It was late in the morning that day when there was a knock on the door. Actually, it was more like a furious pounding. I looked at Micky and he looked at me.
"You get it," I said. Micky shook his head.
"No way, baby," he replied. "I ain't gonna."
"Let's get it together," I suggested.
"Ok," Micky agreed reluctantly, and together we opened the door.
Our landlord, Mr. Babbit, was standing outside. He didn't say a word, just marched into the house.
Micky and I exchanged glances again. "Um, hello, sir," Micky began, nervously. "What can we do for you?"
Mr. Babbit turned around and glared at Micky for a second. "What is your car doing in Alaska?" he asked.
Micky and I exchanged glances once again. "Alaska?" I asked.
Babbit flipped on the TV. "Haven't you been watching the weather reports?" he asked.
"Um, no," Micky began, but Mr. Babbit interrupted us.
"There's a big snowstorm in Alaska," he began, flipping through the channels. "There." He pointed to the TV. "Isn't that your car?"
The snowstorm in Alaska must have been a big one, I realized, as I watched the TV. They were showing footage of cars and houses and people that were stuck in the snow. And one of those cars was ours. Stuck, unrecognizable except for the liscence plate, the car was under the snow. Micky and I exchanged glances for the umpteenth time.
"That is our car," I began.
"And Mike took our car," MIcky continued.
"But where's Mike?" Mr. Babbit finished.
"Good question," I replied. "We've got to go up there."
"Why?" Micky asked.
"To get our car back," I replied. "And find out what happened to Mike."
"But how?" Micky asked.
"Good point," I replied. I hadn't thougth of that.
"Take my car," Babbit interrupted, and we both looked at him in shock for a second. "I'm serious," he continued. "You need it. It'll give me peace for a few weeks, and you can't pay the rent if you don't have all four of you."
"Wow," I said. "Thank you very much. And I promise you that we'll take care of it." With that, Mr. Babbit left, and Micky and I began to get ready for our trip. Then, Micky stopped packing.
"Wait a minute, Davy," he said. I poked my head out of the closet where I was gathering supplies. "We don't know where in Alaska we're going. It's a rather large state. They could be anywhere."
"Right," I said. You stay 'ere and call the TV station. I'll go to a store and get a map."
"The TV station?" Micky asked. "Why, so they can make a movie of this?"
"No, silly. So they can tell us where our car is," I said, and left for the store.
Just then, there was another knock at the door. Micky answered it, since I was gone by then.
This time, it was the mailman. "Oh, hi James," Micky said to the mail carrier. "Anything good today?"
"Not much," James replied, handing Micky some letters. "Just bills. " Micky took the envelopes from him and sighed.
"Oh well, can't win 'em all."
"Hey, you guys heard from Peter yet?" he asked.
"No, why?" Micky replied, intrests perking. "Do you know where he is?"
"Yeah, he's in Alaska," James replied, as if it was obvious. "He told me he was goin' there to meet up with Mike or somethin'. Why? Didn't you guys know?"
"He didn't tell us anything, man, this is great!"
"Why?"
"Me an' Davy are going to Alaska anyway to find Mike. I guess we'll find him there," Micky explained cheerfully. "Thanks, man."
Micky and I soon found out the location of our car in Alaska, and, using the map I bought, headed for Alaska. It was a long trip, and since not much happened, I'll tell you about Peter's problem, which he soon discovered he had.
You see, Peter was discovering that Alaska was a big state, and it would take him a long while to find Mike. He hired a dog sled to take him across the country and hopefully they would find someone who knew where Mike was.
He'd been out there a few days, when, one night, he and the driver, Pierre, and the dogs were awakened from their sleep by a wolf howl.
They'd been in Alaska for a few days, and had heard several wolf howls by this time, but this one sent shivers down their spines. It was creepy.
Pierre rationally told Peter it was nothing to worry about, and he went back to sleep. But Pierre was wrong.
That night, Peter slept well. But sometime around midnight, he heard growls and shouts from Pierre's tent. He ran outside to find the tent in shreds and Pierre near death.
"Pierre, what happened?" Peter asked, kneeling down in front of him.
"A...wolf," Pierre gasped. "It....attacked me.....Unusual...for...a wolf. Must...be...a ....werewolf."
"A what?" Peter asked, scarcely believing what he was hearing. Werewolves weren't real, they were in movies!
"He'll..come back. You must....go," Pierre continued, ignoring the question. "Take...dogs. Take..care..of...my...dogs."
Pierre's eyes slowly closed and he gasped one more breath before he died. Peter looked on in shock. Pierre's body was covered with blood, and his face was barely recognizable.
But Peter knew one thing. Wolf or werewolf, he was getting out of there.
kill the suspense, go to part three
