Boys That Read!
Boys That Read
Splashing Cow Books
Category:
Children
Type: Fiction
Pages: 103
A quirky chapterbook for boys 7-11 who would rather do anything than read fiction.
Jack's Tales is a compilation of three short stories about a young boy who must learn to deal with external challenges and internal fears. Fun and fast paced, each story invites you to accompany Jack on a different experience in his childhood. Whether it's a fishing trip with his Dad where they could wind up as monster bait, offering pizza to what is likely a ghost in his basement or saving his U10 soccer league, his team, and himself, from adults who are taking the enjoyment from playing, Jack wrestles with feelings that will be familiar to most every young boy. Jack's Tales is written for 8-10 year old boys, especially those who are reluctant readers.
Excerpt
From Jack's Pizza Ghost, the second story in Jack's Tales
Now, he noticed a strange shape across the room. Streaks of dim, grey light came in from a window above his head. He could see some shapes with this light. He tried to remember.
Was something there before? he thought.
Maybe?
He slid to his left and looked.
There’s definitely something there.
Not so sure, now. Was there something there?
The longer he looked at something that maybe was there but maybe not, the more he worried. The more he worried, the more the shadows didn’t look right. And the longer he looked, the more convinced he was that a ghost or a ghoul or a shadow or a demon was looking right back at him.
As the darkness Jack stared into grew lighter, Jack’s fear grew stronger. And from this light, a head that belongs on top of an insect born from a nuclear waste dumping ground is what he saw. He couldn’t speak or move. He tried to make a sound, or move, say something, but he was frozen. He felt like the fly and perhaps it was a praying mantis in demon form. He waited for it to spring from the shadows. It didn’t. It just stared, studying its prey. He was about to throw himself at the door when a picture popped in his head.
He saw his dad.
He saw his dad smiling.
He saw his dad carrying something.
He remembered now. He remembered that crazy thing now. That crazy wild-west camera that his dad came home with a few years back and his mom made him put it in the basement. It’s that wild-west camera. This is where he put the thing. Jack never really thought about where it went. The kind with a huge, triangle shaped top that stands on three legs.
Dad’s a weirdo! Nothing in here… just a dirty room… a dirty, old room with junk and Dad’s freakazoid camera…
Then something made a noise, something in the room with him, and perfect timing, the kind of timing you only see in scary movies – just when everything seems okay.
It sounded like somewhere near the furnace, like scratching. He tried not to, but the only thing that Jack could picture was fingernails, long, pointed fingernails. It sounded like what fingernails would sound like on something metal, like sliding on a furnace.
He heard something else too. He checked off in his head: Cameras don’t breathe. Furnaces don’t breathe. Boxes don’t breathe. Paint cans don’t breathe. Something was breathing, and sliding long nails along the furnace. This was definitely not okay!
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