Speed of Sight E-Book

C.R. Flamingbush

• Herausgeber: Dove Christian Publishers
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Twelve-year-old Pete Plain is an ordinary boy with an extraordinary secret who lives in a crazy town called Jericho. On the last day of school, his friend Jack gives him a powerful but illegal comic book—not to read but to hide. That afternoon the school bully shoots Jack with toxic slime. Uncertain how to help him, Pete sneaks a peek at the comic and gets drawn into a different world. There he goes on an unforgettable adventure.

When Jack discovers what Pete has done, he takes the book from him. Pete wants it back, but the forces of evil that haunt his hometown are determined to keep it from him. When Pete glimpses the ghostly grizzly dividing his family, he knows he must do something to stop it. The author of the forbidden comic books gives Pete special gifts of super sight and super speed, but will the boy from the broken home fully use those gifts or will he let himself be overcome by the bitter malady known as Sadly Absent Dad Syndrome?
Much is at stake, for the slime is deadly, and catching the bullies behind it will prove to be no easy task.

Leseprobe

Speed

of Sight

A superhero adventure

C.R. Flamingbush

Speed of Sight

Published by Inscript Publishing, a division of

Dove Christian Publishers

P.O. Box 611

Bladensburg, MD 20710-0611

www.dovechristianpublishers.com

Copyright © 2018 by C.R. Flamingbush

Cover Design by Raenita Wiggins

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced without permission of the publisher, except for brief quotes for scholarly use, reviews or articles.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018930891

Printed Version ISBN: 978-0-9986690-6-9

eBook Edition

Acknowledgements

A special thanks to all my fans for their encouragement and to everybody who contributed in some way to the production of this book.

That includes my husband Christopher, who has faithfully supported me throughout the entire process.

My daughters and good friend Mary Jersild provided valuable feedback for revising each chapter.

Credit also goes to John Fox of Bookfox, as well as the editors at Inscript Publishing for their thorough evaluation and invaluable suggestions to help improve the quality of this work.

And let’s not forget the cover artist who did an awesome job capturing my vision for the story.

You are an amazing group of people and I appreciate you all.

Ghost Town

Jericho was a strange but predictable town where people went crazy trying not to upset anyone. They lived by the clock and clung to dull routines which gave them a sense of safety and security. The rows of square lawns, white picket fences, and brown-gray cookie cutter houses that adorned most neighborhoods gave proof of their devotion to tradition. Most folks preferred old, boring ways to new creative ones. Some forms of creativity had even been outlawed, including a special brand of comic book with colorful pictures and speech balloons that anyone could read and understand. If you got caught with one, you could get sent to jail.

Twelve-year-old Pete Plain knew such comic books spelled trouble, and he wasn’t the sort of boy to risk prison over one. Too well-behaved to break a rule at school or start a fight, he wanted only a calm and peaceful life.

He didn’t look for trouble, but it found him. Before the comic book touched his hands, he felt the danger, but its mysterious powers drew him in and left him hungering for more. His best friend snatched it from him, though, fearful of what Pete had done.

The comic book had taken Pete on a fantastic adventure. He couldn’t rest until he got it back.

*****

His mind drifted back to the morning’s strange events, beginning with the voice he heard inside his head when he woke up.

“Loser!” it kept calling him. “You’re such a loser!”

Pete covered his ears and moaned. “Leave me alone.”

At once, a ray of sunlight streamed through his bedroom window, filling the room with warmth. He heard a click.

Pete’s eyes shot open. At the door, he saw a heart-shaped face framed with tight, brown curls.

His mother’s blue eyes twinkled. “Time to get up and get educated.” She smoothed a wrinkle from her beige business suit, turned, and headed downstairs.

Pete yawned as he threw off his covers. “School is overrated. There should be a law against it.”

Pete hated school because he was shorter than his classmates and his teachers only taught dry facts, not useful skills such as how to handle bullies or get his parents to buy him a dog. The books he had to read were so boring, he took half an hour to muddle through one page. He never won a group game, and in nearly every subject—English, science, music, and even physical education—he made only average marks. He was so bad at sports he thought for sure he’d win the Super Flop prize, but Jimmy Crutchton limped away with that, making Pete feel like a real loser.

He stepped out of bed when something brushed up against his legs, causing him to trip and bang his right knee.

“Ow! How did I get such bad luck?”

Pete hobbled to a heap of clothes stacked on his closet floor and pulled out a drawing he had made of a wrinkle-faced elderly lady, his mean sixth-grade teacher Mrs. Fischer. She wore a tattered dress and held a long red pen which radiated Fs and Xs. It was pointed at the backs of two unsuspecting kids.

“Jack’s teacher is so much nicer. I wish I could be in her class,” Pete mumbled. He also wished his elementary school only went up to fifth grade. Then he’d be in middle school, and he’d have Mrs. Fischer for only one subject. But that wasn’t how things worked in Jericho.

The face Pete put on his teacher appeared fairly lifelike, but most people in Jericho might consider it too creative—not due to its bold colors, but because he drew it freehand instead of following the black-and-white rules in his art book. Pete’s artistic approach to subjects earned him a few minuses, which lowered both his grades and his confidence.

Pete placed the picture on a shelf at the top of his closet. Then, he plucked a pair of ragged blue jeans from his clothes pile, along with a red-collared shirt, and mismatched socks. He got dressed, walked to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, then grabbed his comb from the sink and ran it through his thick brown hair.

One stroke, two, and then three. In the mirror, he saw a shadowy blur pop up behind him.

Pete wheeled to face it, but all he saw was wallpaper—blue and yellow fish swimming in a brownish-gray sea. A twinge of fear raced through his veins, but he shrugged it off.

He must have imagined it.

He ran the comb through his hair a couple more times. As he set the comb down, he saw another shadow appear in the mirror. It rushed by in a hazy blur and vanished in a wisp of black smoke. Pete rubbed his eyes. That was weird.

He glanced at the bathroom curtains, wondering if a breeze had stirred them, creating a shadow. But the window was closed, and the curtains were still.

“It’s probably just nerves, so don’t worry,” Pete told himself, trying to be brave. “Nothing terrible is going to ruin our summer break.” He tiptoed carefully back to his room and did a thorough safety check.

Dresser: check, no shadows there. Closet: check. Unmade bed: double check.

Pete picked his black-rimmed glasses off his nightstand and put them in his shirt pocket. He hated wearing them but wanted his last day at Jericho Elementary to be a good one. Then he searched beneath his bed for his steel-toed orthopedic shoes, designed to keep him from tripping. He had always been slightly accident-prone, and no one could explain the reason why. The doctors couldn’t cure him, so they decided to regulate his movement instead. That was how things worked in Jericho. If someone had a problem that couldn’t be explained, the answer was usually to put more limits on the person. Pete’s hard, pinching shoes were like rules for his feet. Instead of helping him walk better, they drew attention to his problem while making it appear as if it had been solved. Pete had long outgrown his most recent pair of orthopedic shoes. As he snatched them up, he saw another shadow whiz by.

That was getting spooky.

Hands trembling, he shoved his shoes on and snatched up his backpack. As he left his room, a roar came from his closet.

He froze. “Don’t be scared, Pete. I’m sure it’s just a—”

“GRR . . . GRR . . .”

With a startled cry, Pete bolted down the hall. He reached the steps and bounded down them two at a time. The front door was in sight.

“And where do you think you’re going without any breakfast?” his mom demanded.

Pete jumped. “You scared me. Ow!” A sudden, sharp pain from nowhere shot through his foot.

“Calm down, Pete. You’ll be fine.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the kitchen to a round, chocolate-brown table where his father sat, engrossed in the morning newspaper. The scattered strands of thinning brown hair that hung over the man’s brow couldn’t hide the frown etched on his forehead.

Pete heard a frightening growl from the floor above. “Th—Th—there’s something in the house, Dad. It’s in my room!”

His father’s brown eyes remained focused on the comics. As a copy editor for the Jericho Times, he had to make sure the children’s page was error-free. Pete yanked at a corner of the newspaper.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” Mr. Plain pulled the paper closer to his face.

“It’s an emergency,” Pete said. “There’s a wild animal upstairs!”

“Nonsense. That mischievous raccoon left the attic weeks ago.”

“But, Dad—” Pete began.

“Shh, leave him alone while you eat,” his mother said, handing Pete a bowl of mushy oatmeal made with skim milk. She pulled up a chair and made him sit.

Pete stood again and pointed to the ceiling. “But don’t you hear those scratching noises?”

“Maybe it’s mice. That’s the price you pay for making your room a rat’s nest.” His mother’s brown curls bounced as she spoke.

“But it’s not a mouse, and it’s not a raccoon,” Pete continued.

“Then what is it?” asked his mom.

Pete took a deep breath. “I don’t know. It’s like I’ve been jinxed.”

Mr. Plain ruffled his newspaper. “Jinxes don’t exist. Stop making up silly stories.”

“But I never make up stories,” Pete argued.

“I know, but you’re disrupting Dad’s routine,” his mom whispered, gently pushing him back down onto the chair.

“That’s because we need to catch the thing before it tears the house apart,” Pete said, staring at the front page of his father’s newspaper. His eyes zeroed in on the caption, “Jericho’s Couples: Happier than Average.” The article explained why families in Pete’s town were better off due to the city’s safety rules covering every aspect of city and home life, from the right way to decorate to the wrong way to hug.

His mom certainly seemed to follow them. She rarely disagreed with his dad, even when he was wrong. Their marriage was as bland as lukewarm bath water. If that meant they were better off, then great, but it didn’t explain the strange animal sounds in their house.

“Something’s growling,” Pete said, “and it’s not my stomach.”

Mrs. Plain smiled at her son. “I’m sure those noises are just in your mind. The psychiatrist I work for calls it ‘phantom echo brain freeze.’”

“I don’t care what he calls it, Mom. I’m not just hearing things,” Pete said.

Mr. Plain set down his newspaper with a huff. “Enough is enough, son. Stop blaming your problems on villains you can’t see and tackle the villain that’s right before your face.”

“‘Villain’ as in this bowl of mushy oatmeal?” Pete asked.

His father cracked a smile, but his mother frowned.

“Oatmeal gives you energy to fight villains. Plus, it’s nutritious,” she said.

Pete grumbled under his breath. He heard heavy breathing, followed by nails clicking on wooden steps. A strange tension filled the air. Pete shivered. It was headed downstairs.

Sharp pains ran through Pete’s toes. “My shoes are too tight.”

“Well, speculating over imaginary beasts won’t solve that problem,” said his dad. “But having Mom take you shopping for new shoes will.”

“Why can’t you go with us?” Pete asked.

“I have a meeting after work and won’t be home till late,” his dad said.

“What?” Suddenly his mom didn’t sound so easygoing. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“It came up at the last minute,” Pete’s dad said coldly. He folded up his newspaper and shoved it in his briefcase.

The clicking and breathing sounds came closer.

Pete picked up his backpack. “May I please be excused? I have a bus to catch.”

“But you didn’t finish breakfast,” his mom said.

“Aw, stop pushing food on him, Patty. You’re making me late for work.” Mr. Plain snatched up his briefcase and raced to the garage.

“At least you could kiss me goodbye, Sam!” Mrs. Plain rushed after him.

Pete took that as his cue to go and rushed to the front door. As he passed the stairway, he glimpsed a faint shadow. He raced outside, his heart beating wildly. He thought he heard a creepy voice mutter, “Ha, Ha, I’ve got him on the run. And the best part is, he doesn’t even know that I exist.”

Terrorized

Most good citizens of Jericho believed that what they couldn’t see wasn’t real, except for fresh air, microbes, and space aliens on distant planets. People who could see the invisible realm sometimes got locked up in mental hospitals.

Pete hated hospitals.

He jumped when the bell rang. School was over at last—or was it?

Mrs. Fischer tapped the blackboard with her pointer. “Remember, kids, you must turn in your summer projects six weeks from now if you wish to be promoted to seventh grade.” The frizzed ends of her short white hair shone like sparks of lightning. Only in Jericho would a teacher give kids homework the same day they were supposed to graduate.

“Why, of all the projects I could pick from, did I choose the twenty-page wildlife research paper?” Pete asked himself. He could just imagine the hours he must spend pouring over dull books in the town library and doing online research with computers dating from the dinosaur age. Other projects sounded so much easier, like trekking in the mountains while picking up trash or assembling a model cookie cutter factory with chopsticks.

Pete’s steel-toed orthopedics thud-clicked loudly as he joined the hordes stampeding down the hall. Children giggled as he approached, amused by the unique metallic sound his shoes made as they hit the floor. Pete was so embarrassed. No one else had shoes like his. He couldn’t wait to get out of that place, but he dreaded going home. He trembled as he thought about the invisible animal lurking in his house.

A hand tapped his shoulder. Pete whirled around, his heart pounding. Thankfully, it was only his best friend and neighbor, Jack Tamer. Jack was several inches taller than Pete and handsome, with raven black hair, hunter-green eyes, and an olive complexion.

The boys exchanged high-fives.

“Finally, we’re done with this place,” Jack said, moving briskly forward.

“I’m not,” Pete replied, jogging to keep up with the long-legged boy. “Mrs. Fischer has ruined my summer—”

Before Pete could say “break,” Jack grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway. “Come with me.”

“What?” said Pete. He wasn’t ready for a run. He stumbled as he moved forward, unable to pick his feet up fast enough to match Jack’s pace. His steel-toed shoes skidded loudly as Jack dragged him along. “Where are you going?” he asked his friend.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Jack snapped. “Stop making so much noise.”

Pete’s legs ached, and his feet hurt. He wasn’t making noise on purpose. Why must his shoes be such a nuisance, and why was Jack in such a hurry? A sense of dread gnawed at his stomach. When Jack veered from the exit, Pete cried out in surprise.

“Shhh, not so loud!” Jack said, leading him down a side hall. On a door before them loomed a sign: TEACHERS ONLY. Jack turned the knob and opened the door. The room was dim. Pete followed Jack inside and fumbled for a chair.

His toes were hurting. “We shouldn’t be in here.”

Motioning Pete to silence, Jack knelt on the rug. He took off his backpack, unzipped it, and removed something that made Pete feel a mix of joy and dread.

“Isn’t that a—a—”

“Yes, it’s a banned comic,” Jack said. “Totally awesome – I mean, forbidden in this town. According to our mayor, these sorts of comics are very dangerous, in his words ‘recklessly creative.’ The colors are too bright, the stories are too cheerful, and the sort of freedom they promote is too extreme. ‘The only comic books we in Jericho consider safe are gray and serious ones,’ he says. ‘They teach kids how to follow our strict rules for pleasing everyone, rather than waste their time on flights of useless fantasy.’”

“So, it’s against the law,” Pete said.

Jack nodded. “And it showed up in my return pile of textbooks I brought to school this morning. No amount of quantum physics can explain how it got there.”

“Well, maybe forgetfulness could,” Pete said, insulting his friend without trying.

“Don’t disrespect my photographic memory,” Jack snapped. “This is the fifth time something like this has happened to me. The more I try to hide the book, the more it pops up, at all the worst times and in all the wrong places.”

“It almost sounds like it wants to be found,” Pete suggested. “Maybe it shouldn’t be banned.”

“Anyhow, I snuck it away before it could be seen, or so I hoped.” Jack looked a little worried.

Pete placed his hand over his rapidly beating heart. “What do you mean, ‘or so you hoped’?”

“Craig Crowburn was in class today,” Jack said.

“You mean the creeper who used to pick on us at recess?” Pete hadn’t seen him in a long time.

“That’s the one,” Jack said. “And I’m sure he didn’t come to school today to get an education.”

Pete agreed. Craig much preferred stealing lunches and shredding children’s homework to actual learning. As the leader of a wimpy-sounding gang called the Bog Fogs (BFs), he covered his tracks like fog covers a bog, playing mean tricks on kids without ever getting caught. Pete remembered the time he told his mom about the mud balls Craig socked him with on the playground. She called the school in a panic, and the wrong boy got blamed for it. A cloud of confusion seemed to surround the Bog Fogs, whose cleverly executed pranks made victims seem like bad guys.

“I hope Craig didn’t see the book,” Pete said, his eye drawn to a glimmer of blue on the front cover.

“I don’t know, but if he suspects I have it, then he’s sure to try to steal it. And who knows what kind of trouble I’ll get in? That’s why I’m giving it to you for safekeeping until we get home. But we have to hurry if we want to make it out of here alive.” Jack licked his lips hungrily as he eyed the book, not really wanting to give it up. “But it’s for the best,” he whispered to himself. Then in one swift motion, he shoved the book at Pete.

Pete shivered as he took it. “If it’s so risky to have it, then maybe we should just get rid of it.”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Jack said. “These comics are too powerful. But at the same time, they’re illegal.”

Pete didn’t understand. “Why are you giving it to me if it’s not safe?”

“Because you’re the best one to guard it. Craig might suspect me of having it, but he’ll never suspect you. He knows you’re too straight-laced to break the law in any way. No way would you be caught with an illegal comic book.”

Goosebumps ran up and down Pete’s arms as he held the forbidden item in his hand. Part of him wanted nothing to do with the dangerous book. The other part was dying to open it up and take a look inside.

Jack cast the book a longing glance, then turned his face away. “Just hide it, okay? There’s no need to read it. And another thing—”

They heard approaching footsteps.

“Hurry, Pete!” Jack whispered, in a shouting sort of way.

Pete ripped open his backpack and stuffed the comic inside. Then he and Jack darted from the room, startling Mrs. Fischer, who was four feet from the door. Folders, pens, and papers flew from her hands as they ran past her.

“Rude kids!” Pete heard her yell. He hoped his teacher hadn’t recognized him. He had just broken every rule of school etiquette. To keep his shoes’ steel toes from hitting the floor and betraying his identity, he ran on the sides of his feet until he figured she was out of earshot.

Jack noticed what he did and told him not to act so weird. “What are you trying to do, draw attention to yourself?” Before Pete could answer, his friend added, “Now, as soon as we get outside, head straight for the bus. Climb on board as quickly as you can, and guard that comic with your life. Understood?”

“And what about you?” Pete asked.

“I’ll be right behind you. If all goes well, no one will bother us. If not, we may have to split up.” Jack and Pete slowed down as they reached the main hall near the crowded exit. It was like a traffic jam. As other children pressed against them, they got separated.

Pete’s knees shook as he elbowed his way through the crowd and squeezed through the double doors. When he left the building, he noticed that the sky was gray with clouds. He hadn’t gone far when he spotted Jack standing like a statue just a few feet to his left.

Jack stepped in front of Pete and blocked him with his hand. “Don’t look now, but it’s him.”

Pete peered around Jack but couldn’t make out the giant figure towering over the walkway. He reached into his shirt pocket for his hated glasses, put them on, and gasped.

It was Craig Crowburn, the dreaded bully with the hazy hazel eyes, oily hair, freckled cheeks, and bumpy nose. Craig had grown so tall, he made even Jack look small. The brownish-gray shirt he wore was imprinted with a picture of a bog. In that bog sat an ugly, warty hog covered by ghostly fog. Craig had on a pair of dirty tie-dyed pants that looked as if they’d been dredged from a mud hole.

“He’s got a slime gun,” Pete noticed. “And it’s filled with something really gross looking.”

“It’s probably pond scum from the swamp preserve or rotten cream of liver soup,” Jack whispered.

Pete stuck his tongue out. “Or even worse, a mushy tuna sandwich soaked in mayonnaise.”

They both gagged at the thought. Then suddenly more guns appeared. Three Bog Fogs had come alongside Craig, brandishing their weapons. Two young boys walking nearby saw them and ran off.

“The Fogs are back,” an older boy said in disgust. “Don’t they know they can’t bring guns to school?”

Of course, the Bog Fogs knew guns weren’t allowed, which was why they kept them carefully concealed until school let out. Craig’s timing in displaying them so boldly was well calculated. He knew the end of the last school day would be a madhouse, with crowds of children streaming out of the building and teachers too busy packing up for summer break to keep an eye on them as they rushed outside. The few security guards on staff were taking a class on how to tiptoe around suspected criminals. It was part of Jericho’s prescribed “How to Get Along with Everybody” training.

Craig looked past the mass of students who had just left the building and zeroed in on Pete. The glasses were a dead giveaway. “Well, if it isn’t Two Left Feet!”

Pete hated that nickname. His toes hurt as he thought about the comic in his backpack.

Jack elbowed Pete. “Follow the plan. Run for the bus.”

Pete wanted to, but he was too surprised by the shadowy face that had just appeared behind Craig’s head. It had evil eyes and a long furry snout, and it reminded him of the ghostly form he’d seen upstairs that morning.

“Hurry, Pete,” Jack whispered. “Time is running out. Based on the height of the individual bullies, the number of slime guns, and the sheer volume of homebound students blocking your way, you have less than a literal minute to reach the bus!”

The steel toes of Pete’s orthopedics weighed heavily on his feet. He knew he should get moving, but he felt like he was mired in quicksand.

Craig saw the shock in Pete’s wide eyes and pointed his gun straight at him. “I see you’re speechless, Two Left Feet.”

“And I see a flunker who’s too dumb to pass his classes,” Jack suddenly blurted out. “What’s the matter, Craig? Did you forget your ABCs?”

Craig’s eyes grew wide, and his face turned red. He glared at Jack. “Why, you—”

Jack ran in front of Craig and stuck his tongue out at him. “You can’t catch me,” he said, then ran straight across the parking lot and hid among the cars.

“Hey, come back here!” Craig yelled. “I wasn’t done insulting you!” As he and his Bog Fogs chased after Jack, Pete turned to his right, toward the line of buses. His feet throbbed terribly as he stumbled along. He puffed hard to catch his breath as he plowed through kid traffic.

“Excuse me, pardon me, let me through,” he apologized on the run. His and Jack’s bus, number 49, was the farthest one away.

Children were rushing everywhere. Riders boarded buses while walkers raced along the sidewalk, which cut through the parking lot where Craig was stalking Jack.

“I’m going to blast you, Jack Tamer, lame shamer, you…you non-Hall-of-Famer!” Craig yelled over the sea of cars.

“Look, over there! I see him!” yelled Burt Laybrik, a Bog Fog with a shrill, hyena-like voice.