Kids on Fire: A Free Excerpt From The Gloom

“… I really enjoyed this book. The story flowed beautifully and found myself lost in the story. The author described the story in a way that I pictured myself there right along side Poppy. Poppy soon finds herself in a world she never knew existed. She was forced to complete a seemingly impossible task. Along the way she meets creatures she never knew existed. Some of these creatures are helpful, and some are not. I can’t wait to finish this trilogy. The next one is called The Doldrums.” – Amazon Reviewer, 4 Stars

And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

The fireflies are fat and sluggish this time of year.  They hang over the back lawn, trailing small wisps of light.  The sun has just set, and my eyes drift from one point of light to the next as they engage in their lazy dance.  Stretching out on the warped boards of the back porch, I try to capture the last of the day’s warmth on my skin.

My sister sits next to me, absent-mindedly twirling my thick red curls in her fingers.  She’s lost in her own thoughts as I study her face.

“What are you thinking about, Daisy?” I ask her.

“I need to pee,” she replies, standing up.

“Charming.”

“Poppy, can you help me with this snap?”  She juts her round belly in my direction.  Her knees have come together and she’s doing the dance that lets me know that she’s probably held it too long.  I reach up and undo her snap, and she runs toward the back door.

“Come right back, Daisy Belle!” I yell after her.  She doesn’t answer, but I hear the bathroom door slam and smile to myself.

It’s just me and her tonight.  Our dad and Maggie are probably still stuck in traffic somewhere between work and home.  I don’t mind that I’m left in charge of Daisy after school, I really don’t.  What I resent is never being asked if it’s okay, or if I have plans.  Of course, I almost never do.  I’d still like to be asked, or maybe even compensated.

As far as Daisy goes, she’s a pretty great little person.  She brought my dad back from the brink of a complete mental meltdown, and for that she’s probably the best thing that’s ever happened to this family.  I guess Maggie had a little to do with that, too, in her own way.

My mom wandered off in the middle of the day, leaving an infant me lying in my crib.  No one knows why she left, or where she went.  I was too young to know any better, but it completely destroyed my dad.  He fumbled through single fatherhood, doing the best that he could manage, and for me that was enough.  He rarely mentions my mother, or makes any attempt to discuss what happened to her.  It’s uncomfortable for both of us.  If she stumbled back into my life now, I might be curious to know her, but I probably wouldn’t forgive her for what she did to my dad.

When Maggie started coming around, a small spark lit in my father.  I was only five at the time, but I remember that he really seemed to come alive.  It’s not that he was a complete zombie before her, really.  There was just something missing.  Maggie would bring us dinner some nights, and stick around to watch movies.  Those were good times.  My dad started smiling and laughing more, and eventually Maggie just kind of showed up one night and never left.  They were married shortly after that.

After six years of Maggie gradually pulling my father back out of himself, there was Daisy.  At first I was nervous about the little bundle that would be taking up all of Dad and Maggie’s time but, when I saw her, I instantly fell in love with her.  Anyone would.  Everyone does.  That’s just the kind of kid she is.  She’s bubbly and funny, and so completely unafraid of everything.  Sometimes I can barely figure out how to talk to people I know, but Daisy forges friendships with complete strangers in mere moments.

Dad watched Maggie like a hawk that first year, trying to decide if she was going to pull a disappearing act like my mother had.  When that year was up, Dad relaxed and realized that no one was going anywhere.  Don’t get me wrong, he still has moments of unexplained silences and some long brooding sessions, but he’s much more present than he used to be.

It shouldn’t be this quiet.  Raising my head from the porch I cock it toward the back door, listening for the telltale sounds of my little sister.  Daisy’s not exactly what you’d call quiet.  Silence greets me.  Half of me wants to continue lying on the porch, half of me knows that silence from Daisy is never a good thing.  Grudgingly, I pull myself up and go inside to investigate.

“Daisy?” I call, trying to keep my voice even.  “Daisy, where’d you go?”

A bathroom drawer closes with a familiar scrape as little feet pad down the hallway, away from me.  Following the sound, I am more curious about what she has been doing, and less concerned with where she might have gone to hide.  Peeking into the bathroom, I don’t see anything amiss.  As I push the door wider, I see it.  There, on the carpet, is a long ponytail of sugar white hair.

Oh no.

Whirling on my heel, I stomp toward my sister’s small bedroom at the end of the hallway.  Throwing open the door, there’s a small squeak from under the bed.  Sticking out from the dust ruffle are two tiny feet, which I grab and yank.  Daisy slides out, giggling, mistaking this all for a game.  She quickly falls silent as I slide an arm around her waist and carry her that way back into the bathroom.  Using my foot to close the toilet, I sit her down, stand back, and examine the damage.

“Oh Daisy, what did you do?” I ask, breathlessly.

Daisy cradles the jagged edges of her once long hair and replies, smiling, “I made myself pretty.”

It’s impossible to stay angry with her when she obviously has no idea that she’s done something wrong.  “But you were pretty before, Daisy Belle.”  I tousle her hair, as if moving it around a bit will hide the gaping chunks that are missing.  “Come on, twerp.  Get on the stool.  We’ve got to sort this out before Maggie and Dad get home.”

“Poppy?  Why do you call her Maggie?” Daisy asks.

“Because she’s your Mama, but she’s my Maggie.  You know that.  Maggie isn’t my mother,” I explain, gently.

Daisy crinkles her forehead in an effort to understand.  “But Daddy is your daddy, too?”

“That’s right.”

Daisy climbs onto the stool in front of the sink so that she can see herself in the mirror.  After rifling through a drawer for a pair of scissors, I set to work, trying to even out the mess she has made.  I work as quickly as I can and try to be as neat as possible.  When I have done all that I can do, I step back and carefully eye my work.  It will still need to be cut professionally, but at least it no longer looks like a complete accident.  Daisy smiles back at me from the mirror, and I take a moment to marvel at just how different we are.  I am tall, thin, and pale.  A smattering of faint freckles runs across my nose and cheeks.  Our large green eyes are the only feature we have in common, a trait we both got from our father.  The rest of Daisy is purely her mother.  I have been told a couple of times that I strongly resemble my mother, though there’s no way for me to know.  When she left, it was like every trace of her was erased.  I have never even seen a picture.  Every time I try to approach my father about it, he clams up.  My father is a sweet man, but he’s somewhat misguided in his attempts to shield me from pain.  He’s offered me tiny scraps of information over the years, but just enough to satiate my curiosity.

“Okay, I think that’s as good as we’re going to get,” I say, smoothing down Daisy’s hair.

“So if my Mama is your Maggie, who is your mama?” Daisy asks.

“Oh twerpy, we’ve been through this before.  My mama is named Peregrine.”

Daisy chews on this bit of information.  “Peregrine is a funny name,” Daisy says.

“You’re a funny name,” I say, poking Daisy in the belly.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Daisy giggles, and I shrug at her.  “Okay.  So if you have a mama Peregrine, why isn’t she here with us?”  Daisy has asked this question dozens of times over the past couple of years.

“I don’t know.”  I help Daisy down off the stool and sweep up wayward hair with my hands.  She stands off to the side and watches me work.

“Okay, but, if I were your mama, I’d never leave you.  I love you more than this whole tired world.”  She pats me gently on the back.

“I think you mean, more than the whole entire world, twerp,” I say, grinning at her.

Daisy stands up very straight and says, with certainty, “No, I meant tired.”  Satisfied, she leaves the room.  Shaking my head, I smile as I watch her go.  I dump the hair left in my hands into the garbage, and follow her out toward the living room.

The back door swings open and Daisy’s eyes light up.  A strangled cry erupts from my stepmother, and I cringe.

“What happened?” Maggie cries, from the kitchen.  “Oh Daisy, your hair …”

Daisy is babbling excitedly in response, too naïve to realize that cutting her own hair had been a bad thing.  I consider slipping out the front door before Maggie has the chance to confront me, but instead I trudge toward the kitchen to get it over with.  Even though I am not responsible for the haircut directly, I know I will be blamed, having dared to take my eyes off of her for even a few moments.

“You were supposed to be watching her!” Maggie huffs at me, the moment I enter the room.

I glance at Maggie and then at my father, who is standing like a statute, helplessly staring at his shoes.  Confrontation always makes him visibly uncomfortable.  Maggie’s face is turning a startling shade of red.  She gapes at me, then at Daisy, and then right back at me.

“I’m sorry.  We were out back watching the sunset and …” I stammer.

“And you thought it was okay to leave your baby sister alone in the house?”  Maggie railroads right through my sentence.  “Honestly, Poppy.”

Daisy frowns at Maggie.  “I am not a baby.”

“What would have happened if she’d slipped with those scissors in her hands?” Maggie says, raising her voice higher with every word.  “She could have cut off an ear, or worse.”

“But she didn’t,” I point out, calmly.  I probably shouldn’t have said that, but I don’t really think it’s my fault that we can’t trust Daisy in the bathroom by herself.

“Look at her hair!  Oh, Daisy, your beautiful hair.”  Maggie tugs at the uneven lengths as if she can make them grow longer.

“It will grow back,” I offer.

She sets her jaw and stares intently at me.  “You know, I really don’t need your attitude right now.  Maybe you should go find somewhere else to be,” Maggie says, through clenched teeth.

“Mags, come on now,” my father says, quietly, setting a hand on Maggie’s shoulder.

“No, Richard.  We should be able to trust her,” Maggie yells, brushing away my father’s touch.

Pushing past them both, I escape through the back door and set out across the yard, plopping myself down with my back against the tree that my father refuses to cut down, even though it’s dead and hollow inside.  He had actually hired a tree surgeon to come and bolt the trunk together to prevent it from falling down.  He admitted it was silly, but it was important to him.  While I throw small stones into the field behind our house, my father steps out into the yellow glow of the porch light.

“Poppy?  You out here?”

“You saw me come out here.  Where else would I be?” I call back.  He looks in the direction of my voice and slinks toward me with his head down.  The yard is dark except for the fireflies that had held me mesmerized just a few hours earlier, but he navigates it easily.  Sitting down next to me he stares off, apparently lost in thought.

“Your mother loved this tree, you know,” he finally says, repeating one of the few morsels of information he has offered me over the years.

“I know,” I reply, picking blades of grass between my feet.

“When she was pregnant with you, she planted poppy seeds all around the base of it.”  His voice is thick with memory.

“I don’t want to talk about her right now, Dad,” I snap.

“Okay.  That’s okay.  I guess I thought it would be comforting.  I’m no good at this stuff.”  We sit in silence for a few moments before he continues.  “Poppy, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.  I’m just going to hang out back here until she cools off.”  I shoot my eyes toward the back door and he follows my gaze.

“You know Maggie won’t stay mad for very long.  She never does.”

“I just don’t understand why it was my fault.  Daisy’s not a baby anymore.  She knew better.”

“I’ll talk to Maggie.  You want me to hang out here with you for a little while?”

It’s a sweet gesture, but I think I’d rather just be alone in the quiet evening for a while.  “Thanks, but no.  I’ll be okay.”

Standing, he dusts off his pants.  He looks as though he’s going to say something else, but reconsiders and walks back to the porch door.  Pulling my knees up to my chest, I hug them and lower my head so it’s resting on my arms.  An image of Daisy proudly displaying her new haircut swims into my mind and I almost laugh in spite of myself.

It’s peaceful out here tonight.  I’m going to sit out here until I’m ready to suck it up and apologize for something I didn’t even do.  Some part of me feels a little guilty over the whole ordeal, but I really do believe that some of the anger should be directed at Daisy.  Maybe I’m a bad big sister for thinking that.

“Quaint little pity party you’re throwing yourself,” a husky voice growls from behind me.  Whipping around in surprise, I am greeted by darkness.  I spring to my feet and slowly step away from the tree, my eyes wildly searching for the source of the voice.

“Boo!” the voice booms in my ear.  Reeling, something brushes the back of my neck and I paw and slap at myself in fright, trying to brush off whatever it was.  “Eh, just relax, girlie.  I ain’t going to hurt you.”

Turning in slow circles, hugging myself, and searching the darkness, I find nothing.  Shaken, I tiptoe back toward the porch.

“Nah, don’t go back there.  She don’t want you anyhow,” the voice quips.

Mustering up all the courage I can find, I whisper, “This is not funny.”

“Ain’t trying to be funny, girlie.  I’m telling you the truth.”

A girl, a tiny cherub, stands near the trunk of the tree.  Her figure is surrounded by a dark yellow light that flickers sporadically.  Blonde ringlet curls frame her pudgy face, and her cheeks are blush-pinched.  Tiny, stunted wings creep out over her shoulder bones.

Awestruck by the tiny girl’s beauty, I wonder how such a deep voice belongs to someone so small and feminine.  The cherub pats the ground and bellows “You come on and sit back down.  We got some talking to do, you and me.”

“I’ve had a hard night,” I reason aloud to myself, glancing back at the house to see if anyone else is witnessing this ridiculous scene.  Closing my eyes, and shaking my head a few times, I try to clear my vision.  But, the girl is still here, staring at me with a painfully angelic smile on her face.

“Here, give me your hand.  I’ll show you that I ain’t in your head, you loon.”

I hesitate a moment, and then slowly stretch a shaking arm towards the creature, unsure why I’m following her orders.  I’m paralyzed with disbelief, but the cherub gives me an encouraging smile and slowly walks toward my open hand, gently clasps it, and places it on her face so that it is cradling her too-round cheek.  In a flash, the cherub’s mouth opens wide and chomps down on my thumb.

“Ouch!”  I snatch my hand back and hold it close to my chest as the girl chortles.  All I am capable of doing is glaring at her in anger and confusion.  Something that is so tiny and looks this innocent should not be capable of being so underhanded.

“Eh, well.  At least you know you ain’t dreaming.”  The girl laughs harder, until she is holding her ample gut and wheezing.

“What a rotten thing to do!”  I yell, absently rubbing the teeth marks on my thumb.

“Look, this ain’t my first go at this, y’know?  If I hadn’t done that, we’d still be sitting here with your jaw on the ground.  Ain’t got time for all that mess, girlie.”  The girl sniffs indignantly.  “Anyhow, my name’s Obnixa.  They call me Nixie for short.  You crack a short joke and I’ll bite the whole hand.”

I hold my hand protectively against my chest and Nixie stares back at me, bored with my fascination.

“Suppose you are here, and suppose you are real,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Nixie.  “What is it that you want?”

“Eh, my lady told me it was time to come get you,” Nixie says.

“Your…lady?” I repeat.

“That’s right.”

“And when you take me, where will we be going?”

“Don’t matter, girlie.  You ain’t really got a choice in the matter.”

“I most certainly do!”  Fear rises to the surface, threatening to bubble over.

“Nah, you really don’t.”  Nixie shakes her head.  “I was hoping to do this the easy way, girlie.”

Unsure of how to respond to a threat from a glowing, miniature girl with a baritone voice, I decide that Nixie probably won’t follow me inside.  I break toward the back door and only make it a few steps before a great bolt of light smacks me square in the back, knocking the wind out of me.  Unable to move, I collapse to the ground, unable to break my fall.  Pain radiates through my entire body.  Nixie clucks her tongue, grabs my feet and pulls me toward the hole in the tree, grunting as she struggles to drag my body along the ground.  Once she reaches the base of the tree she stops and drops my feet with a sigh of relief.  After catching her breath, she marches over to my head and pushes my body toward the hole, stuffing as much of me as possible in the split, and then using her foot to jam me down the rest of the way.  Nearly delirious with pain, the last thing that I see is Nixie taking one last sweeping glance around the backyard, and then she climbs in after me.

 

Click here to buy the book: Piper Kelley’s The Gloom: Book One of The Gloom Trilogy>>>