Voyagers E-Book

Loiuse MacBeath Barbour

• Herausgeber: Dancing Lemur Press LLC
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 228

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Journey into the past…

Will the third ghost be found before fires take more lives? Can everyone be warned before Pompeii is buried again? What happens if a blizzard traps a family in East Germany? Will the Firebird help Soviet sisters outwit evil during WWII? And sneaking off to see the first aeroplane – what could go wrong?

Ten authors explore the past, sending their young protagonists on harrowing adventures. Featuring the talents of Yvonne Ventresca, Katharina Gerlach, Roland Clarke, Sherry Ellis, Rebecca M. Douglass, Bish Denham, Charles Kowalski, Louise MacBeath Barbour, Beth Anderson Schuck, and L.T. Ward. 

Hand-picked by a panel of agents, authors, and editors, these ten tales will take readers on a voyage of wonder into history. Get ready for an exciting ride!

Leseprobe

An Insecure Writer’s Support Group Anthology

FREEDOM FOX PRESS

Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C.

Pikeville, North Carolina

http://dancinglemurpress.com

Copyright 2020 by The Insecure Writer’s Support Group

Published by Freedom Fox Press

An imprint of:

Dancing Lemur Press, L.L.C., P.O. Box 383, Pikeville, North Carolina, 27863-0383

http://dancinglemurpress.com

ISBN: 9781939844736

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system in any form – either mechanically, electronically, photocopy, recording, or other – except for short quotations in printed reviews, without the permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Cover design by C.R.W.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Insecure Writer's Support Group, compiler.

Title: Voyagers : the third ghost : an Insecure Writers Support Group

anthology.

Description: Pikeville, North Carolina : Freedom Fox Press, Dancing Lemur

Press, L.L.C., [2020] | Includes bibliographical references. | Audience:

Ages 8-14. | Summary: "Journey into the past... Will the third ghost be

found before fires take more lives? Can everyone be warned before

Pompeii is buried again? What happens if a blizzard traps a family in

East Germany? Will the Firebird help Soviet sisters outwit evil during

WWII? And sneaking off to see the first aeroplane - what could go

wrong?"-- Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2019060026 (print) | LCCN 2019060027 (ebook) | ISBN

9781939844729 (paperback) | ISBN 9781939844736 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Short stories, American. | Historical fiction. | Short

stories. | CYAC: Short stories. | History--Fiction. | Adventure and

adventurers--Fiction.

Classification: LCC PZ5 .M367 2019 (print) | LCC PZ5 (ebook) | DDC

[Fic]--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019060026

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019060027

“It’s a collection of riveting, compelling, tales by a group of gifted authors.” - Deanie Humphrys-Dunne, children’s author

“The authors did a beautiful job with their individual work. You’ll meet some very interesting characters, especially if you like ghosts.” - Beverly Stowe McClure, children’s author

The Insecure Writer’s Support Group would like to thank the judges who selected the stories for this anthology. We appreciate their time and effort!

Elizabeth S. Craig - Cozy mystery author for Penguin Random House, Midnight Ink, and independently.

Dianne K. Salerni - author of the The Eighth Day fantasy series and historical novels, The Caged Graves and We Hear the Dead.

S.A. Larsen - international award-winning author of the middle grade fantasy-adventure Motley Education and the young adult contemporary-fantasy romance Marked Beauty.

Lindsay Davis Auld - As an agent, she is eager to help bring fresh voices, characters and stories to a new generation of readers.

Rachna Chhabria - author of numerous children’s books and a columnist with Deccan Chronicle and The Asian Age.

Lynda Dietz - a copyeditor who works with authors in a variety of genres, both in fiction and nonfiction.

Tonja Drecker – author of Music Boxes, blogger, children’s book reviewer, and freelance translator.

David Powers King – author of Woven, The Undead Road, and Full Dark: An Anthology.

Table of Contents

The Third Ghost – Yvonne Ventresca

The Ghosts of Pompeii – Sherry Ellis

The Blind Ship – Bish Denham

Dare, Double Dare – Louise MacBeath Barbour

Return to Cahokia – L.T. Ward

Feathered Fire – Roland Clarke

The Orchard - Beth Anderson Schuck

Simon Grey and the Yamamba - Charles Kowalski

A World of Trouble – Rebecca M. Douglass

Winter Days - Katharina Gerlach

The Third Ghost

By Yvonne Ventresca

Hoboken, New Jersey

October 1981

Lewis checked on his little sister before he snuck out in the middle of the night. Christina slept peacefully, clutching the most recent book they’d been reading together. Despite the fact they were still several sizes too big, she wore his old Bugs Bunny pjs again. As he tucked the blanket around her, a weird sense of foreboding overcame him, as if he should wake her and say goodbye one last time. But that was ridiculous. Nothing had ever happened the other times he slipped away. He would be home soon enough.

Usually, he took the stairwell from their second-floor apartment and crept out the back door. The wooden steps often creaked, but he’d mastered the art of moving quietly and slinking along undetected. But tonight, just as Lewis cracked the door to leave the apartment, his neighbor stumbled down the hall toward him. The man always asked too many questions in his booming voice. Luckily, he stopped a moment to light a cigarette with unsteady hands. When the flame of the lighter flickered, Lewis used the distraction to jerk the door closed, cringing at the click that seemed magnified in the night.

That was close.

Plan B: the back window. He returned to the rear bedroom. Moving slowly, he pushed the screenless window open. His sister stirred, fluttered her eyes a moment, but went back to sleep without noticing him.

He stared at the ground below, strewn with broken glass and garbage. I’ve done this before. He put his right leg over the sill. No broken bones yet.

As he climbed out, he hung from the window ledge, shortening the distance of his drop. Mom had told them about the hanging technique, instead of jumping, in case they needed to escape in an emergency. All the parents worried about fire after the recent arson deaths.

Letting go was the scariest part. He waited as long as possible, until he could barely hold on, then released his grip. He landed on his feet with an oomph, falling forward from the impact. As he wiped his palms on his jeans, he checked his hands for cuts. Nothing bad.

An eerie darkness blanketed the rear of the building. Clouds blocked the moon, and the October wind whirled the dead leaves across the ground. Something metal clanked nearby, and Lewis startled at the sound.

Stay asleep, Christina. She’d always been a sound sleeper, and he counted on that now. He didn’t want her waking up afraid, wondering about the window and his absence.

Even though that hadn’t ever happened, he hesitated. He was debating if he should go back inside when male voices rumbled nearby. He peered around the edge of the building. Two men who were deep in discussion didn’t acknowledge his fall. Thank goodness.

Saturday nights were always the trickiest for him, when too many people stayed out late. Before the men noticed him, he hurried away, adrenaline fueling his fast stride. Not that he was doing anything technically wrong. There was no legal reason an almost-thirteen-year-old couldn’t be outside in the middle of the night, right?

He shivered. Maybe it was because of the men huddled in the dark. Or maybe it was because of Halloween next week. Either way, the shadows made him jittery. I’m not afraid. It’s only the wind giving me chills.

Zipping his jacket, he focused on his mission.

He’d lost track of how many times he felt compelled to execute his new routine. Had it been days or weeks since Mom started working late shifts cleaning at the train station? Since he could never sleep those nights anyway, he would sneak to the Hoboken terminal and quietly follow her home, making sure nothing bad happened to her along the way. She would be furious if she caught him out at night, especially after he’d been sick, so he kept watch from a distance.

Despite some close calls, no one ever stopped him to ask what he was doing out alone. He stayed alert, wary of anyone who might question him. He usually felt safe enough. But tonight, the streetlights cast spooky shapes on the road as the wind howled, low and cold. It reminded him of the book of scary stories he’d taken out of the library over the summer. There had been an especially memorable one about a haunting.

Two cops standing near the Clam Broth House jolted him out of his reverie. He thought for sure they saw him, but he darted behind the next building, pulse pounding in his ears.

“Greed,” one of them said. “Pure and simple. The tenements are worth more burned down. The insurance money pays for the renovation.”

“They should at least light the fires when no one is home. If the buildings were empty, that would be one thing. But in the middle of the night, people are bound to die. Especially the children.”

The second cop grunted in agreement. “No one said arsonists were worried about deadly consequences.” His voice faded as they moved away.

Lewis made himself wait another minute before he left his hiding space. Mom’s shift ended at midnight. He was nearly there, with plenty of time to spare. Focused on his destination, he almost tripped over the boy crouched by the corner mailbox. It was as if he’d appeared out of nowhere.

“Whoa!” Lewis dropped his voice to a whisper. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” The boy, dressed in sweatpants and a Smurf sweatshirt, was maybe eight or nine, like Christina. “I need help,” he said. “Henrietta’s stuck. See?” He pointed to a metal pipe under the mailbox. It wasn’t attached to anything, as if someone had discarded it. From inside the pipe came a plaintive cry.

Lewis bent to look. Two green eyes blinked at him from inside.

“I need to leave on a voyage,” the boy explained, “but I can’t go with Henrietta in trouble.”

A voyage? The word made Lewis think of ships heading out to sea. The boy didn’t look dressed for a boat ride.

“I can’t reach her.”

“Can you tilt the pipe?” Lewis asked. “Maybe she’ll crawl out.”

“Too heavy.”

Lewis tried to lift it, but it wouldn’t budge. A big guy in construction boots hurried past them toward the train station.

“Can you help us?” the boy called, but the man rushed onward, ignoring them.

“Don’t worry,” Lewis said. “We’ll figure something out. What if I push her toward you, then you slide her out?”

The boy nodded.

Lewis tugged the sleeves of his jacket down, not wanting to get scratched. He checked inside the pipe. All he could see was a ball of black fluff. He gently put his hand on the back of the cat and eased her forward.

A loud meow was followed by a cry of triumph. “Got her!” the boy said, cradling Henrietta until she squirmed. After he placed her on the ground, she meowed again. But on closer inspection, her fur wasn’t black. She was a tabby cat covered in soot.

“She doesn’t seem hurt or anything,” Lewis said as Henrietta sauntered away.

No reply.

When Lewis turned back, the boy had gone. “Hello?” he called. But he stood by himself on the corner.

Weird. It’s almost as if the boy was…No. The wind blew from the Hudson River and he shuddered. Alone in the night, he did not want to think about ghosts. Shaking off the fear, he continued to the train station.

Still, it reminded him of the story he’d read aloud to Christina, about a kid who had to do something important before he could move on from being a ghost. She hadn’t been frightened at all. To calm himself, he imagined telling her about what happened tonight. “And then the boy just disappeared!” The idea of describing the events to his sister got him through the last dark streets, until he safely entered the station.

He was still early, and although he generally stayed out of sight, the idea of being near other people for a few minutes comforted him. He hopped the turnstile without guilt—it wasn’t like he was actually taking a ride. Just then an elderly lady hobbled up the stairs. He thought for sure she would scold him, but she seemed preoccupied, so he scurried to the platform. The tracks were empty, but a train would arrive soon enough with disembarking passengers. He imagined boarding one , a way to travel someplace better. A voyage, a grand adventure of his own.

But no. His family needed him. Ten more minutes until Mom finished work. He sat on a bench to wait.

Movement caught his eye. Sometimes, rats scurried along the tracks, but this was a flash of flowing white that contrasted with the darkness of the tunnels. He blinked a few times at the eerie sight. Was it a sheet, something that had blown off the platform? He left the bench to get a better look. As his eyes focused, he froze. A girl walked on the train tracks, her long white nightgown fluttering around her ankles.

Somewhere in the distance, a train rumbled.

“Hey,” he called. “Hey!”

She looked at him, questioning.

“Get off the tracks! A train is coming!” Desperate to reach her in time, he rushed toward her as the train rounded the final curve. He leaned over to grab her hand, momentarily transfixed by the approaching headlight. When his hand came up empty, he checked the tracks again. She escaped, but where? Shaken, he stepped away from the edge.

The subway came to a halt with a loud hiss and the doors dinged as they slid open. He turned away and gasped at the sight of the girl, now on the platform. Somehow, she had scrambled to safety in time. She stood apart from the others, as if waiting for someone. He leaned against a pillar to steady his trembling.

The few arriving passengers rushed past them to get home. Soon, they were the only two remaining. She walked onto the train without speaking to him. He stayed, transfixed, and after a few minutes, she came back out.

“You could’ve gotten killed,” he said.

She stared at Lewis, her brown eyes wide with surprise. “I’m fine. I need to go home.”

“On the train?”

“No.” She motioned toward the stairs. “I live on Clinton Street. I just can’t remember the way.”

Was she ill, wandering around in her nightgown in a state of confusion? During his feverish state, he’d tried to leave the apartment, thinking he could escape the heat somehow.

“Go straight to the corner,” he explained. “Then make your first right by Hotel Victor. Make the next left, and you’ll reach Clinton Street.”

She smoothed her long black hair off her forehead in a nervous gesture. “It’s far.”

Definitely seems ill. He glanced at the clock. If he walked her home, he could double back and still check on Mom over the last few blocks. This girl wandering around lost was more at risk than his mother.

“I’ll come with you, if you want,” he said. “It’s late to be walking around if you’re not sure where you’re going.”

She nodded, accompanying him to the stairs. She strode with her back straight, eyes forward, no hand on the railing. He shuffled along beside her, sneaking sidelong glances as they left the station. Had she moved here recently? That would explain why she didn’t know her way.

“It’s kind of creepy out tonight.” He looked back at the terminal, hoping Mom would be okay without him watching over her, just this once. “Your family must be worried about you,” he said. “What were you doing at the station so late?”

“I wanted to see my father. He works there.”

“So does my mom! What does your dad do?”

“He works on the train. I felt like I needed to see him, you know?”

“I do know,” he said. It made perfect sense to him, although he didn’t run around outside in his pajamas. Still, no one else seemed to pay any attention to her as they traveled along the streets in the darkness. A breeze ruffled her hair as they walked. She didn’t look sickly, but something still struck him as odd.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked. “I was really sick over the summer. Throbbing headache, burning fever—”

“No, I’m fine.”

At last, they reached Clinton Street.

“I can go from here,” she said. “Thank you for keeping me safe on my voyage.”

There was that word again, just like the ghostly boy. But before Lewis could respond, she touched his hand, light as air, and that’s when the premonition hit him.

He smelled smoke. Not cigarette smoke, but an acrid, burning fire. It only lasted a few seconds, but he turned, searching for the source of the scent. When he looked back, he found empty space. Like the boy before, the girl vanished. He shuddered, not wanting to question how she disappeared or where she went or why this night was so very strange. Did he actually interact with two ghosts?

As bizarre as it seemed, it almost didn’t matter. What mattered was the information she had given him, the feeling he knew to be true as he broke into a run.

His building was on fire.

He sensed it in every part of his being, like an anxious ball of heat bouncing inside as he sprinted toward home, to where Christina slept.

From far away, he couldn’t see the flames. But the girl had given him the message when she touched him. Danger. Burning. Fire. His brain raced as his body ran, and he tried to come up with a rational explanation for what he believed but couldn’t possibly know. When he first left home, he heard a clank. Some type of metal fuel can? And the men huddled near his building in the dark. Had they been planning another arson?

He slowed for a moment and considered calling the fire department or the police. But he didn’t carry change for a pay phone. He picked up his pace. It felt better to keep going, to get there as soon as he could.

I will make it in time. His feet hit the ground in a frantic rhythm that reverberated through him. I must make it.

As he covered block after block, he tried to remember anything from the earlier fires that might be helpful. They all burned in the middle of the night. Over twenty people died. The last one—it gutted apartments on Clinton Street.

Of course. Where the girl was from. Could she have been a victim in the fire? And the boy with the soot-covered cat, too? He could barely comprehend what it meant, this night of spirits and dark shadows and howling wind.

Three blocks to go.

He thought of his sister sleeping, clutching the book, of all the stories he’d read to her over the years. Things happened in threes. Three little pigs and three granted wishes and…there had only been two ghosts tonight.

The cops he’d overheard said the arsonists should at least start the fires during the day, when the buildings were emptier. Not at night, when sleeping children might die. Children like Christina. He didn’t want his sister to join the other ghosts. She couldn’t be the third. He forced himself to sprint.

One block to go.

If Christina smelled the smoke and woke up, she might have a chance. They weren’t that high up. But knowing his sister, she would sleep through it. She slept through everything. And there were no smoke detectors. The landlord had said he would install them, soon, but like many repairs, it hadn’t happened yet.

As he turned onto his street, flames erupted from the roof of his building. Even though he expected it, he screamed. The fire was enormous. Sirens wailed in the distance, but he couldn’t wait for help. They would never make it to his sister.

He knew what he needed to do, had known it during the whole race home. Using his jacket to shield his face, Lewis burst through the front door of the building, bounding up the stairs two at a time. He yelled to his neighbors as he ran, “Wake up! Fire! You need to get out!”

Thick smoke filled the air as he made his way into their apartment. Reaching the back bedroom, he scooped Christina in his arms.

“Lewis?” She seemed confused, but before she could say more, she coughed, turning her head into his chest to escape the suffocating smoke.

“I’ve got you.” He carried her toward the door.

Too late. The way out was blocked, the entrance engulfed in flames. The bedroom filled with more smoke in the few moments they hesitated.

“We need to use the window.” He moved toward the ledge.

She peered out, her small body trembling in his oversized pjs. “I don’t know if I can.”

Without speaking, he grabbed all the bedding he could and hurled it out the window to cover the broken glass and soften the fall. The heat burned intensely now, reminding him again of his illness—the sweltering inside him and how agonizing it had been, until suddenly the fever stopped.

Somewhere in the building a wooden beam cracked loudly. “We have to leave.”

“You first. Show me how.”

He wanted her out of danger, but she seemed frozen in terror. “Okay. But then you need to follow right away. You can’t chicken out. Promise?”

“Promise.”

He quickly threw his legs over, then dangled from the ledge. “Hang then drop,” he told her, right before he let go. Scrambling to his feet, he yelled to her. “Now Christina!” He could barely see her in the smoke. “Now!”

As if in slow motion, one Bugs Bunny-covered leg went over, then another, until his sister hung suspended from the window. He was too short to reach her, and they were running out of time.

“Drop!”

Her hesitation stretched unbearably.

Then Christina reacted. She let go, landing in the center of the pillows and blankets. He quickly rolled her up in case the flames had reached her. But other than the coughing, she seemed all right.

I did it.

Keeping her wrapped in a blanket, he carried her farther from the house, away from the heat and embers. The physical exertion caught up with him.Weary, he set Christina down gently.

She blinked, staring at him as if in a dream. “Don’t go,” she said.

But a college student lived upstairs, and the family with a baby had moved in down the hall. What if other neighbors were trapped? Despite his good intentions, he only made it a few yards before he sank to the ground in front of the burning building, exhausted.

His arm landed awkwardly on a metal container. Fuel? Something the arsonists used to start the fire?

Fire trucks had arrived, and the firefighters worked frantically to control the blaze and save people. As they extended a ladder toward the higher floors, Lewis tried to call to them, but fatigue overcame him. Using his last bit of energy, he shoved the container forward into the view of a fireman with a hose. They could check it for fingerprints, something to help them catch the arsonist.

Then, amid the chaos, Mom hastened through the crowd of people who had gathered. She cried as she hurried toward Christina and clutched her. Lewis closed his eyes, trying to listen to their voices. He wanted to hold onto his family a bit longer, at least until Mom noticed him.

Then he realized: no one else had reacted to the boy with the cat and the girl on the tracks. People had ignored them, oblivious. Only he’d noticed the two ghosts.

And everyone had ignored him, night after night, as he watched over Mom. He had remained unseen, except tonight by Christina.

I am ghost number three.

Mom held his sister. “How did you escape the fire?”

“Lewis helped me.”

“But that can’t be.”

“He was here!” Christina said. “He saved me. He got me out of the window and…” Sobs blurred the rest of her words.

A firefighter rushing past Mom stopped long enough to shout, “Any more of your family in there?”

She shook her head. “No.” The fireman moved on, not hearing the rest of her story. “My son died a few months ago,” she whispered. “He was so sick. We couldn’t save him.” Mom held Christina close, gazing into the shadows. She seemed to sense his presence one last time. “Thank you, Lewis.”

A peaceful calm radiated through him. His mission was complete. It’s time for my voyage.

The End

Yvonne Ventresca is the author of the award-winning young adult novels Pandemic and Black Flowers, White Lies. In addition, Yvonne has writtentwo nonfiction books and several stories selected for collections, including the previous IWSG anthology, Hero Lost: Mysteries of Death and Life. She is currently pursuing an MFA in Writing for Children and Young Adults at Vermont College of Fine Arts. You can learn more at YvonneVentresca.com, where she features resources for writers.

http://yvonneventresca.com/blog.html

https://twitter.com/YvonneVentresca

https://www.instagram.com/yvonneventresca/

The Ghosts of Pompeii

By Sherry Ellis

I wanted pizza, and I knew just where to find it. Italy! Mama said the people there make the best pizza ever. Except when I told my big sister, Squirt, that I wanted to go, she looked at me as if I had tomato sauce for brains.

“Bubba, what are you thinking? We can go to Papa Gino’s and get some.”

“But it tastes better in Italy,” I said.

“How do you know? You’ve never been there.”

“Mama says it tastes better. That’s how I know. So there.”

I made a face and stomped off to the woods behind our house. That’s where the big hole was hidden, under the sycamore tree. I’d dug it with the magic shovel Grandpa Joe found at a garage sale. I knew it could take me to Italy because it had already taken me to China and Belize. It goes wherever I want it to go.

I stopped under the tree and stared at the pile of branches on top of the hole.

Squirt came up behind me. “You’re seriously thinking about going through the portal for pizza?”

“I’m hungry!”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“What could possibly go wrong?”

Miss Worry Wart gave me her squinty-eye look. “Art thieves could lock us in a vault and leave us there to die. Or you could fall down a hole and land in somebody’s grave.”

I grinned. “Yeah. The grave in Belize was cool. But we’re going to Italy. Not Paris. I don’t think there are any art thieves there.”

Squirt crossed her arms. “Well, you might get run over by a meatball.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you going to help me move these branches?” I asked as I picked up a few.

She huffed. “This is a bad idea.”

“Whatever.”

After the hole was uncovered, I grabbed a sled I’d propped against a tree. Sitting down on it, I pushed off and zoomed along the dirt chute as if it was a slide under the roots of the sycamore tree. It ended in a small dirt room.

Two seconds later, Squirt came down on her sled. “The only reason I’m doing this is because you can’t go by yourself. You’d never make it back.”

“Oh, yeah? That’s what you think.” I stuck my tongue out at her then stood in front of the wall in the back of the room. I shouted the magic word. “Al-eee-oosh!”

There was a blinding flash. A spiraling circle of blue and white light appeared in front of us—the vortex to Italy.

“Ready?” I asked.

“No!” Squirt said. “We forgot the…”

I didn’t hear what else she said because I jumped right into the light.