny claws crawling up his breastbone. Alex grabbed it, holding it out and away from him, and the tiny head whipped around and tried to chew at his thumbs. As it brushed its teeth against his hand, just missing his flesh, Alex saw the creature’s back swell out like the throat of a frog in anticipation. It was ready to start sucking him dry. Alex gulped down his revulsion and threw the creature across the room.
The thing spun and slammed against Sid’s bookshelf, sending plastic model airplane parts and brushes and tiny paint tubes flying. It dropped to the tile, limbs scrambling against the slick stone as it tried to find purchase. Running, Alex grabbed a handful of Sid’s books and slammed them down on top of the creature. One hard lunge and he was sure he felt the thing squish under the stack.
Drops of sweat fell from his brow onto the copy of Strange Creatures: Anthropology in Antiquity under his hands.
No movement. Alex grabbed a couple more books, blinking against the smell of spilled turpentine, and stacked them on top of the rest.
Someone was pounding at the door. Javi, Alex thought.
Alex backed away from the bookshelf, watching for movement as the pounding grew louder. “Who is it?”
“Open up!” It was the voice of Bill Merrill, another student. “Student” wasn’t really an apt label. Bill Merrill was . . . a nightmare, a jerk, an old-fashioned bully. And he was rarely alone. What could he possibly want?
“I want our DS!” Bill shouted. He pounded again at the door.
Alex glanced around the room, taking his eyes off the stack of books. He called to the closed door, “Aren’t those things against the rules?”
“Don’t give me that,” Bill retorted loudly, pounding the door again. “Open up.”
Alex pulled on a T-shirt that said MY OTHER SHIRT BEARS AN ANTISOCIAL SENTIMENT and yanked the door open. “What?”
Bill Merrill, not as tall as Paul but bigger in every way than Alex, stood in the hallway. He was flanked by his silent brother, Steven. Bill did most of the talking, and most of it was hostile.
Bill pushed his way in and Steven followed. “We’ve been good to you, haven’t we? We let you leave our room without a fuss,” Bill said, shaking his head as he looked around. He was referring to the fact that Alex had originally been assigned to room with Bill and Steven, but they had made his life miserable until Alex moved out. This apparently qualified as a shared history. Bill touched some of the lamp’s shattered glass with his shoes. “What are you doing in here?” He kicked at some random airplane parts.
“It’s—”
“Never mind. Steven has a Nintendo DS that he thinks you took, and by you I don’t mean you, I mean the person who does your fighting for you.”
“You mean Minhi?” Alex asked, referring to Minhi Krishnaswami, a girl from LaLaurie School across the lake. Minhi was a kung fu expert and had beaten Bill once.
Mentioning Minhi made Steven, the silent brother, laugh. Bill frowned. “I mean Paul. Where did he put it?”
“Why would Paul want your DS?” A Nintendo DS—or any other gaming system—was strictly verboten at Glenarvon. But some students broke the rules, and the Merrills definitely fit that category. Alex couldn’t think of a reason why his roommate would want to steal a game system from the Merrills, nor had he seen Paul playing on one.
“Maybe he just thinks it’s funny,” Bill said. He and Steven were idly searching the room, more with their eyes than anything.