Case File 13 #3 Read Free

Then, when you got out, you scared it. There are lots of animals in these woods. Squirrels, raccoons, deer, mountain lions. Even bears.”
    Nick bit the inside of his cheek. So there are bears. Great.
    â€œIt wasn’t an animal,” Carter said, his eyes wide.
    â€œHow could you tell?” Nick asked. “Did you see it?”
    Carter shook his head. “I didn’t see it. I heard it.”
    Angelo ran his fingers across the pages of his notebook, his eyes intense. “What did you hear?”
    â€œI heard it . . .” Carter swallowed and his hand went to the bag of candy in his pocket. “I heard it say something.”
    Nick felt the back of his neck grow cold. “You mean like words?”
    â€œUh-huh. I heard it say . . .” Carter lowered his voice so that Nick and Angelo had to lean close to make out what he whispered. “I heard it say my name.”

Nick couldn’t help snickering a little. “A bear called your name?”
    Carter glowered. “I didn’t say it was a bear.”
    â€œDid it say Scooby-Dooby-Doo?”
    â€œActually Scooby-Doo was a dog,” Angelo said. “Yogi was a bear. He did talk, but he said things like ‘Is that a picnic basket?’ and ‘I’m smarter than the average bear.’”
    Carter ground his teeth together. “It wasn’t a bear or a dog. And it didn’t say anything except my name.”
    Realizing Carter was upset, Nick tried to stop smiling, but it wasn’t easy. “Maybe it was some kind of sugar rush.”
    â€œYou guys make all the food jokes you want. But I’m telling you, someone—in the woods—said my name. I heard it as clearly as I’m hearing you now. It sounded kind of like a kid.”
    Angelo pulled a ballpoint pen from his notebook and chewed on the end. “Technically, it’s possible there could have been someone hiding in the woods. And they could have overheard one of us say your name. But why would they repeat it?Especially if they were hiding?”
    If Carter had an answer, they didn’t get to hear it, because at that moment Dad called out, “Here we are!”
    Nick looked out the window at a big wooden sign with the words S ANTA C RUZ B EACH S TATE C AMPGROUND stenciled on the front. A bulletin board below the sign was covered in papers that read things like “Don’t feed the animals,” “No open campfires,” and “No loud music after 11:00 p.m.”
    â€œLook,” Mom said, pointing to a grove of eucalyptus trees. Thousands of monarch butterflies fluttered about, filling the air with clouds of black and orange. Even Nick, who didn’t care much about insects of any kind, was impressed.
    â€œSure are a lot of old people,” Carter said, craning his neck to look out the window.
    Nick’s gaze shifted from the butterflies to the nearest campsites as his father pulled the car behind a long line of motor homes making their way to the entrance. Carter was right. There were nearly as many old folks as there were butterflies. Old men in baseball caps and flip-flops. Old women in bathing suits and wraparound skirts. Nick couldn’t see anyone who looked younger than seventy.
    â€œThe last time I saw this much white hair was at a polar bear convention,” Nick’s dad said with a chuckle.
    Mom looked worried. “Maybe it’s some kind of event.” She turned to Dad. “You did make a reservation, didn’t you?”
    Dad acted offended. “Of course I did.” He pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket. “Got it right here.”
    As the line of motor homes crept slowly toward a small booth where a man in a ranger’s hat was checking papers and giving directions, Carter whispered, “I bet the local grocery store is completely sold out of prune juice and denture cream.”
    â€œThat’s a total stereotype,” Angelo said. “Some of