“Sheldon Higdon delivers a fun, freaky, and frightening novel–first in what I hope is a long series–for young readers. It’s Goosebumps meets Supernatural!” –Jonathan Maberry, New York Times bestselling author of Rot & Ruin and editor of Don’t Turn Out the Lights
From the Publisher: “Being a kid is hard.
Being a witch is harder.With their estranged Aunt Jan as their guardian, twelve-year-old twin brothers, Horace and Edgar Eerie, still cope with the unexpected death of their mother. On the day of their school detention, the boys each face different supernatural events that bring out unexpected abilities in them.
In 1692, Salem, in the midst of the witch trials, Hex is absorbing the abilities of other witches so he can enter the present world and rule over the Hidden Ones, Humans, and control all magic—and Mother Nature. But first he must collect the Four Seasons, totems that hold the seeds of each season. And he already has one!
With the help of their best friend, Horace and Edgar must travel back to 1692, Salem, and stop Hex. But dark family secrets are revealed and those secrets might destroy the brothers before they have the chance of saving their family, friends, and their future…”
More info About the Author: “Sheldon Higdon‘s work has appeared in nearly 50 publications. He’s also an award-winning screenwriter (with a short screenplay currently being produced in London.) He earned his MFA from Seton Hill University’s Writing Popular Fiction program and is a member of the Horror Writers Association and the SCBWI (The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators.) Sheldon also writes articles for the online Pittsburgh magazine, Kidsburgh.”
When Edgar told his brother he was going home, he wasn’t exactly telling the whole truth. He left out the part about stopping at the cemetery.
There were two ways of getting to the cemetery from the school. One was by taking Middle School Road to Castaway Lane, the same road he and Horace lived on, and the other was through the woods. At a fork in the pathway, the trail veered off to the right to head home or banked left to the cemetery.
Without telling Horace or their aunt, Edgar had visited their mom’s grave twice a week since her death. He missed her. But he was mad at her, too. If only she would have stayed home that day and hadn’t gone boating. Then the accident. And she never came back. Her body never found.
Edgar and Horace didn’t have much of a family. It was just them and their mom. They never knew their dad. They were told he died from a heart attack before they were born at a lonely Motel Inn while at a conference in Pittsburgh. The city he was born in, strangely enough. For some weird reason, he was never brought back to Coldwater Island. Instead, his ashes were spread out over various spots in the city he grew up in.
Edgar often wondered why he was never sad about his dad. Horace said it’s because they never knew him. No connection, therefore, no memories. And no tears. And now, they had no parents.
The day after their mom’s death, their Aunt Jan moved to the island from Massachusetts to be their guardian. It all happened quick and without delay. Their Aunt Jan meant the world to them. Without her in their life, taking guardianship, he and Horace would be without each other. And that would be worse than dying.
But if it would make everything like it was before his mom’s death, when he and Horace felt like they had a real family, Edgar would take this ride a million more times.
He pedaled hard down the path, huffing as he did, jumping exposed roots, bunny-hopping fallen branches, and making tight turns. The surrounding autumnal flora bombarded him with its crunch of dead leaves, snapping of twigs, and the sweet smell of pine trees. Edgar knew the path’s curves and hills. He knew the trees and used certain ones as markers to tell how far he was from the cemetery, or home.
One tree in particular was just ahead. It was a large oak, which he knew because of his very short time in the Cub Scouts. Its trunk had grown into a wide V as if doing splits. It was his favorite tree, because instead of riding around it, Edgar could jump over it.
He fingered the brake lever on his handlebars, slowing himself down a little, and then popped a wheelie down a slope and pedaled fast up the other side, gaining speed to make the jump. There was no ramp or root to help him propel his BMX over the tree. It was a big bunny-hop, and he needed to time it right. Edgar squinted, focusing on the task before him. He’d done this a billion times.
Edgar pulled up on his handlebars, raising the front tire of his bike off the ground, but before he could lift the back end into the air and through the V, he accidentally turned his front tire, which turned his bike slightly with it. His rear tire slammed into the tree’s right trunk. Aluminum crashed against wood, and he flew off the BMX, thudding onto the ground, and rolling into the brush of the woods.
Lying on his back, he took a moment to collect himself. Above him he saw fingers of sunlight poke through the canopy of the trees. He mentally took inventory of his body. Broken bones? Sprains? Overall, everything seemed okay. He eased himself up and brushed dirt, pieces of leaves, and dry needles off of him.
His GT Pro Performer was parked in between the V of the tree, resting on its sprocket while the front tire sat on the path. After pulling his bike from the tree, he checked it over for any serious damage. It had a few scratches, four broken spokes, and a dent in the front rim, but after a quick realignment of his handlebars, Edgar placed his bike onto the path and wiped sweat from his face with his arm.
“H-help!”
The voice came from behind him.
Edgar looked over his shoulder, past the V tree, down the path to the fading darkness that greeted him.
“Please.”
It sounded flat, lifeless.
“H-hello?” He took a few steps forward. “Are…are you okay?”
“H-Horace!”
Chills spilled down Edgar’s back like ice water. His heart pedaled up into his throat, beating faster than when he’d raced down the path.
“Where are you?” he said, lying his bike down on the path.
“H-help.”
Edgar ran. His brain punched his skull. The path was soft beneath his footfalls. His legs tightened as he hurdled a stump.
“I’m coming!”
A shriek pierced the dense woods. Edgar stopped in his tracks, breathing hard, as a crow stood on the path in front of him. It cocked its head as if studying him, opened its pitch-black beak, and released a loud caw.
One that sounded like a scream.
A human scream.
That sounded…familiar. Edgar couldn’t place it, but somehow, he knew it.
Another crow landed behind the first, and it also opened its beak. But instead of a scream it said, “Horace…h-help.”
It startled Edgar, and he took a step back, his thoughts tangled.
The sound of flapping and branches breaking pulled his attention upward. Hundreds of crows flew through the woods. They landed in the trees, staring at him, and then swooped down and gathered with the others on the path.
Edgar swallowed hard and backed up, heart rattling in his chest.
The birds hopped in unison, grouping into a large mass, forming from the ground up into the shape of a person. It reached out and pointed at Edgar. Its arm an oil slick of feathers. Where its mouth would be, a hole appeared, black talons for teeth. The crows flapped their wings and swirled into a tight cyclone. In an instant, all the crows screamed, “Horace!” Then an explosion of blue-black feathers hurtled toward Edgar. Shutting his eyes, he held his arms over his head to protect himself.
Edgar opened his eyes and saw the path and woods around him. The crows were gone. The being gone.
“That was weird.”
Did I just have a crazy daydream?
He raced home.
The cemetery would have to wait.
This excerpt is published here courtesy of the author and the publisher and should not be reprinted without permission.
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