Posts Tagged ‘NaNoWriMo’

A couple of things to note before I post this here: this was one of my first completed NaNoWriMo novels (2012). It came to be out of a dream I had. It is one of my favorites. It is Young Adult. It is copyrighted by moi.

Oh, and when I copy/paste, WP does not recognize paragraph indents. Sorry.

Last, please don’t just “like” and move on. If you like it: why? Please comment. Give feedback. Postive, negative, neutral – I don’t care. Just have the courtesy to comment. A comment gives me incentive to go like YOUR blog and follow YOU.

*Image courtesy of Pexels

Princess Boo

Charley Duman came across the littered parking lot, hands deep in his jacket pockets. Charley was wary, walking hurriedly, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the old factory warehouse. He was watching for any sign of life in the five-acre compound, specifically life that threatened him.  Charley and his best friend, John, always came in by a break in the chain link fence along the greenway, crossing the narrowest portion of the parking lot to the west entrance. There were other ways in, but this one was the most isolated and was never monitored. It was, John said, the forgotten way into the old warehouse.
Other people used the old factory as a hang-out and Charley was watching out for himself at the moment. There was no sign of gangs or the occasional vandals today. The homeless man who had been crawling into the stairwell beside the loading dock had been rounded up by the cops a few days past, so Charley didn’t have to worry about the old lecher. Charley didn’t like the stinky old man and he didn’t trust himself to be alone with the guy. What if he was a perv? Or some kind of serial killer?
Charley was not a big boy. He stood just under five feet tall and weighed 98 pounds, exactly. He failed at everything athletic. The jocks at school loved to bully him. Girls didn’t even look at him. His father had been a short man and Charley had no delusions about his future. His family could not afford martial arts classes and he was pretty certain his lack of athletic prowess would have doomed him anyway. He could hide, and he could hide quickly, and that was the talent that kept him from being pummeled by the “in” clique at school. You couldn’t beat up someone you couldn’t find.
John, on the other hand, was tall and wiry. John could run, he could bat, he could even throw a baseball in a straight line. He couldn’t do much else, but the ability to play baseball saved him from a lot of the bullying that Charley had to endure. His status as a ball player and his size helped protect Charley from the worst of the bullying. Charley knew that. He was thankful for that. But he fervently wished he was someone else most of the time.
The old warehouse once belonged to a clothing manufacturer but was  abandoned sometime in the late 1970’s. It sat near the back of a five-acre plot of asphalt and concrete, surrounded by chain link fence and razor wire. Three sides were surrounded by newer industrial buildings and the west side backed up to a narrow greenway that also (conveniently) backed Charley’s and John’s homes and the school they attended. It was an easy escape from school to the old factory. Signs dangled from the chain-link warning of electrical shock and guard dogs.
There were no dogs and no electric current. The fence itself was a deterrent, but there was the break in it along the west side, conveniently close to a thicket of trees (this was the entrance used by John and Charley). Another break was in the front of the compound, where the main gates could be breached by a talented lock pick. The gates were on wheels: when the gangs came in, they often picked the lock, rolled the gates open and then closed them behind themselves so they would look like they were still locked. The dead give away was always a car parked somewhere in the vast empty parking lot. The gangs could not walk anywhere, they always had to ave a car.
The derelict building had corrugated metal siding and a flat roof, three fire escapes, a loading dock with a stair well next to it, a west-facing entrance, a south-facing entrance and a main entrance close to the center ell – all locked. The windows on the first floor were heavily boarded up, and any entrance near the fire escapes was also boarded up. There was no easy way into the old building. Most of the hoods who trespassed, climbed the fire escapes or hovered under the protection of the awnings over the doors where they could smoke cigarettes or pot in relative shelter.
Charley and John and been no different until John discovered a window on the south end of the west wing that had loose plywood nailed to the inside. The glass on the outside was broken, but the boys could push the plywood inward to clamber over the sill and into the building. Once inside, they pushed the plywood back into place so nothing looked odd from the outside.
The place was not popular. It was considered a haunted building. Once, some of the bravest members of the Varsity football team had decided to test the haunted theory. They crawled under the fence in the same place where John and Charley entered. They prowled the exterior of the building, looking for a way in when IT happened.
IT was a rumor. It happened twenty years earlier, in the 1980’s. Some said Coach Harper was one of the boys. Mr. Dreiger, the druggist, was another one. Phil Gonzalez, a local contractor, was another one. John’s dad was another. John’s dad would not talk about it unless he was extremely drunk.
Charley knew of the event from his mother and through the myriad of rumors surrounding it. He trusted his mother: she was single, worked hard, and didn’t pander to a lot of gossip or tall tales. She believed in IT.
John knew more: his father would get drunk and recount the tale, embellishing it every year.
The story kept most good kids away from the old factory. The cops didn’t try the doors unless there was a car in the parking lot: Sheriff Hockings was another one of the youths who had attempted the break in on October 31, 1982.
Personally, Charley thought they were idiots for trying anything on Hallowe’en. Every one knew Hallowe’en brought out the strangest behavior and accentuated anything eerie and dark. There was a reason slasher movies were always set on the 31st of October.
He was near the dumpster now and no sign of John. He steeled himself. John was about to jump out from behind the dumpster and startle him…
“YEAH!!” John leapt up from a cat-like crouch, grinning as Charley jumped back. “Gotcha!”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Charley grumbled.
“But it’s fun.”
“It’s bullying.”
“You know I am going to do it. Why do you jump every single time?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Charley grumbled.
John just laughed, as he always did. “Coast is clear, I’ve been here five minutes and no one is around. Let’s get inside.”
They walked to the boarded-up window and pushed the board in, quickly clambering in. The room they entered was a small room with a dust-covered desk and three tan-colored aluminum folding chairs, the sort that were stacked under the elementary school platform in the gymnasium. A white bookcase was pushed up against the wall. The boys kept a a stash of supplies, including a deck of cards, a flashlight, cigarettes, and some snacks hidden inside the big grey metal desk. Light filtered through a second broken but un-boarded window, high on the wall and too small to crawl through (assuming one could sneak a ladder onto the grounds and reach it).
The boys never stayed in the building after dark. They were truants, but they were also good kids, kids who tried to be at home for dinner with the family (Charley’s family consisted of himself and his mother; John had both parents and a little sister), and they did not want to be caught in the open parking lot when the gangs were hanging out. Or the Seniors, because the Seniors inevitably chose after dark to “haze” someone by daring them to break in and spend the night.
Charley, especially, did not wish to meet the older youths in the parking lot when they were high on ego and in hazing mode.
Today, John was the first in the room. He retrieved their stash of items from the bookshelf while Charley reset the board in the window. It always took some time for their eyes to adjust to the dim light and John liked to retrieve everything before the board shut out the extra light. “I brought a second flashlight,” he said, producing a small black LED flashlight. “It’s pretty bright and the batteries last longer.”
A stack of old 12-volt batteries were hidden inside the coat closet, along with the litter from the boys’ snacks. They had no particular reason for hiding the items, but John was a neat freak. They didn’t want to carry the trash back out, so they hid it.
“I’m so tired of Mr. Mack,” Charley grumbled. “You know he told my mom that if I miss any more classes, he’s going to make me repeat the class next term?”
“Yeah, my dad threatened me with that, too.” John lit a cigarette. “We’re not the only kids who skip his class all the time. I think they should fire the old geezer.”
“Yeah.” Charley watched John as he smoked. They had no agenda. Hanging out inside the creaky old building was slightly better than enduring another science lecture or taking part in yet another humiliating Phys Ed class, and a world better than showing up at home early and having to carry out the trash . For the past six months, the boys had been sneaking out to the factory to skip a class here or a class there. They tried to keep from creating a pattern, but inevitably they skipped Mr. Mack’s Freshman Biology course more than any other class.
They settled down to watch a video on Charley’s iPad when they heard shouting outside in the hallway. Quickly, they stashed everything. John pressed his ear up against the door and signaled to Charley to do the same. He frowned as he listened.
Charley faced John, his left ear pressed against the hollow door.
“Die! I said, die! Dammit all!”
There was a thump, and then some more thumps, a clatter, and what sounded like chains rattling. The noise was coming from somewhere near the end of one of the halls.
“Die?” John mouthed the word, his thick eyebrows knit into a uni-brow. His eyes wee wide. “Gang fight?”
“Let’s get out of here.”
A roar not unlike the roar of the male lion at the zoo reverberated from above. The door reverberated, as did the plywood in the window slot, and everything else in the room.
“Let’s check it out.” John said. He cautiously turned the door knob to peer into the hallway.
“Let’s not.” Charley looked nervously behind him. He edged away from the door.
“No one is out here,” John whispered. He stepped into the hallway, leaving Charley alone. Charley hesitated, then grabbed one of the flashlights and followed John out into the hall.
They were standing in the west wing, near where the building made a ninety degree turn. The entrances were all boarded up and the hall was dark and silent. A sound like something heavy being dragged or pushed sounded from the south wing. The boys hurried to the corner and peered around it, John from a standing position, and Charley, crouched and poised to retreat.
The door into the stairwell at the very end of the south wing was open, letting in a sliver of light as something bulky was dragged through the opening. It was just a shadow thing. The door clinked shut, but they could still hear sound of a struggle moving up the stairs. There was no longer any shouting, but something very large and bulky was being dragged upward.
“I bet he’s got a body he needs to dispose of!” John left the shelter of the wall and headed to the opposite side of the hall, where he quickly padded toward the stairwell.
Charley followed in hot pursuit. “John! Use your head! If he’s killed someone, he’s gonna kill us, too.” His whisper sounded too loud.
John ignored him. Rolling his eyes, Charley hurried to keep up, trying to keep his shoes from making flapping noises on the hard hall floor.
They stopped by the stair well door. Charley was breathing hard. John’s heart was playing staccato in his ears. They pushed the stairwell door open together.
It was slightly lighter in the stairwell. They heard a door above click shut.
One hand on the wall and moving slowly, with their backs toward the wall, they climbed to the third floor. A large window opened to the outside here, as did one on the fourth floor. They knew the source of light, at least. The sounds of struggle were beyond the third floor entry.
They crossed the second floor landing which was boarded up with plywood sheets from inside the stairwell. John’s legs felt like rubber as he led the way to the next landing. They could go no further: the stairs up to the fourth floor were barricaded off with a sheet of plywood.
“AHA! Now you die!” A man’s voice, muffled by the door, sounded. A final “whump!” as someone or something fell heavily against the floor (or wall) and the long, drawn-out wheeze of what seemed to be a final breath.
John put his hand on the cold aluminum knob, his heart pounding almost as loudly as the muffled thumps and bumps from beyond.
Then silence. Interminable silence.
Charley, who wore a watch, timed five minutes. He deemed that a reasonable time to allow a villain to escape. It was certainly enough time for a villain to escape before he and John peeked and found the corpse.
Five minutes is a very long time in a dark and silent and small enclosure, but neither boy had his mind there. Both envisioned finding the bloodied corpse and notifying the authorities. Wouldn’t they be the heroes?
They would tell the investigators how they heard the struggle and the final blow, and swear they could recognize the villain’s voice if ever heard again. They would play key roles in the investigation, raised from petty suspects in the crime around the neighborhood  and elevated to heroes. Their photograph would appear in the local newspaper wit the headlines:
The futuristic headline ended their reverie: they were, after all, skipping school. Charley’s mum, especially, would be unimpressed. He could hear her now…
John turned the doorknob lightly. He inched the door away from his body and into the third floor South Wing. The hallway was littered, but perhaps that was a body? He pushed the door open and let himself and Charley through.
Charley was close on his heels. A pile of rags was piled on the hallway floor. When John reached out to touch it, it rattled like newspaper and they both jumped. Charley’s hand flew to his heart.
“Just newspaper,” John whispered, relieved. He approached the nearest door and tried it. Locked.
Charley studied the floor of the hallway: the dust was undisturbed. He thought that if something had been dragged through here, specifically a large body, the dust would be stirred up.
“Gimme that flashlight,” John ordered, wresting the lantern from Charley’s fingers. He aimed the beam down the hall.
Charley knocked the light down. “Gawd! He’ll see it, you idiot! What if he has a gun?”
“Did you hear a gun?” John answered crossly. “There’s two of us. What’s he gonna do?”
“Kill us, too?”
Reluctantly, John snuffed the light. He did not relish walking down the dark hallway. “What do you think we should do?”
“Wait and see if anyone is reported missing,” Charley hissed. “Let’s get out of here.”
They left the darkened hall for the stair well. They were still feeling heavily oppressed and walked back down quietly and slowly, ready to run if the door above opened again. They crossed the second floor landing. John glanced at the door and stopped: it was not boarded up, but a large padlock held the door fast. He pointed at it, but Charley was already halfway down to the first floor.
Feeling prickles across the nape of his neck, John hurried to follow his short best friend back to their room. They gathered their things and left, each one deep in his own thoughts. Not until they were back through the break in the fence and walking towards their homes did either one speak.
“I’m gonna keep an eye on the news,” Charley said.
“I think we should call the cops anonymously.”
“They can trace your call. If the call turns out bogus, you’re in trouble for filing a false police report.” Charley shook his head.
“We could use a pay phone.”
“Yeah, like where is a pay phone?”
“Oh.” John brooded.
“We don’t even know a murder was committed. We never saw anything. We just heard something and that doesn’t prove anything.” Charley was pacing now, leaning into his thoughts as if they were a fifty-mile an hour wind he had to counter. “The dust on the floor wasn’t disturbed. There would have been tracks or marks in the dust.”
“The second floor door went from plywood to a padlock.”
Charley stopped so suddenly that John ran into him. “What?”
“The second floor door. You saw it. It was all boarded up with plywood when we went up the stairs. When we came back down, there wasn’t any plywood, only a big old padlock.”
“I don’t remember what it looked like,” Charley scratched his chin. “I was so freaking terrified we were going to get shot.”
“Well, I remember.”
“That’s not possible, you know.”
“That I remember?”
“No, that it went from boarded up to having a padlock on it, only.”
“It’s also not possible that something as big as we saw being dragged would leave no marks on a dusty floor.”
“None if this is possible. How did anyone get in there in the first place?”
“We get in there.”
Charley shook his head. “They didn’t come in the same way we did and you know that. I am officially freaked out.”
“And I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Look, I’m saying that we need to not skip school for a couple of weeks. Let the dust settle. Let someone file a missing person’s report. Then we go back.”
“It will be Hallowe’en in two weeks.”
“Oh, for!! We don’t go back on Hallowe’en. The place will be crawling with pranksters. November first. We’ll go back on the irst. Everyone will be bored with the old place and whatever happened will be long gone. And we’ll throw the truant officer off.”
“Great. We go back on the Day of the Dead…” Charley looked away, down past the trees and at the backs of the homes along the street where they both lived. “Shit. My mom’s car is in the driveway. She’s home early or my watch stopped.”

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So far, I have failed to meet my personal writing goals. I blame that on the failure of hardware, and must accept it as Fate. It’s not the end of the world, however: I have polished up my little YA novel, painted a nice book cover, and saved it for future use. I still have a goal of at least submitting it somewhere for publication before the end of 2018.

I changed the title to The Adventures of Ella Peabody, Book One: Magic Mice.

The book and missed deadlines aside, I am currently storing with my laundry room storage on the kitchen table. We had to tear out the faux-wood cabinets in January when the water heater decided to finally (and, I must say, suddenly) give up the ghost. We discovered this when I noticed the formerly dry laundry room floor was flooded.

We replaced a water heater back in the 1990’s, in a singlewide manufactured home with a tiny slot. Purely a DIY job, and except for some bloody knuckles and the cold rain pouring down on us, we got it installed with a mere plethora of swear words. Our marriage survived.

We figured it was still simple, so we hied down to Home Depot to discover that 1) it’s not that simple and 2)not that inexpensive. The new water heater takes up more space than the 25 year old former resident, and the faux-wood shelves no longer fit into the space. Now, we’re searching for a suitable replacement.

That’s the bad.


This is where it gets good. I’ve done some networking since the end of January. Okay, within the last two weeks. Details.

I have a list of potential events.

I finished one commission, plus the tentative cover to The Adventures of Ella Peabody, Book One.

This Wednesday, I am going to a “Meet the Makers” event at a local coffee shop/art gallery. I met the owner of another coffee shop/art gallery over the weekend, and I adore her (she doesn’t know that, yet). Her shop is the first place I am going to try displaying art, not just because I adore her, but because she’s the New Kid on the Block, and she had a lot of really good advice for me at our first meeting. She also hosts art shows, art events, and her own “Meet the Makers” events. Plus, the coffee was par excellence, and I am a coffee snob (as in Starbucks is only so-so, and Dutch Bros. is hardly any better).

I did this on my own. This is huge for an INFJ, and HSP. If you aren’t familiar with those acronyms: INFJ is how my test results always come out on a Meyers-Briggs Personality test (so, if you don’t especially buy into that, I’ve been taking it for over 30 years, and I am still INFJ). HSP refers to my results on a Highly Sensitive Person test by Elaine Aron (I routinely score 100%). (In short, I am an Introverted mess, but you wouldn’t know unless I was a really close friend and confessed it to you. Or you read this.

I have three weekend art events I am applying for, plus a national art event in Grand Rapids, MI. I won’t announce where those are unless I get accepted.


Hey, it goes without saying, doesn’t it? I garden. I’m passionate about my garden. It’s almost March and plant-buying season. I’ve pruned my crazy grape vine back (this is Year 4, so we should get grapes this year!). Deadheaded half the flower beds. Raked up the neighbor’s oak tree leaves in the same flower beds. Set out the bird baths.

The bad: I am feeling my age. Not sure I can keep up the energy required to dig out more beds and a pond. May have to hire a professional.

The good: Spring begins (officially) in 3 weeks.


Watch for more new flashes on my 2017 NaNoWriMo Novel. I really hope to get further with this one than I have previously gotten, even if I missed all the early deadlines for reviews and self-publishing through NaNoWriMo connections. I’m considering publishing under a pseudonym from my youth: Seymore.

Here’s a sneak preview of the cover.



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I’m Back!

Three weeks ago, the power supply unit went out in my HP: desktop. I’m not super geeky, but I searched YouTube, asked my son, and even let my friend’s 30-year old geek look at it. It needs a new power supply unit, and I will have to learn to repair my own in the near future. Meanwhile, I bought a re-furbished HP off of Groupon, and waited for it to be delivered.

Meanwhile, our water heater gave up the ghost. My laundry room is still spread out over the kitchen table because when we lost the water heater, I lost all my storage in the laundry room. I’m waffling between something I found on Houzz and something I found on Wayfair.com.

I fell into a mid-winter funk and have not created anything in a fortnight. My novel is waiting for the final touch-ups.

Oh. My novel. Back-up, back-up, back-up. I had everything saved to an external hard drive when the power supply unit went out. *Everything* Music, novel(s), short stories, and all those precious photos. However, I lost my key to my photo shop program (I use Corel’s PaintShop), so I will have to buy that. I had the old version, anyway, and the 2018 version costs the same. KEEP YOUR PRODUCT KEYS!

Fortunately, I use a free watermark download (Visual Watermark). I think I may have paid for the full version, but I have yet to search emails for that. It’s not that much.

Now, I need a new keyboard (inexp;ensive), because – wouldn’t you know it? – my ancient Gateway keyboard is not comp;atible with the new HP:, and the new keyboard has a faulty p;P:p;P:p;P: key. I am getting tired of backspacing every thing I type “p;”

News on my novel to come – I have 13 days left to meet the NaNoWriMo deadline to have it reviewed for possible submission. Only minor edits left, a new title, and artwork for the cover. It’s hustle time.

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*I decided I needed something to introduce the reader to Ella, when she still doesn’t believe in magic. Here it is.*

Ella Peabody walked home in the twilight, her worn green backpack slung over her shoulders. She walked on the left side of the road, facing traffic, so she noticed when two of the four squad cars of the Fall City PD passed her, apparently headed to a silent alarm. She stopped at the crosswalk in front of Miss Sophy’s home, but not before waving at the figure hidden behind the sheer curtains. Miss Sophy waved back, but didn’t quit spying. No doubt, she was curious about the emergency, too.
Fall City was a remote mountain village, set deep in the Cascades, with a two lane highway in and out, and only seasonal tourist attractions in the form of summer cabins along what was referred to as Fall Lake, but which was little more than a mosquito pond.. There was really no industry of any kind: a little logging, a lot of hunting and fishing in season, some outlying ranches, a dying main street, and one sad little strip mall. The bowling alley still attracted local teams. Cell reception sometimes was lost for days when a good winter storm blew in and the passes were snowed in.
Ella looked both ways and proceeded across the street. She was almost clear of the last lane when a big white van blew past her, going well over the 25 mile-an-hour speed limit and crazily close to the teenager.
“Jerk!” she muttered, too shy to shout it.
Ella wasn’t just shy: she was socially inept, according to her best friend, Billie.
“You spend too much time in the science lab,” Billie would say. “Why don’t you come hang out at the skate park with me and the guys?”
The guys were Dustin (“Dish”) and Gran, Ella and Billie’s childhood friends. Ella had a crush on Dish, but she didn’t dare tell anyone, not even Billie. Billie was a little spitfire, totally out-going, and only a so-so student in school. Billie also already had a date lined up for the Winter Ball, and Ella had – well, nothing. She doubted Dish would ever try to ask her out: she was just ‘one of the guys’.
Fall City had a decent skate park. The city fathers built it to keep teenagers out of trouble, and it worked for some of them. Others hung around at the skate park and smoked cigarettes before leaving to shred sidewalks around abandoned businesses. There was also a dirt BMX bike track that got used by mountain bikers and BMX riders, but it wasn’t sanctioned by the town council and was always in danger of being bulldozed over.
Ella loved Fall City with the sole exception of the widely-held belief that it was a haven for witches and practioners of magic. She once spent an entire summer convincing tourist kids there was no such thing as magic. She did this by setting up a booth at the Farmer’s Market and offering to debunk any magic trick they tried to prove. She’d done quite well, too, much to the amusement of the good citizens of Fall City (most of whom liked their spooky reputation). However, her endeavors had further isolated her from school mates who now looked a little askance when she neared. Ella the Nerd, they called her.
Mr. Gist, who lived four houses down from the Peabody’s, backed out of his driveway so quickly that he nearly hit Ella. She jumped back and was surprised at the angry look on the little man’s face. He was usually such a nice man!
She walked up the long walkway to her home, a late 1800’s Queen Anne, shaking her head. She was still pondering all the odd events when she let herself in and smelled dinner cooking. Lasagna, her favorite. She dropped her back pack and tossed her jacket onto the coat tree near the front door.
“I’m home!”
“Great! Now we can eat!” Her little brother, Aric, pushed himself out of the gaming chair he had been ensconced in. “I’ve had to smell that for, like, an hour. Pure torture.”
Dinner was good, and her parents were in good humor. Ella cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher, before going upstairs to her bedroom to study for her Advanced Science course. She fell asleep in the wee hours of the night.
She dreamed there were distant sirens and someone was walking down the middle of the street, pointing a magic wand at houses and sending them up in flames. Ella wrapped herself in a robe and floated out her bedroom window to the street, and held up her Advanced Science book as if to repel the cloaked stranger.
“Magic does not exist!” she shouted. She shouted and shouted until she woke herself up, mumbling in her sleep and gasping.
“That was weird,” she told her stuffed cat. “Of course magic doesn’t actually exist.”

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There are a few things I would like to say as I close out NaNoWriMo this year:

Thank you to the many followers I’ve gained, and the many bloggers who have liked most of my posts. I have checked each and everyone of you out, and some of you I have set to follow. I’d love to know how your own NaNoWriMo has gone – you don’t have to share your story with me, but please tell me how many words you managed, where you got stuck, and what your final plans are for your novel.

I got stuck on Day#27. It’s awful. I’d like to erase that entire post. In retrospect, I’ll change the setting, which will require me to go back through the entire novel. I can do that.

What about dialog? I screwed up with Madison & Dylan. They started out as great skater bunnies, but I lost the dialog as I wrote. Bad move. You need to keep your characters “in character”.

I’d like to expand my novel by exploring the other “safe houses” and how the characters got to be in those houses. I’m not certain (at this point) if that requires sequels or not. Miss Sophy is definitely someone who needs development, as well as the Beaman twins and Missy’s crush on Aric.

I really dislike violence. I couldn’t see a way around it when the teens were faced with the toad and the rats, and then the Yokai. If I can rewrite those sections without violence, I will, Sometimes, however, the story takes on its own character, and Aric was busting for some physical warfare.

I’d love to develop the crush Ella has on Dish and how he fees toward her. I need to work on why Dish is such a sallow character. I know this.

I am happy with the plot twists. But I am not happy with the overall setting: the governor closing down a state. I will be changing that scenario to something more close-knit.

This story deserves more than 50,000 words. I’ll work on revising and editing (thank you Mary!) before I decide what to do with the ms.

I truly thank you for following me. ♥♥

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A black SUV with heavily tinted windows pulled up to the curb in front of the State Capitol building. Three men in dark suits and red ties got out, looking slowly around the town. Their expressions told nothing, and they walked up the wide stairs to the Capitol doors.
An old woman wearing a pink parka stepped out from behind a pillar. Her pink floral dress covered her legs down to the fuzzy mukluks she wore. “You won’t get in,” she said.
The lead man looked her over, eyeing the grey hair blowing out from under the parka hood. “Who might you be?”
“Mrs. Swainson. I come down here to complain because one of my cats got into it last night with an owl, and all the owls’re supposed to be dead. Doors have been locked since 9:ooAM, and no sign out.” She spat off to the side.
“Killing owls would be a Federal offense,” the man said.
“Keep the cat indoors,” another one of them said.
The third man walked up to the doors and pulled. He banged on the glass and waved at a teenager walking by inside. He pulled out an official looking badge and held it to the glass.
The boy was in a red t-shirt, shorts, sandals, and wore a white ball cap turned backwards. He eyed the badge and nodded. He turned the manual lock on the inside of the doors and pushed them open.
“I’m just headed up there, myself.” He held the door open for the men, but closed it on the old lady. “Sorry, Mrs. Swainson. Open later.”
The men walked past security scanners that were inoperable and security officers who were tied up with zip ties. Teenagers milled about in the hallways, gawking at paintings. The boy with the white ball cap jogged to catch up with them.
“Sorry, son, but you will need to stay down here,” the first one said.
“But I’m with Ella Peabody’s team in the governor’s office!”
They shook their heads, and Deke had to sit at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for his friends. He was furious.

Federal agents arrived at the different police stations in town, and a S.W.A.T. team roared in to surround the building being used as a detention center. Detainees were set free, and officers in charge were arrested, in a wide-spread reversal of fortune. It was all very professional, and like a scene out of some movie.
Phoenix Peabody snatched the cage in which a yellow parakeet was held, much to the objection of the newly-arrested Officer Conley, who had grown fond of feeding the bird (and thinking it was Miss Sophy).
“I am afraid it is Goldie, and Miss Sophy is most likely worried to death about where her parakeet has gotten to,” the doctor told the young officer. He added, “Did you really think you could capture a master wand maker?”

The public confession of Governor Eric Hicks was held on the courthouse steps at precisely 0100 hours. Federal Agent Jack Peabody informed the public that the perpetrators of this reprehensible act of dividing the public had been brought to a close by the heroic actions of a group of teenage wizards and two adult wizards who had guided them, and who had connected all the dots behind the scenes. The method in which it was brought to a close was never mentioned, and the wise never asked.
The body of the Yokai was presented to the Press, along with the three tails, and a brief explanation by one retired librarian, Richard Nagasaki. It would seem that the only way to destroy a Kitsune fox was to cut off all of its tails. No one knew the whereabouts of the missing press secretary, Fred Gist. (Mrs. Collins wept a little then: she had always imagined Fred as sweeping her off of her feet. She was a widow, of course.)
The skill and talent of the youths who had so brazenly broken into the Capitol building and disabled all communications and security was lauded, in particular, the pair of previously delinquent Goths who had disabled the entire electronic system of the building and over-ridden the automatic doors.
Parents were reunited with children, bus drivers were acclaimed as heroes (or not), and Ella skipped out on the limelight with Aric, Gran, Dish, Billie, and Twerp in tow. Someone was interviewing Kyle about his role in saving the teens in the woods and in saving young Tito after his head injury. Not once was being an animal mentioned, as Kyle was a very good story teller.
“Come on,” Ella whispered. “Let’s get to my house before my folks do! We’ll surprise them!”
It was not to happen: Richard informed the parents of the teens about the plot to surprise them, and he told the Peabodys about where they might find the contents of their attic. The teens were surprised by a reception at the Peabody house – a reception which included Uncle Jack and his two FBI counterparts, all wizards. Uncle Jack revealed the truth of the rescue in the privacy of the Peabody house, and Ella was forced to make a speech.
“Um. Yeah. Just so you know, magic didn’t solve this,” she said. “Logic and a little sleuthing did.”
Everyone groaned.
“But, magic did play a good deal into it, and I want to thank my friends for opening my eyes to the possibilities of something outside of what can be easily explained away. I mean, Twer- er, Deacon – managed to transform us all into mice and we overcame a lot of weird things as mice. Aric even killed the governor’s own familiar, an evil toad named Venemo, or Vennie.
“We met Kyle, and caught up with Dylan and Madison. Dylan’s mom protected us. Richard – Mr. Nagasaki – was key in keeping us safe. And I will hate rats for the rest of my life.”
Everyone laughed.
Champagne and sparkling cider were served. Mrs. Peabody waved a wand and created a buffet of wonderful hors d’oeuvres. Miss Sophy arrived with the three Beaman children: Missy, and twins Mike and Tito. Kyle’s mother and father wandered in, and a round of hugs and celebrations went out.
Kyle was forced to explain what happened both in the woods when he saved Ella and crew, and why he was inside the walls after Tito had been severely injured.
“We couldn’t perform any magic, just yet.” He was humble and shuffled his feet. “But I know something about concussions, and I helped Miss Sophy keep Tito awake. We had to get ice from the ice maker to put on his head, and she sneaked through the war zone and back with an ice cube. Must have froze her fingers off.”
She waved it aside. “Point is, young Kyle was a hero.”
“Oh, and she gave me my wand before everything happened,” he said proudly. He pulled it out to show everyone. There were a few tut-tuts. But most accepted that Miss Virginy Sophy had known what she was doing, with or without the boy’s parents.
Deke told how he battled the cat with Horace and Natalie, and perhaps he exaggerated his role a little (Natalie merely smiled). He sniffed when he related the tail end of the tale, especially since everyone now knew Mrs. Swainson’s cat had returned home wounded, but very much alive. Horace was a good owl, familiar, and friend.
There was also the tale about how he came to be in possession of the wand that had belonged to Fred Gist, and how Ella had solved the cryptogram using just logic. Deacon attributed the ability to turn everyone into a mouse to the fact that he had found the wand. A toast was made to the missing Fred, and his generosity in leaving the wand for someone to use for good.
Ella, Gran, Dish, and Billie caught up with Aric, Kyle, and Deke in the kitchen.
“We should all sneak up into the attic and see if everything really is back up there,” Gran suggested.
“We could get our cell phones back, too.”
They went up the stairs as if they were going to Aric’s bedroom, but turned down the hallway where the attic ladder dropped out of the ceiling. Gran pulled it down and they all climbed up.
“So much easier than the first time I was up here,” Dish play-shoved Ella’s shoulder and winked.
Everything was back in place, even the mannequin and the old mirror. The wands were hanging above the trunk in the same order they had been before Gran took them down. It seemed a disappointment. Nothing had changed, and yet – everything had.
Ella walked over to the mirror and stared at it. She saw nothing more than her own reflection, and the reflections of everyone in the room looking over her shoulder. Even after they turned the mirror around, it reflected nothing that was not there. Ella touched it. “I guess it doesn’t want to talk right now.”

The party broke up, and everyone drifted off to their own homes to clean up and restart their lives. Tomorrow would be another day, and with just a little magic, everything would return to almost the way it was before. Ella sat by her window, staring out into the night and listening to an owl hoot.
But I will believe in magic in the morning.

Aric went to bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time.
I was born to be a warrior.

Kyle curled up in bed and smiled.
I have friends who like me.

Dish went home and hugged his father. They played cards into the night until Dish fell asleep on the sofa, dreaming of the girl he wanted to ask out: Ella.

Billie walked home with Gran, and Gran asked her to go to the winter dance with him. She said, “Yes.” She wasn’t worried how she’d tell her former crush, Mike.

Deacon walked out into the backyard and stared up at the moon. Somewhere, an owl hooted, and he hoped it was Horace. He reached into his pockets and pulled out the magic wand left to him by Fred Gist. It was beautiful.
It was not the only thing he’d found in the street the day that Fred Gist disappeared. He hadn’t wanted to show anyone, because they were always making fun of him for his collections, and this was just one more thing. It wasn’t magic; it wasn’t special; it was just pretty to look at, and right now it glowed slightly in the light of the full moon. Deke held it up and studied it.
It was a perfect blue sapphire crystal.

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The cat trotted out into the open. It gently dropped the little creature onto the lawn and waited. The little creature did not immediately move, but the cat expected that. When the thing did move, it was slowly. The tabby expected that, as well. The cat wasn’t worried. The little thing would provide entertainment soon enough.
The cat batted at its new friend: no claws, that would be most uncivil. It just wanted the little thing to wake up and shake it off.
Deacon shook his head. He had his magic wand, but did he dare use it? It would probably alert someone, and the mission would be lost. He needed to think. He rolled over when the cat prodded him, and found himself looking up into its whiskered face.
“Can’t you just be a familiar, like Horace?”
The cat blinked.
“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” A tinny voice called from behind, and the cat turned to look. A little beacon of light crossed the cat’s face. The cat knew this game: chase the little light.
It looked back at the little creature, considering options: little light game? Or new friend?
“Kitty, kitty.”
New friend wasn’t moving very quickly, so the cat turned its attention on to the little light.
Deacon stood up as soon as the cat turned around. He saw the light in the grass as well, and could hear Natalie calling the cat.
They’d come to save him! Simultaneously, he wondered: what about the mission? How many others were out there?
The cat pounced in the direction of Natalie, but the light went dark before it landed. The light popped on, again, off to the left, and another voice called, “Kitty, Kitty.” The light danced in the grass, which made it more fun, and the cat danced along with it, waiting to make a final pounce.
Deke could make not out the capitol building He didn’t know how far the cat had carried him. He just needed to make it back to the building. He ran, zig-zagging, through the grass. The cat landed in front of him.
“KITTY KITTY KITTY” Natalie shouted and flashed her light in the cat’s face again. Natalie had also moved closer to the capitol building.
Before the cat turned, it flipped Deke up into the air, caught him as he tumbled back down, and batted him overhead into the branches of an azalea. Deke’s arms helicopter out as he tried to gain purchase on the stems of the little evergreen. He caught himself just above the ground.
The cat abandoned Deke (for the moment, Deke, knew), and pounced playfully after the little beacons of light in the grass. Deke saw one light fly over the cat’s head and go off.
Natalie called. “Run toward my voice, Deacon!”
Deacon dropped to the ground, dusted himself off, and called, “I lost my flashlight!”
“Just run toward me!”
He dashed. The cat dashed. Horace jumped up in front of the cat. The cat caught Horace with both paws and landed on top of him. Horace squealed in terror.
“Nooooo!” Deke changed directions and ran at the cat. “No, no, no, nooooo!”
Natalie tried the distract the cat, but now it was fixated on the little creature running at it. It held the mouse under its paw, and waited.
“Deacon, you must follow me!” Natalie ran forward, to intercept Deacon. “Horace can handle this!”
“It’ll kill Horace!” He cried as the older mouse caught his arm.
“Yes, and it will kill you. It’s a cat. That’s what they do.” Natalie pulled Deke back. “We have a long way to go, to get back to the rest of the group.”
“But – Horace!” He looked over his shoulder in time to see Horace transform into an owl, and push the cat off.
“I’m telling you, Horace can handle this. Come on!” Natalie pulled Deke in the direction of the capitol building.
The cat jumped back in alarm when the mouse changed shapes before its eyes. It hated the big birds, and knew them to very dangerous. It arched its back and hissed, all thoughts of play abandoned.
Horace opened his wings and hissed back, hopping forward with great yellow claws open.
The cat fought back with a strong swipe of sharp claws, and a long, drawn out growl.
Deke could hear them fighting as he ran, tears streaming down his face. How could Horace hope to win over a creature so naturally evil as that cat?! The sound of the battle followed the pair of mice all the way to the capitol building, when it ceased altogether. Deke turned and stared out into the dark lawn. The sun was beginning to come up, and he was a long way from his friends, and from Horace. He slumped his shoulders and followed Natalie.

“Who goes there?” A light shone in Natalie’s eyes, then Deke’s.
“You guys have clothes on,” the voice added. “I thought we were supposed to be real mice.”
“We are real mice,” Deke grumbled. He bet the other voice had never been down a mouse hole, and he had.
“I might ask who you are,” Natalie replied, cooly. “Turn the light off, or you’ll attract the cat.”
The light flipped off. “Th-there’s a c-cat?”
“Who are you, again?”
“Oh. My name’s George. I’m with the front door patrol. We’re supposed to take down Security at 0900 hours.”
“George? Not Gran’s brother, George?” Deke peered around Natalie.
“Is that the Twerp?” George grinned. He was dressed in camoflage, right down to his hunting cap.
Natalie intervened. “Natalie Woodhouse. Deacon and I were way-laid by a particularly hungry feline.” She stressed Deacon, and Deke thought he could hug her. “We lost our group. Where is yours?”
“Oh, this way.” George led them behind a tall plant with sword-like leaves. “We’re digging out our entrance so we can get into the building and hack the security system. I’m on sentry duty. Hey guys!” he called ahead. “I found some more allies!”
Natalie glanced at Deke. “Some sentry,” she whispered.
Deke grinned, the sting of having lost Horace temporarily gone.
The leader came forward when George called out.
“Goodness. Natalie Woodhouse! So good to see you. We’ve just broken through and we’re going in. Where is your group?”
“Long story, Sharon. May we join you?”
George’s group consisted of two more senior high school boys; a pair of Goths; two girls from the high school girls’ basketball team; Mr. Howard, the art teacher; and Sharon, the public librarian. Sharon had a last name, but she’d never used it, and Deke couldn’t remember what it was.
They climbed into the duct work and everyone squeaked, “What now?”
“You climb.” Deke grabbed an Ethernet cord. “Tell me where we’re going?”
The rest followed him, dubiously. “Have you done this before?” complained someone from far behind Deke.
“A time or two,” he answered, irritated.
The plan, Mr. Howard explained to Deke’s tail, was to get into the main security office, and lock all the doors into and out of the building at precisely 0900. They needed to disable all computers and telephone lines.
“Server room,” Deke muttered. Where his own team had been headed, according to Ella. He hoped they would make it in time.
They came out inside of a cabinet. Deke could see footprints in the dust.
“Okay, we’re clear,” Natalie peered out of the cabinet into the darkened room.
The first mice up the server tower were the two Goths. George and his friends explored the top of the cabinet, relaying the information they found on the schematics. The rest fanned out to take up positions in case someone came into the server room. The basketball girls found a conference room chair in poor condition. This was shoved by group effort into place under the door handle, to keep anyone from breaking is easily.
Deke wandered off by himself, looking for tracks from his friends. He needed to think, to devise a way to rejoin them. He felt terrible that Horace and Natalie had followed him out into the grass, and now Horace was gone. He’d let the team down!
He sniffled, once. If only he could have used his wand! But it was safe in his pocket.
“What’s this?” squeaked Sharon. “It looks like someone got caught in a sticky rat trap!”
Deke ran. Sharon, Natalie, and Mr. Howard were standing over one of those traps Aric’s dad used in their old house. Only this trap held a surprise: a very dead rat with a safety pin stuck in the side of its head, and its nose between a pair of black lace-up boots in the shape of mouse feet.
They all looked at each other.
“We stick to the plan, and hope they got past the rat,” Natalie said, decisively.
Deke sank in a heap, wondering whose boots were stuck in the green goo, and who had thought to use a safety pin as a weapon. He hoped it was the same mouse, and that mouse had made it to the governor’s office.

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Aric found himself face to face with a house mouse. Dish and Dylan crowded behind him, and Dylan flashed his flashlight into the mouse’s face. It covered its eyes with a paw, and beyond it, in the remaining light of the flashlight, the trio could make out a crowd of regular mice.
“We go the other way,” Dish whispered over Dylan’s shoulder. “If we back up, maybe they’ll just go down the hole and leave us be.”
“Where’s Ella when we need her?” Aric moaned. He was, for once, completely unarmed.
“Put that infernal light down,” a shrill voice scolded. “I can’t see with it in my eyes.”
“Maybe we don’t need Ella. I understood that perfectly,” Dylan stated. He lowered the flashlight.
The mouse scrutinized them. “You would stand out less if you didn’t wear clothes.”
“Yeah, but we’d be naked,” Dish shot back. “Come on guys, back up.”
“Hey, I know who they are!” Another voice, much younger sounding and female, piped up from behind the forward mouse. “That’s Aric Peabody.”
Aric blinked. “Who are you?”
“Missy Beaman,” the voice went all shy.
“I am Miss Sophy. Now, would you kindly lead me to where Mr. Nagasaki is waiting? And turn the flashlight off.”
“Yes. Yes, ma’am.”
The flashlight went off. The teen mice turned around and led Miss Sophy, and whoever was with her, toward the hole in the wall that led into the still-dark governor’s office. They found Richard, Gran, Kyle, and the girls waiting by the foot of the big mirror.
Ella ran forward and hugged Aric and Dish at the same time. “It sounded horrid down there! Did the rats really attack again?”
Richard bowed to Miss Sophy. “You made it!”
She bowed back, and told him, “I must say, I never thought of reducing ourselves to mice and wearing our human clothing. It must be quite awkward to be so anthropomorphized.”
“Not at all. Pockets have come in quite handy, as well as flashlights.”
“It was how Deke changed us,” Aric muttered, defensively.
If she heard him, Miss Sophy ignored him. “How many are there of you, did you say, Mr. Nagasaki? You look somewhat less than a dozen.”
“Aw, yes. We had an unfortunate scrape with a cat on our way here. Three of ours went off to do battle with the cat. And you? Ten, you said?”
“How did you know to come here as mice?”
“Who all is with you?”
“Gran the man, is that you?”
The questions shot out as mice overcame their initial shyness and manners were lost altogether in the small reunion. Miss Sophy and Richard commanded silence after a few short moments of hugs, high fives, fist bumps, and gleefully exchanged names.
“We have wasted too much time,” Richard said. “We must get our implements of war, and take up our stations before someone comes into the office to work.”
“Right. Hide those poison pills.”
“Scissors, staplers, anything we can use.”
“Zip ties!” Madison had been carrying them on her back like a backpack.
The mice jumped into action.
“I really fail to see the usefulness of clothing,” Miss Sophy reiterated.
“Aric carried the paperclips in his pockets. The paperclips saved us when the rats attacked.” Dish replied. He was trotting by with an armful of rubber bands.
“What do you intend to do with those, Dustin?” She snapped.
“Rubber band gun. I just have to figure out where to launch them from.” Dish passed his load up to Gran, who scrambled up the face of a bookshelf.
“There’s a couple bronze statues up here that I think we can use,” Gran replied.
Dish ran back for more rubber bands.
Aric showed the little mice (for many of them turned out to be fifth and sixth-graders) how to bend the larger paperclips into little spears and where to hide them in the room. “Your role is to try to stay out of the way,” he explained. “But if one of us gets into trouble, you run out and poke and run back away as fast as you can. Be really annoying.”
Mike and Tito grinned at each other, “We can do that!” They started arming them selves with paperclips.
“We don’t want to hurt the governor. But we need to zip tie him to his chair, and we need to keep him from yelling for his secretary.” Madison showed the younger girls how to work zip ties while Billie searched the desk for packing tape or something similar.
At last, everything was as ready as they could make it. The light from the window told them it was nearing daylight, and they needed to hide. Gran and Dish cowered behind the bronze statues of long horn cattle and elk, making themselves as flat as they could. The younger boys and Dylan hid on either side of the room, behind a credenza and a small bookshelf. The girls hid behind books on the lowest level of the large bookshelf, while Madison and Billie hid behind the books on the next shelf up, a red packing tape dispenser between them. Aric hauled a box of push pins up to the top of a large painting with an ornate frame he could set them on, and hide on by laying as flat as possible. Missy joined him. Aric watched the mousehole from his vantage point, hoping that at any moment, his best friend would swagger through with Natalie and Horace, Richard and Miss Sophy took up positions on either side of the door.
Ella, armed with the still-bloody letter opener, and a pair of scissors, lay flat on the floor behind the large mirror. Her heart was thumping so hard and so loud that she thought surely someone would hear her when they walked into the room. She tried to calm her breathing as she mentally cheered herself on.
I know what to do. I can do this. Mom and Dad and everyone needs us to do this. The Yokai doesn’t suspect. He doesn’t know I can see his true self. I can do this.
The clock on the governor’s wall ticked slowly forward. The girls on the first shelf fell asleep, despite their best efforts to stay awake. The boys behind the furniture were restless, and kept crawling forward to peer out, despite Dylan’s threats. Madison nodded off, and caught herself.
7:30 on the dot, they heard the door to the secretary’s office open. The footsteps on the carpet were light and feminine. The secretary moved around the office, opening blinds and putting on a pot of coffee, the aroma of which drifted under the door and into the sharp noses of the waiting mice. Her chair squeaked when she sat down in it, and the computer powered on. The next time the secretary got up was to pour herself a cup of coffee. The mug she carried clinked against the coaster on her desk. She started typing and clicking the computer mouse, sounding busy.
The governor arrived shortly after 8:00. He exchanged a word with the secretary as he poured himself a cup of coffee (or maybe she poured it for him). He opened his office door, turned back to the secretary, and said, “News conference at One. Please hold all my calls until then. And tell that weasel, Fred, to be up here by nine a.m., sharp.”
He closed the door. He took off his outer coat and hung it on the coat tree in the corner after setting his cup of coffee on the desk, then walked over to look at himself in the mirror. He muttered at the reflection, “I look as old as I feel. This had better work to get my charm back. I don’t know how much I trust Fred, anymore.”
He finally sat down and opened up his lap top.
Billie and Madison came out of hiding, and climbed the back of the chair quietly, holding the packing tape between them. They waited, but the younger girls were still napping.
Tito was the closest. He dashed out from behind the credenza and made for the book shelf. He jumped onto the books and dove behind them just as the governor turned his chair.
“Huh. Thought I saw a mouse. Memo to self: have Mrs. Rice order an exterminator.” He turned back, with Billie and Madison hanging on tightly.
Tito shook the girls awake and grabbed a zip tie himself. “Arms first, he whispered, Then feet. We need to time this perfectly.”
Embarrassed, the girls gathered the zip ties between them and teamed up. The arm teams went out first, staying directly behind the governor’s chair. The feet team readied themselves.
Each arm team consisted of two mice: one with the fastener end, and the other with the tip. They would have to move quickly: jump up onto the chair where the fastener mouse would hold steady. The tip mouse had to scurry up and over the governor’s arm, and jump down with the tip to run through the fastener. Both mice would then pull the zip tie tight while Billie and Madison raced around the governor’s head to tape his mouth shut. The feet team had to tie the governor’s legs tight. This was the trickiest part of the plan, and if anything could go wrong…
Tito and the other team leader, a girl name Chloe, nodded at each other. They led the charge up the side of the chair and executed a perfect jump over the governor’s resting arms, connecting with their partners at almost the same moment. Zip! the ties were pulled, and they dove off of the chair.
“Wha?!” The governor started to yell, but Madison scrambled around his face, her hands and feet pummeling along across his chin, while she pulled the clear packing tape around and pressed it against his face, silencing him. Billie used her teeth to cut the tape and pressed down the other side of the tape. The red roll dropped to the floor and clattered.
The secretary paused in her typing. “Everything all right, Governor?”
The governor tried to stand up with his chair. Tito grabbed the zip tie end from one of the girls and raced forward, jumping onto the left shoe. Madison grabbed the other end and raced around the back side of the governor’s right leg. He kicked her, and she rolled under the chair. Dylan rushed forward and pulled her out of harm’s way just as the rolled on the chair came down where she had landed. Billie raced in and picked up the fastener end. Chloe led the girls with their zip ties, and the ends met. It took a group effort to pull the ties tight, and Tito was kicked upward, into the corner of the desk. He fell and did not move.
“Oh!” Miss Sophy ran forward, but not before Kyle appeared from his hiding place and lifted the still mouse away to the safety of the mouse hole. Miss Sophy followed them through the hole.
Richard left his post and jumped up onto the governor’s desk. He walked past the cup of coffee and bowed to the balding man who was now tied to his own chair and muffled with clear packing tape. “We regret to do this to you, but you must know you have been under a very evil spell. We are here to protect you and to release you from the evil that has been done. Cooperate, and you will not be harmed.”
The governor’s eyes bulged, whether from fear or anger, Richard could not tell. “Turn him around, so his back is to the door,” he told Billie and the girls.
Outside the office, the secretary had resumed her typing. She shook her head, and glanced at the clock. 8:35. Time for a second cup of coffee before Fred arrived. She considered getting a cup for the governor, but he hadn’t been very nice the past week, and she decided against it. Let him get his own cuppa.


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The vacation cabin sat in a lot with four outer such homes, close to a pond that was named something or other lake (Miss Sophy couldn’t be bothered to look up the name of the thin as it was little more than a pond in her mind, since one could easily walk around it in less than an hour, and it was very shallow). All of the homes were closed for the season, and hers looked just as closed due to the seasonal spell she’d cast on it upon arriving here.
She’d driven herself most of the way, abandoning the borrowed car in a ditch. That had taken a bit of a jolt to her body to do, and her back still ached a little. She was certain the car had belonged to one of the policemen who had come to her house, armed with handcuffs and some sort of legal paper about it being a felony to use magic. She’d read the entire document while the foolish men were still sitting in their car. Did they really think a mast wand maker, seer, and fortune teller as herself would not know who they were or what they were up to?
So she’d released Goldie from his cage and transformed him into her temporarily, and hidden herself under the front seat of the police car. She’d watched the police arrest Goldie, and watched while the Peabody boy and his nerdy little friend ran through back yards, no doubt trampling on precious plants. She was proud of the boys, nevertheless, as they apparently had the foresight to get to a safe place as quickly as possible.
The police officers, not so much. Why, she had been John McLaughlin’s Second and Third grade teacher, and he’d been a most pleasant child. Blake Conely had been one of her Seventh grade students when she was principal of the junior high, and he’d been one of her honor students, and a good basketball player. Now, they were unceremoniously dragging her (Goldie) to the squad car with handcuffs on, and not a please or thank you to be had.
They’d arrived at the police station along with other squad cars, and many befuddled, struggling, or angry wizards and witches. There was little Miss Sophy could do, but she lifted Blake’s personal car key from his key chain and walked, invisible to the human eye, to the private lot where it was parked. She pulled out of the parking lot as the officers were inside booking Goldie, and Goldie was – presumably – returning to the yellow parakeet he actually was. It was, after all, a temporary spell.
Wrecking the car had been an unfortunate last minute decision, but she was later glad she’d had the misfortune of swerving to miss the elk. The car was hidden, there were no tracks of hers leading down the drive to the vacation cabins, and she’d had the good fortune to run into a five-tailed red fox on the way. She recognized Mr. Nagasaki right away, and they had a pleasant conversation all the way to the cabin. He convinced her to provide a safe house for anyone who managed to escape the clutches of the police.
She had not counted on that being a convoy of cold, wet, and frightened fifth and sixth graders, led by the resourceful Miss Beaman, herself scarcely a teenager. There were ten of them, all told: four in the 5th grade, five in the 6th grade, and Miss Beaman. Miss Beaman went by Missy, which was easy for Miss Sophy to remember.
Missy told her that the elementary school bus had been pulled over before it got to the particular bus stop where she waited for her bus, and her twin brothers waited for their bus. The children had simple run off into the woods like gypsies before a raid, running pell mell until the weakest of them got a stitch in the side, or ran out of breath. They took it more orderly after that, staying out of sight, and trying to find a place to hide. It was a very frightening time, but they had their back packs and some snacks they could share, and they made it to a dry shelter under a bridge, where they shivered and waited out the night.
There was much more to the tale, but eventually, they stumbled into a meadow where a deer was browsing, and the deer led them to the lake and the vacation houses. The deer told them to come to this cabin and to knock on the door. They were certain they’d had a very mystical experience, and so Miss Sophy did not bother to suggest that perhaps Mrs. Woodhouse (assuming they would know the Woodhouse family. Certainly Missy would).
Decades of experience in the public school system had Miss Sophy quite prepared for children, and she put them to work reading books or doing simple crafts. She had a small stash of board games, and they played those until they were bored and whiney, and prone to bickering with each other.
The twins, Mike and Tito, had to be separated on several occasions, and threatened with corporal punishment.
“You wouldn’t,” Tito dared.
“You couldn’t,” Mike challenged.
Miss Sophy had grabbed each boy by the ear, tweaking it hard, and walked them to their corners, respectively. “Now, gentlemen, let me explain a few house rules here. You do understand house rules? Good. Rule number one: never, ever, challenge me. Because I can, and I will. Number two: do not think you can outsmart me. Because you can’t. I see everything. And rule number three: there will be no fighting or rough housing in my vacation home. If you need something to do, I am quite certain that the bathroom toilet needs cleaning and the kitchen floor needs mopping.”
Miss Sophy kept her crystal ball in her private bedroom. She had it covered with a black cloth. She had a chest of wands she had not finished spells for, or had not yet begun to carve. That was locked in the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. Several decks of cards used for the sleight-of-hand carnival fortune telling were also in the locked truck. Her own wand was kept tucked in the pocket of her long skirt.
Miss Sophy brought out the crystal ball the first night with the children in the cabin, and they gathered around it like families around the radio during the Great War. Images of their parent’s faces surfaced, and whispered snippets of their conversations revealed the depth of the troubles the wizarding community was in. There were barriers erected against the use of magic, wands had been confiscated, and nearly the entire adult population had been taken into custody. Custody appeared to be housing that resembled disaster relief housing.
Miss Sophy communicated with Mr. Nagasaki as well. He came through the campground once or twice per day for a few days, always full of interesting news from town.
“Now, what family heirloom could someone have possibly taken from that fool head of a governor that he would abuse his authority so?” she asked the Kitsune.
“I have no idea, but he is determined to round up even the children.”
“He thinks a child stole it?”
“I did not say that, Miss Sophy. You are jumping to conclusions.”
“No, he is jumping to conclusions. If this heirloom could only be removed by means of the Dark Arts, then he has nothing to fear from the wizarding community in general. He should be consulting us for our wisdom in dealing with evil practitioners.”
“It is as is everyone in the non-wizarding community is under a spell.”
“How are the children?”
“Rapscallions. We need an army, not children. They are much too active, and they don’t have critical thinking skills.” She wiped her hands on her skirt. “I was hoping to tutor the Peabody girl this winter. Her father said he thought she was beginning to open up to her magic. She’s a level-headed young woman, well-grounded in science.”
He laughed. “I think we may have to turn to teenagers to form our army. I have a small group of them due at my cabin this evening.”
“Here we are, you and I, guardians of knowledge, now babysitters of our youth. What has the world come to, Mr. Nagasaki?”
She returned to the cabin feeling peevish. Her mood was not enhanced when she found the Beaman boys had been wrestling in the kitchen, and her teapot had been broken. They were quite ashamed of themselves, and were trying to glue it back together with white school glue.
Miss Sophy stood with her hands on her hips, glowering at them.
“We-we’re sorry, Miss Sophy.” Tito blushed a deep red. The other children fell very quiet.
“We didn’t mean it. We weren’t fighting,” Mike hurried to explain. “We were jostling…”
She took a deep inward breath. “Young men, school glue is water permeable. That means that the teapot, thus repaired, will not hold water again. Let me show you how it should be repaired. We will call it a lesson in magic.”
She pulled out her wand and waved it over the teapot. The teapot rearranged itself, and fused back together. It then filled with water from the sink by itself and made the short hop to the stove, where the propane came on, and the burner lit of its own accord.
“How’d you do that?”
She turned to go to her room. “Come with me. All of you.”
There, she opened the chest and withdrew the wands, from the very roughest to the almost complete. The children pushed inward, trying to get a look. “Mike, carry this – carefully – out to the living room and set it in the middle of the table. Tito, you take these cards to the table.”
In the living room, she had the boys carefully lay out the wands. They were more than careful with them.
“Now, these are unfinished wands. They have no magic in them, and this is a good thing. I am a maker of wands, and a maker of the magic that lives in wands. Each of these wands represents a wizard or witch who will rise to his or her abilities, and who will be then gifted the wand at the appropriate time. These are not toys, but tools.
“Each of you will one day hold one of these in your hands. Think about the responsibility necessary to wield power that can mend a pot, fill it with water, and turn the stove on.”
“Can you teach us?”
“We cannot use that much magic,” She sighed. “Mr. Nagasaki tells me they are tracking the use of magic these days. I want you to each pick a wand. You may handle it – reverently, Tito – and then I want you to put your wand back into this chest. I will then lock it and store it until the time comes to award you with it.”
The children pored over the wands, selecting their favorite. Tito chose a rough looking one, but the rest chose more finished wands. Tito looked at Miss Sophy, who was watching him closely. “I think you can make it beautiful by the time I earn it,” he said softly. “Like the tea pot I broke.”
She put the wands away, and spent the rest of the night and part of the next two days teaching the children sleight-of-hand carnival tricks. Each evening, they checked the crystal ball for news, but there was little to report. The midget adults were getting restless, again, when the crystal ball turned a deep aquamarine and the foxy face of Kitsune appeared.
“I hope all is well,” he said.
(“Cool, a talking fox!” Mike elbowed one of the other boys, not Tito.)
“As well as can be with preteens.”
The fox smiled. “We have a plan. That is, Ella Peabody has a plan. Let me explain it to you.”

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“Rats like mice, don’t they?”
“I – I don’t think so.” Ella stepped back into Billie. “Sorry.”
Billie squeaked. “Can’t you talk to them like you did the deer mice?”
“I’m trying, but they smell different, and they, um, feel hungry. Like they are looking at us…”
“The way a velociraptor would,” Dish finished. Indeed, the rats seemed to be circling the mice, their noses actively smelling up the smaller rodent versions of themselves.
“How many are there?”
“They keep moving.” Kyle bumped into Dish. “I can’t keep track.”
“We must stay calm,” Richard spoke with authority. “Everyone, control your breathing. If they sense fear, I am afraid they will attack.”
“Can we sort of skootch along one of these cords, at least? Maybe find a place we can get our backs against a wall?” Ella grabbed Billie’s hand.
“Yes. Hold hands. Make ourselves look larger than we are.” Gran reached out and grabbed Madison’s hand.
Aric had whipped out the first of his paperclips and was busy untwisting it. “I’m going to at least try to fight back,” he muttered.
“You’re nuts,” Gran hissed. “They’re bigger than we are.”
“Yeah, and all they have to fight with is their teeth. I’ve got paperclips.”
“Did you really just say that?” Gran was incredulous. “You watch too much old television.”
They had managed to move several inches along one yellow cord. Ella kept her flashlight focused on the cord, but saw a rat coming closer and lifted the light directly into its eyes. Temporarily blinded, the rat blinked and fell back.
“They don’t like light in their eyes.”
It was true: the rats turned their heads away when light was pointed directly at their eyes. They didn’t fall all the way back, however, but changed tactics. The very dark one held its noses high in the air, making it harder for the mice to shine the lights directly into its eyes. Still, he had to drop his head when he was close, and a beam of light in the eyes temporarily stopped him.
They came to the point where the yellow cable went up, next to a post. The hole it went through was just large enough for the wire, and Ella groaned. “Maybe the littlest of us could squeeze through…”
“But I would never make it,” Kyle added.
“We’ve got to try the other cord and hope it goes up in a bigger hole, or we at least come up to a wall.” Richard kept his voice calm. “This way, Team.”
Aric kept his back to the group and he fashioned his paperclip skewers. Dylan used his flashlight to keep the rats back while encouraging Aric in his endeavors. “I think you have the right idea, man.”
Madison let out an exclamation. “A hair clip! I can use this like Aric uses a paperclip! And a safety pin.” She let go of Gran’s hand to dash forward and grab the two items. She was back in line in half a breath. “Bet they won’t like getting poked with the sharp end of a safety pin!” She handed the pin to Kyle.
Richard picked up a dime. “This could come in handy.”
They continued inching their way in the general direction of the other cord, and the rats continued to feint and parry, getting a little bolder each time. There were four rats, most likely a small family, Ella determined. She could sense they were getting excited for the kill: a dead mouse would be fresh meat, and they hadn’t had that in some time. She was beginning to get pictures from their heads, all jumbled up and crazy.
I may have nightmares the rest of my life, she thought. She tried to send calming pheromones and deer-mice-happy-vibes. “How much further, Richard?”
Just then, Billie let go of her hand and picked something up from the floor. “Push pin!” Billie traded hands with her flashlight and held the pin out like a little pocket knife. “I hate rats!”
Aric passed one of his make-shift paperclip pokers over to Dish, and one to Dylan. “I can make you one, Gran,” he called.
“No thanks, hero boy. I’ll use my flashlight.”
The big dark rat charged, mouth open and yellow teeth gleaming before the flashlights. Aric raced forward and met it in the nose with his paperclip. The clip skidded along the rat’s face, narrowly missing its left eye. The rat screamed in pain and backed off quickly.
One of the slightly smaller rats raced in at Kyle. Kyle balled up a paw and bopped it on the nose as hard as he could and used the other hand to jab at it with the bent open safety pin. Madison jumped in and poked it hard on the side of the face with the dual-end of the hair pin, drawing twin pricks of blood. The rat squeaked and turned away, it’s thick tail narrowly missing tripping Madison as she withdrew.
Richard flung the dime like a discus at the grey rat, and they all heard it hit the side of the rat’s thick head before bouncing back and clattering on the floor.
The rat was temporarily dazed, but came at Kyle with its yellow teeth gleaming. Kyle poked it as hard as he could, wounding it in the shoulder. It hissed backward, knocking the safety pin out of Kyle’s hands and out of its shoulder.
The last rat charged both Ella and Gran, the only unarmed mice. Ella’s flashlight fell to the floor and she smelled the putrid breath of the larger rodent over her. Dish poked it on the side of the head with his paperclip. Billie rush in and sank the pushpin into the rat’s neck. The rat jerked back, and the push pin, still firm in Billie’s grasp, came out. A thin stream of blood spurt out of the wound.
“We’re here!” Richard cried out. He turned his flashlight up along the cable and smiled. A rat-sized hole.
Billie and Gran pulled Ella to her feet. “We’ve gotta scramble, before they regroup!”
Aric and Dylan took up position at the bottom of the cable. “We’ll come up last. Go!”
Richard went first.
“What if there are more rats up there?” Kyle said, doubtfully.
“Just go!”
Ella, Billie, and Gran followed Kyle upward.
“Well,” Dylan said. “Which of us goes last?”
The rats had not reformed, but remained off in the dark, making small noises.
“Me,” Aric declared.
“I don’t know. I kinda want to see this one out.”
The dark rat was crawling back toward them, as well as the grey one. A flashlight in their eyes revealed something akin to anger and menacing, more so than when they had been merely hunting the mice. Dish poked his nose down the hole, “Come on, guys. We’re in!”
“Can’t. We have two mad rats.”
Dish disappeared from view, and a second later dropped down to join them, armed with a letter opener shaped very much like a sword. “Three against two. What happened to the other two?”
“I don’t know, but these two look very mad.”
“I say we charge them when they get close enough, go in with all our force. I think rats are basically cowards,” Aric shifted his weight. “Ready guys?”
“What’s our victory call?”
The rats split up.
Dylan raised his paperclip like a fencing sword and Aric held his like a spear. “DEEEEEEEAAACOOOONNNNNN!”
They charged the grey rat, hitting her in the nose and eye. She leaped back, taking Aric’s paperclip with her and hissing something terrible. She stumbled, twirled, and shook in pain. The boys could barely stand to watch and turned in time to see Dish push his letter cutter into the throat of the big black rat. It reared up and off of the letter cutter, clawing at its throat. Then it fell forward, just missing Dish. A single twitch of its feet, and it was dead.
The boys didn’t hesitate, but bee-lined for the cable and the way out of the crawlspace. But before they could reach the cable, the small gray rat blocked their path. It had a twin set of blood pricks on one side, but it clearly was not very wounded. It seemed more curious than angry, sniffing the air, and peering down at the boys.
“I don’t have any more paperclips.”
Dish and Dylan hesitated for a second.
“This time, for Natalie!” They charged the rat, but it thought better of a confrontation and turned and scuttled off.
The mice reached the cables and hurried up, Dish in the rear. He hesitated before he disappeared up. No rats moved.

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