I went into a fighting crouch and snarled at him from deep in my throat. It was a good deep menacing snarl but I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
Rick dropped his hands and backed off, a look of fear and horror on his face.
Then I noticed he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking behind me.
Something heavy fell on my shoulder. Claws dug into my flesh.
And behind me something snarled.
Chapter 7
I spun around.
Red eyes burned into mine. “Caught!”
At first I thought a werewolf had grabbed me in broad daylight! Terrified, I couldn’t have pulled away even if the grip on my shoulder wasn’t so tight.
Then I realized it wasn’t a werewolf after all—just a man with gray hair sprouting out of his ears and bloodshot eyes. But the way he was looking at me was still scary.
A ripple went through the kids behind me. “The principal!” They whispered in frightened voices. “Mr. Clawson is here!”
Mr. Clawson ignored everyone but me.
“I knew there’d be trouble with you,” he said through clenched teeth. “School hasn’t even started yet and already you’re fighting.”
Paul spoke up. “But, Mr. Clawson,” he said, “Gruff didn’t do anything. It was Rick who started it.”
Mr. Clawson scowled at him. “When I want your opinion, Paul Parker, I’ll ask for it. We’ve never had a problem with fighting in this school. And we’ve never had a wolf-boy either.”
A bell rang and all the kids started to line up. I tried to move off with Paul but Mr. Clawson tightened his grip again. “I want to speak to you in my office. And then we’ll decide what to do with you.”
Mr. Clawson marched me across the school yard and through a side door. We turned into a room where a woman sat tapping at a machine on her desk. She looked up and smiled.
It was a friendly smile, like she was pleased to see me. I started to relax a little but Mr. Clawson marched past her like she wasn’t there. Her smile wobbled as if a thundercloud had passed.
At the back of this room there was another door. Mr. Clawson opened it and pushed me inside. Then he pulled the door shut, leaving me alone.
The room was dark. There was a window but the shade was pulled down. The things in the room seemed to watch me. And they didn’t like what they saw.
Nothing in the Parker house had prepared me for this room. At the Parkers’ everything was new and shiny, mysterious maybe, but not scary. Mr. Clawson’s things were old, older than I could even imagine. And they seemed to radiate a feeling of menace.
On a big wooden desk with clawed feet a strange battered thing shaped like a metal head stared blindly at me, with slits where the eyes should be. Beside it was another weird object with three big screws. I shuddered and backed away.
And the walls! At the Parkers’ house the walls were covered with pretty pictures of the outdoors. But instead of pictures Mr. Clawson had put up evil-looking weapons. In the center of the wall hung a big club with sharp metal spikes sticking out all over the end. This club had brown stains on the spikes and what looked like bits of hair. I leaned closer. It was hair!
Behind me the door opened. I jumped.
“Now we won’t be disturbed with any interruptions,” said Mr. Clawson, shutting the door firmly behind him. He leaned against it, studying me. There was a smile on his face, but it was a strange kind of smile. His eyes were as cold and gray as river pebbles.
“I see you’ve been admiring my collection of medieval weapons,” he said in a cold voice. “Unfortunately, I’ve never had a chance to use any of them—yet.”
He moved to the desk and I flinched as he brushed past me. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, resting his hand gently on the small metal object with the screws. “Some principals keep pencil sharpeners on their desks,” he said with a growly chuckle. “But this is no pencil sharpener. It’s something much more useful. Can you guess what it is? No? It’s a thumbscrew. Ingenious device and so simple. Let me show you how it works.”
He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a small bowl of plump purple grapes. He put two of them in the shallow spaces between the screws, then began to turn two of the screws. As they turned, metal plates slowly squished the grapes until—PLOP!—they burst, spewing reddish pulp all over the polished desk.
Mr. Clawson sat back and laughed. “Imagine what that could do to a man’s—or a boy’s—thumbs. Clever, isn’t it?”
I nodded, putting my hands behind my back. My chest tightened.
“And this,” said Mr. Clawson cheerily, laying his thick hand on the top of the metal thing that was shaped like a head. “This is armor. A helmet. It protected a man’s head from arrows and stones. You can see the dents,” he said, signaling me to come closer.
My legs felt wooden. Stiffly I approached the desk.
“It’s too small for me but perhaps you’d like to try it on.” Mr. Clawson’s eyes gleamed.
I shook my head no and backed away.
Mr. Clawson frowned. “Of course you would. Any normal boy would.”
He picked up the head and came at me. There was no place for me to go. Numbly I stood there while he raised the thing over my head and then lowered it over my face.
It was dark. I couldn’t see a thing. I couldn’t breathe.
“Yes,” said Mr. Clawson. “That’s better.” He chuckled to himself and I heard him move away.
Panicky, my breath was hot against my face. I needed air. I pushed up on the metal around my neck but couldn’t get it off. It was stuck!
I was suffocating.
Chapter 8
I pushed harder at the suffocating helmet, my heart fluttering. It slid an inch and I could breath again.
I could
