The Monastery
FOR MY FELLOW VOYAGERS. ALL OF YOU.
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE: RED BEARD
CHAPTER TWO: THE ACCIDENT
CHAPTER THREE: FLATLINING
CHAPTER FOUR: THE DREAM
CHAPTER FIVE: ARRIVAL
CHAPTER SIX: INTO THE JUNGLE
CHAPTER SEVEN: YODA IN TWEEDS
CHAPTER EIGHT: G7W
CHAPTER NINE: THE SELECT
CHAPTER TEN: SECRET MESSAGE
CHAPTER ELEVEN: THREE A.M.
CHAPTER TWELVE: THE MOE QUADRANT
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: ESCAPE FROM KI
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: SINK OR SWIM
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: TRAINING DAY
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE FIRST TREATMENT
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: HERMAN AND BURT WENDERS
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE ONES THAT DON’T BELONG
CHAPTER NINETEEN: MOUNT ONYX
CHAPTER TWENTY: BELAY ON!
CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE: THE TUB
CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO: ATTACK
CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE: INTO THE ABYSS
CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR: THE DREAM CHANGES
CHAPTER TWENTY - FIVE: IF MISERY BE THINE
CHAPTER TWENTY - SIX: THE MAZE
CHAPTER TWENTY - SEVEN: RECALCULATING
CHAPTER TWENTY - EIGHT: DON’T LOOK UP
CHAPTER TWENTY - NINE: CASS ON FIRE
CHAPTER THIRTY: GOING, GOING, GONE
CHAPTER THIRY - ONE: MARCO
CHAPTER THIRTY - TWO: THE CIRCLE IN THE DARK
CHAPTER THIRTY - THREE: NO-DEAD-BODY ZONE
CHAPTER THIRTY - FOUR: THE HEPTAKIKLOS
CHPATER THIRTY - FIVE: CREATURE FROM THE BREACH
CHAPTER THIRY - SIX: MEANING OF THE SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY - SEVEN: RHODES
CHAPTER THIRTY - EIGHT: THE TROUBLE WITH TORQUIN
CHPATER THIRTY - NINE: CHASING THE MONKS
CHAPTER FORTY: BROTHER DIMITRIOS
CHAPTER FORTY - ONE: TWEETY RETURNS
CHAPTER FORTY - TWO: THE FLAME
CHAPTER FORTY - THREE: MASSARYM
CHAPTER FORTY - FOUR: THE AWAKENING
CHAPTER FORTY - FIVE: PLAN C
CHAPTER FORTY - SIX: ONE BEAST AT A TIME
CHAPTER FORTY - SEVEN: THE SECRET OF THE LOCULUS
CHAPTER FORTY - EIGHT: NO TURNING BACK
CHAPTER FORTY - NINE: SHOWDOWN
CHAPTER FIFTY: INCIDENT AT THE RHODEAN MANOR
CHAPTER FIFTY - ONE: SOLDIER, SAILOR, TINKER, TAILOR
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CREDITS
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
RED BEARD
ON THE MORNING I was scheduled to die, a large barefoot man with a bushy red beard waddled past my house. The thirty-degree temperature didn’t seem to bother him, but he must have had a lousy breakfast, because he let out a burp as loud as a tuba.
Belching barefoot giants who look like Vikings are not normal in Belleville, Indiana. But I didn’t really get a chance to see the guy closely.
At that moment, I, Jack McKinley, was under attack in my own bedroom. By a flying reptile.
I could have used an alarm clock. But I’d been up late studying for my first-period math test and I’m a deep sleeper. Dad couldn’t wake me because he was in Singapore on business. And Vanessa, the au pair I call my don’t-caregiver, always slept till noon.
I needed a big sound. Something I couldn’t possibly sleep through. That’s when I saw my papier-mâché volcano from last month’s science fair, still on my desk. It was full of baking soda. So I got my dad’s coffeemaker, filled it with vinegar, and rigged it to the volcano with a plastic tube. I set the timer for 6:30 A.M., when the coffeemaker would release the vinegar into the volcano, causing a goop explosion. I put a chute at the base of the volcano to capture that goop. In the chute was a billiard ball, which would roll down toward a spring-loaded catapult on my chair. The catapult would release a big old plastic Ugliosaurus™—a fanged eagle crossed with a lion, bright-red.
Bang—when that baby hit the wall I’d have to be dead not to wake up. Foolproof, right?
Not quite. Around 6:28, I was in the middle of a nightmare. I’d had this dream way too many times: me, running through the jungle in a toga, chased by snarling, drooling, piglike beasts, whose screeches fill the smoky sky. Nice, huh? Usually I awake from this dream when a gap in the earth opens beneath my feet.
But this time, I fell in. Down into the darkness. To my death.
At the moment of contact, the Gaseous Giant burped in real life. The sound woke me up.
The coffeemaker-volcano alarm went off. And the Ugliosaurus whacked me between the eyes.
Which, in a nutshell, is how the worst morning of my life began. The last morning I would awaken in my own bed.
“@$%^&!” I screamed, which means I can’t tell you the actual words.
I sprang off my bed in agony. That was when I caught a glimpse of Red Beard on the sidewalk. Which caused me to drop to the floor, embarrassed to be seen, even by a wacked-out barefoot stranger. Unfortunately my butt landed squarely on a sharp Ugliosaurus wing, which made me scream again. That was way too much screaming for someone who just turned thirteen.
I lay there with gritted teeth, wishing I’d used the alarm clock. In my mind I saw Vanessa goading me: You think too much, Jack. Which she used to say about a hundred times a day. Maybe because I think too much. Always have.
I got off the floor, clutching my head. Red Beard was padding down the street, his feet slapping the pavement. “Next time, close your mouth,” I grumbled under my breath as I staggered to the bathroom.
I should have wondered who he was and why he was here. But I couldn’t stop thinking of my nightmare, which still lingered like the taste of moldy cheese. I tried to replace it with thoughts of math.