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  For Mom,

  who always had the time for a trip to the library

  and

  for Alison,

  who had to read these stories because I’m her

  Dad and I said so.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  FAIRY IN A JAR

  THE TOUCH

  AT THE WRIST

  CRIZZLES

  LIGHT AS A FEATHER, STIFF AS A BOARD

  THE EVIL TREE

  KIDZILLA

  EVERYONE’S A WINNER

  A LITTLE OFF THE TOP

  THE SLIDE

  BIG KIDS

  YOUR WORST NIGHT MARE

  PHONE AHEAD

  SAND SHARKS

  ON THE ROAD

  THE LANGUAGES OF BEASTS

  CLASS TRIP

  COLLARED

  THE SUBSTITUTE

  THE VAMPIRE’S RAT

  SLUGS

  SNAKELAND

  BURGER AND FRIES

  GAME OVER

  SMUNKIES

  PRETTY POLLY

  JOIN THE PARTY

  THE BILLION LEGGER

  THE BATTLE-AX

  IN THE LAND OF THE LAWN WEENIES

  SUNBURN

  THIN SILK

  THE WITCH’S MONKEY

  AS YOU SAY

  HIDE

  Don’t get left behind! - STARSCAPE Let the journey begin …

  WHERE DOES ALL THIS STUFF COME FROM?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright Page

  FAIRY IN A JAR

  You probably think of fairies, if you think of them at all, as wonderful little creatures flying happily through the forest, dancing and singing and making merry. Let me tell you something: Fairies might look lovely on the outside, but inside they are ugly, real ugly. Fairies are mean and vicious. They’ve got teeth like tiny needles. One bite wouldn’t hurt much. But I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t stop at one; they’d keep biting and chewing until they hit something vital. Fairies aren’t good news. I know. Let me tell you about my fairy in a jar.

  I’d been running around the backyard trying to catch fireflies with the net from this bug kit I’d gotten years ago. The kit was a birthday present from an aunt who had no idea what I liked. I might have used it once or twice, but mostly it just sat at the back of my closet under a pile of other junk. I’d lost the collecting bottle that came with it, but I found an old jar and punched a couple of holes in the lid. Bugs probably didn’t need much air, but it was fun banging away with a hammer and nail. Anyhow, I was swiping the net at some bugs because there was nothing on TV except reruns and all my friends were busy and I couldn’t find anything else to do.

  I’d caught a couple fireflies and put them in the jar. The whole adventure was . getting boring pretty fast. I was just about to quit when I saw a flash under the birch tree at the back of the yard near the woods. Thinking about it later, I sort of remember that the flash was different. It was more glittery, almost a sparkle.

  I crept over and swung the net.

  Thunk! Something heavy hit the bottom. I jumped. I thought I’d caught a bat. My skin crawled at that idea. I fumbled the jar lid open and slammed the net down. I felt a solid plunk against the glass. Got it, I thought. I needed two tries to get the lid on right. The jar kept shaking in my hand. So did the lid.

  A bat. My very own bat. The guys would go wild when I showed it to them.

  I held the jar up to see my catch. Three fireflies were crawling around the sides. But that wasn’t what grabbed my attention. There was something else crumpled on the bottom. It wasn’t a bat—not even close. It wasn’t an it, either. It was a she.

  She unfolded herself and rose slowly to her feet, shimmering in the light of the quarter moon. She was no more than five inches tall. Skinny. Long dark hair. Green dress. Wings. She looked down at her body, as if checking for injuries. The jar was still shaking in short jerks that made her stagger and fight for balance. She pressed her hands against the glass and stared straight at me. For an instant, so quick I thought at first it was my imagination, there was nothing in her gaze but pure hatred.

  Then she smiled.

  Maybe I should have smashed the jar against the tree. Maybe I should have smashed it and run—just run and run forever. “Maybe” isn’t worth much—it’s only a word. In a way, I understood how that kid at the playground must have felt last week when I punched him in the gut. Everything inside of me was stunned. I felt that my body had been filled with glue. I held the jar and stared at her.

  “Let me go, kind sir.” Her voice was like bells and dreams and whispers in my mind.

  I grabbed the lid. I started to twist it loose, but that look of hate flashed across her face again. I knew. In that thousandth of a second, I knew I could never set her free. By then, I also knew I didn’t want to set her free. She was mine. I had captured a prize no one else could even imagine.

  “Wishes,” she said. “I can grant wishes.”

  That got my interest. I took my hand off the lid and held it out, palm up. “Show me. A thousand dollars. Right here.” I wiggled my fingers.

  “You have to free me first.”

  “I don’t think so.” I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t going to fall for some sort of trick.

  “That is the rule.” Her voice grew colder.

  “I make the rules now.” It felt good to say that.

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  Still staring at me, she flicked her hand out and grabbed one of the fireflies from the side of the jar.

  Still staring at me, she raised the struggling insect to her mouth.

  Still staring, she bit off the head of the firefly.

  I don’t know if she kept staring after that. I looked away. But I squeezed the jar, as if to make sure the glass was strong enough to keep her trapped. It was one of those jars people put homemade stuff in. The lady next door had this wormy old apple tree. Each year she made applesauce for the whole neighborhood. Every house got a jar, tied with a red ribbon. No one ever eats it. We just toss out the whole thing, or dump the sauce and keep the jar. The glass felt solid. It would hold her.

  I took the jar up to my room, being careful that nobody saw it. I put it on the top shelf in my closet.

  The next morning, I almost convinced myself none of it had happened. Almost. But the jar was there. And she was there. At first I thought she was dead. She was crumpled on the bottom again. Then, as I saw her let out a shallow breath, I realized she was sleeping—sleeping or in some sort of suspended state. Creature of the night. I don’t know where that phrase came from, but it ran through my head. I noticed something else. The bugs were gone—all three of them. Bon appetit.

  I shook the jar a bit, but she just slid around without waking. I could wait. She’d be up after dark. I was pretty sure of that. Somehow, some way, I was going to get a payoff from her.

  Sure enough, when I checked that night, she was awake, sitting on the bottom of the jar. “Good evening,” I said, speaking quietly so nobody would hear me talking in my room.

  “Set me free. I shall reward you
with wonders beyond your imagining.” She looked up at me and smiled. A chill ran down my spine.

  “Cut the babble and give me some details. What can you do?” I picked up the jar, holding the sides of the lid. Even protected by the glass, I didn’t want to put my fingers too close to her.

  “Whatever you wish.”

  I didn’t believe her. Promises were easy to make. “Show me.”

  “Free me first.”

  I shook my head. It was a standoff, but I was the one with the power. She was mine. She would give me something valuable. She had no choice. I owned her now. “Think about it,” I said, putting the jar back on the shelf. “Think of some way to buy your freedom. I’m sure you’ll come up with an idea.”

  She gave me that look again, and a flash of those teeth. I closed the closet door and left the room. The next day, we had the same conversation, and the same again on the day after. I wanted proof. She wanted freedom. But she was weakening. I could see that. I knew she had to give me a reward sooner or later. I could wait. I was in charge.

  On the fifth day, she agreed to my request. “I will transmute an object for you,” she said. Her voice was thinner, barely louder than a thought.

  “Transmute?”

  “I will change its form. Give me carbon. I will make a diamond.”

  “A diamond? That’s more like it.” I wondered for a moment how I was going to sell a diamond. But that problem could wait. Right now, I needed some carbon. That was easy enough. Charcoal for the grill, that was carbon. So was the graphite in pencils. So were diamonds. They were all just different forms of carbon. I couldn’t believe that something I learned in Mr. Chublie’s stupid science class was actually worth knowing. Live and learn. But I wasn’t about to try to stick a big hunk of charcoal in the jar. There was no way I was opening that lid, not even for a second. I wasn’t falling for any of her tricks. As I looked around the room, I saw the answer right next to me.

  I yanked out my desk drawer and hunted around the sides and corners. “Got it.” Perfect. I knew I had it in there—a whole pack of refills for my mechanical pencil. The best part was that they were thin enough to slip through the air-holes in the lid of the jar. I was planning to keep a nice, solid barrier between me and those teeth, thank you.

  She gathered the pieces of lead. “This will take some time.”

  “I can wait.”

  She sat staring at the slivers of carbon. I put the jar away for the night. In the morning, I rushed to the closet to see my first diamond. In my head, I’d already spent the money—a new bike, new sneakers, all the new video games. The guys were definitely going to envy me.

  But she wasn’t finished. The pieces of lead were still there, though they looked smaller and shinier than before. “It takes time,” she said.

  I would have to be patient.

  “It takes time,” she warned again that evening.

  I waited. On the fourth night, she was done. “Here.” She held up her hand. “Take this and set me free.”

  “What are you trying to pull?” I almost smashed the jar. There was nothing more than the tiniest sparkle in her tiny hand. She had made a miniature diamond chip. It was worthless. My dreams of wealth turned pale and vanished.

  “This is all I can give you. Take it and set me free. You made a bargain.”

  I was so disgusted, I just put the jar back in the closet and went to bed. Maybe I heard something that night. I can’t remember. I’m too scared to really remember. But I remember the morning. Every second is burned into my brain.

  I got up. I walked to the closet. The door was open about an inch. I’d thought I’d closed it. I opened it all the way and reached for the jar. My hand stopped. My breath stopped. My heart almost stopped. There was a hole in the side of the jar. There was a round piece of glass on the shelf next to the jar. She was gone.

  How? Then I knew. The diamond. She’d tricked me. She knew I wouldn’t take that tiny diamond. She also knew it could cut through the glass.

  She was free. Somewhere, she was sleeping. But night was coming. And she would wake. And she would come for me.

  I’m afraid to go to sleep tonight. I don’t think I will ever sleep again.

  THE TOUCH

  Laura thought a flea market would be fun. It sounded wonderful. “There’ll be all kinds of things to see,” her mom had said. “You’ll love it.”

  But it was just a bunch of junk—nothing but a lot of people sitting around in the hot sun trying to sell things that nobody wanted. It was boring. The buyers looked bored. The sellers looked bored. Even the stuff being sold looked bored. And every five seconds her mom would warn her “Don’t touch” or “Look with your eyes, not your hands, Laura.”

  Right. Like she really wanted to touch any of that junk. She’d have to wash her hands for a week to get them clean after putting her fingers on any of this stuff. Laura looked at the table in front of her. There was a box of moldy books—the same books everyone else was selling. There was another box with record albums. Records, Laura thought. Who in the world would want those ancient things? There was a ratty old doll with a stained dress and a chip missing from her cheek. Her hair was tangled and stiff. Yuk, Laura thought.

  “Mom, can we go now? Pleeeeeaaase.”

  “In a minute,” her mom muttered. She was studying an old butter dish like it was the lost treasure of ancient Egypt.

  Sure. Laura knew what “in a minute” meant. She was doomed. She searched the table again, desperately hoping to see something that would hold her interest for a moment or two. She glanced at the woman in the folding chair behind the table. She must have been ninety years old. She was sitting there, staring off to one side, paying no attention to the items she’d set out for sale.

  Laura shivered and looked back at the table. Dancing light sparkled in the sun as Laura moved her head. Her eyes were treated to a flash of red, followed by rainbow bursts. Laura gasped. Right in front of her, nearly lost among the rusty tools and cracked dishes and rotted magazines, was the most beautiful, unexpected treasure.

  Could it be? Laura stepped closer, pressing against the edge of the table. Her hand darted out, then stopped halfway. She glanced to the left. Her mom had put down the butter dish and was examining a tarnished fork. Laura gazed back toward the crystal horse. It was the most lovely thing she had ever seen. The sight brought back memories of a merry-go-round she had ridden long ago. Every detail was carved in this ornament—the flying mane, the ribbon-covered pole, the fancy saddle. Laura could almost hear the music and feel the rise and fall of the horse as they rode in circles on a summer day.

  She glanced around again. Her mom wasn’t looking. The old lady wasn’t looking. Laura had to touch that sparkling crystal treasure. It was calling her. She reached out to pick it up. She lifted it.

  She felt a snap.

  A leg broke. It fell with a small tinkle to the table. Laura froze. She waited for the shouting. There was nothing. The flea market buzzed on around her as if she hadn’t just destroyed the most beautiful jewel in the world. Trying not to attract attention, Laura lowered the crystal horse to the table. It started to fall as she put it down, tilting toward where the leg had been. She leaned it against the side of the doll with the chipped cheek.

  “Mom, can we go?”

  Her mother sighed. “All right, but don’t ask me to bring you here again.”

  No problem, Laura thought as she moved from the table. She hurried away, but a burning feeling in the back of her neck made her spin around. Behind her, the woman slowly turned her head toward Laura. She looked right at her. She looked right through her. The woman raised her left hand. She touched her left palm with her right forefinger. Laura watched, not understanding, wanting to explain that it wasn’t her fault.

  The woman flung her arms apart. Laura jumped. The woman laughed, then whispered several words.

  Laura’s fingers tingled. She glanced toward the horse. It wasn’t there. The woman’s laugh echoed in her head. Laura fled to her mom.r />
  That night, when she went to bed, Laura was sure she was going to have nightmares about the flea market. “Sweet dreams,” her mom said as she turned out the light. Laura waited until her mom left the room. Then, feeling just a bit childish, she rushed to her closet and hunted for Mister Hoppy. In the dim glow of the light from the hallway, she searched for the stuffed animal that she had slept with when she was little. It was silly, but she knew she needed Mister Hoppy tonight.

  “There you are,” she said when she spotted the stuffed rabbit with the bright blue eyes and floppy ears. As she picked it up, her hand tingled for a second.

  She had no dreams that night.

  When she woke the next morning, the flea market itself seemed almost a dream. Feeling foolish about her fears, Laura reached to put Mister Hoppy back in the closet.

  “What the … ?” She couldn’t find the bunny. It must have fallen to the floor. She looked. It wasn’t on the floor. It wasn’t under the bed or tangled in the sheets. It was just gone.

  It has to be here somewhere, Laura thought. She knew she’d find it later.

  Laura went down the stairs and into the kitchen. A wonderful smell greeted her. “Waffles,” she said when she saw what her mom was making. “My favorite.”

  “Just in time for breakfast, sleepyhead,” her mom said. “I was getting ready to wake you.”

  Laura grabbed a plate from the cabinet and went over to the counter. “There you go,” her mom said, lifting the hot, crispy treat out of the waffle iron. “By the way, I’m expecting an important call this morning, so don’t tie up the phone.”

  “Yes, Mom.” Laura carried her breakfast to the table. The waffle looked perfect. She could already imagine how fabulous it would taste. As she set the plate down, the waffle started to slide off. She stopped it with her free hand. There was a small tingle in her fingers. Laura let go of the plate and went to get the syrup.

  “My word,” her mom said. “You really wolfed that one down. You must have been starving. Would you like another?”

  “What?” Laura was puzzled by the question. She walked back across the room and looked down at her plate. It was empty.