Enter: Ten Tales for Tweens - Fantastic Short Stories for Middle Grade Readers Read online

Enter: Ten Tales for Tweens

  Fantastic Short Stories for Middle Grade Readers

  Stories by:

  MJ Ware, Sybil Nelson, Laura Lond, N.R. Wick, D.D. Roy, Jean Cross, Tess Oliver, Laura Keysor, KJ Hannah Greenberg, & Chris Eboch

  Collection Copyright © 2012 – Cover Art © 2012 Slamet Mujiono

  Additional copyright, front matter, and legal information.

  All proceeds from this ebook will be donated to The Children's Literacy Initiative.

  Table of Contents

  Brother's Keeper By MJ Ware

  Priscilla the Great vs. Christine the Mean By Sybil Nelson

  Fair Price By Laura Lond

  The Emerald Key By N.R. Wick

  Mr. Kent’s Wall of Wonders By D.D. Roy

  The Ghost of Vernon Avenue By Jean Cross

  Grunge is the New Cool By Tess Oliver

  Starboard Academy – The Summer Before By Laura Keysor

  Squamata’s Rumble By KJ Hannah Greenberg

  Sister's Keeper By Chris Eboch

  Acknowledgments

  Bonus Book Previews

  Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb

  Priscilla the Great

  My Sparkling Misfortune

  Jinnie Wishmaker

  The Boots of Saint Felicity

  The Mortal Enemy List

  The Ghost Miner’s Treasure

  Brother's Keeper

  By MJ Ware

  "Bradley!" I yell at my little brother, "where’d you put my sled?"

  Bradley's green eyes glare. "I already told you, I didn’t take it."

  We've only been at the cabin for a day and already my big Christmas present is missing. Steel runners, composite frame, even a steering harness; it was awesome. Until it disappeared. "I know you took it. If I find it outside, you’re never borrowing it again."

  "Again? You gotta let me use it once before I can borrow it again."

  "Zack, I’m sure you just left your sled somewhere," Mom says without looking up, too busy rummaging through cabinets trying to figure out where everything's stored. "Did you check outside?"

  "Yep, I looked out all the windows; it’s gone." I grip my mug of hot cocoa, trying to get some feeling back into my fingers.

  "Well, maybe you should go outside and look."

  "Maybe Bradley should. He’s the one who left it out—"

  "Did not," Bradley snaps. "But if I find it, you’ve gotta let me ride it too."

  "Did too. And you better go look now, ’cause if it gets covered with snow, we’ll never find it." I slam my mug down on the table as hard as I think I can get away with.

  "There’s going to be a major storm tonight," Dad says, looking up from the paper. "I’ll check around for the sled. I need to bring in more firewood anyway." He heads out of the kitchen and down the stairs that lead to the front door. The cabin sits on the side of a hill with the main floor on top of the garage, so a really long stairway leads down to the door.

  Mom picks up our dinner mess while I make faces at my little brother.

  "Do you hear that?" Mom asks.

  "Hear what?"

  "I think it’s the door," Bradley says, getting up.

  "I’ll get it." Pausing just long enough to push my brother back into his seat, I run down the stairs toward the front door.

  Opening the door, I see my dad with a stack of firewood so high the top of his head is barely visible. "Whew, I’m glad you heard me from up there. I was really pounding. I think the doorbell’s broken."

  "Where’s my sled?" I ask.

  "Sorry, sport, couldn’t find it."

  Poking my head out the door, I glance around outside. No sled, just gray storm clouds gathering around the cabin.

  I get upstairs just as Dad's throwing another log into the big redbrick fireplace. He shakes the snow off his jacket. "Hope I got enough wood to last all night."

  Everyone sits around an old pine coffee table. "Zack, come play." Bradley holds up a worn pack of Uno cards.

  "Not with you, you sled thief—" I'm about to say more when I catch the look in Dad’s eye. I know I’m about to get it, so I take off for my room.

  The cabin has two big rooms in front that sit over the garage, with a great view of the lake. Bradley’s afraid of sleeping in a strange place, so he got the room next to Mom and Dad. That leaves me with the dinky back bedroom. No view, just a half-window that looks onto snow-covered pines.

  I'm deep in thought about how ticked I am at Bradley for losing my sled when I trip over it.

  Lying on the ground, grabbing my throbbing knee, seems to jog my memory. Now I remember dropping the sled in my room after coming inside. Mom was yelling at me for tracking snow through the cabin. I left it here to keep it away from my little brother.

  I feel kinda bad. I mean, sure, statistically speaking, it’s almost always the little brother’s fault—except this time.

  I can make it up to him by letting him ride it tomorrow. I just need to make sure no one finds out it was here all along or I’ll be in the doghouse for the whole trip.

  Sitting on the floor, I grab my sled and push it way back under the bed's old rusty steel frame.

  Once my knee stops aching, I think about going to play cards with the family, but decide I don’t feel like it. For a moment, I even consider telling my brother sorry, but that thought is quickly replaced with figuring out how to get the sled out without anyone noticing.

  The best option seems to be waiting until everyone’s asleep and then dumping it outside.

  I play Tetris on my phone until Mom comes in to tell me goodnight. "You know, you really shouldn’t be so hard on your brother. You’re lucky to have one."

  "Yeah, yeah. Don't tell me again how terrible it was to be an only child," I say, not looking up from my game. "Night, Mom." I hear her blow me a kiss as she leaves.

  After waiting like thirty minutes, I decide it’s probably safe to go take the sled out. I figure I’ll leave it somewhere Dad might think he just overlooked it.

  Sled in hand, I tiptoe toward the front of the cabin. As I'm passing the kitchen, there's a sound at the front door. Someone’s down there. I dash back before I’m seen.

  After several minutes of silence, I figure it’s safe to try again.

  Slowly, I descend the stairs, my sled in hand. Every time a step creaks, I stop and count to ten before moving on.

  The big oak door is slightly ajar; closed, but not enough to latch. That noise must have been Dad carrying more wood up. He must not have closed it all the way.

  Outside it’s pitch black. The wind howls and the only things visible are snow flurries flying in crazy patterns.

  My PJs and slippers aren't exactly cold weather gear. The chill is already stinging my ears. I can’t wait around for my eyes to adjust to the dark. Feeling the shingle siding with my one free hand, I head around the side of the cabin, looking for somewhere to put the sled.

  As my eyes begin to adjust, shadows appear in the trees, the wind moving them in fits and bursts; they look like angry vipers poised to strike.

  I know under a tree's the best place to put my sled, but I’m having a hard time convincing my feet. The bitter bite of the cold wins out over fear and I step into the snow, toward some trees about half a basketball court away. Before I get five feet, something rustles in the bushes. It’s unmistakable—not wind, but something moving.

  What type of animal—or monster—would be out on a night like this? If it's growling, I can’t hear it over the wind. I don’t wait around to find out. Dropping the sled,
I dash inside and lock the door, listening for the click as I turn the deadbolt.

  Lying back in bed, I look out the window. Most of it has iced up; all I can see are dark shadows violently tossing snow around.

  I try to figure out why I can’t sleep. Then, as my mind begins to wander, a sound creeps into the room. A tap, tap, tapping.

  Sitting bolt upright in bed, I listen. The only sound now is anger in the wind as it pummels the treetops.

  It must have been my imagination—maybe frozen snow battering the window.

  Sleep almost comes when I hear it again. Tap, tap, tap. Looking at the dreary window, it seems as if the shadows are creeping closer. I throw the blankets over my head.

  Whatever it is, it can’t be an animal. Because of the hill, that window is pretty far up the side of the house.

  I tell myself, it must be hail, maybe a tree branch, batted around in the wind.

  I sit and listen. As if on cue, it starts. Tap, tap. This time it continues: Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap—softer now, almost desperate.

  Still under the covers, I reach for my headphones. Tap, tap, tap. The sound drills into me; I feel it in my gut.

  I put the earbuds in. Tap, tap, tap.

  I plug them into my phone. Tap, tap, tap.

  I quickly select a song. Tap, tap—the sound is driven out by music.

  By the light of my phone, I setup a playlist of music that I might be able to sleep to then turn it down as low as I dare. I won’t hear that sound again. That tap, tap, tap. But there it is, still echoing in my head.

  I try to sleep, but the tapping won’t leave me alone. I can’t hear it, but it’s still there. I know it is, calling out to me—desperate for my attention.

  I don't sleep well. I keep having this dream that a branch breaks through the window. Snow and ice howl into the room. The branch reaches in for me like a monstrous bark-covered hand. After many restless hours, I finally wake up. I sit up in bed and the aroma of pancakes drifts down the hall.

  I jump out and dash for the kitchen, hoping to make it before my brother eats all the bacon.

  Mom and Dad sit at the table, coffee and OJ in hand. I smile at the big plate of bacon sitting between them.

  "Oh good, you’re up, honey," Mom says. "Between you and your brother, I thought breakfast might get cold."

  "Some storm we had last night, huh?" Dad puts down his mug. "Woke me up a few times."

  I pile way more than my share of bacon onto my plate, then put a piece or two back. "Yeah, I didn’t sleep well either."

  "Can’t put if off any longer; we need more firewood." Dad looks down at my plate. "I better wake Bradley up before he misses out on breakfast." His slippers make a shuffling sound on the wooden floor as he heads toward the front bedroom.

  Silent and still, I sit looking at my plate. Pancakes with blueberry syrup, scrambled eggs cooked in beacon grease. It all looks so good, but I don't know—I just can’t eat.

  Mom looks at me and puts a hand on my forehead. "Zack, don’t you feel—"

  "Where’s Bradley?" Dad suddenly appears in the room. "Susan, have you seen Bradley? He’s not in his room."

  "What? Where could he be?" Mom stands up. "Zack, you don’t know where your brother is, do you?"

  "Who, me? Did you check under his bed? He’s such a big chicken. Maybe—"

  "His coat’s gone, but the rest of his clothes are still hung up." Dad’s putting on his jacket and shoes.

  "You don’t think he went outside?" Mom says, turning off the stove.

  "I don’t know. Where else he could be?" Dad’s already heading down the stairway, gloves and scarf in hand. "You two get dressed and meet me outside."

  Mom's face turns pale as snow. "Didn't you say the doorbell was broken?"

  I run to my room and put my jacket and ski pants over my PJs. When I reach down for my boots, I almost throw up.

  I start to lose my balance and sit on my rear to get my boots on. Something’s missing. No tap, tap, tap.

  I grab my cap and run down and out the front door. Dad’s coming back from across the street.

  "Zack, check the left side of the house. I’ll go right. We’ll meet up around back."

  "No, Dad, let’s go together…" But he’s already taken off.

  "Bradley!" Dad's voice echoes through the trees.

  Slowly, my feet carry me around the cabin, as if they’re on automatic. I round the corner and there’s my sled. Not where I left it, but upright against the wall, right under my window.

  Standing on it, my little brother, covered in frost, like a Popsicle left in the freezer too long. Arms, hands, fingers reaching up to the window outside my bedroom. He's still, slumped upright, not moving. Tiny fingers motionless, frozen to the bottom windowsill.

  In my head I still hear tap, tap, tap.

  About the Author

  Read an excerpt from MJ's Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb.

  Priscilla the Great vs. Christine the Mean

  By Sybil Nelson

  If you ask me, parents who send their kids to summer camp are just plain cruel. I mean, summer is right smack dab in the middle of baseball season. And not many camps have access to MLB's Extra Innings package. Do you know how many games I would miss if I was forced to go off to summer camp like so many unfortunate teens? Unthinkable. Fortunately, my parents aren't camp people. They'd never even suggested the idea of sending my brothers or me away for the summer. Considering my dad was more paranoid and superstitious than a Cub's fan, it was highly unlikely that our parents would ever send us away anywhere.

  What's funny...well, actually it's kind of ridiculous. Let's call it fridiculous. Yeah, what's fridiculous about the whole overprotective dad situation is that I'm a freaking superhero. Literally. I can shoot fire out of my fingers and I can bench press a car. So technically, I would say the rest of the world needs to be protected from me. But since there are some pretty evil people after my family and me, my dad takes this whole secret identity thing pretty seriously.

  That doesn't stop my parents from sending me all over the world to complete different random missions. I mean just last night I had to fly to Andorra to stop a bunch of YouTube hooligans. It's a long story. Let's just say a group of idiots started videotaping themselves doing impossible and stupid things. I had to stop them before someone got hurt, or worse, someone found out about their powers.

  Anyway, after a night of flying around the world and knocking some sense into three morons with too much power, all I wanted to do was rest. But that wasn't going to happen.

  "Priss, phone's for you!" my brother Josh yelled into my room at six am. This was super annoying for not one but two reasons. First of all, it was six in the morning. Who in the world is awake at the ungodly hour of six in the morning? Secondly, the phone wasn't even ringing. Oh, wait, now it was.

  See, Josh is a psychic. So sometimes he knows what's going to happen before it actually does. He must have had a vision about this phone call.

  I hopped out of bed and ran to the kitchen to answer the phone. No, I didn't have a cell phone. And no I didn't even have a landline in my room. I had to use one of those old-fashioned phones with the long curly cords. I had to drag that phone, cord and all, to my room if I wanted any privacy. The only highlight of the situation was watching my twin little brothers run through the house and trip on the cord stretched from the kitchen to my room. It was hilarious every time.

  "Priss, is that you?" a panicked voice said when I answered the phone. It was Kyle, my best friend turned boyfriend, and one of only two people outside my family who knew about my powers.

  "Kyle, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Kyle was away at camp and I actually hadn't spoken to him in over a week. Unlike my parents, Kyle's parents are definitely camp people. I think they had a special countdown each year to the time when they could ship Kyle out to Texas for three weeks.

  "Yes, I mean no. I mean…" He took a deep breath and said, "Priss, I need your help."

  "I'm on my way." I dropped the p
hone and ran to my room so I could grab the keys to my family's jet. Yeah, my family has a jet. How do you think I went to Andorra last night?

  Anyway, if Kyle needed me, I would literally run to his aid if I had to. Fortunately, I didn't have to subject myself to all that extra exercise. With the jet, I was at his camp in a little over an hour.

  I didn't have too much trouble finding a place to park the jet. I mean once I turn on the cloaking device and it becomes invisible, I can pretty much park it anywhere so long as people aren't going to accidentally run into it. I found a clearing in the woods about a mile away from Kyle's camp then ran to meet him.

  "Okay, I'm here. What's wrong?" I said slightly out of breath. Yeah, I might have super powers and all, but super speed isn't one of them. Running at top speed for a mile is exhausting, especially considering I only had like two hours of sleep the night before.

  Kyle was leaning against his cabin with his arms crossed when I arrived. I knew it was his cabin because over the five years he had been going to this camp he never shut up about it. Could probably have found it with my eyes closed.

  Kyle uncrossed his arms, took a step forward and gave me a hug. "Thanks for coming. I didn't know who else to call."

  I hugged him back. "Of course I came. If you're in danger, I'm going to help you."

  He released me then went back to leaning on the wall.

  "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked.

  Instead of responding, Kyle just nodded toward the front door of his cabin. I don't know what I expected to find when I entered that cabin. Maybe I expected to see that it had been vandalized and Kyle's life was threatened. If that was the case, his life was probably in danger because of me. Anyone who knew my family's secret was in danger from the Selliwood Institute or perhaps a rogue specimen.

  But I didn't find a vandalized camp cabin or a death threat. Instead, I found something even more scary or scarier or whatever the word is. It was a first edition Superman comic ripped in half and lying sad, lonely, and ruined on top of Kyle's bed. Okay, so technically it was an Action Comics, but it had Superman so I’m calling it Superman.

  I gasped. "Who would do this?" I yelled. This comic was priceless, irreplaceable. Not only because it was one of a kind and out of print, but also because Kyle and I had been exchanging this comic since we had learned to read. Every time one of us lost a bet we'd have to relinquish ownership of the comic. It was like a part of us.