James’ Night of Terror

Contents

From the author:

From the illustrator:

1

2

3

4

5

6

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8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

From the author:

I would like to dedicate this book to my wife and daughter, Nancy and Audrey. This work would not have happened without their love, support, and willingness to give me time to work.

I would also like to thank the rest of my family for their years of support. My mother always encouraged me to be creative and has read every word I have written. Special thanks go to Carolyn Grogan and Jim Arlington for their many hours spent editing the book. Finally, a big thank you to my student, Alex Salinas, for his hard work in creating the illustrations found throughout the story.

From the illustrator:

I dedicate all my work in this book to my closest friends and family for their constant support and for believing in me when I doubted myself in this project. I also thank Bob for taking a risk by trusting a 16 year-old amateur to take part in the completion of his first book.

1

James pulled the strings of his hood so that the opening shrunk around his face. His iPod blasted music into each ear, blocking out the sound of the howling wind. He reached the intersection of Maple and Walnut which indicated that he had walked five blocks, half the distance from his house to the Caputos. The wind swirled around him and blew the snow into his face. Each flake, these normally gentle beautiful little things of fluff, smacked his bare cheeks like an angry bee. James could only hope that his skin would soon become numb from the cold, removing any feeling of the stinging snow. He started to wonder if maybe he should have accepted his mom’s offer to drive him the short distance to his babysitting job.

Even though there was nothing wrong with being dropped off by his parents, James wanted to get out of the house after being cooped up all day long. The cabin fever, along with his parents dancing around the house to Glenn Miller while they dressed to go out, drove him crazy. He liked his parents, but they acted strangely whenever they were going out for a Big Band Night. Besides, James needed to get away from his English project. The entire day had been spent working on creating a movie poster and summary of the novel he had read. The fact that the teacher made them read a book outside of class was bad enough, but now she wanted them to do this creative project to prove that they had read the book. The worst part was that it was due after a three-day weekend. James often wondered if teachers realized that students had lives outside of their classrooms. He didn’t bother to complain though since he knew his mother would defend the teacher and remind him that he had had six weeks to complete the assignment.

He pulled on the strings to see if he could make his hood opening even smaller. The hood didn’t move, and ice had started to build up on the strings. He remembered the earlier forecast. The weatherman had pegged it. The storm from the night before had left the area, providing a small window of opportunity to dig out. The temperatures were scheduled to drop again, bringing more winds and snow tonight into tomorrow. If it really snowed all weekend then maybe school would be canceled Tuesday as well. While it had been a cold and bitter winter so far, the amount of snow at any one time had never been enough to close the schools. It had been six weeks since they returned from winter break, and James really could use an extra day off. It was not that he disliked school, but being in all honors and AP courses, the amount of homework was starting to weigh on him. An extra day to sleep would be great.

Behind James, a snowplow with its blade scraping along the avenue threw snow over the sidewalk. With the music cranked to eardrum-breaking volume, James did not hear the approach of sixty pounds of wet, dirty snow being tossed from the street. However, inches from being buried by the avalanche, he heard the blare of the truck’s air horn. James turned to see the driver pulling the string at the roof of his cab. The sound barely broke through the music, but it interrupted the guitar riff enough to save James from becoming a human snowman.

Seeing the wall of white headed in his direction, James jumped to the side next to a snow bank. He watched the once clean sidewalk turn a grayish color of slush, snow, and ice. The snow bank provided a safe haven for his body; however, James’ feet and brand new sneakers were left in the path of doom. He lost sight of his feet as the snow settled to the ground. His one hundred dollar shoes were now soaked through. James pulled out his earphones and the music continued playing as they dangled from his chest.

The plow slowed to a halt a few feet away. Sorry kid. You alright? A gruff voice came from the cab. I didn’t see you there. You kids need to pay attention once in a while.

James just sat in the snow bank looking at his feet. Yeah. Thanks for the warning. He nodded to the waving hand as the plow continued on its way.

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could hear the driver laughing. James was positive that the drivers took pride in the number of pedestrians that they could soak, the number of driveways that they could block, and the number of cars that they could bury. He didn’t blame them. After all, no one ever said thank you to them. Most people complained that they didn’t clear their street first or that they didn’t do it right. James thought that the drivers wanted to get even for all of the griping.

He pushed himself out of the pile of snow and assessed the damage. His iPod was wet but still playing. He checked over the rest of his body. Everything felt intact with just a little bit of snow inside the pocket of his sweatshirt. He raised each foot and shook off the snow and slush. The coldness of the water that had seeped inside of his shoes quickly progressed up his toes.

I told you to wear boots and not your new shoes, he could hear his mother’s voice telling him. I even offered you a ride, but you knew better. I just hope that the leather doesn’t crack. Try as he might, James could not get his mother to understand that sixteen year olds did not wear boots regardless of the weather, but she didn’t understand and would just use this as another way to prove that she was always right.

Her voice echoing in his head was silenced by the sounds of sirens whipping down the street. James glanced behind him. Though Youngsville was normally a very quiet town, the tranquility had been broken all afternoon by police cars rushing back and forth. James and his parents had been checking the news and calling friends throughout the day trying to find out what was happening; however, no one seemed to know the cause of all the commotion. He counted three police cars heading down Youngsville Road. At first he thought that somebody may have robbed the convenience store, but the cars were headed in the opposite direction. A fourth car soon followed; over half of the little town’s police force had driven past James. The final siren to go by belonged to a blue police car. That meant that police from neighboring Lewisville had been called in. Whatever had happened was huge. The town would be talking about it for weeks.

The sounds of sirens whipped down the street.

He checked his watch. He had thirty minutes before the Caputos needed him. James debated turning and heading down to see what was going on. He tried to plot in his head the amount of time it would take. The problem was that he didn’t know exactly how far away the accident would be. Most likely somebody had hit a patch of ice and plowed into a telephone pole or something. His assumption was confirmed when an ambulance sped by. That settled the debate; he would walk down to investigate. He turned and started toward Manor Drive when his cell phone rang. The caller ID stated MOM. He reluctantly flipped open the phone.

Hey Mom. What’s up?

Honey, I want you to ask Mr. Caputo for a ride home tonight. We won’t be getting home until after midnight, and I see you didn’t wear any boots. It’s supposed to be snowing hard later, and I don’t want your new shoes getting wet.

James grimaced at the last comment. She knows! How does she do that? This call was her way of telling him that she already knew that he had soaked his shoes.

OK, he grumbled. He wondered when his mother would finally realize that he was almost an adult. He could take care of himself. Just the same, if the storm did hit before the Caputos came home, he wouldn’t have a problem with bumming a ride. After all, babysitting didn’t pay enough to justify getting sick, and he knew that his shoes would never be dry in time for the walk home. He clicked the phone shut and started walking again toward the Caputo residence. The phone call made James forget about the police cars and the accident.

He plugged the earphones back into his ears. With the first step, James realized the extent to which his feet were soaked; the water squished back and forth in his shoes. His socks