by MJ Ware
"Cut it out," I said. "It’s not funny."
She cringed back. Her hands clutched at her throat. "No!" She was half bent over backward. She should have fallen, but it looked like someone was holding her up.
I stood frozen in the doorway. My legs felt like water, but I couldn’t let her see that she was getting to me.
She thrashed, still scratching at her throat, and made a gurgling noise. Could something really be wrong?
She was my little sister. It was my job to protect her.
I rushed forward. I reached out for her.
I slammed through a wall of cold. I struggled for balance as the room tilted crazily around me. Tania’s face swam in my vision, an arm’s length away.
Strange feelings swarmed around me, spewed up inside me. Anger. Hatred. Blood pounded in my head and I saw Tania’s terrified eyes through a haze of red. My hands were around her neck. Squeezing.
I couldn’t stop. Some part of me tried to pull back, but my rage was too great. I had to keep squeezing until those hated brown eyes closed and the body fell limp to the floor.
Her lips moved. No sound came out, but I could see her form a name. "Jon." My name. Blue eyes bulged in her face. Tania’s eyes, pleading.
She was my little sister. It was my job to protect her.
I fought back the rage. I struggled to control my hands. I forced them open, forced my arms to drop. The feelings welled up, battering me. But I was not him. I made my own choices. Her death would not be one of them.
The emotion faded. Tania slumped and I caught her. We stood trembling in an empty room. She gasped for breath, her face pressed to my chest. "What was that? What happened?" She looked up at me.
She was my little sister. It was my job to protect her.
I grinned. "Gotcha!"
Her eyes narrowed. She punched my arm. "You jerk!" She stormed away.
I had protected her. This time.
About the Author
Chris Eboch’s Haunted series, starring Jon and Tania, starts with The Ghost on the Stairs. Her other novels for ages nine and up include The Eyes of Pharaoh, a mystery in ancient Egypt; and The Well of Sacrifice, a Mayan adventure. Her book Advanced Plotting helps writers fine-tune their plots. Learn more at www.chriseboch.com. Chris also writes novels of romance and suspense for adults under the name Kris Bock.
Read an excerpt from Chris Eboch’s The Ghost Miner's Treasure.
Acknowledgments
The authors would like to thank the following individuals for their help and assistance: Julie Dawson at Bards and Sages Publishing, Emily and Elizabeth Chauffe, Fun Prints Photography, Mikaela Pederson, and Bethany at Last Draft Editing.
Bonus Book Previews
Super Zombie Juice Mega Bomb
By MJ Ware
Chapter 1 – Blizzards, Bites, and Zombies
Ever have a really bad day? I'm not talking miss the bus, caught cheating on a test, bike gets stolen bad. I mean people dying and coming back from the dead to eat your brains bad.
This whole mess started one night when my best friend Misty messaged me, "DQ run now!"
I'm as down with Butterfinger Blizzards as anybody, but it was almost eleven p.m. Somehow, she talked me into it—I can never say no to her. I mean, I can say it once or twice, but after eight or nine times, I give in.
You might have guessed, we didn't exactly ask permission. Misty snuck out by climbing down a window above her garage and jumping into an overgrown bush. Maybe it was the three waffle sundaes she'd eaten, but to get back up it looked like she was going to need a boost.
"Ready?" I whispered, clasping my hands over my knee.
"I don't think so, Nate. I'm wearing a skirt." Even in the dim glow of the neighbor's porch light, I could see the wrinkles in her brow.
"Then how you going to get back up?"
"I can climb."
"In your skirt?" I stood back, folding my arms. Misty had always been more t-shirt and cutoff jeans. "Why'd you wear a skirt, anyway? Who sneaks out in a skirt?"
She ignored me and started pulling herself up the rain gutter. By the third try, I knew, skirt or not, I was going to have to help.
I stepped forward when from behind me came a deep grunt, like a yeti clearing its throat.
Turning around, Misty's dad towered over us, arms crossed, naked except for knit socks and shorts; his huge, hairy muffin-top forcing the band of his briefs into submission.
Even in his skivvies, he was an imposing figure. Picture Atlas, if all he ever held up were jelly donuts. I didn't know if I should laugh or run.
Normally Misty's dad is too nice, one of those big guys with an even bigger soft spot—especially when it came to his only daughter—but that night, boy, did he holler.
He grounded Misty for the whole summer. Not from her girlfriends, just from me—even canceled our camping trip. Our families go every year, so that made it a tradition or something.
Almost three weeks passed before I heard a peep from Misty. I wasn't sure if her dad really came down on her or if she was just too busy to bother with me.
Finally, she called. "Guess I should feel honored."
"Hey, Nate, ready to go camping?"
"Who's this? I think you may have dialed the wrong number."
"Nathan!" she screamed. "Dad's keeping me under house arrest. Even confiscated my cell. It's so humiliating." The echo told me she was probably hiding out in her dad's workshop. "So, you up for camping or not?"
Apparently, no one had bothered to tell her the trip was off. I tried to break the news gently. "Where've you been? Your dad put the smackdown on camping."
There wasn't much to do in our tiny mountain town, so this trip was the highlight of our summer: fishing, ghost stories, eating s'mores until you puke.
"Just because our parents are being stupid doesn't mean we can't go."
I don't normally do crazy things like run away from home. Which is probably why we weren’t prepared. We lasted all of one night. Who knew a jumbo box of Little Betty Brownie Bites could go so fast?
On our way back, we knew we were in trouble, but had no idea just how much.
"Maybe running away wasn't such a good idea," I said, scanning the lifeless town. The sun crawled over the horizon, casting long shadows like bony fingers reaching down to clutch the empty streets.
"You think?" Misty said with an edge to her voice.
We'd been walking around for over an hour and hadn't seen anyone. "How'd I know everyone would..."
"Vanish." She finished my sentence. "They're all gone, Nathan. They can't all be out looking for us, not every single person in the whole entire town." She shook her head.
"Calm down. Let's think this out." I listened for familiar sounds, people, cars…even the trees were silent.
"Think what out? Nobody's here. I can't even get a single bar." Misty stood on the side of the road, brandishing her phone like a weapon.
"Updating your online status is the least of our problems," I shot back.
"This isn't a joke, Nate. We're in deep here. Deep, deep, deep!" She paused—probably winded from carrying on so much—then pointed across the street. "Look, someone's there."
From across the road, Mayor Frank waddled towards us. "A little early to be wasted," I said. Besides mayor, he was also the town drunk. "Only person in town and it has to be him?"
"Mayor Frank, over here," Misty yelled.
"Now you've done it. He's headed this way." I wiped my palms on my jeans; something wasn't right.
"Nate, shut up. We could use a little help."
He almost fell over three times while crossing the street. His clothes looked like they'd spent more time in the gutter than on his back. His eyes, swollen and cloudy—he looked sick. I'd never seen eyes like that.
The mayor didn't say a word, just reached out his two pasty arms. I thought he might shake our hands. He was one of those phony politicians. Instead, he grabbed Misty and went in for a big, open-mouth kiss.
I'm not sure what ca
me over me. I'd never hit anyone—except Misty's older brothers—and then only in a desperate act of self-defense. But I wasn't about to let this creep kiss her.
I cocked my arm back and with everything I had, socked the mayor in the face.
He folded, flat to the floor.
Grabbing my hand, I winced in pain. Misty screamed, her long hair whipping around as she jumped back.
My mind raced. Oh, no. I just punched the mayor. I took a step toward him. "Mr. Mayor, I'm sorry. I thought you—"
I looked down at my hand as I spoke, thinking maybe I busted a knuckle. It throbbed so bad I didn't notice the mayor roll over and grab my foot until it was too late; he sank his teeth into my lower leg.
"Ouch," I yelled as I tried to wiggle free. He wouldn't let go. What was I supposed to do? Ever been bitten by your little sister? Try a three-hundred pound drunk politician.
I just started kicking. After the third kick, my hiking boot flew off, still dangling from his mouth.
"Nate, you kicked the mayor in the face!" Misty's hands covered her mouth, but did little to mask her expression of horror.
We took off running, our backpacks clanking behind us.
"Those are Gore-tex boots, they're over two hundred bucks," I said, running lopsided down the street. If my dad found out, he'd kill me.
I looked at Misty. Her wide, hazel eyes scanned the deserted roads, flashing with alarm. Standing tall, California Firs blocked our view more than a couple blocks. I couldn't help but feel responsible for this mess. I should have tried to talk her out of running away.
Maybe Misty's dad was right; I was a bad influence.
Chapter 2 – Snookum's Last Stand
A few minutes after punching a public servant in the face, we finally stopped running in front of Misty's house with its familiar faded cedar siding. It was old and rustic, but solid. It'd probably last forever.
I wiggled my fingers, making sure they still worked. It never hurt when a guy punched someone in one of those old karate movies Misty and I used to watch.
"Nate, what the heck happened?" Misty was breathing hard. She might have been in better shape than me. Athletic, but definitely not in a big-boned, husky sorta way.
"I don't know." I took a few deep breaths before continuing, "I've heard the mayor is grabby, but that was ridiculous. He could be your gramps. And did you see his fogged-over eyes?"
"His eyes? You shoulda smelled his breath—like a rotting cheeseburger." Misty squirmed from head to toe.
"Wait until I tell your brothers. Or your dad—"
"Nathan Patrick Lewis. You are not to tell a soul." Misty kicked up some dirt as she stood nose-to-nose with me. I'd been praying for a growth spurt all year. If it didn't come soon, she'd be taller than me. "Do you understand?" she said as if she could intimidate me.
"Don't worry, who'd believe me? I mean, the mayor trying to kiss you."
"Kiss me? I thought he was going to swallow my face, and what about you kicking his head like a soccer ball? What the heck are we supposed to do now?" Misty's fingers grabbed a clump of her long, wavy chestnut hair and she started chewing. I knew the hair thing meant she was either shy or nervous—or maybe completely freaked, like now.
"He was really gone. Bet he won't remember." I rubbed my leg where the mayor had tried to take out a chunk. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."
"Hey, look who's still here." Misty pointed to her neighbor's dog. A spoiled, obnoxious poodle, with an equally spoiled and obnoxious name: Snookums. "Mrs. Redberg would have never left Snookums alone."
"I hate that little rat dog. He always barks at me." He must have heard, 'cause he ran up to the fence yelping at full volume.
I'd never kick a dog, though I've heard poodles fly pretty far. I kicked the fence instead.
"Hey, Nate, stop picking on the dog."
It felt safe in Misty's house, something familiar that never changed. Wall-to-wall thick orange shag carpet, dark wood paneling, even popcorn on the ceiling—with sparkles. The sparkles were pretty cool.
The lock squealed as Misty bolted it behind me. I grabbed a pair of old sneakers. Worn and caked with dried mud, I didn't bother looking for a nicer pair. Her brothers probably didn't own any.
"I'm going to go powder my face," she said.
"Powder it with what?"
She shook her head and closed the bathroom door with a thud.
In the family room, I messed with the cable and Internet. A couple minutes later, Misty came in to supervise. Neither of us spoke. I kept rechecking the connections, more than a little desperate to get them working.
Nothing.
I was opening my mouth to tell Misty that it was useless when the windows, really the whole house, shook with the crack of thunder.
"Summer storm?" Misty asked, her voice higher than normal.
Indian Springs was deep in California's Sierra Mountains. Nothing but rivers and trees surrounded the place. Summer thunderstorms were pretty common.
"Maybe. Sounded more like an explosion," I said.
"This can't be good. Let's look out my window."
I hadn't been allowed upstairs for years. Mr. Wibbles still sat in his designated spot on the head of Misty's bed, but long gone were the plastic horses and pink curtains. Now the room was littered with pictures of her with girlfriends and posters of guys who were apparently so cool it didn't matter how bad their haircuts were.
From her window upstairs, we had a good view, but no sign of an explosion and not a cloud in the sky.
I chewed on one of the straps from my backpack as I looked over the vacant streets. The strap tasted like dirt and charcoal, so I spit it out. What was going on? Where were our parents?
"Think it could be a fast moving storm?" Misty asked.
I looked again. "No wind. I don't think so."
We stared helplessly out the window at the tiny town surrounded by rolling waves of trees and green surf as far as we could see. Finally, we headed back downstairs.
KABOOM!
Another explosion, but way larger. I felt it in my legs, as if the whole earth threatened to rip apart under my feet.
"Nathan, what the heck was that?" Misty's summer-bronzed skin went pale.
We flew back to the window, dodging pictures that had shaken off the walls and lay scattered along the floor.
Outside nothing changed. Well, almost nothing, that pint-sized dog started barking. Guess I couldn't blame him.
We kept our eyes glued to the window, searching for any sign of movement; a person, a car, even a raindrop would've been welcome. The only change, a silent haze that settled over the streets.
The dog's barking stopped, and in its place came a loud wail. My heart leapt. Could it be a fire truck?
A quick, desperate, piercing yelp and the sound died. "Nate, the dog. That's the neighbor's dog."
Goose bumps danced along my spine.
"Go check it out." Misty started pushing me towards the door.
I tried thinking of an excuse to stay put. "That dog's crazy. He'll probably bite me," was all I came up with.
"You're such a girl. If he tries to bite you, give him a kick."
"Oh, now I can pick on him," I said as I headed down the stairs. On the way out, I slammed the door to make Misty think she'd ticked me off.
Outside, I grabbed the big wood-splitting axe. Looking at the worn shaft, silvered with age, I wondered if I needed it. My hands wouldn't let go—I took that as my answer.
Hopping the old chain-link fence to the neighbor's yard left rusty freckles on my sweaty palms. I expected the runt to come tearing around the corner any second. Except when I got around back, what I saw frightened me way more than any dog.
Chapter 3 – A Bridge to Nowhere
On the back stucco wall, above the dog's water bowl, a huge stain of smeared blood and fur was all that remained of Snookums. It reminded me of my plate after I ate waffles with blueberry syrup, which until right then, was my favorite.
I'd turned to look a
way when Misty joined me. "Oh my gosh, what's that?"
"I'm guessing that's what's left of Snookums," I said, swallowing a lump in my throat.
"How the heck can you say something like that?" Misty's jaw clenched and her face turned a shade of red.
"Sorry. I, um, didn't think about what I was saying. I was sorta speechless."
"Then you should keep your mouth shut, Nate."
"You're right, Miss. It just came out. I'm really sorry." I rubbed my hands against my forehead. The day wasn't going so good. Even worse than that time at lunch when I sat on my sloppy joe.
She paused and took a deep breath. "Let's cut each other some slack. Least until we figure out what's going on."
"Yeah, agreed."
She turned away. "What happened to poor Snookums?"
"Don't know." Privately, I took back every nasty thing I'd ever said about the mutt. "Coyote maybe? Let's not hang around to find out." I eyed the sparse forest behind the yard. Years of logging had cleared every decent tree on this side of town, leaving a few sad saplings and lots of ugly stumps.
"Maybe we should get back inside," she said, glancing over to her house.
"Nothing we can do here. Let's head over to Greenburg. See if we can't find out what's going on."
"What if we run into the mayor?" She grabbed my arm.
"Let's just get going." I started walking.
* * *
"Could have been a chemical leak from one of the big factories, maybe a forest fire?" Misty said, guessing what could have caused everyone to evacuate. Whenever she got nervous, her mouth wouldn't shut.
"My money's on mass alien abduction."
She gave me a cool stare—she wasn't amused. I kept quiet and just let her blabber on about how this couldn’t possibly be happening, until we'd walked almost all the way to the bridge.
"Your brother's shoes are killing my feet."
"Oh, Nate." I heard it in her voice; she hated complaining. You wouldn't know it by looking at her, but Misty was one tough girl.
"Seriously, I think they're blood blisters."
"Not your feet, the bridge. Nate, look at the bridge."
I glanced up, not prepared for what I saw. "Whoa—the bridge, it's gone. I mean it's been destroyed."
All that remained were piles of rubble and the steel frame—twisted into a giant crumpled spider web. A huge crater sat where the overpass should have been. Someone really wanted this bridge gone.
