On Hold

I've come to the undeniable conclusion that this isn't going to work as is. I just can't find interest in writing when I don't have a story in place. I've concluded that I can't really make this up as I go along...not literally because I can't...but because if I don't have the excitement of the story planned out, I'm very unmotivated to tell that story. There's nothing to tell because there is no story, and I find myself turning to other projects that are more motivating.

So, that being said, I'm putting this project on hold for a bit until I put together an outline for the story and have the basic conflict and resolution in place. It shouldn't be too long and I'll get back to trying to post every day, so stay tuned.

Test recording

So I did a quick test recording of myself reading the first part. And just for the fun of it (sort of goofing off) I read it with a bit of an accent. I had been chatting with a friend and we had joked how we always enjoyed our books on tape better when the reader had a British accent. So I gave it a shot. I don't do a really great British...but...I was fairly surprised that I quite liked the results. Primarilly, it keeps me from mumbling and being marble mouthed and sounding Utahn. Beyond that, it keeps me annunciating...which is awesome.

Anyhow, it's not a really clean recording (my wife was doing the dishes in the background at the time) but it gives the idea of what I'm thinking.

Peter and the Pumpkin Eater reading - first part - test

9 - Chapter Three - The Darkness

Three
The Darkness

   Doug and Randy came slowly forward and sat next to Peter in front of the man. He had crossed his legs, rested his pitchfork across his them, and now stared at the three of them with his yellow eyes. Peter looked closer at them and could now see that they were not necessarily yellow. They were more like clear glass and the yellow color danced around like fire.
   “I was killed a year ago,” the man said. “By the darkness.”
   “What is the darkness?” Randy asked.
   The man looked at him with his dancing, yellow eyes for a moment and then said, “That’s a bit hard to explain. I think it would be better if I tell you why I died first. That’s really more important anyhow.”
   “Okay,” Randy said. “So, why did you die?”
   “Because,” the man said, “I killed someone else.” He looked down at his hands as they gripped the pitchfork handle. Peter looked at his hands, noticing that they were as blackened and leathery looking as his face had been. “I did not mean to.” The man looked back up. “But it was my fault. I ran over a child playing in the street. I had been drinking and was not paying attention. And she just ran out in front of me. By the time I even realized what had happened it was over.
   “I didn’t stay around. I drove off. I knew I was going to go to jail. I drove away, leaving the child’s mother holding her in the street. I just ran.
   “I drove fast, and was drunk, and ended up crashed my car into a tree. I left it and just kept running. I ran off into the forest. I have no idea what I planned on doing. I only knew that I was in big trouble and had to get away. I just kept running.
   “Then, I came across a pumpkin patch. Not this one…” he gestured to the pumpkins around them. “But a pumpkin patch very similar to this one.
   “I don’t know if I meant to or not, but I fell asleep in that pumpkin patch…well, or passed out there. The point is, I woke up the next morning in the pumpkin patch. I could hardly remember how I got there. At first I was just confused. Then I remembered killing the girl.”
   “I briefly considered going back and turning myself in, but then decided it was too late. I was on the run now. I decided I had to eat something and I couldn’t risk going into a town or city. And there I was, sitting in the middle of a pumpkin patch.
   “So…” he paused for a moment. “I picked a pumpkin.”
   “The moment I did, I knew something was wrong. Everything started shaking and the day started turning dark. And then a man came. He looked much like I do now —” The man held up one of his leather hands before them. “He told me that I had to mind the pumpkin patch now, that his time was over, and that a new keeper was to be anointed. He tried to give me his pitchfork, but I wouldn’t take it. Instead I tried to run. He yelled at me to stop — warned me to not leave the pumpkin patch without the pitchfork. I didn’t believe him.
   “I ran away from the pumpkin patch and through the forest. And then the darkness came for me.”

end of 9

Chapter One-Two pdf

Peter and the Pumpkin Eater - chapter one-two - pdf

8

   "Hey!"
   The man turned around at the voice. Randy had run up behind him. "You leave him alone!" Randy shouted. He threw a rock at the man but it bounced harmlessly off of his chest.
   "Get out of my garden," the man said through gritted teeth. "GET OUT!" He lunged at Randy.
   Randy jumped backward and fell over a pumpkin. His pack fell from his shoulder and burst open. The skull rolled out of it. The man stopped moving toward Randy and stared at the skull. Randy scuttled backward on his hands and feet and then stood. Doug stepped out of the forest. "Come on!" he said, gesturing for Randy and Peter to run.
   "Where?" the man said and then looked up. "How?" He took a step forward and fell to his knees in front of the skull, picking it up and cradling it in his arms. "Why?" he asked, looking up at Randy. "Why would you take this?"
   "You're a murderer!" Randy said. "We found it in your Garden."
   The farmer laughed. "You think I killed someone? I didn't kill anyone. Someone killed me." He held up the skull. "This is me."
   "You're..." Randy's face twisted in confusion. "We found...but..." He looked back at Doug then back at the man. "What?"
   Peter climbed to his feet and carefully made his way around where the man kneeled to stand next to Peter. The man had gone back to cradling the skull in his hands.   "What do you mean it's you?" Peter aksed. "How can it be you? If it's you, you'd be dead."
   The man looked up at Peter, his large, yellow eyes brimmed with tears. "I am dead," he said flatly. "Now..." He climbed back to his feet, turned and walked over to his pitchfork, and yanked it from the tree trunk. "Get out of my pumpkin patch," he said over his shoulder.
   “How can you be dead?” Randy asked. “You’re walking around. You’re not a ghost or anything.”
   The man turned back around and looked at the three boys for a moment, considering. Then he said, “No, I am not a spirit. But I assure you. I am dead.” He stepped closer and reached up pulled the kerchief down to reveal his face.
   Peter gasped. The blackened, leathery skin was stretched tight over his skull. He looked like the pictures of shrunken heads Peter had seen — except that his head was not small.
   “Now get out,” he said through rotted teeth. “Leave my garden!” He pulled the kerchief back up to hide his face.
   Randy, Peter, and Doug turned to enter the forest, but Peter stopped at the edge of the garden to look back. The man had turned around and stood quietly in the garden, his back to them, his head down, and leaning on his pitchfork like it was a staff.
   “Are you…” Peter started but then paused. Then he stepped back toward the man. “Are you okay?” he asked.
   The man turned back toward Peter. Peter glanced over his shoulder to where Randy and Doug stood gaping at him wide-eyed. He held his hand palm up to them and mouthed the word, “wait,” then turned back to the man. The man stood, scrutinizing him, his head cocked slightly to the side.
   “Why aren’t you scared of me?” the man said.
   “Well,” Peter said. “You seem like you’re a descent guy who’s just…I don’t know…dead. And you’re not happy about it. I wouldn’t be.”
   The man nodded. “That much is true.”
   Peter stood there for a moment and looked around at the forest and the pumpkin patch. “So, can I ask? Why do you keep a pumpkin patch? I mean, if you’re dead you should be like…well…I don’t know…haunting someone or…moving on or something. I mean, why are you keeping a pumpkin patch?”
   The man did not answer but simply watched Peter for a moment, and then he sat down on the ground. “Come on over,” he called to Randy and Doug. “Come out and sit down with me. I’ll tell you my story.”

end of 8

7

   “Was it buried or something?” Peter said as they walked toward the center of the large field.
   “Yeah,” Doug said. “We were digging around, making holes and stuff, to see if they went away the next day. It was part of our testing to see if whoever it is came every night. Here.” He stopped and pointed at the ground. “Somewhere around here.”
   “So, just a skull? No other bones?”
   Doug sighed. “Well, the truth is, when we found the skull…which was the last time we were here, you know…we pretty much just freaked out and ran. I mean, have you ever found a buried skull before? Before that it was just messing around. Trying to figure out why some weirdo kept a pumpkin patch at night hidden in the middle of the woods. But when we found the skull we realized that it was something more and…well, it freaked us out.”
   “We got outa here quick,” Randy said. “You’ve never seen us run so fast I’m telling you. That was three days ago.”
   “It took us a bit to get up the courage to come back,” Doug said. “Speaking of which, we better hide before whoever it is shows up.”
   Randy nodded. “I was thinking over there.” He pointed to a dark area of thick brambles. “Let’s see if we can find a way behind there and we can watch from there.”
   “Okay,” Peter said. Randy turned and Peter moved to follow him, but Doug did not turn. He stood, watching the other side of the pumpkin patch, his mouth slightly agape and his skin blanched white.
   Peter looked back over his shoulder and stopped cold. A man stood at the far end of the pumpkin patch. In the darkness Peter could not see more than his silhouette — enough to see that he was big, wore a large hat, and carried a pitchfork. Peter glance back at Randy who had also stopped to gape at the man.
   Peter looked back at the man. “What do we…?” he began, but there was no time to finish the question because the man raised the pitchfork above his head and charged.
   Doug let out a shriek and turned. “Run!” he cried — not that Peter needed the command as he had already turned to run himself. He sprinted after Randy and Doug as they headed for the forest at the far end.
   Peter glanced back over his shoulder. The man had covered half the distance already. They were not going to make it. He turned back and pushed himself harder, catching Doug. “Come on!” he shouted. “He’d gaining.”
   Doug glance back and then surged forward as well. Randy reached the brambles ahead of them and pushed heedlessly through them. Doug dove in after his brother, but before Peter could follow him a hand grabbed his collar and he felt himself lifted from the ground. He kicked his feet as hard as he could backward at the man but it did no good. Then he found himself face to face with the man, expect there was no man there, but just a red bandana pulled and a set of glowing, yellow eyes.
   Peter gaped at the eyes. They were not human. They looked more like cat eyes or some other kind of animal.
   “Why are you in my pumpkin patch?” a gravelly voice said.
   “We were just…”
   The man — or whatever it was — roared and hoisted Peter higher, then tossed him like a rag doll toward a tree. He felt himself hit the tree, the wind knocked from him with the blow. He gasped for breath but could not find it. The man tromped forward to stand over him.
   “Please,” Peter said with a gasp. “I’m…sorry.”
   THUNK. The pitchfork sunk into the tree trunk near Peter’s head. Peter jumped aside and scrambled backward on his hands and knees.
   “Get out!” the yellow-eyed man said. “Get out of my pumpkin patch!”

end of 7

6

   Peter thought about it for a moment and could not think of any other way that would work. He gave a nod and the three of them started forward again. They walked on the rest of the way in silence.
   Eventually they came to an area that was significantly thicker with brambles. Doug led them around a large tree and then ducked down and entered into a small hole in the bushes that could not be seen because of the angle of the bushes.
   Peter ducked into the brambles and found himself in what was almost a small passageway that had been made by the upper branches of trees and bushes growing thickly together. He could not quite stand up straight, and neither could Doug. Randy, on the other hand, walked uprightly without trouble. They followed the little tunnel along as it twisted and turned and then opened up into an overgrown runoff ditch bed.
   “How did you find this?” Peter asked.
   “Just messing around,” Randy said. “Just got lucky. The pumpkin patch is on the other side of this ditch and surrounded by hills and rocks and other stuff that makes it almost impossible to get to. We don’t know how whoever’s taking care of it gets there. But this is the way we found in.
   They continued through the brambles until they broke free of them, climbing out of the ditch through a small opening where they entered a small clearing where rows of pumpkin plants grew. The ground was carefully tilled and the soil looked rich and dark, though it could have been nothing more than the moonlight. Peter stopped and gaped at the size and quality of the pumpkins that grew there. Each one was huge and orange — perfect pumpkins for carving into jack-o’-lanterns.
   “This is the most orderly pumpkin patch I’ve ever seen,” Peter said. “How does he make the pumpkins all sit just the same? And they look like they’re all exactly the same size.”
   “Yeah,” Randy said. “The guy’s clearly a nut. Look, over on that side he’s got new pumpkins plants started. And over there are the less mature ones. He rotates them that way I guess. Like he never wants to run out of pumpkins.”
   “But, he’s got to run out, right?” Peter said. “Pumpkins don’t grow year ‘round do they?”
   “I don’t know,” Randy said.
   “They don’t,” Doug said. “The primary harvest time for them is, just like you’d think, fall. But they definitely won’t grow in the dead of winter. That’s what he’s got going on over there we think.”
   Peter looked where Doug pointed and saw a structure that looked like it was incomplete. “A greenhouse we think,” Randy said. “I mean, this guy really doesn’t want to run out of pumpkins. Wacko.”
   “So where’d you find the skull?” Peter asked.
   “Over there,” Doug pointed toward the middle of the patch. “Come on.” He led the way.

end of 6

5 - Chapter Two - The Pumpkin Patch

TWO
THE PUMPKIN PATCH

   Peter looked at his phone. It read 9:57. He quickened his stride, peering closer at the house at the end of the small road he walked down, trying to tell if it was really green. Randy had said it would be easy to find because it was green, but he had neglected to consider that it would be dark, and the house was not lit well.
   When he got right next to it he peered at the shingling, holding up his phone to light it. Green. He put his phone in his pocket, adjusted the pack on his back, and hurried around to the backyard.
   “Hey,” Randy said as he came into view.
   Doug stood nearby, holding a flashlight. “You have any trouble getting out of the house?” he asked.
   “Nah,” Peter said. “I told my mom and dad I was having a sleep over at your place and I’d just go to school with you guys in the morning. That’s why I brought my school books with me. I’ll just head home when we’re done and say one of you got sick or something so I came home.”
   “Or you could just spend the night here afterwards,” Randy said.
   “How are you going to explain that to mom and dad?” Doug asked. “He’s just going to come to breakfast with us tomorrow morning? ‘Hey mom, this stranger you’ve never met before had a sleepover without your permission.’ That would go over awesome.”
   Randy shrugged and then turned to Peter. “You ready then?”
   Peter put his backpack down, leaning it against the side of the Wise boy’s house and then nodded.
   Randy turned and headed across the back lawn and into the field beyond. Peter and Doug followed. Although it was dark enough to make it hard to see a house’s color, there was enough moonlight that they could see well enough to make their way. They crossed over the field and then headed into the woods beyond.
   “How far is it from here?” Peter asked.
   “About ten minutes,” Peter replied.
   Peter nodded and then followed along quietly for a moment, carefully picking his way through the brambles and trees. The moonlight there was did not make it into the woods as well, and although not pitch black, it definitely made the going a bit harder, particularly considering that they were in a forest now. The forest was not very heavy, but there were still fallen logs to climb over and brambles to push through. The last thing Peter wanted was a broken leg tonight.
   “So, what’s the plan?” he asked. “Just hide out? I mean, what if the guy doesn’t show up ‘til two in the morning or something?”
   “Then we wait,” Randy said. “I mean, we have to catch the guy and see him well enough to describe him. That’s where it gets a bit…um…well, dangerous.”
   “What do you mean?” Peter asked.
   “Well,” Randy said. “If it’s too dark, we’re going to have to shine some light on him to tell who it is. But, obviously, that means he’s going to see us and probably come after us.”
   Peter stopped for a moment. “What? You mean jump out at him, shine the flashlight in his face, and then run?”
   Randy stopped and turned, giving Peter an apologetic look. “Yeah. If it’s too dark, that may be our only choice.”
   “I’m thinking,” Doug said, “that if we have time and are waiting for him, we should set ourselves up so we’re in a good spot where he’ll likely walk past, but where we’re kind of hidden and hard to get to. Then just turn the flashlight on at the right moment and then run. We can scout out a good hiding place first too that isn’t too far to get away from him quick.”

Music for coming podcast

The intention in the near future is to have a podcast of the book that corresponds with the blog entries.

Here is the music that will act as the intro and the outro to the readings:

PETER AND THE PUMPKIN EATER PODCAST INTRO AND OUTRO

Chapter One pdf

For ease of reading what's come before, I will have a .pdf file available for download after each chapter is finished.

Peter and the Pumpkin Eater - chapter one - pdf

4

   Randy grabbed Peter’s sleeve and pulled him off to the side, then looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. “There’s a pumpkin patch in the woods.”
   “All…right…,” Peter said.
   “No one really knows about it that we know of, but someone’s taking care of it, obviously,” Randy said.
   “Yeah,” Doug said. “We came across it a few weeks ago. We’ve gone back a lot. But we’ve never seen anyone close to it. But it’s obviously taken care of and it’s being weeded and stuff.”
   “Yeah…okay. So, what’s the big secret? And why are you going there tonight? Why not just go after school or something?”
   “Because,” Randy said. “We have to go at night to see who keeps it.” He looked at Peter with a crooked smile. “Whoever’s keeping it, does it at night, we think.”
   “And we need to find out who’s keeping it,” Doug said. “Because whoever’s keeping it..." he paused a moment, looking at Peter, "...is a murderer!”
   “What? How do you know that?” Peter asked.
   Randy jerked his head toward a corner behind a dumpster near the school and then led Peter and Doug there, looking around as he went. The school yard had emptied by this point, school having started already by now. Randy unzipped his backpack and opened it, then held it out, showing Peter its contents.
   Peter gasped. Inside the bag was a skull. He looked up at Randy in shock.
   “We found it in the pumpkin patch,” Randy said.
   “Is it real?” Peter asked.
   “Oh yeah,” Doug said. “It’s real.” Randy nodded as he zipped his bag closed.
   “Uh…we need to go to class,” Peter said. “I don’t want to get in trouble my first day. But…you say you’re going tonight?”
   “Yeah,” Randy said. “We’re going to see who it is, and then we’ll go to the police with the evidence and we’ll get him thrown in jail.”
   “How do you know he’s there at night?”
   “He has to be. We waited around all day on a Saturday once. No sign of him. But the next day when we went back, there was definitely more work done. Every time we’ve gone two days in a row, there’s been small changes. He has to be working at night.”
   Peter nodded as the three of them turned and walked out from behind the dumpster and toward the school. “Okay then,” Peter said. “Well, can I come with you then?”
   Randy and Douglas looked at each other with grins on their faces. “Ten o’clock,” Doug said. “We’ll meet you in our back yard.”

end of 4

Chapter one is finished. This is a real challenge. I'm not sure where this is going to go at this point. I know I wanted to do something with pumpkins. And, because it's what I like, I want it to have some sort of fantasy element. And I want some sort of mystery element to it. Beyond that, I'm really making this up as I go. The skull from the pumpkin patch came to me as I wrote it. I kind of like it. In fact, I actually do have an idea about this that may help me open up the story. I won't share that idea yet, however, because I want to keep some elements of secrecy for the story. That being said, coming up with the skull from the pumpkin patch does give me a sense of direction now. Who's keeping the pumpkin patch? Why was there a skull there? Why is he keeping it only at night? I'm excited to move in this direction and find out (a.k.a "make up") the answers to these questions. Hmm...gotta bring the freckled girl into the adventure somehow.

3

   “Whatchya looking at?”
   Peter jumped and turned, wide-eyed, back to Randy. “Oh. Just that old farmer.” He turned back, but the bus had gone around a bend. He looked at Randy. “Just some creepy looking guy who was starting at the bus.”
   “So, what grade are you in?” Randy asked.
   “Fifth,” Peter said.
   “Hey, me too. Doug’s in Sixth.”
   “Hey, Randoug,” a large boy across the aisle said.
   Randy turned around and looked at the boy for a moment and then sat back down into his seat.
   “Heh heh,” the large boy said. “Randoug. It’s Randoug!” He pointed at the two Johnson boys. A boy in front of him laughed.
   “Shut up,” Randy said under his breath.
   “Randoug,” the boy repeated. “They’re Randoug.”
   “What’s your name?” Peter said.
   The boy stared at him for a moment with his mouth hanging open. “Uh. Wes.”
   “What about you?” Peter asked the other boy who had been laughing.
   “Scott.” The boy squinted at him.
   “So. You’re Wesscott then. Hey, look! It’s Wesscott.”
   “SHUT UP!” Wes roared as he came out of his seat and grabbed Peter by the collar.
   “Sit down!” the bus driver said over the intercom.
   Wes looked back over his shoulder toward the front of the bus, his left hand gripping Peter’s collar and his right hand balled into a fist and drawn back to his ear.
   “Sit down!”
   Wes let go and slumped back into his seat. “You’re dead new kid,” he said without looking at Peter.
   “My name’s Peter,” Peter said. “Pleased to meet you Wesscott.”
   Wes punched the back of the seat in front of him hard. Peter gulped and looked back out the window, not quite sure what had gotten into him. It must have been his mood. He didn’t usually pick fights. But he was in a sour mood from having to move to podunk-ville and it had just come out.
   When the bus finally pulled up in front of the school Peter hung back, waiting for the other kids to get off first. Fortunately, Wes and Scott had not seemed inclined to want to wait for him right at that minute. He supposed they would just find him in an alley at some point and kill him when they were alone—there being too many witnesses right now and all.
   He watched as they moved off with the other kids into the school and then got his backpack and exited the bus. Randy and Doug waited for him.
   “Thanks,” Doug said. “Those guys are total bullies.”
   “Yeah,” Randy said. “They’re probably going to kill you.”
   “I know,” Peter said. “I’m not sure what I was thinking.” He began walking toward the school.
   “So, did you want to know what we’re doing tonight?” Doug asked.
   “I thought it was secret,” Peter said.
   “Well, yeah…but only from our mom and dad,” Randy said. “We just didn’t know you. But you’re obviously pretty cool.”
   “Okay,” Peter said. “Tell me then.”

end of 3

2

   The countryside rolled slowly past, flat field after flat field, with only a small hill here or there. Fall had begun setting in and the oranges, reds, and yellows had started to spot the world. Horrorton was farm country. No question about that. Farms as far as the eye could see. The countryside was pretty, Peter had to admit, but beyond that, he could not see how living in this rural area could possibly be anything but bleak.
   Peter rested his chin on his hand as the bus stopped to pick up a few more children. Two boys climbed onto the bus, obviously brothers by their similar looks, though the one did not look old enough to be going to school yet. The two boys walked to the back of the bus and sat down behind the freckled girl. The smaller one disappeared into the seat he was so short.
   “Why?” the older boy asked the younger one. “If we put it off we may not get another chance. It’s got to be tonight.”
   “Okay,” the small boy said in reply. “But if dad catches us…”
   “He won’t. Dad doesn’t wake up for anything at night.”
   “Yeah, but mom does, and if she tells dad. I’m just saying, it’d be safer to do next week when dad’s out of town.”
   “I don’t think it’ll matter. We need to do it. I’m afraid if we don’t get it done…” The older boy trailed off as he glanced backward and saw Peter watching them.
   “Okay, so we’re going to…”
   “Shh!” The older boy cut the younger off.
   A moment of silence passed while the bus stopped to pick up a few other children. Then, the younger boys eyes peeked over the edge of the seat, squinting at Peter. “Where you listening?” he asked.
   Peter raised his eyebrows at the boy. “What? No. I mean I heard you. But I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t help but hear you though. But who cares. I don’t care what you’re doing.”
   “So you’re not going to rat us out?” the smaller boy said.
   Peter gave the boy a small smile. “No. Why would I rat you out? Are you going to be breaking the law or something?”
   The small boy appraised Peter for a moment. “I’m Randy Wise,” he said and then cocked his head toward his brother. “And this is Douglas.” The older boy turned and gave a curt nod in greeting.
   “I’m Peter Slater,” Peter said.
   “Cool. You go by Pete or something? I usually call Douglas just Doug and he calls me Rand.”
   “I usually go by Peter, but some people call me Pete, I guess.”
   “Cool. So, when did you move here?”
   “A few days back is all.”
   “Well, you’re going to love it here. Best place in the world to live.”
   Peter raised his eyebrows again. Randy grinned and then turned back around and disappeared behind his seat.
   Peter looked out the window at a passing farm and watched a farmer who dug at something in a pumpkin patch. The farmer wore coveralls and had a large, straw hat. He looked up as the bus passed, but had a kerchief tied over his face and his hat pulled low.
   Peter watched the man. The farmer straightened and watched the bus go, holding the pitchfork he held in his hands casually in front of him. Peter crooked his neck around as the bus pulled further away. The man continued to watch, just standing there as the bus drove off down the road. He stood there, watching.
   Something about him gave Peter the creeps.

end of 2

1 - Chapter One - Horrorton U.S.A.

How it will work: Thoughts, comments, explanations, and general blogging will be italicized. Actual text of the story will be normal text. With that, here we go:

ONE
HORRORTON U.S.A.

   The faded-green, rusty bus rolled over the old bridge, rocking from side to side as it went. The bridge creaked and strained as the bus’s wheels pressed down on its aged wood and metal. Peter watched blankly as the bridge swayed. He figured that the bus would plunge into the ravine below if fate wanted it to. Being scared that it would did not make any difference. Still, Peter wondered at the old bridge. It hardly seemed fit to walk on, much less drive on. The bus bumped over the deep divet where the bridge met the road on the other side. Peter, having sat in the back of the bus, was thrown upward with the bounce. He ducked his head, sure he would hit the bus’s ceiling, but then he found himself back in his seat.
   He scowled at the driver for a moment and then looked up at a large sign alongside the road. Horrorton, U.S.A., it read. Population 7,650.
   He scowled again. He could not believe this is where his parents had taken him. Horrorton? Of all the Podunk, little, backwoods towns they could have ended up in, they were stuck in this dismal, rusted-out, junkyard.
   He shook his head and rolled his eyes.
   “Hey.”
   Peter looked up at the voice. “You’re new,” the boy who sat across the aisle from him said.
   “Yeah,” Peter said back.
   “Where you from?”
   “Lincoln,” Peter said.
   “Yeah?” The boy raised an eyebrow. “City kid, huh?”
   “I guess.”
   “You won’t like it here,” the boy said as he turned away to stared blankly ahead.
   “You think?” Peter said under his breath.
   The bus slowed down and then rolled to a stop. Peter looked out the window. They had not even arrived in the town yet. The door to the bus opened and a young, freckled girl climbed up the bus steps. There were only four others in the bus, including Peter. The girl made five. She adjusted her backpack and walked toward the back, sitting a few seats in front of Peter. He watched the back of her head for a moment. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and freckles tipped even the back of her ears. Then, all of a sudden, she turned.
   “You’re new,” she said with her brow a bit wrinkled. “Right?”
   “Yeah,” Peter said, wondering why people kept asking him that. He was obviously new. Everyone probably knew everyone in a small town like this. They did not know him, so he was new. Why did they have to ask?
   The girl turned around fully in her seat and leaned over the back, holding out her hand for him to shake. He took it limply. She gave it a solid shake and then said, “I’m Chris.”
   “Peter,” Peter said.
   “Sit down!” the bus driver said over the intercom.
   Chris whirled around and plopped back into her seat.
   Peter went back to staring out the window.

end of 1