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    Shadow of the Oak: Sal Van Sleen, #1
    Shadow of the Oak: Sal Van Sleen, #1
    Shadow of the Oak: Sal Van Sleen, #1
    Ebook79 pages1 hour

    Shadow of the Oak: Sal Van Sleen, #1

    By Eric Kent Edstrom

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    About this ebook

    When a paranormal menace rises in Sal Van Sleen’s small home town, he and his friends must capture it to save a young girl’s life.

    Sal’s first adventure starts with a shriek. At fifteen, he’s unaware of his town’s magical past. But when a terrifying creature attacks his friends little sister, he and his companions race to save her, bringing them face-to-face with an ancient evil.

    Eric Kent Edstrom’s signature YA style brings humor and adventure to this small town paranormal fantasy. Shadow of the Oak is a fast-paced novella (18k words), that introduces fans and new readers alike to a series often described as Goonies and Stranger Things with  a touch of Buffy.

    Grab a copy today!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherUndermountain Books LLC
    Release dateFeb 1, 2017
    ISBN9781386440826
    Shadow of the Oak: Sal Van Sleen, #1
    Author

    Eric Kent Edstrom

    Eric is the author of over a dozen novels and numerous short stories.

    Read more from Eric Kent Edstrom

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      Book preview

      Shadow of the Oak - Eric Kent Edstrom

      1

      The thing about sword fighting is that it’s much more dangerous than it looks on TV. I learned this the hard way. The result? A police record and a lifetime ban from Charlie’s Pizzowie.

      The reason I, Sal Van Sleen, survived the fracas at all was because when I was fourteen, I spent two months in Haiti. It was sort of a foreign exchange program. I say sort of because it wasn’t an official kind of thing, being the result of a pen pal relationship my mom had struck up through a church club.

      For weeks I had listened to her talk about how this Haitian family needed help cutting cane because the father had a bad back. One day, Mom got tired of dropping unsubtle hints and announced I was going down there to help out. She said it would be a great cultural experience for me. You know, expand my horizons and all.

      And they’re good Catholics, she had added.

      The horizon in a sugar cane field is about thirteen inches away, and any expansion of said horizon was due to the strength of my right arm. And a machete.

      So when the bat monster confronted me at Charlie’s, I called upon some muscle memory in my sword arm.

      The whole thing started in the summer of 1986, when Billy Stratford and I held the first official meeting of our new company, Standard Comics. Stupid name, I know. I was into irony at the time.

      Since we had no office, we held the meeting on top of the dam on the Little Hickory river. It was a beige, concrete affair. Water poured through big holes in the middle. The top served as a bridge, though it went nowhere, with the other side of the river being all farm fields. We liked to go there as the sun set because it was quiet, private, and pretty.

      Billy brought a backpack full of comics, a sketchbook, pencils, and a bag of carrots. I had a lighter and a pack of stolen Marlboros stuffed in the front pocket of my Levi’s.

      We dangled our legs over the concrete edge of the dam while Billy sketched. I smoked, occasionally flicking ash into the river.

      Everything’s been done already, I said. Invisibility, super strength, teleportation . . . ESP.

      Billy tapped the eraser of his Ticonderoga No. 2 against his bottom lip. ESP . . .? Maybe our hero could, like, read his own mind.

      Stupid. It was a declaration I often made at that age.

      I wasn’t finished. What if he could read his own mind from the future? That way he’d know the mistakes he made and do things different. Billy’s shoulders crept up towards his ears the way they always did when he got excited about an idea. His pencil became a blur as he drew. To symbolize his telepathic hearing, he’ll have radar-dish ears on his outfit.

      Costume.

      Whatever. I was thinking maybe of going against the whole form-fitting outf—costume—most guys have. How about a sleeveless tunic over a billowing genie pant? And for flare . . . gingham bandana.

      Stupid. How about if he can hear everyone’s thoughts? That way he’d know what they were about to do and dodge out of the way.

      You just complained that ESP had already been done. Billy grabbed the bag of baby carrots from his backpack. It was the only sugary treat his mom allowed him. He offered me one. We just have to find a new twist.

      I tossed my cigarette butt into the river and took the proffered carrot. Maybe we should focus on the bad guy.

      Ooh. Ooh. I had an idea for her. Billy scratched long lines on his sketchpad. In seconds, a slinky evening gown took shape. But instead of heels, she’ll wear these thigh-high boots. He penciled in a head, hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. What do you think about a smoky eye beneath over-plucked brows?

      I bit my carrot in half and peered across the dam to where a sliver of gravel bike path showed through the box elders. Do you think Becca will show up?

      Billy continued to shade in our bad girl, who now wore a diamond choker and a samurai sword slung over her back. His voice became singsong, falsely casual. Maybe her power is a shrieking voice that deafens all who hear it.

      He wasn’t talking about our bad girl.

      Be nice, I said. Becca is our printer. Her father owned a Ford dealership, which meant she had access to a copy machine and lots of free paper. Unless you’ve come into some cash you haven’t told me about.

      Billy flipped to a clean page and started a new sketch of our hero. It seemed to me his lines were unnecessarily dark all of a sudden. Probably due to my comment about Billy’s poverty. His mom worked thirds at the cannery. And since his deadbeat dad didn’t pay support, they lived over in Frond Valley Mobile Park. Then again, his sudden sulk might have been due to me bringing up Becca.

      For my part, I thought Becca brought some very important assets to our endeavor. And her dad’s copier, too.

      She did show up, eventually, with her little sister Chrissy in tow. Their blonde ponytails—ash blonde, as Billy frequently pointed out—waved behind them as the girls bounced into view. Chrissy mimicked pretty much everything her older sister did.

      Becca always kept her head tilted and her chin down, as if she were posing for a portrait. As a result, she seemed to peer up from beneath her eyebrows. I found it dead sexy. Her sister emulated this behavior, but since

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