And, now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

Drum roll, please...
A few people have requested to see my book when it's done, and it's not. But you CAN see the first chapter. I'm on chapter seven right now, but it would be helpful if you could give HONEST and constructive criticism. So... yeah. If walls of text scare you, just copy and paste it into a document. Happy reading/critiquing!


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Chapter one:

Thomas brushed his blond hair out of his eyes and leaned his head against the cool window, hoping it would lesson his headache. The rain dashed angrily against the glass, filling the car with it’s tapping. He was unhappy, although he didn’t know why. He was back in his favorite country in the world, for an entire summer, with his best friend. It was the first time he’d gotten to take Marco to England, although his family went every summer and winter break. He supposed his unhappiness came down to a bad headache, a long flight followed by a long car trip, and the usual teenage angst.
“Mum, how much longer?” asked Charlotte, his younger sister. She was also leaning against a window, reading The Bad Beginning and fidgeting with her strawberry blond ponytail, as usual.
“I don’t know, Char. We’re pretty nearby, but who knows. We’ll get there when we get there.” There mother turned left and kept going. “You alright, Marco?”
The tall black boy sitting next to Thomas started. “Wha- yeah, I’m fine, Mrs. J, thanks. Just listening to Thomas’s ipod. He has an… uhm… interesting taste in music.” Thomas groaned.
“It’s classic. And better than that stuff you listen to, who’s even heard of The Alman Brothers or whatever?”
Mrs. Johnson laughed. “Just about everyone, Thomas. And Marco, I agree. He goes on about it, but I think it’s a bit odd. The seventies was not the most tasteful decade.”
“I think most of them were probably on dru- what?!” A very bemused expression flashed across Marco’s face. “He blew his mind out in the car? What the heck?!”
“Oh, that’s a day in the life,” said Thomas, suddenly perking up from his position against the window. “He didn’t know the light had changed, right? That’s a good one.”
“This is too weird.” Marco yanked the earbuds out and turned the ipod off, tossing it to Thomas. Mrs. Johnson turned onto a roughly paved road with a street sign that read Amesbury.
“Okay kids, we’re about five minutes away. This is what we’re going to do. I’ll drop you three off at Grandma’s, and then go get our key. We will then all go to Ciao Bella.”
Thomas and Charlotte cheered. Thomas leaned into Marco.
“Best Italian food outside of Italy. You’ll love it.”
“Thomas, I’m speaking. Remember that we’re eating out when Grandma tries to feed you. You are not underfed, no matter what she thinks. This goes for you, too, Marco. When we get in from eating, we will go to the house and choose rooms, and unload the car.”
The car pulled into a small circle of houses. They were all ancient and painted similar faded shades of brown and reminded Marco of gingerbread houses. “Grandma’s is the one with the geraniums!” declared Charlotte.
“There it is!” Thomas pointed excitedly at a peeling house with a porch swing, a rocking chair, and several pots of red geraniums. Mrs. Johnson pulled up in front of it.
“Get out, and you’d better run for it.”
The three children dashed out of the car, not pausing until they were safely out of the rain under the overhang. Marco raised his fist to knock on the door, when it flew open.
There stood a tiny and wrinkled lady in a faded cotton dress. “You must be Marco!” Her voice was surprisingly strong for it to be coming from such a small person. “All of you come inside.”
“Hullo, Grandma,” said Thomas as they were ushered down a dim and cluttered hallway to the living room.
“Make yourselves at home, please. I’ll make us some tea.” She bustled out of the room. Marco sat awkwardly on an old flowered couch. Charlotte and Thomas sat down and pulled off their damp shoes and sweaters. Moments later, their Grandma reentered the room. “Marco, here is some hot tea and please eat some cookies or fruit, you all look half starved…”
“We only ate about two hours ago, and mum said-” The old woman cut off Charlotte.
“Oh, I’m sorry Marco, you may call me Gene, if you like. I’m sorry the house is such a mess, it’s laundry day and it always gets messy then.” Marco glanced around the immaculate living room.
“This is cleaner than my house ever gets.” He drank some tea and almost spit it out. It was hot and bitter, and burnt his tongue and throat.
“Really? That’s sweet. You should get a maid. I have one named Lystra, she’s quite good.” She turned to Thomas. “Your mother is getting the key to your house?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued. “Very good. She should be here any moment-” They heard a knock on the door. “That’ll be her.” She left again, leaving Marco in a state of shock.
“You like ‘er?” asked Thomas thickly, his mouth full of a peach.
“She’s very… does she always talk that fast?”
“Yep,” said Thomas and Charlotte at the same time, grinning.
At that moment, Mrs. Johnson and her mother walked in. Marco thought it was amusing how different they looked- Mrs. Johnson in her chic New York clothes, at least six feet tall, and her tiny mother in her vintage frock. Despite Mrs. Johnson height, it was obvious who was in charge of the scene.
“You sit down and have some tea, I’ll get my coat and run a comb through my hair and we can go.”

About half an hour later, they pulled up to a small building, with a sign on the roof that said Ciao Bella in purple letters. They piled out of the car and walked inside; it was bright and airy inside, the walls were painted a light adobe color and there were false windows overlooking vineyards everywhere. A cheerful blonde waitress with a ponytail and stained apron led them to a table.
“Hello, welcome to Ciao Bella. I’m Sarah, and I’ll be your waitress. Our specialty wine for the day is Abbazia di Novacella Pinot Nero. Our pasta special is walnut and goat cheese tortellini.”
They ordered drinks. When Marco’s diet coke arrived, Charlotte had already knocked over the Parmesan twice and the salt once.
“I’m really sorry, Mum,” she said, reaching across the table for a breadstick and knocking over her Sprite.
The rest of the meal passed to quickly for Marco’s liking. His pizza was excellent, and it seemed like the three children never stopped laughing. Meanwhile, Mrs. johnson and her mother where talking, and she was sounding more and more British as the meal went on.
“So then Anne and Jacob decide they need to spill the soup on him, to get back for the-” Thomas stopped mid sentence, a look of pain on his face.
“What’s the matter?”
“My head. It’s been hurting all night, and now it’s getting worse.” He pushed his bangs out of the way. Just then, Sarah came bounding up and began to clear there plates.
“Is there anything else I can get you? No? I hope you enjoyed your meal!”

Out in the parking lot, the rain had slowed to a gentle mist. It was completely dark out, and there was no moon. The group got into their car, full and drowsy. They reached the house they were staying in, but Marco was too tired to really take anything in. Thomas led the way to a small bedroom, where they each got into one of two twin beds. Marco fell asleep instantly.
The light fell across his face and his eyes snapped open. Thomas was rummaging in his suitcase. “I know I packed my black Rolling Stones shirt! I know I did!”
“Mpgth.” Marco shut his eyes again; trying to remember the last strains of a dream he’d been having, something involving running. It was no use. The more he tried to remember, the more it slipped away. He sat up.
“I guess it’s at home- I thought I packed it!”
“Thomas, all of your shirts look the same. Just wear the black Beatles shirt.” Marco got up and pulled a red polo and kaki shorts out of his bag.
“They are NOT the same! See, this shirt says the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones one says the Rolling Stones! And see- this one says Elton John. Here’s the Eric Clapton one.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Marco glanced around the room they were in for the first time. There was a white stone fireplace on the wall with the door, and on the left there was a window that looked directly into the window of a house next door.
“And, this one says the Eagles! Are you listening to me?” Thomas looked up. Marco realized he’d been talking the entire time.
“No, I really don’t care about your shirts- sorry, man.”
“Well, I don’t care about your prep clothes.”
“Great.” Marco pulled a green hoodie on over his head and slipped on his Nikes. Behind him he could vaguely see Thomas deciding on one of twelve semi-identical shirts and putting it on. He then spent about twenty minutes lacing up his green converse. Marco, bored, started out into the hall. Charlotte appeared from the door across from him.
“Good morning, Marco!” She pulled at her strawberry blonde braid. “Is Thomas still putting on his shoes? He does that every morning. It’s weird.” She peeked into the room. “Ooh, you guys got a fireplace, too! So did I!”
“I think this house must be pretty old, you know, built when fireplaces were the only way to keep warm.”
“I saw this house built around the time of the civil war,” said Thomas, finally walking onto the landing, shoes fully tied. “It had short little doors, with builder’s name carved into the doorposts, fireplaces in every room, and secret passageways.” Charlotte perked up.
“Secret passageways? That would be so cool! We should look around!”
“I doubt there are any in this particular house, Char. I bet the one Thomas saw was on the Underground Railroad.” He didn’t want her hopes up, but he was also interested in looking around.
“Yeah, it was. They’d, like, found a little girl’s rag doll in there or something.”
“We could look on the door frames and see if there’s a name or a year,” suggested Char.
“We could, but I’m hungry.” Marco started down the stairs. “Let’s eat.” He looked all around this time, taking everything in. The house was very Elizabethan, with mullioned windows and an elaborate staircase. He turned left into the carpeted hall, and went to the end of it until he found himself in a kitchen that had obviously been added on later. Thomas’s mom was already there, making herself some coffee and watching CNN.
“Help yourselves to a biscuit, boys, and Charlotte, your oatmeal is on the stove.”
Marco looked questioningly to Thomas.
“The brat won’t eat anything else in the morning, she says it make her choke,’ he explained. Charlotte threw a biscuit at him.
“Mum! He called me a brat!”
“She threw a biscuit at me!”
“See what I have to deal with all the time, Marco?” Mrs. Johnson put the biscuit in the trashcan and poured a cup of coffee. “Do you drink coffee?”
“Sometimes, but not right now, thank yo-“
“I do!” Thomas interrupted. “Can I have a mocha?”
“No. It will stunt your growth.”
“What growth?” asked Char. Marco nearly choked on his biscuit, he was laughing so hard.
“Can I throw a biscuit at her head, mum?”
“No!” Mrs. Dupree looked increasingly frazzled. “Why don’t you lot go play with Mary?”
“Mary Morrison? Yeah, let’s do that!” Charlotte gulped down the rest of her oatmeal and ran outside.
“Yeah, I guess she’s cool.” Thomas looked at Marco. “Wanna?”
“Sure.” Marco stood up and started to follow his best friend out. He turned around at looked at Mrs. Johnson. “Are they always like that?” She laughed.
“They are. It will be so much easier when their father gets back…” He nodded and started out again.

The sun was hidden behind the masses of dark cloud that coated the sky, and the air was thick and humid. A thin breeze ruffled the trees, shaking off a few leaves.
“Mary’s house is this way!” Charlotte skipped ahead of the two boys. “You’ll like her, Marco. She’s really nice.”
“Will I really?” he asked Thomas quietly.
“Maybe. She’s cool, I guess. Nothing special.” Thomas looked down and kicked a small rock.
“Cool.” Marco looked around. They were nearing the house that they had visited Miss Gene in the night before.
“She’s our Grandma’s next-door neighbor. She lives in that house. Number seven.”
They arrived at number seven. The sound of muted music seemed to be coming from underneath the house. “Charlotte, go knock.” Thomas pushed his little sister up the path. She knocked loudly and the music stopped. Inside there was a scream and loud footsteps. The door flew open. A very pretty girl of around seventeen looked at Charlotte, and then at Thomas and Marco.
“You looking for Mary?” They all nodded. She turned around and screamed. “MARY!” There was the sound of someone running down the stairs, and an Indian girl with a dark brown braid appeared. She looked confused, and then her face lit up.
“Thomas? Char? Hey guys!” She jogged down the path, Charlotte behind her. “I haven’t seen you two since Christmas! Thomas, you haven’t grown at all!” Marco heard Thomas mutter something indistinguishable.
“I’m Marco,” he said.
“I’m Mary. I’ve heard all about you.” She beamed and turned to Thomas. “How long are you here? Do you guys want to go hang out at The Soda Shoppe?”
“Sure. I bet Marco’s never seen anything like it. And we’re here all summer. Should be fun.”


The Soda Shoppe turned out to be and old-fashioned ice cream shop with a bar where you could order any kind of drink you could think of, and they mixed them all right there. Behind the bar there was a girl who looked only a few years older than them. She was kneeling on the ground, stacking boxes of straws.
“The chocolate coke is really good,” suggested Charlotte. “But so are malts.”
“He won’t like malts.” Mary pulled herself onto a wooden bar stool and tapped the girl behind the bar on the head. “Hey Jenny!”
“Hey Mary.” She didn’t look up. “Cream soda?”
“Yeah.”
Jenny passed up a bottle of caramel colored soda. “Cream soda. I’ll get the ice in a minute. Any other orders?”
“I’d like a chocolate coke,” Charlotte piped up.
“And two more cream sodas.” Thomas pulled a few euros out of his pocket. “You’ll like cream soda,” he added to Marco. “It’s a bit like vanilla coke, but better.”
Jenny finally stood up and dusted her hands on the faded red apron she wore. She was very blond and pale, with a few freckles dusted across her nose and cheekbones. “Two cream sodas,” she plunked the bottles down, “and ice.” She slid open a freezer door and scooped three plastic cups full of ice, sliding them towards Mary. “And you want a chocolate coke?” She nodded at Charlotte.
“Yes, please.”
There was a soda fountain with red levers. Jenny pulled the first and about an inch of chocolate syrup dropped out of the hose into another cup. She then filled it the rest of the way with coke. “Here ya go! Enjoy!” She then turned to the new people that had walked in.
Marco twisted off the lid of his soda and poured it in the cup nearest him.
“So, Mary, how old are you?” he asked, taking a sip.
“Fifteen. Is it good?” She answered, drinking some of her own.
“Yeah, it’s great. I’m fifteen too. Thomas is still fourteen.”
“Loser.” Mary grinned at Thomas, who punched her lightly on the arm.
“You’re the loser!”
“You are. And don’t hit girls.” She giggled. “And Char, you’re eleven now?”
“Yep.” Charlotte was happily slurping her soda from a straw. “Did you see I’m as tall as Thomas now?”
“I did! Although it’s not a huge achievement, most people are…”
Thomas punched her again, harder this time. “Is this an abuse Thomas party?”
“Yes.” Mary and Marco had spoken at the same time. They caught each other’s eye and burst out laughing.



“Look, the king of hearts is the only one without a mustache.” Charlotte put her king on top of Marco’s seven. “And I win.” She took the pile of cards from the center of the circle.
“Did you know that the king commits suicide in the cards? This one has a sword through his head.” Thomas lay down his king in the middle.
“Elephants are the only mammal that can’t jump,” said Mary, looking up from her copy of Macbeth. She was leaned against a tree, while the other three played an increasingly vicious game of war. “And the USA has never lost a war in which mules were used.”
“Nice, but what does that have to do with cards?” asked Marco, laying a king on Thomas’s. “War.”
“Yeah, there you are again, Mary, knowing things no one cares about. Doctor Seuss invented the word nerd, and I think it was for you.” Thomas dealt three cards.
“Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and
some have greatness thrust upon 'em,” she countered. Marco dealt his three.
“Do you really think knowing the correlation between wars and mules makes you great?” asked Thomas. “Because that’s not my definition of greatness.” Mary kicked him in the back, and he dropped his card. It was an ace. Marco’s was the two of spades. “I win. That’s true greatness.”



The next morning, Marco woke up but didn’t open his eyes. He could remember his dream vividly this time. He was walking through the woods, when he heard a sound behind him. He began to run, stumbling over the gnarled roots that covered the forest floor. The sound was getting closer, he couldn’t quite tell what it was, but he knew it was terrible. Then he could feel it, like the hot breath of a wild beast on his back. It smelled bad, not like anything he’d ever smelled before. He glanced over his shoulder and nearly fell to the ground. The forest he’d just run through was gone. Only desert remained. And the thing that was chasing him, well, it wasn’t really a thing at all, and although he’d never be able to describe it, he’d never forget it either. And then there was a voice behind him-
“Was this your first encounter with the darkness?”
He whipped around and saw an old man.
Marco sat upright and looked over at Thomas.
“God, that’s a terrible dream,” said Thomas, eyes wide.
“Did you have a bad dream too?” Asked Marco.
“Oh yeah. I was running through these woods,”
“That’s funny, so was I-“
“And there was this thing behind me, no idea what, and it was ruining the forest or something, and it smelled bad, and… what? It was scary while I was sleeping, okay?”
For Marco had just made a disbelieving sound.
“I know, it’s just… that’s sounds just like my dream.”
“Weird.” Thomas got up. “I’m hungry.”
They didn’t mention it for the rest of the day, but Marco couldn’t get the image of the strange thing out of his mind.