CHAPTER ONE
"You really wanna stick your neck out for goofus over here? Then prove it, smart guy!" – Filbrick Pines
Tuesday, November 1, 2016. 10:45 PM. Tijuana, Mexico.
In a medium-sized hotel near the center of the city, the Stan Twins are winding down after having driven several hours from the last town through the dusty, baking desert landscape. The two adventurers had spent a little more than the past two months circling central Mexico from Monterrey to Mexico City to Puerto Vallarta, hunting down (or running from) and cataloging mythical Aztec creatures. The anomaly energy was strong, and Stan and Ford had a blast; but the supernatural core is constantly on the move, and is no longer in Mexico, but now several thousand miles away in the south Pacific.
To keep up with the shifting anomalies, the twins plan to embark on their third Stan-O-War boat (the previous one having been damaged by a sea monster off the coast of Greenland) down to the Polynesian islands. They had hired a contractor in San Diego to construct their new yacht, and it is more or less completed. The Stan Twins are going to rest for a night in Tijuana before crossing the border back into the United States, where in turn they will boot up the Stan-O-War III and depart out the San Diego Harbor.
Ford is at the desk, intently writing in his journal, with many other notebooks and papers scattered around him. So much has been encountered since the explorations began in late 2012; and it's just like Ford to constantly return to old notes to refresh his memory on the countless new and familiar monsters or happenings he has managed to catch.
The bathroom door opened, and Stan, now wearing nothing but his signature in-house underwear, walked out. He did a large stretch, bigger than one he could have ever done.
"Whew, just four years ago and I would have experienced a crack in my back. Now it no longer happens!" Stan exclaimed.
"Yep, we did do quite the hiking and running. It most certainly has put you in better shape," Ford commented without looking up from his studying.
"Heh-heh, okay, I'll admit, I gained a good weight in the years before we departed," Stan shrugged as he made his way to his bed. He slipped under the covers and removed his glasses, placing them on the lamp counter next to him.
"Hitting the hay already?" Ford asked.
"Obviously. It's been a long day, and I sure could use some Zs," Stan responded. "You should head to bed soon yourself. Take a break from your nerd stuff."
"Nah, I'll be good. I need to do some reorganizing."
"You've already 'reorganized' that pile many times already!"
"Well, doesn't hurt to maintain that organization. You go to sleep. I would like some quiet now, so I can focus more."
"Classic Poindexter," Stan mumbled smiling. He flicked off the bedside lamp and flopped down on his pillow. He turned over, and both because of his age and because of the tiring journey he and his brother had taken, fell asleep in less than a minute.