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Chris Bartal

Description

• exposé

• state of kentucky
• general carrington
• kentucky veteran volunteer infantry
• manufacture of destructive explosives for the destruction of steamboats
• united states
• government

Sujets

• Exposé
• Morton
• McGill
• Military tribunal
• Vickery
• Supreme Council
• Grand Council
• Indianápolis

Informations

• Publié par: ecta
• Nombre de lectures: 26
• Langue: English

Extrait

Copyright © 2011 by Chris Bartal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.Prologue
It was not the kind of place a normal kid would want to live in. The dilapidated
old house stared out from under the branches of overgrown trees; no one had lived in it
for ages. Houses in horror movies looked safer than this one. Everyone knows you
should never even think about going inside a house like this, but now it was Oliver’s new
home. He shuddered at the thought.
Three weeks ago Mr. Dobbins, Oliver's father, called a family meeting. It was the
first time Oliver had learned he was going to move.
"I have some exciting news," Mr. Dobbins began, rubbing his hands together with
enthusiasm. "I’ve decided to transfer from Burlington to New Devonshire for the bank.”
Disappointment welled up like bile in the back of Oliver’s throat. The bank kept
his dad away on business all the time, and when he was home, he worked long hours.
"Oh, Dad," complained Marie, "why didn't you talk to us about it first? It's so far
away."
"Why should he care what we think?" said Philip irritably.
"Stop being so melodramatic," said Mrs. Dobbins.
"Well, it's settled then?" said Mr. Dobbins, oblivious to his children’s objections.
"Mother and I are going to look at houses this weekend."
Oliver kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to move, but he knew it was pointless
to argue with his dad. Besides, Mr. Dobbins had already gotten up to read a book, and
Oliver wouldn’t be able to interrupt him even if he marched into the library banging
cymbals.
"Well, that's just great," Philip muttered as Mr. Dobbins wandered down the hall.
"He can't just wait two years for me to finish high school?"
"Philip, everything is not about you," said Mrs. Dobbins.
Philip stomped upstairs to his bedroom and slammed the door. Marie sat on the
sofa looking as if she might cry, and Oliver went unnoticed.
After the family meeting, Mr. and Mrs. Dobbins had found a new house, sold
their old house, and packed everything into boxes. Oliver was sad to say goodbye to his
friends from school, but he was a little glad to be leaving Aunt Gwendolyn behind. She
lived in Burlington, too, which was not far enough away if you asked Oliver. She was a
bit strange, to say the least.
Having never been married, Aunt Gwen was the only relative who was ever
available to babysit the kids when Mr. and Mrs. Dobbins went away. And when they
were looking at houses, she had been the one to stay with the children. Philip called her
‘Crazy Aunt Gwen’ behind her back, partly because she kept about seventeen cats and
partly because she believed gnomes were planning to take over her garden. Aunt Gwen
kept the seventeen cats to keep the gnomes away and to keep her company. But of course
having seventeen cats didn't really help her make many new friends.
During her last stay she had outlined her plan for the device she was building to
trap the gnomes. Apparently, they had been stealing vegetables from her garden.
"Couldn't it have been rabbits?" asked Oliver hoping to change the subject.
"Don't you think I know the difference between gnomes and rabbits?" she
snapped.Oliver wasn't sure that she did, but his mother had told him to be especially nice
after Aunt Gwen's visit to Happydale Inn Sanitarium. So he didn’t say anything.
"Anyway," she continued, "I've camouflaged the traps with leaves and branches.
I should have caught some by the time I return home on Sunday."
"Have you ever seen these gnomes?" asked Philip, always ready to get Aunt
Gwendolyn started on her rambling.
"Good grief, child,” she said, "haven't I told you the story?" Marie rolled her
eyes, and Philip snickered as Aunt Gwen began to recount the very familiar story once
more while preparing their supper.
"When I was about Oliver's age, our family went on vacation to England to visit
some relatives. Our relatives lived far out in the countryside, and there were no young
children for miles, but they did have an old tree house. Your mother and I were playing
in the tree house in an old rowan growing in the garden. We heard some voices and
thought it would be fun to spy on the adults. Only the voices we heard didn’t belong to
our family. When we looked out of the balcony, we could see no one, but we could still
hear voices. Suddenly a little door opened in the side of the tree and a tiny man started
tossing carrots into the tree house. When he saw us, he slammed the door shut, and we
heard nothing else even though we waited a long time."
"That sounds like the Keebler elves, Aunt Gwen," Philip said.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, "elves are much larger and they make toys, not
cookies."
"Well, maybe it was fairies or leprechauns," suggested Marie.
"I can see that you think this is a big joke," she said indignantly. "Well, you kids
can get your own dinner.” She flung aside a large wooden spoon, and it clattered as it hit
the sink. “I'm going for a walk."
"Can I come, too?" Oliver asked, immediately wishing he hadn’t. He didn't really
want to hear any more about gnomes, but he was sorry his aunt's feelings were hurt.
"I suppose," she said, "if you'll keep quiet."
Oliver did as he was told, and Aunt Gwendolyn continued her story. "Your
mother and I inspected the tree house to see if we could find anything else, but all we
found was little piles of vegetables. That's a telltale sign of gnomes, Oliver. We were
going to pry open the door in the tree, but we couldn't even find it again. Eventually we
went in and told the adults, who found our story very entertaining. But later that night
my great-grandmother, your great-great-grandmother, pulled me aside by her overstuffed
chair.
"Them's gnomes you saw, girl," she said. "Watch out for 'em. They steals
whatever they can gets their paws on. Lock your house good an' tight, or you never know
what might be missing."
"I tried to ask her more, but when the other adults came into the room, she
wouldn't say anything else. Years later your mother thought we had probably just
imagined it, but I was your age, and I know what I saw." Oliver still didn't say anything.
"We'd best be heading back," Aunt Gwen said. When they got home, nobody said
another word about gnomes.Chapter 1
Mr. Dobbins turned the car down an old deserted lane and cheerfully announced,
"Here we are!"
Oliver felt anything but cheerful as the car passed a huge rusty iron gate and drew
close to the house, which, if you remember, was very old. It was decidedly Victorian and
must have been magnificent at one time. But not now. He tried to suppress the dread he
felt in the pit of his stomach. This place gave him the willies. The yard was overrun with
fierce entanglements of weeds and wild rosebushes, and more gray paint lay flaked off on
the ground than remained on the sides of the house.
"It sure is a fixer-upper," Philip observed. Oliver thought his older brother looked
a bit pale. Marie’s lower lip began to quiver when Mr. Dobbins said, "All right then, let's
get to work." He hopped out of the car, assigned everyone a job, and thrust a bucket and
mop into Marie’s hands.
"Don't we get a tour first?" asked Marie, overwhelmed at the prospect of helping
Mother clean the enormous house and large attic.
“That’s right! I almost forgot,” said Mr. Dobbins. He took them all around the
house and showed them their own rooms. Oliver was pleased, at first, when he
discovered that he and Philip no longer had to share a room. His brother was not the best
roommate and was constantly rummaging through Oliver’s drawers.
After going through the house, filthy from years of neglect, Mr. Dobbins walked
them around the expansive property including a carriage house and a potting shed.
"Wow, look at the size of this yard," Philip said.
"I'm glad you like it, Philip," said Mr. Dobbins. "It will be your job to mow it."
"Ohhh," groaned Philip.
A fence enclosed a small area outside the kitchen window. "Is that for a dog?"
asked Oliver. He had always wanted a pet.
"No, no," chuckled Mr. Dobbins, "that’s for our kitchen garden. We'll grow some
herbs and vegetables there in the spring." Oliver preferred a dog, but he didn't object.
"Everybody hop to it," said Mr. Dobbins. "We've only got a few hours before the
moving van is supposed to arrive."
Mrs. Dobbins and Marie cleaned the house while Oliver, Philip, and their father
removed all of the old furniture. Mr. Dobbins had rented a dumpster for all of the
garbage the previous occupants had left behind. Everyone kept sneezing from the dust <