Hang on for an incredible ride with Gavin Goodfellow, his friends and enemies, and the mystery of Burnt Swamp. Candy Abbott has written The Lure of Burnt Swamp as the first in a trilogy of mysterious and adventurous stories for kids 11 and up. Along with the amazing adventures of Gavin, kids reading these books will learn about putting on spiritual armor to stand against evil in all its forms. A great read for kids, teachers, and parents alike.
Gwen Ellis
Owner of Seaside Creative Services
Author of Read and Share Bible
Former Acquisitions Edititor for Zonderkidz
Gavin Goodfellow: The Lure of Burnt Swamp is an exciting, smoothly-written tale of spiritual warfare with wonderfully drawn, engaging characters and beautifully crafted descriptive passages. The richly detailed story contains multiple examples of Christianity and the occult. The plot moves swiftly, alternating between suspense, humor, and stark terror. While the evil is ferocious and real, there’s always the sense that “God wins.”
Rosemarie DiCristo
Sept. 2007 issue of Christian Library Journal
I am pleased to recommend the book Gavin Goodfellow: The Lure of Burnt Swamp for use in the classroom: private, public or home. In my position as administrator of a private Christian school, it is critical when looking for new curriculum to not only find work that is interesting and engaging for the student but excellent in presentation and intentional in its ability to align with standards that meet core curriculum expectations. Gavin does all these things and more.
Ivy Bonk
School Administrator, Epworth Christian School, Laurel, DE
If her purpose was to counterbalance the influence on our children of the over-abundance of literature that ignores or insults our Creator by presenting a book that exalts godly values, then Candy Abbott has succeeded. The added bonus is that Gavin Goodfellow is a captivating and delightful read for our youth as well as the child in each of us.
Bob and Lina Nickle
Chadds Ford, PA
This book was soooo awesome! I can’t wait for the next one. Gavin has topped all the other books I’ve been reading lately, and now I’m bored with the ones I have. I want more Gavin.
Hadassah Goldsberry Sophomore at Calvary Christian Academy, Dover, DE
GAVIN GOODFELLOW
THE LURE OF BURNT SWAMP
Copyright © 2007 Candace F. Abbott
Second Printing, revised, March 2008
ISBN 978-1-886068-03-2 Soft Cover
ISBN 978-1-886068-02-5 Limited Edition Hardback
ISBN 978-1-886068-04-9 Interactive Journal
ISBN ISBN 978-1-886068-76-6 eBook
Library of Congress Control Number: 2006911216
Fiction · Fantasy · Faith · Religious and Inspirational · Young Adult
Published by Fruitbearer Publishing, L.L.C.
P.O. Box 777, Georgetown, DE 19947
(302) 856-6649 · FAX (302) 856-7742
www.fruitbearer.com
Graphic design by Candy Abbott
Editorial Team: Diane Cook, Managing Editor;
Marlene Bagnull, Litt.D.; Joyce Moccero; Linda Windsor
TOLL FREE ORDERS: 1-800-247-6553
www.AtlasBooks.com
www.GavinGoodfellow.com
Companion Curriculum Available:
Interactive Journal (student workbook)
Literature Guide (lesson plans for middle school teachers)
Scripture is taken from:
The Message (MSG), copyright © 1993, used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group.
The King James Version of the Holy Bible (KJV), public domain.
The HOLY BIBLE NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION (NIV), Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Bible Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher or author, except as provided by USA copyright law.
Printed in the United States of America
For Natalie and Trevor,
Kade and Saige
Godly grandchildren—praise the Lord!
Reader, Be Warned!
You are about to engage in genuine
spiritual warfare.
Keep a cool head.
Stay alert.
The Devil is poised to pounce,
and would like nothing better
than to catch you napping.
Keep your guard up.
1 Peter 5:8 (The Message)
Preface • The Daily Encounter: Burnt Swamp in the News!
Chapter One | • Dumbfounded |
Chapter Two | • Sneak Peek |
Chapter Three | • Shifting Paths |
Chapter Four | • Staking Claim |
Chapter Five | • Forbidden Lodge |
Chapter Six | • Settlement |
Chapter Seven | • Caught! |
Chapter Eight | • Warnard Elijah Stokes |
Chapter Nine | • Police Station |
Chapter Ten | • Rationalizing |
Chapter Eleven | • Fire in the Soul |
Chapter Twelve | • Bummer of a Summer |
Chapter Thirteen | • Burnt Swamp Curse |
Chapter Fourteen | • Confidant |
Chapter Fifteen | • Beware: Bea Daark |
Chapter Sixteen | • Nemesis or Partner? |
Chapter Seventeen | • Speak Up! |
Chapter Eighteen | • Clyccan |
Chapter Nineteen | • Enchanted |
Chapter Twenty | • Widow Woebe’s Summons |
Chapter Twenty-One | • Clandestine Closet |
Chapter Twenty-Two | • Bea’s Platform |
Chapter Twenty-Three | • Infiltrators |
Chapter Twenty-Four | • Mysterious Old Book |
Chapter Twenty-Five | • Nailed |
Chapter Twenty-Six | • Quicksand and Brimstone |
Chapter Twenty-Seven | • Ours at Last! |
Chapter Twenty-Eight | • White Lies |
Chapter Twenty-Nine | • Kidnapped |
Chapter Thirty | • The “Aha!” Factor |
Chapter Thirty-One | • The Anointing |
Chapter Thirty-Two | • Daark Doings |
Chapter Thirty-Three | • Battle-Ready |
Chapter Thirty-Four | • For Such a Time as This |
Chapter Thirty-Five | • Showdown at the Lodge |
Chapter Thirty-Six | • Power Struggle |
Get Gavinized! | |
Special Thanks | |
About the Author |
Page 4A • The Daily Encounter • July 7, 2007
Forces of evil or natural disaster?
Fire remains mystery after ten years
By Di Cook
Senior Staff Reporter
dcook@thedailyencounter.com
ASHBORO – The ultimate fireworks display, triggered by a freak fire that assaulted Burnt Swamp nearly ten years ago, continues to baffle state environmentalists. No Fourth of July man-made fireworks can compare to the mysterious Halloween blaze that still smolders and flares in a swamp east of the town limits of this Eastern Shore community.
The four-alarmer struck just before midnight on October 31, 1997, bringing volunteer firefighters from the neighboring communities of Trevorton, Natsville, Kade’s Cove, and Saigebury to fight the inferno. Twelve men were injured, one critically, as they struggled to bring the flames under control.
“This is the most unusual fire we’ve encountered in my lifetime,” says Wesley Wyatt, assistant state fire marshal. “Even now, it shows no sign of burning itself out. The state has invested more time and money than we can justify, so we’re putting it on the back burner—no pun intended.”
Though there is no evidence of arson, Wyatt says he believes mischief makers started the blaze, but local residents don’t agree. Some attribute it to a freak storm they say appeared out of nowhere and hovered over the cypress swamp. Officials from the National Weather Service at Mount Holly, NJ, say that no storm appeared on their radar that night.
Warnard Elijah Stokes, 84, who lives in the swamp, says the fires are evil. “Them fools at the weather service don’t know what they’re talkin’ about. I saw them lightnin’ bolts myself, and they weren’t from no trick-or-treaters. They came straight from the talons of them fallen angels that were cast out of heaven. You can scoff about ghosts and goblins if ya want, but I know evil when I see it. And that was pure evil, clean through.”
When asked to confirm a rumor that he inherited a diary that holds the key to extinguishing the current blaze where modern technology has failed, Stokes refused to comment.
According to Ashboro mayor Bruce Goodfellow, “Stokes is an eccentric with no clear grasp of reality.” Right or wrong, the good people of Ashboro still clean Burnt Swamp’s debris off their porches and sidewalks every day, endure the slight “rotten egg” odor, and have grown accustomed to a perpetual cloudy haze that blocks the afternoon sun.
“We can live with a little inconvenience,” Goodfellow says. “After all, no place on earth is perfect.”
“Dragon breath!” Gavin wrinkled his nose at the smoke that hung above the woods.
“Who you calling dragon breath?” Eric frowned. “I’ve been brushing. See?” He pulled his lips back and bared his teeth so the wire of his silver retainer glinted.
“Not your breath, Eric—Burnt Swamp. I’ve been trying to figure out what it smells like.”
“Dragon breath, hmm?” Molly twirled the walnut-brown curls at the end of her waist-length braid. “I like that.” She dug into her backpack for her ever-ready notebook.
Gavin watched the smoke’s feelers slither up the path as it had for ten of his twelve years. But today the wispy tongues flicked at him and his cousins as if to say, Back off. The road to Uncle Warney’s is off-limits.
“Why would you want to describe swamp stink anyway?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “A su u-u-mmer scho-o-o-l assignment from Woebe?”
“That’s not funny.” Gavin’s good mood faded. His cousin’s summer school dig expanded the gap between them that labeled Gavin a dunce. What’s the deal? Eric used to be my best buddy. Now he’s Mr. Cooler-Than-You-Could-Ever-Hope-To-Be.
“Why can’t you be more like Eric? Sometimes he feels more like my son than you.” His dad’s words at breakfast struck a bitter chord in Gavin’s tender heart. He was tired of competing with his not-so-perfect cousin.
“You want funny? How about this?” Molly assumed her favorite radio announcer voice and pinched her nose so hard it looked like her freckles would pop off. “Burnt Swamp smells like a fireplace burning cheap cigars and Billy Bragg’s sneakers.”
“The ones that got soaked when the boys’ toilets overflowed.” Gavin chuckled. At least she got them off the subject of summer school. He didn’t feel like discussing his reading problems today. Or ever.
“Good one, Molly!” Eric slapped his sister on the back. “Billy Bragg’s sneakers are smellier than dragon’s breath any day.”
Gavin smiled to see Molly and Eric goofing around together. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like they were a “family.”
No one would guess those two were twins. They’d been at odds with each other for two years and didn’t even live in the same house! Molly was so upset when her dad remarried, she begged her stepfather to adopt her. Since they had different last names, Eric told Gavin it was easier to forget they were brother and sister. Gavin thought they were both being stupid.
“Maybe dragon’s breath doesn’t smell so bad, after all.” Gavin grinned, trying to keep the happy momentum going. He raked his fingers through his hair, pushing back stubborn red locks that tickled his eyebrows.
“You know what else is funny?” A puzzled expression clouded Molly’s face. “The ground seems spongy. And it feels like we’re going in the wrong direction. Shouldn’t we be closer to the edge of the swamp by now?”
Eric kicked a twig that would be cinder by nightfall. “Nah, you’ve just lost your bearings.” With that, he slipped, slid into an awkward sprawl, then straightened up. “Good save, if I do say so myself.” He flexed his muscles and grinned. “When you’re a jock, you’re a jock.”
“Shouldn’t a jock know how to walk without tripping?” Molly punched him in the arm.
Eric scowled back at the twig. “Harrumpf. First the ground turns to spongy moss and trips me up, and then you try to push me down.”
Gavin offered a humorless laugh, but his gut continued to churn. Yeah. Eric’s turned into a jock—or is it a jerk? And Molly’s got brains. What have I got to show for my stinking life? Summer school. The oppressive guilt weighed him down, agitating him more than ever. And the ground did seem weird and spongy. There were no chattering birds or scampering squirrels in this place—only the mournful sound of a hoot owl.
“Hoo-hoo, hoo-WAAAHH, hoo-WAAAHHH.”
As the threesome rounded a bend, heading deeper into the woods, the underbrush seized Gavin’s ankle. Eeeee-rie! If Gavin didn’t know better, he’d think the scraggly forest wanted him to feel alone and friendless.
With his next step, a dark-green patch of moss gave way beneath his sneaker. Dropping to one knee, Gavin pushed with his hands on ground that felt squishy and warm, then shoved himself upright and took a deep breath. Big mistake. The air smelled of spores, and the smoke made him gag as though a hand grabbed him by the throat.
A sudden, prickly sensation numbed his arms and legs. When the feeling reached his brain, he grew light-headed, and his ears rang. Gavin closed his eyes. A thousand pinpoints of white light sparkled, spun, and swirled, then disappeared into a pitch-black vortex. A strange thought rippled through his fear. Round and round they go; where they stop nobody knows.
As soon as the stars vanished, the vortex unleashed a hot, moist, hideous odor. Gavin opened his eyes and stared into—the yawning jaws of a dragon! Gooey drool stretched like rubber bands between razor sharp teeth and dripped from nostrils at the end of a long, bony-crested snout.
Gavin screamed, or at least he thought he did, but he couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice. In what seemed like slow motion, the dragon disappeared. What was that? This is too weird.
Blinking his eyes open, Gavin caught a glimpse of Molly and Eric’s alarmed faces before again closing his eyes and doubling over.
So this must be what it feels like to faint … or die.
Gavin caught his breath. But instead of fear, he felt wrapped in something so safe he thought it must be his down feather sleeping bag. Reaching out for it, his arms touched only air. His body felt buoyant. Flashing his eyes open, all security vanished. One huge, purple dragon eye glared at him … then the monstrous head slowly vanished, as before.
It was a dragon, wasn’t it? Couldn’t be. The Burnt Swamp dragon was only a legend.
Where am I? What day is this? He tried to picture the kitchen wall calendar and decided it must be Wednesday. July. Yeah, July 20th. The 20th? Oh, no! I’m supposed to be getting a haircut! Dad’s going to kill me—if something else doesn’t get me first.
“Molly? Eric?” Silence.
Gavin was alone in the mist. In all the years the swamp had been burning, it had never looked like this. Gavin had stepped into a land of fog, glittering with flashes of white light.
He could see through everything, including the human figure that glided toward him. Gavin swallowed hard, taking in the man’s features. It looked like his great-uncle Warney. As the image floated closer, Gavin decided this was definitely not another daydream.
The man had the same unnaturally straight posture, the same sincere smile, even the same gnarled wooden cane and bald head as his great-uncle.
“Uncle Warney?” Gavin coaxed out a whisper that echoed in reverse with each syllable getting louder than the first before cresting and fading into the mist.
“Yep, Gavin, it’s me, all right.” Warney’s ghost-like lips moved, while his hazel eyes stared straight through Gavin.
“If you’re Uncle Warney,” Gavin’s insides writhed, “then what’s with the robes?” Shouldn’t he be wearing his worn-out jeans and faded T-shirt?
Warney chuckled. “Robes? You’re one to be talkin’ what with your wearin’ the same striped shirt three days in a row.”
Only the real Uncle Warney could come back at him like that. “But how can you be here? You’re supposed to be in your shack—I mean your house. Molly and Eric and I are—” Gavin swiveled around— “I mean were on our way to see you. Where in the world are we, anyway?”
Gavin felt the old man peer into his soul, drawing him into the unthinkable.
“Did I … die? Did you die? Did we die together? Is this heaven?”
Uncle Warney’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Nah, ya didn’t die. I didn’t die. Not yet, anyway. Yer havin’ a vision.”
“A vision? You mean I’m … No! I don’t have visions. Maybe daydreams, but they never talk back. No! Visions are too weird. People think I’m stupid now. If they see me having visions …” Gavin’s knees buckled. “No! I can’t have visions.”
“T’aint yer choice, Gavin. At least not yet, anyways. God has some revelatin’ he wants to do, so pay attention.” The moment Uncle Warney spoke of God, he glowed brighter.
“G-G-God?” Tears pooled in Gavin’s eyes as he slowly turned around in this ethereal realm, searching the swirling mist for a hint of Molly or Eric or anything normal. Completing his circle, his eyes again rested on Uncle Warney who stood there, but was not there—seen, but unseen. Gavin reached out. His hand passed right through the old man’s belly.
Ohmigosh! Gavin jumped back.
“Whoa thar, young feller. Some things are fer touchin’, some not.”
His uncle’s nearness made Gavin feel almost at home and, for an instant, he longed to feel the roughness of the old man’s unshaven face upon his cheek.
Uncle Warney opened his fist and revealed an object about the size of a Fig Newton. On closer inspection, Gavin could see that it wasn’t a square cookie at all but a book. Bound with cracked leather straps, the miniature object looked even more ancient than its owner.
When Uncle Warney moved closer to Gavin, a whiff of the book’s musty smell assaulted his nose.
“Phew! What is that? It stinks.”
Uncle Warney didn’t answer. Instead, in slow motion, he placed his bony hand on Gavin’s shoulder.
Gavin jumped back. “How’d you do that? How come I can’t touch you but you can touch me?”
Again, no answer. Whatever that thing was, Uncle Warney handled it with deep reverence. Maybe it was a shrunk-up version of the New Testaments that preachers handed out on the streets.
The old man stepped closer. “Here, Gavin. Eat.”
“Eat what? That?” Gavin gagged at the thought. “No way! I can’t eat a book, especially not that grubby-looking thing!”
“It’s no worse than them textbooks ya nibble on.” Warney raised an eyebrow.
How could Uncle Warney know that? “Yeah, but I only do that when I’m nervous. Besides, it’s just the corners. And that’s chewing, not swallowing whole books.”
Warney nodded toward the book. “Have it yer way.”
“My way? Well then, my way is no way.”
“Hear me, Gavin.” The old man spoke with authority. “This private meetin’s fer yer good and fer the good o’ others. God wants ya to eat this book. It don’t come from me but from the Holy One.” He seemed to glow even brighter than before. “The Lord’ll never force ya to do nothin’ yer not willin’ to do.”
Gavin’s heart raced.
“I know this is hard for ya. Jest ‘member this—things ain’t always what they seem. I know this book looks a mite unappetizin’, but it’ll be nourishin’ to ya, I promise.” Warney smiled. “More nourishin’ than them cookies ya snuck from your mother’s bakin’ table after she told ya not to touch ‘em.’”
Guilt tracked a telltale red blush on Gavin’s face and bore itself deep within his soul as surely as those chocolate chips had singed the roof of his mouth that morning. How’d Uncle Warney know that?
His uncle still offered the tiny book to Gavin. Huh? Were his wrinkles fading? Was his face getting brighter? Gavin looked over his shoulder, wishing Molly and Eric were there to tell him if he was going nuts-o or not. But all he saw was misty vapor in a world that appeared to have no beginning and no end.
“Do ya think God would ask anything of ya that wasn’t good fer ya?” Warney’s patient voice drew Gavin back to the real question.
Gavin trembled. Part of him wanted to run while another part needed to hear more. Besides, this place had no floor. How could he run with no floor? “I know God’s supposed to do what’s good, but none of this makes sense.”
Uncle Warney nodded, and a slow grin spread across his face. “Ain’t it yer heart’s desire to do somethin’ that makes a difference—somethin’ that really matters?”
Gavin hesitated.
“This is yer chance, son.”
Chewing on books, stolen cookies, his heart’s desire … what else does Uncle Warney know?
“Nah, it’s more than jest a chance,” Warney said. “This book is yer destiny. Like I told ya, you can refuse to eat it if ya want. God don’t force nobody to do His will. It’s up to you. Fact is, He’s got someone else standin’ on the sidelines just waitin’ fer the call ta action. But if ya refuse, you’ll be losin’ the blessin’. Yep, and I shore don’t wantcha ta lose yer blessin’. That’ll be somethin’ you’ll regret the rest of yer life.”
Gavin closed his eyes. He didn’t know what to do.
I don’t understand anything that’s going on here, but Uncle Warney’s never steered me wrong before.
Gavin opened one eye just enough to peek at the Uncle Warney who appeared to grow younger by the minute. He was starting to look like he did in Grandma Jibbers’ photo album before he got old—back when he had hair and his moccasins were new.
Pictures, smictures, a sarcastic voice taunted from the dark recesses of Gavin’s mind. Don’t do it. That old codger can’t be trusted, and you know it.
It was the same voice that borrowed his father’s favorite saying, “seize the moment,” and told him no one would ever know about those cookies when he sneaked them and ran. The same voice that said he might as well forget the idea of playing ball or getting straight A’s. The same voice that reminded him a hundred times a day that he was less than pond scum.
If you eat that book, you’re going to wake up in bed with a mouthful of pillow, feeling stupid as ever. Or worse yet, a mouth full of swamp moss.
Molly and Eric would never let him live it down if he woke up prying swamp slime from his mouth. He squeezed his eyes tighter.
“Gavin, what’ll it be?” Uncle Warney’s baritone voice blocked the taunter’s words. Love and approval flowed through Gavin’s mind and soul. Better to make a fool out of himself in front of his cousins than to disappoint Uncle Warney. Sometimes a fella just had to hope with his heart.
With his eyes still closed, Gavin dropped his jaw to open his mouth, but his lips wouldn’t part. Come on, you can do this. The harder he tried, opening his jaw as wide as he could several times, the tighter his lips pursed. Finally, in an incredible force of his will, Gavin’s mouth flew open with a loud kissing sound.
Gavin heard Uncle Warney chuckle but didn’t dare look at him or he would change his mind for sure.
“Taste and see,” Uncle Warney said as he placed the tiny book on Gavin’s tongue. “The Lord, He is good.”
Whoa! It tasted sweet like honey. But, the instant Gavin closed his lips, the book swelled up like a roasted marshmallow, stuck to the roof of his mouth, and made him gag. He didn’t dare spit it out, so he chewed. And he chewed.
His eyes flashed open in stunned surprise when bursts of flavor filled his mouth. It was delicious—better than chocolate. Chewing the book apart, his tongue discovered three textures. One part felt rough and tasted tangy like dried apricots. Another felt crisp and tasted like Granny Smith apple slices. The third was fizzy liquid that bounced on his tongue like 7-Up. The spray that filled every crevice of his mouth made him giddy. He managed to get the book down in three swallows.
A giggle party splashed in the middle of his stomach. Bubbling and tumbling, it worked its way up his throat, through his nose, and into his head. Woozy and off balance, Gavin suddenly wanted to dance. Just when he was about to jump for joy, the book turned sour in his stomach and made him feel like throwing up.
Gavin saw a mix of concern and pride in Uncle Warney’s face.
So tell me … . But Gavin couldn’t make his mouth work to voice the words aloud. What’s going on here?
Uncle Warney answered as if he’d heard Gavin’s every thought. “Them three textures and flavors is like the three parts of God. Like dried apricots, the Father’s justice is sometimes tough to swallow; what Jesus done fer us on the cross, why, that’s bittersweet and tender like them Granny Smith apples; and the living water of the Holy Spirit is refreshin’ and energizin’ like 7-Up, only it don’t never run out or go flat. Ya conquered yer first hurdle by eatin’ the book. Yer on yer way.”
In that fleeting moment, Gavin saw himself sprinting over the hurdles at school, just as Eric would. But the image fled as quickly as it came.
“This ain’t no daydream, Gavin. It’s fer real, fer keeps.” Uncle Warney started to vanish, too. “Never fergit what the Good Book says:
‘Neither death nor life …
neither angels nor demons …
shall separate you from the love of God …’”
“Where are you go—” Gavin’s concern for Uncle Warney’s fading image was interrupted by a sensation that someone who didn’t belong in the mist was leering at him. Gavin knew it. Out of the fog, he heard a donkey braying. Then a loud buzz, like a thousand bumble bees, replaced the abrasive braying sound.
There were a thousand bumblebees! Gavin shook his head, convinced the insects were headed straight for him. Just as they raised their stingers to dive in, Gavin heard Molly say, “Lord Jesus!” At least it sounded like Molly. When she spoke, the bees formed into a long and steady stream that exploded into a trillion confetti-like fragments. Gavin opened his eyes. No trace of the phantom bumblebees. His skin felt cold and clammy, and he gulped a mouthful of air that threw him into another coughing fit.
All that remained of the vision was a stale aftertaste. Someone was bending over him. At first, all he could see was a blob with a brown rope dangling from it. Forcing his eyes to focus, he recognized Molly’s freckled, panic-stricken face. Glancing around, he saw that he was back on the path that ran the perimeter of Burnt Swamp.
“Are you okay?” Molly stopped shaking Gavin’s shoulder and helped him sit up. “You look awful. You’re white—chalk-white and splotchy!”
Gavin’s face felt cold. His eyes watered. “I’m okay. Where’s Eric?”
“Oh, he walked on ahead,” Molly said. “He’s totally oblivious to the fact that you just about choked to death. What brought that on?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I swallowed my spit the wrong way. Maybe it’s this stupid air.” How could he explain something he couldn’t comprehend?
“You wait here,” Molly said. “I’ll go get Eric.”
At first, Gavin felt relieved to be sitting on the wooded path, alone with his thoughts. But, when a cloud passed over the sun, accompanied by a faint but shrill braying sound, a shudder ran through him from his gut to his armpits.
Hee Haw Downes savored the braying sound of his laughter as he propelled it into the spirit realm and followed along in his stellar light body. Astral projection. Remote viewing. Cool. Yeah, very cool.
Alone, just the way he liked it. Looking behind, then ahead, the sixteen-year-old saw no trace of intrusion in the leaves that surrounded him. He glanced at his feet and smiled at the six inches of air between him and the forest floor. I will never get tired of this.
Willing the essenxe of his soulish body upward, he soared through the treetops, slowing to a stop over his favorite haunt in Burnt Swamp. Guess this is as far as I go for now. A thin, almost invisible silver cord tethered his essence here in the woods from his belly button to the body that lay behind his locked bedroom door.
Nobody bothered Hee-Haw when he was in barricade mode. It took years of conditioning to get his parents to leave him alone, and now the payoff. Uninvited guests could mean serious repercussions if they discovered him zoned out like a zombie. Hee-Haw knew there was little chance of intruders. At least this weekend he wouldn’t have to listen to his step-mother nag, “Nem, do this; Nem, do that.”
He hated his name and the way she said it. At least he didn’t have to hear her mouth since she was visiting friends out west. And Pop’s no threat. Hee-Haw’s father hadn’t spoken to him in weeks. Suits me fine.
His cynical snort gave way to a round of harsh laughter that erupted from the core of his being as he relished his bird’s-eye view of Burnt Swamp. Every time out, he tried going farther. This was the farthest he had ever gone out-of-body. No one had his talents. How he wished he could rub that revelation in the faces of those fogheads at school.
The ectoplasmic form of his spirit guide, Ooziss Naturus, whispered into Hee-Haw’s ear. “Soon, very soon, they will come under your power and strength, but not now. Not today. Keep your mind on why you are here. And today’s focus is?”
“Auras. It’s fun discovering new auras, like yesterday and the day before and the day before that,” Hee-Haw droned. “Ooziss, when will you teach me something new?”
“Patience, little human. Content yourself with the study of auras.”
“I’m not little. I’m taller than … than anybody in school. Besides, I’ve been projecting for three years, and I know what I’m doing. I thought you were supposed to be my guide, not my boss.” He stared straight into the intimidating eyes that glowered back at him. “I’m the boss of me, and I can go wherever I want, whenever I want.”
Instead of his usual unpleasant response, Ooziss faded into the haze without a word, leaving the teen alone in the swamp.
“Suit yourself.” Hee-Haw resumed his aura hunt by scouting the thicket below. Who’d have thought I’d be flying so soon after getting my driver’s license? The geeks think I’m dumb but, hey, if they only knew. Yeah, dumb like a fox. Who needs good grades when you can have this?
“E-e-e-e haw, e-e-e-e haw!” Hee-Haw’s throaty signature laugh echoed off the spiritual plain as he spied the golden halo emitted by a mouse scurrying along the smoldering ground.
“Gotcha, critter.” He nose-dived for a closer look and hovered within an inch of the unsuspecting rodent.
Studying the auras of living creatures was not science to Hee-Haw—it was more like instinct. Drawn to auras as naturally as a reflection in a mirror, his vaporous fingers cradled the mouse’s hue. Its life force coursed through him strong enough to rock Hee-Haw against his tether. “Whoa, baby. That was wicked!” If he could get a power surge like that from a mouse, what would bigger game do for him?
Thank you, Auntie Soshal. His mind’s eye recalled her bouncy curls swaying in time to gentle music as her nimble fingers polished crystals. It was Auntie Soshal who nurtured his special gifts, who listened to his wants and needs, who gave him a key to her New Age candle shop so he could come and go after hours. He entertained the notion of popping in on her in his spirit form but decided he’d rather see her in person.
Auntie Soshal often rewarded him with trinkets. So far, his favorite was the set of aura goggles with “pinacyanole bromide” filters that he wore now. With them, he found it child’s play to see auras. So what if Ooziss says I’m moving too fast? He marveled at how he could take material possessions with him on his journeys. Just as his clothes had followed his essence into the woods, the goggles he had been toying with in his bedroom came along, too.
Auntie Soshal labeled Hee-Haw a “metaphysical practitioner,” but he didn’t care a whit about titles. What he cared about was that he was gaining power, and it would only be a matter of time before he gained influence.
A flash of light radiated through the forest, jolting Hee-Haw to the core and slamming his form backwards. What was that? Hee-Haw forced his essence to swing around. Peering through his goggles, he stared at a reddish-orange vapor as intense as any F-4 funnel cloud he’d ever seen on TV. It appeared to be several miles away. Now, that’s what I call bigger game! Maybe the swamp was stirring up and the rise of the all-powerful one had begun. It wouldn’t be long before the gateway to the abyss was open and operational.
As fast as it flared up, the glow shrank to the size of a single human aura.
Hee-Haw willed his frame toward the glow to see what—or who—it was. Gotta touch it. Gotta have it.
Ha! It was just a scrawny-looking boy sitting there in the dirt, dazed. A kid? Hee-Haw drifted closer for a better look.
The ethereal sound of his spirit guide’s voice slithered out of the mist. “That one is Gavin. Gavin Goodfellow.”
“You mean to tell me that aura belongs to some wannabe? Isn’t that the same foghead I’ve seen around school? Can’t be. Nuh uh. No way could he qualify for a power force like that.” Hee-Haw stretched out his hand in the direction of the glowing boy.
“Noooooooooooooooo!” Ooziss’ screech reverberated throughout the swamp. “Don’t touch him. He is protected. Besides, you’re not ready.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Hee-Haw couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand back from Gavin.
Fissszzzack! A cosmic shock slammed into his essence and sucked him into a spinning funnel that twisted Hee-Haw’s mind, will, and emotions into knots. Everything in him screamed from fear and pain. Objects appeared in the whirlwind and floated past: a flipping police car with flashing red and blue lights, a shield that twisted and turned. Other things banged into him—loose pages, yellowed with age, and a voodoo doll that stared at him with button eyes, then flew away after one of its hat pins grazed his head. As quickly as Hee-Haw’s essence was sucked into the vortex, it was yanked out, leaving him face-to-face with his bearded spirit guide.
“I told you, not now!” Ooziss screamed.
Hee-Haw felt weak all over as he pulled off his goggles. Stretching his long frame out flat on his back, he hovered a fraction of an inch above the forest floor, confused.
“When are you going to start listening? You fool.”
“Hey, who are you calling a fool?” Hee-Haw bolted upright.
“The one who thinks he knows better than his spirit guide and can do as he pleases. The one who disregards the rules. The one who tries the patience of the Order of Laddrach.”
Hee-Haw hung his head in fake remorse, still jazzed about the walloping ride he’d just felt. “Uh, what’s going on with this Gavin kid? His aura and the vortex thing—they’re flukes, right?”
“If there is a fluke, it is you—you poor excuse for a human. Goodfellow is a serious threat. His aura is proof of that.”
The image of His Ooziness, as Hee-Haw secretly called him, came into clearer focus. The long beard of the spirit guide dripped with green swamp slime. He watched as a dewy glob dropped off.
“Laddrach is closer than we know to freeing Shimera from the swamp. We are about to experience the end of time as we know it. The battle is almost upon us. Our adversary is equipping the lad, so do not be deceived by his meek countenance.”
“Hey, what about me? Haven’t you been equipping me?” Hee-Haw tried to spit in the weeds, but nothing came out.
“To be sure, you are gifted. But the truth is, you are weak.”
Hee-Haw braced himself.
“I see the way you look at that picture on your bureau.” Ooziss glared. “Until you stop moping and use your loss as a catalyst to sharpen your anger and revenge, you cannot be ready.”
Hee-Haw’s insides quivered, ever stronger, until his whole being shook with the force of an oncoming train—like the Amtrak that carried his mother and younger brother away three years ago. His stomach pinched and twisted, leaving him light-headed. What’s going on? Was the vortex coming back? Panic pricked every nerve ending. It wasn’t cool anymore. “Ooziss, help me!” he cried.
The spirit guide floated close to Hee-Haw’s face. “Your discomfort is necessary until you take seriously what I am about to tell you. Do you think I am a fool? You are mistaken to think yourself better than I. When you are ready to heed my words, your tension will cease, and not before. Then, and only then, will I impart the vital information.”
Hee-Haw continued to float and shake violently. “I’m … tr-tr-trying,” he stuttered. The image of a tall blonde girl in a purple cloak invaded his inner vision.
“Who’s that?” His shaking stopped.
“That,” Ooziss said, “is your new ally, Bea Daark. She and her mother are about to arrive in Ashboro.”
“Ally? I don’t need any allies, especially no girl and her mommy. I’m supposed to be the boss, remember?”
Ooziss expanded to ten times his usual size. Hadn’t Auntie Soshal warned Hee-Haw to “be careful”—that it was rare for someone to be placed with this particular spirit guide? Everyone knew Ooziss Naturus despised humans.
“Okay, forget I said that.” Hee-Haw lowered his gaze. “But this Bea girl will have to understand I was here first.”
The squeal of a jet engine battered Hee-Haw’s super-sensitive hearing. Pulling himself upright, he floated behind a nearby sumac where he cupped his hands over his ears and dangled the goggles from one finger.
“Ah, your partners arrive,” Ooziss announced. “Take your hands from your ears. You know your hearing in this realm cannot be muffled. Follow my instructions to the letter in your dealings with the Daarks. Their Old World witcheries will—”
“Old World? You mean they aren’t New Age?”
“You dare to interrupt me?”
Hee-Haw began to tremble again. A loud rumble coursed through him. “But, but … sorry.” The rumbling and trembling passed. “Just curious about their training.”
“Their training is no business of yours. What you need to know is that they have at their disposal all the resources you need. Money multiplies at Madam’s slightest whim. And their money is yours for the taking … provided you can manage to make yourself indispensable to them.”
Yeah. Hee-Haw grinned like a mule eating brambles. Mine for the taking. Make them need me. Auntie Soshal will have ideas for that. His laughter erupted as Ooziss faded away.
Giving Gavin another glance, Hee-Haw saw him still sitting there alone on the dirt path with a dazed look on his face. “Stupid kid,” he said with a sneer. “There’s no way that dork can stop what the Order put in motion so long ago. Try, Gavin Goodfellow. Try and fail. I don’t care what kind of aura you’ve got going for you—everyone knows you’re a loser. Once a loser, always a loser.”
Hee-Haw’s thoughts shifted back to the girl and her mother. He’d show them a thing or two.
With a shake of his head and a jolt, he willed himself back to his bedroom where he stared at the water-stained ceiling. Fits of hammering above, as his dad fixed a leak on the roof, replaced the tension of Ooziss and the vortex. So what if people appreciated his handyman dad’s “quick service and cheap prices”—as long as he stayed out of Hee-Haw’s hair.
So … money multiplies at this woman’s whim, and it’s mine for the taking, eh? Maybe there’s a way out of this dump after all.
Hee-Haw looked down at his faded orange muscle shirt and denim shorts. How much time had passed he didn’t know or care. Giving his goggles a careless twirl, he tossed them aside. A menacing laugh welled up in his chest, forcing him to sit up. He never could laugh while lying on his back. Despising the weakness he felt, he gave into the exhaustion that engulfed him and flopped back down. How dare that punk Gavin drain me like this?
Hee-Haw decided to have a little fun exercising his mental powers. If I do this right, I’ll be able to view the swamp from here. Images of shifting mounds of earth, tangled undergrowth, and fallen trees formed in his mind. In the midst of it, he saw Ooziss making broad, sweeping gestures. What’s he doing? Manipulating those paths? From the look of sheer amusement on Ooziss’ face, whatever he was doing gave his spirit guide immense pleasure.
An annoying mosquito buzzed above his head. Instead of swatting it, Hee-Haw allowed the distraction to turn his attention from the woods to the pest. He concentrated on communicating with it. Within a few seconds, a swarm of his blood-sucking pals joined the lone mosquito. The buzzing black cloud circled above Hee-Haw’s sleeveless left arm.
“Not me, you idiots—the kid in the woods.” He jumped off the bed, grabbed the splintered wood of the window frame, and shoved it open. “Go!”
The black cloud hesitated briefly and then flew out the window.
He watched to be sure the mosquitoes headed in the right direction, then turned his eyes to the clouds where he saw a jet plane. So, the Daarks have an agenda? Well, we’ll see about that. He thought he might float over to the airstrip and surprise them, but he was too tired, so he shuffled back to his rumpled bed.
Stretching out, the springs creaked under his weight. He closed his eyes and smiled. Wonder how long it will be ‘til the mosquitoes find their mark. With every successive breath he exhaled, the mattress sagged lower, as if to match his level of fatigue.
Gavin sat on the wooded path and stared at the hardened ruts while he tried to get his bearings. Those ruts must have come from Uncle Warney’s horse-drawn carriage. There was Uncle Warney again, in the forefront of Gavin’s thoughts, making it more difficult to shake the vision of the ghost-book thing from his brain.
“Found him.” Molly’s voice sounded strange, like it was digitized with a soft buzzing sound.
Eric knelt beside Gavin. “Aw, did the poor Doofus fall down, go boom?”
“Always the compassionate one,” Molly said, but the buzzing sound seemed louder to Gavin than her words. It grew in volume until he thought he might faint again.
More bumblebees?
It wasn’t the vision returning. It was a very real, very huge black cloud—heading straight for him. He threw his arms over his head. “Mosquitoes!”
Swatting madly at the back of his neck, Gavin jumped up and started to run, but the cloud of mosquitoes latched on. He covered his face with his palms; the pesky insects plunged their stingers into the back of his hands and sucked blood from his fingers. When Gavin ran in circles, ducking under a low-hanging branch, they stayed right with him, pricking his ankles, stabbing his arms, raising itchy red welts all over his body.
“Stand still!” Molly’s stern command caught Gavin’s attention in the midst of his wailing and running and swatting. Turning wildly, he caught a glimpse of Eric’s alarmed face. A spritz of repellent in Gavin’s mouth revealed Molly’s location the hard way. Spitting his way toward her, he quivered to a halt, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
“I can’t spray you if you’re jumping around!” She redirected her aim toward the gyrating cloud and sprayed a steady blast that parted the swarm smack down the middle. Moments later, the mosquitoes zigzagged to the ground.
“Hey!” Eric jumped out of the way as Molly aimed the can at him.
Spraying another quick spritz over herself, Molly stuffed the can back into her bag.
“That was too weird,” she said, looking around. “It was like they came from nowhere.”
A thunderous roar drew their attention skyward.
Eric extended his arm and pointed. “You see that?”
Gavin couldn’t see anything but swamp smoke. “See what?”
“Sleek.” Eric gawked.
“What?” Gavin wondered why he always had to miss everything.
Molly squinted. “An eight-passenger Citation Ten—spelled with a Roman numeral X—the largest, longest-range, mid-size civil aircraft ever.”
There she goes again. Miss Know-it-all. As if I give a frog’s croak how it’s spelled. Gavin tried to concentrate on the path before him. His knees felt weak again. “So what?”
“Looks out of place around here, don’t you think?” Molly gave an unlady-like snort.
“Whatever you do, don’t mention airplanes to Uncle Warney or he’ll start telling his World War II stories,” Eric said.
“Yeah.” Molly smiled. “But Uncle Warney’s stories are just what I need to spice up my article for The Dragon’s Voice. Not only did he have a ringside seat the night the fire started, but he knows more than any other living soul about Burnt Swamp.” Molly’s hands were as animated as her lips.
Gavin’s laughter faded when he saw a lone buzzard settle on a cypress branch above his head. Could a place get any more eerie? “I think we’d better keep moving or we’ll never get to Uncle Warney’s.” The strength in his voice surprised him.
“Does he know we’re coming?” Molly asked.
“How could he?” Eric said. “He doesn’t have a phone.”
“I know that.” Molly twirled her braid. “I just thought maybe Aunt Louise might have seen him lately.”
Mention of Gavin’s mother reminded him of the haircut he was missing, which triggered thoughts of his father’s temper. “Dad doesn’t like me hanging around Uncle Warney, so don’t go putting my name in your story.”
“No problem. But I don’t understand why your dad gets so bent out of shape about Uncle Warney.”
Eric ran in place a few times, then sprinted ahead. “Why? ‘Cause Uncle Warney’s a religious nut,” he said in an almost-perfect imitation of Gavin’s dad. “Talks to himself and preaches whether anybody’s around to hear him or not. Everybody knows he’s got a screw loose and the rest of them fell out a long time ago.”
Gavin felt a knot in his throat as anger threatened to boil over. Uncle Warney was the only one who ever made him feel good about himself—like he was something more than a dummy. “Take that back,” Gavin shouted.
“Screw loose.” Eric skipped backwards. “Uncle Warney’s got a screw loose.”
“Take it back, right now!”
“Screw loose.”
Gavin started advancing on his more athletic cousin. “I mean it, Eric. Take it back!”
“Stop it, both of you! You’re acting like—”
Before Molly could finish, Eric sprawled backward on the dirt path with a vine of briars wrapped about his left ankle.
“That’s what you get. Act like the devil, and the next thing you know, you’re tangled up in Devil’s Walking Stick.” Molly stepped over her brother. “You know what they say, don’t you? Kick the devil, and he’ll bite you back with those thorns.”
Gavin couldn’t help but laugh. “Ha! The devil bit you!”
Eric flopped backward and moaned, “I’m bit. I’m bit.”
“Stop horsing around.” Molly pulled a neatly typed page from her denim shoulder bag. “Let’s get back to my story for the school paper. How’s this sound?
“Ten years ago, a violent thunderstorm tore through the region and struck a match under Burnt Swamp that started a fire no one could extinguish. Porous soil and air pockets, coupled with the weight of nature’s mulch, sucked decaying matter under the ground’s surface, creating a mother lode of kindling. A well-positioned lightning bolt set the stage for a fire that, even after ten years, has not yet run its course.” Molly glanced up, took a quick breath, and continued reading. “What we don’t want is another conflagration like the Great Fire of 1782 when—”
“Hold it right there.” Eric propped himself up, tugged the vine free, and stood. “Con-flag-ration? What’s that?”
Molly lowered her head and leveled her none-too-patient gaze at her brother. “It’s the perfect word, that’s what. A conflagration is an intense, uncontrolled fire.”
Gavin groaned. Listening to Molly’s essay all the way to Uncle Warney’s wasn’t his idea of a fun summer day.
“Bor-ring.” Eric’s words mirrored Gavin’s thoughts. “Why don’t you write about something cool—like swamp critters and prehistoric dinosaurs.”
A gust of smoke-filled wind cut Eric’s sarcasm short, parting his thick, black hair down the center. Cypress branches swayed above their heads. Eric tripped over a rock, then stumbled three steps on lanky legs before he landed in a pile of soggy, wet leaves. “Ugh,” he grunted.
“Second down, Jock,” Gavin said. But his smile vanished when the ground quaked and grew hot and spongy. “Whoa!” He stomped his feet only to find that the hard-packed earth looked normal. “That’s weird. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the swamp was creeping closer.”
“Swamps may be creepy, but they don’t creep,” Molly said. “Next you’ll be telling us that prehistoric creatures are out to get you. Come on, Gavin. Grow up.”
Gavin started to sweat. It felt like somebody turned up the heat a gazillion degrees. The ground reeled again. Oh no, was the vision coming back?
Molly lowered her chin and gave him one of her what-ails-you looks.
What? Gavin was sure the earth beneath his feet was quicksand-slimy again. Didn’t Molly feel that? Was the swamp following him?
“Gavin, aren’t you going to help Eric up?”
“Like he needs my help?” Gavin groused while regaining his own footing. Though shorter than Eric and not as strong, Gavin grabbed his cousin’s hands and pulled him up. When the ground lurched again, they both lost their footing and rolled into a ditch. Scrambling to gain a foothold on the mossy soil, Gavin slipped, and down he went once more. But we don’t have earthquakes around here!
“Thanks for the help, klutzo.” Eric, first to get up, offered Gavin a hand.
“Did you feel that?” Gavin’s elbows propped his torso into a forty-five degree angle.