Mother Ghost Grimm Read online

  Later, I walked over to Janet’s house. She met me on the doorstep. There were tears in her eyes.

  She led me in the house and into the kitchen. I talked to her parents and we sat down to eat.

  After dinner, Janet took me outside. We sat on the porch swing and she took out a pad and a pencil. Then, she wrote:

  I’M SCARED, BECKY. WHEN I TRIED TO TELL MY PARENTS, SKINWALKER APPEARED AT THE WINDOW. SHE TOOK MY VOICE AWAY. AND, EVER SINCE THAT NIGHT, SHE’S BEEN COMING TO THE WINDOW AND WATCHING ME.

  “We will stop her,” I said. “We can get your voice back.”

  She wrote a word and showed me the pad.

  HOW?

  “I found a way. I read it in a book. Let’s go to your room. I’ll tell you my plan.”

  We went back inside and down the hall to Janet’s room. Her room is pink and there are unicorn posters all over the walls. I’m not much of a pink person. My room is blue and there are monster posters on my walls.

  “I read all of the monster books I could find,” I said. “I found out how to get rid of Skinwalker.”

  Janet wrote on the pad.

  HOW?

  “We have to call her by her real name. If we do that, she’ll disappear.”

  LIKE RUMPLESTILTSKIN?

  “Yes.”

  DO YOU KNOW HER NAME?

  “No. But, I think I can find out what it is. You’ll have to help me though.”

  WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?

  “Keep her here while I go inside her house.”

  Janet’s eyes grew wide.

  I’M SCARED. I CAN’T DO IT.

  “You can. Just pretend to be asleep and let her watch you. If she tries to get in, run out of the room as fast as you can.”

  Janet stared at me for a few minutes. Then, she wrote:

  OK.

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll be back at midnight.”

  I walked home and after everyone at my house went to sleep, I walked back to Janet’s. There’s a hedge by Janet’s window. I hid behind it.

  It was cold. I could see my breath in the October moonlight. The woods across the field from me were nothing but shadows.

  Then, one shadow crept out of the trees.

  It was a long way off, sneaking across the field. There was something wrong with it. It didn’t move right.

  It came closer and closer, walking through the long grass. Soon, it wasn’t a shadow anymore. When I saw it, I covered my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.

  It was a coyote, walking on two legs. It didn’t have a coyote’s face though. It had the face of an old woman. She smiled.

  She didn’t see me when I tiptoed around the hedge, or when I dropped to my knees and crawled through the field. When I looked back, I saw her standing in front of Janet’s window. I got up and ran.

  My lungs hurt when I got to the woods. She wasn’t behind me when I went into them.

  It was dark in there. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a flashlight. A few minutes later, I found her house. I walked up the porch steps, opened the door, and went in.

  The place was dark, and it smelled weird. The furniture was old but clean. I searched the house. There were no desks, no papers. There were no wallets or purses. The last place I looked was in the bedroom. I found a large bookshelf filled with books.

  Books have always told me what I need to know. I hurried over to them.

  These books were strange, filled with bad things. I found a small one, a kid’s book. There were pictures of ghosts and monsters inside. Something was written on the first page. I read two words.

  Somewhere in the house, a floorboard creaked.

  I stopped and listened, my heart beating like a drum in my chest. Then, I heard the footsteps.

  I crawled under the bed, taking the book with me.

  Someone walked in the room. She was small and her feet were bare. I peeked up at her.

  It was Janet.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered as I came out from under the bed. “You should’ve stayed at home.”

  Janet smiled at me, but her smile wasn’t right. It was too big, there were too many teeth. And, then she wasn’t Janet anymore. She was an old woman.

  “Welcome to my house,” she said. “Too bad I can’t let you leave.”

  She laughed. Then, she ran at me.

  I remembered the words written inside the kid’s book and I yelled them as loud as I could.

  “ANGELA MOORE!”

  The old woman screamed but she didn’t stop. I fell to the floor and shut my eyes.

  Nothing happened,

  When I opened my eyes, she was gone.

  I ran from the bedroom and down the hall. I ran out the door.

  When I stepped outside, the sun was rising. The sky was pink. I hurried back to Janet’s house.

  When I got there, she was waiting for me. This time, her smile was real.

  “Hey, Becky!” she called.

  I waved to her and that’s when I saw the book in my hand, the book about ghosts and monsters.

  I kept it.

  And, when the moon comes up again…

  I’ll read it.

  Up and Away

  Story // Ariana Ferrante

  Illustration // Vonnie Winslow Crist

  * * *

  Jessie had been in the cabin for all of five minutes, and she’d already lost her book. She had it with her the entire car ride, but once she settled down on the couch, she just couldn’t seem to find it. She checked under the couch cushions and she checked under the rug. She even checked her dad’s pile of old magazines he’d left in the cabin the year before, but all she managed to find was dust.

  “Dad!” she called, voice raising in her distress. “I can’t find my book!”

  “Your book?” her father echoed. “Well, where’d you last leave it?”

  “I don’t know!” Jessie exclaimed, pouting.

  “Well,” her father said, hands on his hips, “it’s not like it just got up and walked away.”

  So, her father helped her look, but he couldn’t find it either.

  “Maybe you left it at the rest stop,” her father guessed, and Jessie’s heart sank at the thought. What was she going to do to keep herself busy without her book? She had no video games, or board games, or any games at all! Not only that, but her family made it to the cabin late at night, and her mother told her she couldn’t go outside.

  Her father gave her a magazine to read before going to bed, promising to get her another book in the morning. Jessie curled up on the sofa, trying her best to keep herself occupied with the magazine. No matter how hard she tried, however, nothing in the magazine interested her. It didn’t have anyone going on fun adventures, or fighting evil, or casting magic spells. All it had was golf.

  Jessie tossed the magazine to the floor, curling up into an even smaller ball. She pouted, looking toward the lit fireplace, little crackles the only sound aside from her own breathing and the wind against the windows.

  She looked even higher, spotting a deer head on the wall above the fireplace. Its dead eyes seemed to gleam with false life in the light of the dying fire. She crinkled her nose. She never understood why people put animal heads on walls. Jessie shivered, trying not to imagine her own face on the slab instead of the deer’s.

  After a while, Jessie heard a sound at the door. She sat upright on the sofa, heart leaping into her throat as she listened closely. It didn’t sound like someone knocking. It was a scraping sound, like someone running a stick up and down the door. She swallowed thickly, and then pushed herself off the couch, grabbing the magazine from the floor. She rolled the magazine up and held it high, like she was preparing to strike at a spider.

  With a shaking hand she grabbed at the doorknob, cold metal turning in her grip. She swung the door open, a cry of confusion catching in her throat as she spotted what came inside.

  It was a four-legged skeleton, no head on the end of its long neck. The skeleton walked further into the cabin, cloven
, bony hooves clacking against the old wood. It marched up to the dying fireplace, raising a leg and scraping at the floor.

  As it scraped at the wood, the ears of the mounted deer head twitched. Then the head leaned down, dead eyes spotting the headless skeleton. Jessie stood frozen in place, goosebumps prickling along her skin as she watched. She wasn’t sure what caused the bumps covering her arms. It was either the living skeleton or the nighttime air coming through the still-open door. She wasn’t fond of either.

  The mounted head fell suddenly off of the slab, the four-legged skeleton spinning around to catch it. The head landed, connecting with the empty neck, and the deer’s eyes glimmered with life. The now-complete deer snorted, marching up to the open doorway.

  It looked to Jessie, antlered head dipping in a quiet bow. It raised its head, pushing past her and stepping through the threshold. Its bony tail twitched as it walked away from the cabin, the black of night quickly consuming its form. It was gone, vanishing just as quickly as it arrived.

  Jessie slammed the door behind her, finally able to scream. She slid to the floor, clutching the rolled-up magazine to her chest, eyes wide in terror and confusion.

  Her parents stormed out of their room, quickly hurrying to her side.

  “Jessie, what’s wrong?” her father asked.

  “Are you okay?” her mother asked.

  Her father turned back to the fireplace, gasping. “Where’s the deer head?” he asked, and Jessie wasn’t sure what to say.

  It wasn’t like it just got up and walked away.

  The House with the Brown Door

  Story // Drew Starling

  Illustration / Elizabeth Kirkman

  * * *

  Darius stared up at the house with the brown door from the sidewalk. It sat looming at the end of the road, supposedly haunted and abandoned years ago in the wake of a gruesome double murder. Darius had lost a bet at school. It was Halloween night, and he had to knock on the door. No kid dared to step foot on the property and Darius had been dreading this night for weeks.

  “Bruh, hurry up,” said William.

  “If you wimp out, I’m telling Brittany,” said Amari.

  “Psshh. I’m telling the whole sixth-grade, son,” said Juan.

  Darius sighed. “Dude, I hate you guys.”

  He pushed open the gate and took a step forward. The stone path to the door was overgrown with weeds and the yard was littered with trash. Teenagers used it as a hangout spot and hobos used it as a dumping ground. Two oak trees draped the yard and the house in shadow making it hard to see the path. Darius winced as he heard a twig snap underfoot. He tried to be discreet with each step, but his Drax the Destroyer costume wasn’t helping him there.

  He stopped halfway to the doorstep and gazed back at his friends. It felt like they were miles away.

  “You’re almost there!” one of them said.

  Darius couldn’t hear them very well over the crickets and frogs chirping in the night. It was like they were watching him from the trees. Every fiber of Darius’ being warned him that this was not right. He shouldn’t be on this path. He shouldn’t be looking at this house. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

  “I’m telling Brittany!” one of his friends said.

  Anything but that, Darius thought.

  He resumed his slow march. Close to the front porch, Darius could see its wooden planks were warped and rotten from years of neglect. He paused before taking the first step. This was it. Something told him there was no going back once he made physical contact with the house. He could hear his own heartbeat and see beads of sweat dyed blue from the Drax paint dripping from his fingertips.

  The instant his sneaker touched the first step, the doorknob turned, and the door cracked open a few inches. It was pitch black inside. His friends made sounds of faint commotion from the safety of the sidewalk. Oh my God, Darius thought, this place really is haunted.

  “Just knock and run, D!” one of them said.

  Brittany, Brittany, Brittany. He kept his mind focused on Brittany and the Fall Mixer next week. Do this and she’ll like you forever, man. There was, of course, no guarantee she would like him at all for this. He did it anyway.

  Eyes glued to the open space of the door; Darius tip-toed up each porch step. No matter how lightly he tried to tread, each step creaked loudly below him. The brown door was only a few feet away. So close. He extended his arm and made a fist. One knock and I’m gone, he thought. His steps became smaller. He inched closer, closer, closer.

  Something rattled inside the house. He gasped in fear when he heard faint whispers as if ghosts were waiting for Darius to walk through the door and become one of them. His friends were yelling at him from the sidewalk, probably telling him to forget about it and run. As he lifted his fist to knock, a thin beam of white light came from inside the house into his face. He closed his eyes and swiped his fist at the door, but something warm and clammy caught his wrist in midair.

  Darius opened his eyes and saw a long, thin set of fingers wrapped around his wrist. He screamed at the top of his lungs and yanked his hand away. He yanked so hard he tripped backward off the porch and tumbled to the ground. A high-pitched shriek rang out from inside the house as if someone was being murdered all over again. The door opened a few inches more and the shadow of a small figure appeared in the doorway. He scampered to his feet and ran for his life. His friends were already halfway down the street.

  “Hey! Wait up!” he shouted at them.

  The door slammed shut. Inside, the occupant stifled a laugh.

  “Shh! They’re gonna hear you, Brittany!”

  Brittany and her three girlfriends had been waiting inside.

  “That boy did not just fall on his butt! Did you get the picture? Did the flash work? Please tell me you got it.” Brittany asked.

  “Oh, I got it. And it’s going on Snapchat right now.”

  Bloody Mary & Bloody Marvin

  Story // Jennifer Winters

  Illustration // Taylor and Will Bain

  * * *

  Slap! Squeak! Slap! Squeak! Slap! Squeak!

  The sound of Alex and his cousin Rudy jumping on the trampoline was the only thing breaking the silence of the multicolored autumn afternoon. Newly fallen leaves and acorns bounced up and down as the boys maintained their rhythm, careful to alternate jumps.

  Alex’s feet would slap on the trampoline and a squeak of its springs as he shot upward.

  Then Rudy’s feet would smack onto the big, black mass of the trampoline’s pad.

  Slap! Squeak!

  After a while, the boys got bored. The bouncing had made them both feel a little barfy, so they lay on their backs on the trampoline, wiggling so as to get the acorns out from under their backs. The clouds in the sky were turning a reddish, sunset gold.

  Rudy yawned. Alex decided that it was time to speak.

  “So. You’re my cousin.”

  “Yep.” Rudy’s reply was short. Neither said a word for a few more moments.

  “My mom’s going to come on Monday.” Alex ventured, feeling awkward, like a poot in church. “She’s trying to sell her books in Memphis.”

  “Yep.” Rudy was now flicking leaves and acorns with his fingers.

  “She is doing a talk for people at the convention about writing, then she’ll set up a table to sell her books. She’s hoping to sell enough to pay for the trip.” I’m talking too much, Alex thought, so he stopped.

  Rudy didn’t say anything for a moment, then he started reciting the ABCs. Alex just lay there, wondering why his eight-year-old cousin would feel the need to practice the alphabet. Alex, who was nine, wondered if kids out here in the sticks didn’t have anything better to do than recite their letters. Then, Alex realized that Rudy wasn’t saying the letters with his voice, but with something much more impressive.

  When Rudy finished, Alex was sitting up and staring at him, open-mouthed.

  “Dude!” He said. “You burped the whole thing!”

&
nbsp; Rudy just smiled and climbed down from the trampoline, with Alex close behind.

  “So,” Rudy said, “What does your mom write?”

  Alex proudly replied, “Horror stories! She has three or four collections of short stories, and one novel. They’re messed up, man!”

  Rudy led the way to the house. “My mom said that your mom used to make up stories when they were little. They were supposedly scary.”

  Alex didn’t like how Rudy had said “supposedly.”

  “Well, if my mom made them up, they were scary.”

  Rudy only murmured under his breath as they entered the house. The house was old, with creaky wood floors. The kitchen and bathrooms were all redone, modern and nice, but the windows were still old and too small, and the rooms of the house were always dark in the corners.

  A carry-out pizza sat on the kitchen counter, along with a bottle of soda. Alex saw it and decided to try a different method of breaking the ice with his cousin.

  “Hey, let’s drink that soda and have a burping contest.” Rudy smiled in approval (respect!) and grabbed two red plastic cups out of the pantry.

  A few minutes later the boys were laughing and burping on cue. At one-point Alex laughed too hard with a mouthful of soda, and it came shooting out of his left nostril. Rudy’s eyes went wide with admiration.

  “Epic!”

  Alex grinned proudly as he wiped the soda off of his upper lip. The cousins then tore into the pizza, each trying to outdo the other with their disgusting eating methods.

  The house was quiet. Rudy’s mom and dad were out for the night at their weekly ballroom dancing class. Rudy’s teenage sister was supposed to be watching the boys, but the only thing she was watching was stupid videos on her computer. She came out once to grab a piece of pizza, then quickly disappeared back into her room, the door slamming shut.

  Rudy spoke through a mouthful of pizza. “Your mom should write about Bloody Mary.”