1. Keep That Spunk, Kid
Kerry
The first day of fourth grade started out great.
I spent breakfast catching up with all my buddies, scored Mr. Herron for homeroomandEnglish, and found out that my best friend and neighbor, Zan, was in all of my classes.
The only dark spot on the day came at lunch recess when Austin teased the new girl. I never could stand to see someone hassling someone else, but I especially hated to see a boy pick on a girl. Ididget to straighten him out, though, and that put me back in a good mood.
When the day ended with no homework, I whooped with the rest of my boys and headed to the bus with Zan.
“Want to come over before supper and play the Box?” he asked as we slid into our usual seat.
“Hafta clear it with Mom first, but sure.”
Then we bragged how bad we were gonna beat up on each other until the bus reached our stop.
“Bye, Mr. Burns!” we hollered and all but fell down the steps in our hurry to get to the best part of the day.
“See you tomorrow, boys.”
Mr. Burns waited until we were in place at the end of our front walks.
“You can’t win against me, Zan.” I grinned and sank into sprint position. “You never have and you never will.”
“You may be taller, but I’m faster.”
“Ready?” Mr. Burns called.
“Ready!”
When he tooted the bus horn, me and Zan took off, flying toward our front porches. I didn’t dare use my power in public. None of them could see it, but they for sure woulda noticed if I was moving faster than a human possibly could.
“Ha!” I slammed my hand onto my front door.
Seconds later, I heard the same thump from his door.
“Beat you again!” I yelled.
“Aw, I let you win!” Zan stuck his tongue out at me. “Had to because I feel sorry for how bad I’m going to kick your butt on the Box.”
“You wish,” I sneered. “I’ll be right over.”
“See you.”
Reaching for the door knob, my nine-year-old self was too absorbed in my own world to pick up on any warning signs.
The silence, for example. Mom always had wind chimes tinkling and music playing somewhere, but it was dead quiet.
Same with the stillness. As I hustled through the front door, I found the TV frozen on Tom Holland’s face. The vanilla candle on the coffee table didn’t gutter like it always did when I opened the door. Hatchet, my dog, didn’t race over to me, and I couldn’t see or hear him anywhere.
Only when I closed the front door did everything come alive. The TV burst into sound, the candle went out, and Hatchet bawled his head off in the backyard. Dull, fleshy thuds came from the kitchen and screams—high-pitched, broken, neverending screams—went through my brain like an ice pick.
No one but me knows everything that happened after I burst through the kitchen door, and all Iwantanyone else to know is that an evil man tortured my mom until I agreed to accept a demon into my soul.
I didn’t hesitate to say yes.
No, wait. That’s not true. I tried to kill him first. He blocked my power, though, as easily as I had outrun Zan. So what else could I do but let the demon in?
