THWACK!

Joe gave the tent peg a thump with the mallet, then tugged the rope to make sure it was secure.

“Awesome!” said Matt, pegging in the other side. “Looks like we’re the first to finish!”

They were at the Wolf’s Leap Activity Center on the edge of Brockton Forest for a school camping trip.

“Not even a tornado would shift this thing!” said Ben, poking his head out of the tent.

But just then a tornado did shift it: a tornado in the shape of Bradley Piker, or Spiker, as he was known. He raced over and hurled himself at the side of the tent, making it bulge inward.

“Hey!” yelled Joe. “Watch it!”

“Says who? This is my tent, too,” said Spiker. “I’m with you guys tonight!”

“What?” Joe groaned. He really didn’t want to share a tent with Spiker—he was the biggest troublemaker in the class.

“Yep! Mr. Hill says I’m with you. I hope you’re not going to wet your pants and call for your mommy when it gets dark tonight, Joe Edmunds!”

Joe shot him a dirty look.

“Especially if the wolf starts howling,” Spiker said with a smirk. “The ghost wolf of Brockton Forest . . .”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Joe. “I know . . . Hundreds of years ago a wolf escaped from some hunters by leaping off some rocks.” As he spoke he glanced over Spiker’s shoulder and noticed a jagged rock face, just above the tree line.

“But don’t forget the best part. After it escaped,” Spiker said in a spooky voice, “the wolf came back and stalked the hunters, catching them one by one, ripping out their throats and crunching their bones . . .”

Matt grinned. “You made that bit up.”

“And people say,” added Spiker, his voice dropping to a ghoulish whisper, “that you can still hear the ghost of the wolf, howling in the woods at night . . .”

As he spoke, the wind picked up and a cloud drifted over the afternoon sun, darkening the sky. Joe shivered. After all the weird stuff he’d seen, thanks to Uncle Charlie’s Egyptian amulet, he could easily imagine a ghost wolf lurking in the forest, watching and waiting . . .

“Hey, you guys!” came a shout. “If you’ve finished setting up your tent, I need some volunteers to help collect firewood!”

It was Lizzy—one of the camp counselors. She was small and wiry, with short red hair. According to their teacher, Miss Bruce, she was a champion rock climber. “Come on! It’ll be dark before we get the fire going!”

By the time they had built the fire, the counselors had prepared a campfire dinner.

“I’m starving,” said Joe, sitting down next to Matt with a plate piled high with franks and beans. There were twenty children from Joe’s class there, along with Miss Bruce and the principal, Mr. Hill. They sat together on logs arranged in a circle around the fire, digging into their dinner.

As Joe shoveled in his last spoonful of beans, he heard a strange noise in the distance . . .

Awwwhooooooooooo...

“What was that?”

Matt took a bite of hot dog and shrugged. “

I didn’t hear anything.”

Awwwhoooooooooo...

“Listen! There it is again!” Joe peered out, but it was getting dark and he couldn’t see anything. “It’s coming from over there.”

Matt stopped eating for a second and listened. Then he smiled impishly. “You’re hearing things, Joe! Maybe all the talk of ghosts is freaking you out.”

But before Joe could reply, Mr. Hill blew a whistle to get the class’s attention. “When everyone’s finished eating, I want you all to help clean up. You kids over there,” he said, pointing to Joe, Matt, and a few others, “collect the plates. And that group over there, you’ll be on dishes tonight . . .” There were groans from the dishwashing group, but Mr. Hill went on. “You’re going to be swapping jobs tomorrow night! Remember, camping is all about teamwork—and everyone has to help. I remember when my wife and I went camping with friends in the Appalachian Mountains. Everyone pitched in—especially when the blizzard started . . .”

Joe and Matt grinned at each other and rolled their eyes. Mr. Hill had already spent the entire bus ride boring the class silly with stories about his camping adventures, and now he was starting another one. They quickly stacked the dirty plates and carried them to the sinks.

“Want to hear a ghost story?” Ben said, turning on his flashlight and putting it under his chin so that his face lit up like a ghoul. “It was a dark, stormy night, and a group of kids were camping in a creepy forest . . .”

“Hey,” Joe interrupted. “Did you hear that?”

“Not again!” Matt snorted. “What is it this time, Joe, another ghostie?”

“No, it sounds like an animal howling.”

“A ghost wolf?” said Matt. “Yeah, yeah—very funny, Joe!”

“Let’s go take a look!” said Joe. “Come on.”

“What? Now?” Ben glanced at the trees. “In the dark?”

Joe nodded. “Why not!”

“I’m in!” Matt grinned. “What about you, Ben?”

“Definitely!”

Joe pulled his flashlight out of his pocket. “Head for the tents,” he whispered. “Everyone will think we’ve gone to get something. Then we can double back to the trees.”

As they walked into the forest, the darkness closed in. There was a distant rumble of thunder.

“This way,” whispered Joe, heading for a path he’d spotted earlier. He flashed his flashlight left and right, the beam catching movements in the bushes. “Did you see that rat?”

“Yeah, it was massive,” breathed Matt.

As they went deeper into the woods, the trees grew denser, and the undergrowth thicker. There was no light from the moon now. Joe’s heart beat faster. This was how Uncle Charlie must feel when he set off on an expedition!

There was another rumble of thunder, closer this time. And Joe heard the howling again, followed by the sound of twigs breaking and bushes being pushed aside. Something crashed through the underbrush.

“I think it’s over there!” Joe hissed, flashing his beam at the bushes. “Spread out.”

Matt moved off to the left, Ben headed right, their flashlight beams bouncing around the trees. After a few minutes, Matt called back, “Do you see anything?”

“No!” Ben shouted.

Their voices were much farther away than Joe expected. He was just about to call them when there was a sudden crack of lightning, and he saw a shape lunging toward him, its sharp teeth flashing white. It crashed into him, sending him flying.

He gasped, waiting for the wolf to lock him in its jaws and sink its fangs into him . . .