WRITING SAMPLES

Crime Cats, Vol. 2
The Dusenbury Curse
Chapter 6: Olentangy Park

The voice called out again, this time so close it startled Jonas.

“Don’t move!” Orville shouted. “I’ve got you!”

Jonas blinked. He felt disoriented, like he was floating. He glanced around, but could not see Orville.

“Orville? What . . . what’s going on?” he called back.

“You’re going to be okay, buddy,” Orville grunted back. “Just do me a favor and don’t look down, okay?”

Jonas immediately looked down and saw a stony creek bed far below his feet. It looked frighteningly small from where he hung in the air. A second later, he felt himself being heaved backward to the edge of the cliff, where Orville had anchored himself to a tree with one arm, while he lowered Jonas to safety with the other.

“What’s gotten into you?” Orville panted as he released Jonas’s coat collar. “What’re you, trying to kill yourself?!”

Jonas looked around, bewildered. Nothing looked familiar. He didn’t even remember how he had reached this area of the park. “I don’t think so. I mean, no,” he said thickly.

“That’s a seventy-foot drop, or better,” Orville gasped. “If you start to fall, it’s impossible to stop yourself. I know because I fell down there.”

“You fell down there?” Jonas echoed, peering over the edge. “How are you still alive?” He turned to his friend who was backing away from the cliff’s edge, eyes fixed on the ground as he wrung his hands nervously.

“I don’t know,” Orville said after a long silence. “I got lucky, I guess.” He looked up and forced a weak smile. “I guess that makes two of us.” He straightened up and led Jonas back into the park. “Have you ever been back here before?” he asked.

“Uh . . .” Jonas stammered. Indeed he had, but he wasn’t sure if Orville would be angry if he found out. Jonas was pretty sure every kid in Clintonville had slipped through those rusty gates at one time or another to snoop around, but it was also a well-known fact that the park was a hangout for teenagers and young kids weren’t welcome. “Well, one time I was with some other kids and they . . .” he began sheepishly.

Orville broke into a fit of laughter. “Relax, Drumsticks, I’m not going to bust you out.” He slapped Jonas on the back. “I’m pretty sure just about every kid has sneaked back here at one time or another. It’s a neighborhood right of passage. Heck, I used to sneak back here — and my family owned it.”

Jonas’s eyebrows shot up. “Your family owns this place?”

Orville nodded. “Dr. Winslow Dusenbury inherited it from his father and now ownership has been passed down to me.” His eyes narrowed as he studied the ruins that stood half-hidden by the snow. “Believe it or not, this dump was a real amusement park at one time.”

Jonas gave Orville a sidelong glance. “Seriously?”

“No foolin’! And not just any old amusement park. Olentangy Park was the biggest amusement park in America!” Orville proclaimed.

“For real?!”

“For really real,” Orville answered with a proud nod. “My great-great-grandfather, Joseph W. Dusenbury, and his brother, Will, purchased this land, and the lot that that massive apartment complex sits on, way back in eighteen ninety-nine. Back then, it was a picnic garden called the Villa, but they renamed it Olentangy Park and erected a roller coaster call the Figure Eight. People came from all around to ride the Figure Eight, and the revenue allowed the Dusenbury boys to add all sorts of attractions: a Ferris wheel, a boathouse, a theater — and they even bought an entire Japanese garden at the nineteen hundred and four World’s Fair and brought it back. Heck! The Dusenbury’s built Columbus’s first zoo and the largest swimming pool in the country,” Orville said, pointing toward the apartment buildings.

“So what happened?” Jonas asked. “If the park had all of that sweet stuff, how come it closed?”

“The Great Depression,” Orville said. He smiled ruefully at the remains of his family’s legacy. “The brothers ran the park for almost forty years. That’s quite a run. Then everyone lost their jobs and no one had any money to go to an amusement park. Joe and Will were forced to lease the park to another pair of brothers.”

Orville’s phone rang. He fished it from his coat and squinted at the screen. His mouth contorted into a grimace and he shoved it back into his pocket without answering. “Ugh! Leave me alone, you vampires,” he grumbled. He turned back to Jonas and smiled. “Now, where was I?” he asked.

“Vampires?” Jonas offered.

Orville gave a doubtful look and waved the suggestion away. “That’s nothing,” he said with a sniff. He walked up to the huge, wooden cat head. “This was my favorite attraction at the park,” he announced as he rapped his knuckles on the weathered wood. “Of course, I never got to see it when it was operational, but it was my favorite hangout when I was a kid.”

“You mean, you used to actually go in there?!” Jonas asked.

Orville’s phone rang again. He sighed and pulled it out.

“You can get that, if you need to,” Jonas said, but Orville only shook his head and jammed the phone back into his coat.

“Anyway,” Orville continued, “the Scaredy-Cat was my favorite. You want to check it out?”

Jonas eyed the nighted void beyond the cat’s long wooden fangs. He would have expected anything that actually entered that gulf of nothingness to vanish from the Earth forever. “Uh . . .” he croaked, as he tried to think of a face-saving excuse as to why he would never — under any circumstances — step foot inside that cat’s mouth.

Orville only smiled. “You’re a smart guy, CB. I wouldn’t go in there for anything now.” He clutched his round belly with his hands and shook it. “I’d probably bust through the rickety floor and they would have to call for a tow truck to drag me out with a winch.”

Jonas relaxed and gave a nervous laugh.

The tour ended back at the ravine, where a shadow seemed to pass over Orville’s mood. He grew quiet and looked worried. “I’m in trouble, Jonas. I need your help,” he said solemnly. “I need you to help me find something. Will you help me?”

Orville’s grave demeanor took Jonas aback, but he said nothing. Jonas didn’t need to know what it was that Orville needed. Orville was Jonas’s friend and Jonas would do anything for his friend. He just nodded in agreement.

Crime Cats, Vol. 2
The Deadly Scarab
Chapter 9: Priceless

Jonas awoke tangled in his sheets but couldn’t bother wrestling himself free. He was too depressed. Instead, he just stared at the ceiling and thought about how much fun he had had with Sejal the night before, and how he would probably never talk to her again.

A fuzzy paw tapped his cheek. He wiped his eyes and looked over to find CatBob, purring on the bed beside him.

“Good morning, Jonas,” CatBob said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure Sejal’s mom hates me,” Jonas sniffed.

“Why do you say that?”

“She was really mad about the burglary and she kept looking at me all mean when she was talking to Sejal’s dad. She’s probably going to tell Sejal she can’t be my friend.”

CatBob placed his paws on Jonas’s chest and began kneading Jonas’s feathers. “Don’t be so sure. I think Sejal and her dad really like you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jonas asked as he wiped his nose.

“Sure. And I like the Hazaris,” the peachy feline purred. “Mrs. Hazari’s dinner was delicious!”

“Indeed it was!” Jonas turned to find Neil looming over him. “But you still haven’t told us exactly what happened last night.”

“I’m not really sure myself,” Jonas huffed. “I remember dreaming about a skull with blue fire shooting out of its eyes. It was saying things, then it started laughing, and the laugh was super-scary, and then I remember waking up out of breath.”

“How strange! That’s the same dream that woke me up,” the cyclopean feline said. “And what happened next?”

“Dr. Hazari was all freaked out. He was sweating and he had a golf club in his hand. He said the house had been robbed.” Jonas rolled out of bed and grabbed his overnight bag. “He said the ring had been stolen.”

“The ring you found?”

“Yeah. He said he would report it to the police, but . . .”

“But what?”

Jonas’s eyes widened as he drew his hand from the bag. The ancient beetle ring sat in his palm. “But it’s right here,” he whispered.

“How did it get in there?” Neil asked. “I thought Dr. Hazari said it had been stolen.”

“He told me he saw someone take it from his office and he chased the robber through the house before they escaped out the back door.” Jonas held it to the light to be sure. It was his ring, all right.

“Why didn’t you tell Dr. Hazari how you found it?” Neil asked.

“Yeah,” CatBob put in, “or that it’s yours and not your ‘rich friend’s?’”

“Because—” Jonas paused again and looked at the ring as he rolled it in his fingers. “I can’t tell.”

Jonas stumbled down to the kitchen, where his parents were huddled in front of the stove, talking in whispers. They stopped as soon he came in.

“Hey, Jonas! Do you want some pancakes?” his dad asked.

Jonas slumped into a chair at the table and nodded.

“And do you want to tell us what happened last night?” his mom asked.

Jonas heaved a deep sigh as tears sprang from his eyes. “Sejal and I sneaked CatBob and Neil over to Tallula’s so they could use the litter box.”

Mrs. Shurmann shook her head. “Without telling Sejal’s parents?”

“They wouldn’t have let us leave, even though Sejal’s mom forgot to buy a litter box,” Jonas explained. “CatBob and Neil had to go really bad, and Mrs. Hazari would have—”

Jonas’s mom rolled her eyes. “I can imagine.” She looked over at her husband, who was listening from the stove. “And you just went to Tallula's so the boys could use the litter box, that’s it?”

Jonas looked down at the table. “No,” he whispered. “We ate cookies and played SmashLord with Orville and Tallula.”

“You didn’t go out alone, did you?” his dad asked.

“No, Tallula took us across High Street.”

“So what was stolen?” Mr. Shurmann asked.

Jonas shrugged. “Something in Mr. Hazari’s gallery, I guess.”

CatBob and Neil looked up from their bowls and eyed Jonas suspiciously. He didn’t look at them.

“Well, I’m just glad you four are okay,” Mr. Shurmann said. “And I think it’s cute you have a little girlfriend.”

Jonas wiped his eyes. “Sejal’s not my girlfriend. She’s my friend.” He frowned and looked down at the empty table. “Or at least she was.”

His dad gave him a quizzical look. “What’s that mean?”

“I don’t think Sejal’s mom likes me,” Jonas admitted. “I think she thinks the burglary is all my fault. She probably won’t let Sejal be my friend anymore.”

Jonas’s parents exchanged looks.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Mr. Shurmann offered, but his smile was less than reassuring.

* * *

The Shurmanns didn’t allow the burglary or the dreary Ohio sky to ruin their Saturday plans. After breakfast, they washed up, piled into Mr. Shurmann’s car, and dropped CatBob and Neil off with their families. Then they headed downtown to COSI.

For years, Jonas could never remember what COSI stood for, so it had become a tradition to recite the answer to his long-standing question along with his mom every time they went.

“COSI is an acronym,” they said in unison. “That means each letter in the name is an initial letter for a word. COSI stands for Center of Science and Industry.”

Jonas marveled at the giant signs that hung on the side of the building as they pulled into the parking lot. They showed an ancient Egyptian sarcophagus with the words, THE TREASURE OF KING TUT, emblazoned across the top.

Jonas rattled off facts about mummies as they climbed the stairs to the entrance. Once inside, he immediately ran to the ticket booth and asked the man behind the glass if the exhibit featured any cat mummies. The man shrugged and asked, “Two adults and one child?”

Jonas was practically ready to burst by the time he reached the main exhibition hall. He stood, awestruck at the giant statues of Anubis, the jackal-headed god, that flanked the entrance to the exhibit.

“Wow!” he breathed. “Those are huge.”

“Yep, because those are just props,” his dad whispered with a smile. “Come on. Let’s go see the real loot.”

Jonas spent the next hour silently taking in each exhibit. He was so quiet that his mom kept asking if he was okay.

Jonas was fine. He was contemplating each item to see if it could provide him with clues as to what King Tut was like as a person. The museum had all of the treasures the boy-king was buried with, and the placards at each exhibit provided tons of information about how the stuff was made, but nothing about what Tut himself was like. Jonas only knew that Tut was only eighteen years old when he died.

He would have been old enough to have been driving for only two years if he were living today, Jonas thought.

It was then that they came to the artifact Jonas found most fascinating: King Tut’s death mask. The mask had been placed on Tut’s mummy when he was entombed. It was carved from wood and plated in real gold, and depicted the king wearing a gold-and-blue-striped head cloth that draped down past his shoulders. The head of a vulture, and one of a cobra, curved upward from the headband just above his brow. And according to the mask, Tut wore a very long, braided beard on his chin. The funerary mask was featured on most of the posters and banners promoting the exhibit.

“Is that really what he looked like?” Jonas asked a curator who was standing nearby.

The woman smiled and nodded. “He didn’t always wear the nemes — that’s what his headdress is called — and beard, but, yes, that’s what he looked like. The mask was placed on the Pharaoh so his body would be recognized after death.”

“Did he wear makeup on his eyes like that?”

“He did,” the woman answered. “The makeup protected his eyes from the glare of the desert sun, just like the eye black that modern day football players wear.”

Jonas stared at the sculpture. Tut’s features looked soft and round. The face didn’t look like it belonged to a mean person.

“I bet he was a good guy,” Jonas said thoughtfully. He reached into his pocket and felt the ring.

The curator smiled. “I bet he was too.”

After a few moments of reflection, Jonas turned to the woman and spoke again. “Did you know that a man and a woman from Clintonville were the first two Americans to enter King Tut’s crypt? They were there when it was opened. Their name was Aldrich.”

The woman smiled down at Jonas. “Actually, I did know that. In fact, we have a new traveling skeleton exhibit that will tour Ohio schools that was donated by Edgar Aldrich’s family.”

“Yeah, it’s at my school right now!” Jonas said. “I go to George Clinton Elementary.”

“That was the school Edgar Aldrich attended. You guys will be the first to see it.”

Jonas nodded and then squinted up at the woman. “So how much is this stuff worth?” he asked.

The curator gave Jonas a quizzical look.

“Like, something small. Like a ring,” Jonas added. “How much would one of King Tut’s rings be worth?”

Mr. Shurmann furrowed his brows. “Are you thinking of opening a pawn shop, bud?”

The curator chuckled. “You can’t put a price on any of it because of the historical significance of these items. Because they belonged to King Tut, they are priceless.”

Jonas gripped the ring in his fist. “Priceless,” he muttered to himself.

When they had finished with the Tut exhibit, Jonas dragged his parents to the planetarium. That was Jonas’s favorite attraction at COSI. He loved to pretend that he was an astronaut — Major Shurmann of the Earth Federation Expeditionary Force — and that the projection on the planetarium’s domed ceiling was his view from his spaceship’s cockpit.

After the planetarium, Jonas insisted on ducking into the gift shop, where he found the book Dr. Hazari had shown him of King Tut’s treasure; written by Howard Carter, the man who led the expedition to find the tomb.

“Look at that, bud,” his dad said as he thumbed through the book. “This might come in handy for your report, huh?”

Jonas nodded.

“But, oh, look — bad news! There are only a few rings,” Mr. Shurmann announced. “Not enough to open a pawn shop.” He held out the book for Jonas to see.

It was true. There were only a few rings found in the crypt and none of them looked like Jonas’s ring.

“I guess you’ll just have to open a sarcophagus wash instead.”

Jonas blinked.

“You know, like a car wash,” his dad explained, “except you wash sarcophagi instead— Oh, forget it.”

Jonas rolled his eyes and shook his head. Another lame dad joke.

By the time the Shurmanns sat down to eat, Jonas was lost in his thoughts once again. He was both relieved and disappointed to learn that the ring wasn’t from King Tut’s crypt.

The idea of owning a ring that had belonged to King Tut was exciting because it would have given him a personal connection to the boy-king. But on the other hand, he was relieved to know the curse of the pharaohs wasn’t attached to it. However, he still wondered from where the ring had come. Dr. Hazari seemed to think it was something special and Jonas did too. He was sure of it. He could feel it in his fingers every time he touched it.

Too Scary to Read Alone
Whisperer in the Walls
Part V

Brick was in the kitchen when Eli arrived home from school that afternoon. His little brother was seated at the table, happily devouring half of a bologna and mustard sandwich. The other half sat on a plate in front of the empty chair beside him. Eli eyed the plate and asked if the other half was for Howard, although he knew the answer even before his brother nodded his head.

Eli rolled his eyes.

“Howard is so cool. He tells awesome stories,” Brick said.

Anger burned through Eli’s limbs. His right eye twitched. “Are the stories about things that happened here, in this house?” he asked.

Brick nodded again. “Howard has lived here for over eighty years and seen a lot of crazy stuff. Things most people would never believe, but I believe him.”

Eli didn’t want to ask the next question but felt he had to. “Was that Howard’s voice that I heard in the hallway upstairs this morning?”

Brick burst into a fit of maniacal laughter.

Eli scowled. The sight of his brother’s tiny, lunch meat-caked teeth disgusted him. Brick looked like a gleeful, pot-bellied goblin.

“Yep,” the goblin answered. “Howard loves to scare people. That’s what he loves most.”

Eli found Brick’s happiness vile and mocking. His wicked exuberance stoked Eli’s anger to a boiling rage.

“I’m going to tell Mom everything!” Eli barked. “About your dumb imaginary friend, your weird drawings, about how this house is gross and old, and how we need to move. I’ll convince her to leave and maybe this old, creepy-ass place will get knocked down with Howard in it!”

“You better not say a word to Mom!” Brick snapped. “You’re just jealous that I have a friend. I wanted to do stuff with you and your dumb friends, but you always ignored me or said I was too little. Now you’re just being a big, jealous baby because Howard scared you.” Then Brick lowered his voice and a mirthless grin stretched across his dirty, freckled cheeks. “You’ll find out what scared really means if you try to take Howard’s best friend away,” he said.

A vague fear suddenly cooled Eli’s anger. “You spend all of your time sitting in your room talking to the walls like a crazy person,” he shot back.

“You’re lucky that Howard is here to keep the nightgaunts away,” Brick replied with an arrogant smirk.

“There are no such things as nightgaunts!” Eli stepped forward and snatched Howard’s half-sandwich from the plate. “I’m going to tell the nurse at your school about all of this, and she’s going to have you put in a hospital for crazy people! Then you won’t have your stupid imaginary friend anymore. And no one will listen to your dumb crap about nightgaunts, either!”

Eli spiked the sandwich onto the filth-streaked linoleum floor.

“That was Howard’s sandwich!” Brick screeched.

Eli squinted his face in a mocking pantomime as he stomped out of the kitchen.

“At least Howard does stuff with me!” Brick yelled after him. “At least he pays attention! I hate you — you and all of your stupid friends!

Eli ambushed his mother the moment she arrived home from work that evening and unleashed a dizzying onslaught about Brick’s strange behavior. But Mrs. Kitzmiller’s long workday had left her frazzled, exhausted, and short on attention. It usually did. She simply could not afford both the energy to keep a roof over her family’s head and the wealth of patience that being a mother demanded.

She endured the assault of her son’s wide-eyed ravings as long as she could, before her patience was spent and she had to snap at him to leave her alone. Eli was left with no choice. He did as he was told.

Brick leered from behind his bedroom door, watching Eli’s defeated march back to his room with satisfaction. He didn’t speak. His malevolent glare communicated all that Eli needed to know.