Look, it's not as if I go prancing about and bragging that my brother is the Pumpkin King. People would think I'm insane. But hey, not everything is perfect.
Chapter:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
Chapter one-The surprise
If you’re anything like me and you’re given the option of either going to a one-week sport camp or staying one week at your grandma’s house, the answer is rather easy: Grandma’s. I’m not good at sports of any kind.
My mom’s old car rambled down the road two summers ago, in the middle of July, where our story takes place.
My name’s Melody. Melody N. Kessler. The N. stands for Natalie, but mom calls me Nightshade for some unknown reason. My skin’s the color of a peach, and my hair’s the color of rich dark chocolate, except for one streak that’s near my left eye: It’s blue. My eyes are a not-so-great brown. I recently painted my fingernails red. It was a hot day today, so I put on a normal outfit: Jean skirt, black sneakers, gray long-sleeved shirt with a kangaroo pocket.
Mom glanced back at me. “Now, be good with Grandma Clara Starr. Listen to her stories. Eat her cooking (Not hard, grandma’s a great cook).”
“Mom, I know. You’ve told me a thousand times!” I was skimming through James and the Giant Peach for about the tenth time that car trip.
Grandma’s last name isn’t even Starr. It’s Kessler, like my mom’s and mine. I don’t have a dad, mom divorced my old one after my brother died five years before I was born. Everyone just calls her Grandma Starr, or just Grandma.
Grandma has this weird habit of sitting on her porch and telling made-up stories to herself. Sometimes little kids come and listen. Sometimes I listen. But I don’t listen much ever since she told this one story I didn’t quite believe like I could with the other ones. I don’t even remember the full story, just one part near the end:
“And in the graveyard crashed the coffin and trash can, fashioned in the style of a sleigh. Scattered around the whole place were the presents, the presents you’d rather not get.”
Mom looked at me again. “Are you daydreaming again?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, just thinking about black and white roses.”
“I know when you’re making stuff up. What are you really thinking about?”
“Fine. I was thinking about that story Grandma told once. The one about the coffin and trash can in the style of a sleigh?”
Mom looked nervous. “Um, Nightshade, you shouldn’t be worrying about that story. It’s not important.”
We drove on in silence for a while. I opened my black suitcase and carefully removed an old black notebook. I kept drawings of my dreams in it, but I was having the same dream lately. It wasn’t much of a dream, just a skeleton in a pinstripe suit next to another skeleton in a matching dress that looked exactly like me, blue streak in hair and all.
I flipped through the pages and noticed I had turned my right hand to the left. This means my birthmark was rather clear, and I couldn’t deny it: It was pumpkin-shaped. It only looked like a pumpkin when you turned my hand to the left, though.
“Mom, do you know-”
“No, I don’t, and I intend on keeping it that way!”
I looked confused. “What?”
“I’m sorry, I’m just so high-strung today. Ugh, if Clara is going to do this to me, then, well, I won’t say it.”
“What?” I repeated.
“It’s nothing.” Mom shook her head quickly as we pulled up into grandma’s driveway.
Grandma lives in an old, faded house with a wrap-around porch. He house has the strangest placement, it’s right by the local graveyard.
Mom stepped out first and I followed close behind. I was glancing around. There was Katrina Timeturner. She was waving to me and calling, “They’re coming! Just in a few days, like they said!”
Katrina used to be a perfectionist. She used to have everything she did be perfect, or she wasn’t happy. But lately, she’s been all hyper and constantly says her unnamed friends are going to take her on a monthly visit to somewhere.
I waved half-heartedly and noticed grandma and mom where whispering. “It’s not the time, mom. She can’t know.” Mom murmured.
“You don’t want your own daughter-my granddaughter-to know where she will end up?” Grandma whispered.
“I want her to know, yes. I just don’t want her to know in such a straightforward way.”
“Well, I won’t be blunt, Isadora. You can count on that.”
I blinked. No one called mom ‘Isadora’ unless they meant serious business.
Mom hesitated. “Well, I-mom, I-well, I’m not going to stay if you tell her now.”
“So be it. But please, Isadora, don’t blame me for her own placement in-well, you know where.”
Mom turned and faced me. “Mel, go get your suitcase. I’m leaving.”
“I already have it.” I said, motioning to my black suitcase.
“Good. Goodbye, Mel. And mom-well, I guess I can’t stop you.” Mom sighed and got back into the car. She drove off quickly, and I couldn’t shake the feeling she was hiding something.
Grandma stared at the spot where Mom was, then looked up at me. “Melody, child, please go inside. I made cinnamon rolls and lemonade, and I need to tell you something.”
Well, I wasn’t about to turn down that offer. Grandma never made cinnamon rolls and lemonade! Today must be special.
I walked into the house through the Mediterranean-blue stained glass doorway. Kicking off my shoes, I flopped onto the faded leather couch and set my suitcase on the ground next to me.
Grandma walked in a minute later and dipped into the kitchen. She emerged two minutes later, holding a tray of cinnamon rolls and glass of lemonade with a little tropical umbrella in it. She set it on the oak coffee table. “Melody,” She began.
I picked up a roll. Yum, it was still warm. “Mmm-hmm?”
“Well, has your mother told you about your brother?”
I nodded and swallowed. “He died in a fatal car crash and five years later, I was born.”
“Well, yes. Do you even know his name?”
I shook my head and sipped my lemonade.
“His name was Jack.”
“Yeah, so?”
“To say it quickly, he’s still alive.”
“He faked his death?” I sputtered, jumping up suddenly.
Grandma laughed. “No, no, no. He did die, I promise you that.”
I sat back down. “Then what do you mean?”
Grandma hesitated. “Put your shoes on. I’ll have to show you.”
I shrugged inwardly and put my sneakers on again. “Okay, done. Now what?”
“Walk outside.”
I opened the door again and walked out, but grandma was two steps in front of me. She beckoned me and walked into the graveyard. I followed close behind.
She stepped up to the large angel holding a opened book in the center. She felt around and thrust open the base, revealing a secret passageway. “Go in and don’t stop crawling until you find the exit.”
“Are you insane?” I exclaimed.
“Just do it.”
I shrugged inwardly again and crawled in. It was a dark and rather murky tunnel, but I survived.
At one point, my head banged into something. I pushed it, and it opened. It was the exit, obviously. I walked out.
It was just another graveyard. I was about to turn around and ask the point of that when I saw a figure silhouetted on a hill. I ran up to him. He turned around.
I gasped: He was a skeleton.
