The Monsters Wars: The Battle of Sycamore Street
Chapter One
“Chicken!”
“Bawk! Bawk! Bawk!”
“Come on, jump already!"
“Wuss!”
Colt leaned forward and peered down at the boys from on high, his feet balancing precariously on the branch. There were three heads below; the two blond ones belonged to the Ruffian twins, Jax and Joey, and the dark head to their loyal sidekick, Brad Hecklor. The boys hadn’t exactly chased Colt up the tree; it had been a dare, but a dare from the Ruffian twins was as good as a threat. Refusal would have meant a headlock under Jax’s foul armpit while being forced to loudly declare that he still wets the bed, likes the smell of farts, and anything else humiliating the trio could think up. But worse yet, come tomorrow, he’d be the leper of Walnut Creek Junior High School.
The twins, even though they were known more for their brawn than their brains, had a knack for coming up with nicknames that stuck. Last year, Charity Orlick had tattled on the twins for making the kindergarteners lick ketchup off the tether ball pole, and they got the whole sixth grade to call her Buttlick. Not only that, the name had followed her to junior high. And poor Charlie Plonski got it even worse. In the third grade, he puked in the middle of the winter pageant in front of everyone, and the twins started calling him Upchuck. Rumor had it that the nickname had followed him all the way to his new school in Texas. If Colt refused to jump, tomorrow at school everyone would be calling him Dolt instead of Colt or something equally embarrassing.
The maple tree in which Colt stood grew just outside the chain-link fence that surrounded the school. But one low hanging branch reached over the fence. To climb the tree all you had to do was climb the fence then pull yourself up onto the branch. Of course, all students were banned from climbing the tree. Story had it that a student fell out the tree and broke every bone in his body back in the 90s. However, Mark Rosen said it was just because the school didn't want a lawsuit in case a kid got hurt—his mom was a lawyer. Either way, any student caught climbing the tree got mandatory detention.
That was where his best friend Brody was right now, detention. The twins had dared him to jump out of the tree at lunch today, and Brody wasn't one to back down from a dare. Even though his hefty friend wasn't the nimblest of climbers, he made it to the designated branch and leapt without a moment's hesitation—Brody may not have been the best of climbers, but he was an excellent jumper. He earned the twins' respect, tore a hole in the knee of his jeans, and got caught by the principal.
And that was how Colt ended up in his current predicament. He hung around after school to wait for Brody to get out of detention so they could walk home together. He normally avoided the Ruffian twins, but they lived across the street from the school with their grandmother, and at 2:30 p.m. the school grounds became their territory. They had cornered him and dared him up the tree.
By nature, Colt wasn't a troublemaker. He never got his name on the board, sent to the principal's office, or had to stay late for detention, and he certainly never would have climbed this tree of his own free will. He kept his head down and did his best not to be noticed—by his teachers, his classmates, or anyone else. The mere thought of getting in trouble made his palms sweat and his stomach sour.
Yet here he was. Unlike Brody, he scaled the tree with ease. But he couldn't bring himself to jump. Colt was no more a risk taker than a rule breaker.
“Jump! Jump! Jump!” the three boys began to chant.
A breeze blew against his face, the red leaves of the maple tree fluttering, and he closed his eyes. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this.
“Back off!” a voice rang out. Colt’s eyes flashed open and his foot slipped. He fell forward, certain he was going to plummet to his death, but at the last second he grabbed onto the branch above him. “Leave him alone!”
“What's your p-p-problem, Strapping?” Hecklor demanded, undeterred by his stutter.
“My problem is that you’re bullying my best friend.”
“We dared you and you did it. Now it’s Colt’s turn to prove he’s not a wuss,” Jax told Brody. Jax and Joey were fraternal twins, you know, not the identical kind. Jax was tall and skinny with shaggy blond hair. His brother was shorter and stouter with short blond hair and always followed his brother’s lead.
“Colt’s no wuss,” Brody declared. “He doesn’t need to prove it to you or anyone else,” his friend growled, his meaty hands curled into fists. Brody looked like he would be a bully, tall and hefty with unruly black hair and dark, closely spaced eyes. But Brody was a buddy, not a bully.
Tension coursed through the air like static electricity. Colt could tell that Hecklor was itching for a fight. A bit puny and a stutterer, he was always trying to prove himself. But the twins played on the football team with Brody. Not only did they know that he could pummel them, they were also kinda-sorta friends, at least football friends if not necessarily school friends.
“Hey, what are you kids doing?! Get out of that tree!” An old man came barreling out his back door and across the untamed yard towards them. A fat Rottweiler barking at his heels.
“It’s old man Schepler! Run!” Brad yelled. The Ruffian twins and their sidekick bolted.
Colt scampered down the tree, his heart racing.
“Come on! Come on!” Brody yelled, anxiously waiting for him.
Colt jumped off the fence, grabbed his backpack off the ground, and the best friends took off, running as fast as they could.
“Stay out of my yard, you hooligans!” the old man yelled from the fence, a fist in the air. “I'll have you arrested for trespassing! You hear me!”
They ran a full three blocks before feeling safe enough to slow to a walk.
“Man, I thought he was going to kill us!” Brody laughed, panting a bit. “Did you see his face? Oh man.”
Colt didn’t find anything funny about the situation.
“You don’t think he’ll call the cops or tell the school, do you?” he asked, worried. He could just picture two police officers escorting him to his front door and ringing the bell, the lights on the cop car flashing behind him as all the neighbors came outside to see what was going on. His mom answering the door and the disappointment on her face as the cops explained her son's crimes. Expelled from school for breaking the rules. Arrested for trespassing. He would be grounded for the rest of his life—if not in jail.
“Tell the school what?” nine-year-old Talia asked with narrow, suspicious eyes, marching up to them. Colt was late picking her up from Walnut Creek Elementary.
Whereas Colt did his best to blend in, his sister tried her hardest to stand out. Her outfit alone could give you a seizure. She wore rainbow leggings beneath a purple polka-dotted skirt and a red unicorn shirt under her bright yellow jacket. Not to mention her tie-dye high tops and the Ninja Turtle backpack that was as big as she was. She even put sparkly clips in her double buns. Talia was loud and outgoing, and she loved what she loved and she didn’t care what anyone thought. Colt cared what everyone thought.
“None of your business,” he snapped.
“Old man Schepler almost got us,” Brody told her dramatically. “We’re lucky we didn’t end up dinner for his hell hound!”
Her eyes got big. “Ooo, crazy Schepler is after you? Did you go into his yard? Is it true that he has an altar where he performs human sacrifices? Did you see the kid he keeps chained in the basement? Did he come after you with a bloody ax?”
“You better believe it! He almost took off Colt’s head just for climbing a tree in his yard,” Brody said, pretending to swing an ax. “If you look close, you can see he gave Colt a haircut.”
“Really?” she asked, enthralled. “Bend down so I can see.” She pulled on Colt’s arm. He yanked it away.
“You’re so gullible.”
“Am not!”
“Are too!”
“Nah-uh! Ashley Yokes’ older sister once knocked on old man Schepler’s door on a dare and he answered the door waving around a bloody knife! Nearly killed her!”
“And remember Devon Mecker? The hell hound bit off his foot!” Brody piped in.
“Devon Mecker was bit by his cousin’s Chihuahua and had to get two stitches. He just told that story so he’d look cooler,” Colt scoffed.
“So if you’re not scared of old man Schepler, why’d you run?” Talia asked, hands on hips.
“I didn’t want to get in trouble.”
“Likely story,” Talia said skeptically.
For the rest of the walk home, Brody and Talia exchanged Schepler stories, each one more absurd than the last.
They turned the corner and started down tree-lined Sycamore Street. Little golden leaves from the old honey locust trees fluttered down around them every time the wind blew, and dead leaves crunched under their shoes with every step. All the houses were small and well-tended. Halloween decorations had begun to pop up in the leaf-covered yards—foam tombstones, ghostly inflatables, and plastic skeletons dangling from trees.
“Come on, Izzie! Let me in! I promise I’ll leave you alone!” Whip pleaded, pounding on his front door. He wore his school uniform—gray slacks and a gray sweater vest over a white shirt, his red tie gone. Richard Whipple III, better known to his friends as Whip, lived next door to Brody and went to some ritzy private school.
“Locked out again?” Brody called out.
Whip spun around with a huge grin on his face. He was short with crazy curly red hair and a face full of freckles. He jumped off the small concrete porch and ran over.
“Izzie’s on the phone with her boyfriend, and I was making kissing noises,” he said then demonstrated, smacking his lips and moaning.
Sixteen-year-old Izzie Valdez was the best thing to ever happen to Sycamore Street. She came into all their lives last spring when Whip’s old babysitter, Mrs. Grogan (who was about a billion years old and always smelled like cooked cabbage) fell and broke her hip. All summer long, the beautiful Izzie laid out in a lawn chair on the front yard in her bathing suit, playing on her phone or reading a book. And all summer long Whip, Colt, and Brody did everything they could to get her attention—spraying her with the hose, throwing water balloons at her, basically an antic that would get her to chase them around the yard.
But Izzie wasn’t the greatest babysitter. She was late picking him up from school half the time. She paid more attention to her phone than him. And she had a bad habit of locking Whip out of the house whenever he was being annoying—which was pretty much always. Whip never told on her, though. None of them wanted Izzie fired.
“You want to come over to my house?” Colt offered, noticing that Whip didn’t have any shoes or socks on. His toes were looking a little bluish.
Before he could answer, yelling broke out from the house across the street. Twelve-year-old Maya Knight stormed out the side door of her two-story brick house, slamming the door behind her. She proceeded to make a very rude gesture at the door, then angrily yanked her black hair out of its bun. Her curls sprung free like fireworks.
She looked up and noticed that she had an audience. Instead of being embarrassed, she smiled and ran over. Which was a surprise. Colt, Brody, Whip, and Maya had been inseparable growing up. From the sandbox until last summer, anyway. Maybe it was because the boys spent so much of the summer focused on Izzie. Maybe it was that Maya found other friends that she liked better. Or maybe it was just part of growing up.
“Everything okay?” Colt asked, his stomach flip flopping the way it always did around Maya these days.
“Just the usual.” Maya had pretty much been at war with her mom since the womb.
“I like your tights,” Talia said.
Maya had on a pink ballet dress, leopard print tights, and a black motorcycle jacket, Doc Martens on her feet. Five days a week she took classes at a fancy ballet academy in Detroit after school, only coming home to change and eat. She spent most of her Saturdays there too. It was her dream to dance with The Royal Ballet in London someday. Colt had no doubt that she would too. Maya was talented and tenacious and tended to get what she wanted.
“Thanks. Did you guys hear about Martin Caffrey’s little brother?” she asked in an excited, hushed tone.
They all shook their heads. Martin was in the seventh grade too and lived a couple of blocks down the street. Colt had noticed that he wasn’t in homeroom this morning.
“Okay, so in the middle of the night Matty apparently decided to climb the bookcase in his bedroom and it toppled over on him, crushing him. There was blood and books everywhere. He was rushed to the hospital. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
Colt could see the whole scene in his head. The five-old-year’s mangled body trapped beneath the bookcase, books and toys scattered around him. Little Matty in his fire engine pajamas, blood gushing from his head. Of course, Colt didn’t know if he was wearing fire engine pajamas, but last year Martin had a birthday party. Matty was sick and supposed to stay upstairs, but he kept sneaking downstairs in his fire engine pajamas to spy on the party.
“How do you know this?” Colt asked, shaking the image from his head.
“Martin, of course. He posted it on Snapchat. But it gets better. The police are questioning his parents. Apparently, they aren’t certain it was an accident.”
“Of course, it wasn’t,” Talia said. “It was attempted murder.”
“And just how do you know that?” Colt demanded.
“It was the monster under his bed.”
They all burst into laughter. Talia frowned. “It’s true! Matty told me the monster under his bed was trying to kill him! He must have climbed the bookcase trying to get away from it!”
Talia tended to hang out with kids younger than her. Most kids her own age thought she was weird because she was, well, weird. How many other fourth graders did you know that still believed in monsters?
“Then I guess you better barricade your closet door so the boogeyman doesn’t get you next!” Brody teased.
Talia glared at him. “I don’t have to listen to this,” and she marched home.
“You do know Martin lies,” Colt reminded Maya. It was why Colt didn’t like hanging out with him. He was always making up stories. Like if he was late for class, it was because he got tied up stopping purse snatcher on the way to school. And when asked what he did over summer break, he made up this story about a grand vacation to the Galapagos Islands. Colt knew for a fact that except for the week he visited his grandparents on Mullet Lake, he spent his summer on Sycamore Street just like the rest of them.
Maya shrugged, more interested in the drama of the story than the truth of it. “So what are guys up to? Want to hang out?”
“Uh, don’t you have ballet class?” Whip asked. “Otherwise, that’s a questionable fashion choice. Just sayin’.”
Maya glared at him. “Shut up.”
“I mean, I like it. But a leotard in October? And those tights with those boots?” Whip teased.
“I’m going to punch you,” she threatened. Whip grinned and hid behind Brody.
Maya’s mom and brother came out of the house. Her older brother climbed into the front seat of the minivan, never looking up from his phone, while Mrs. Carrick wrestled the baby’s car seat into the back seat.
“Maya, let’s go!” she yelled angrily. “We’re going to be late for your audition!”
“We could play a videogame or ride bikes?” Maya suggested as if she hadn’t heard her mom holler at all.
“Maya!”
“You better go,” Colt said quietly.
Maya sighed. “I guess I’ll see you guys later.”
They watched as their friend and her mother had a short, heated conversation in the driveway before getting into the van and driving away.
Colt turned to Whip. “So you coming over?”
“Nah. Izzie’ll have to let me back in eventually. We both get in trouble if my homework’s not done by the time Ma gets home. See ya guys!”
Colt looked at Brody. “Do you want to come over? We can play vintage King Kong on my dad’s computer.”
“I should probably get home,” he said. “Ma’s going to kill me for ripping my jeans. They’re brand new.”
“You going to get in trouble for getting detention?”
“Dad won’t care and as long as he doesn’t tell Ma . . .” He grinned.
“Oh yeah, I need to get those comics back from you. My dad’s coming home tonight,” Colt said brightly. His dad had been on a business trip for the last ten days, his longest one yet. Colt couldn’t wait for him to get home.
“No problem.”
Brody opened the front door to the white, two-bedroom house. His dad sat in his recliner, his walker next to the chair. Judge Judy reruns played on the TV. Mr. Strapping, or rather Ron—he insisted that all of Brody’s friends call him by his first name—was a large man, well over six feet with wide shoulders and a belly that hung over the band of his sweat pants. He always wore striped rugby shirts—unless it was a game day, then it was the jersey of his favorite team. He had a ruddy complexion and unruly black hair flecked with gray.
“Hey Buddy,” he greeted his son in a loud, booming voice. Loud was Ron’s only setting.
“Look out, it’s a Colt .45! Bang, bang!” he laughed, pointing his fingers like guns and pretending to shoot. It was an old joke. Colt gave a polite smile. He liked Ron. Brody's dad always seemed to be in a good mood and was always inviting Colt to stay and watch the game (it didn’t matter what game, if it was a sport, Ron watched it). But Mr. Strapping had a big presence that filled a room, and sometimes with his banter and laughter, it felt like Colt was being pushed out of the room.
“What are you guys up to this afternoon?” he asked.
“I just have to give Colt back some comics. I’ll be right back,” Brody said.
Ron took a gulp of his pop then held out the bag of pretzels he was snacking on.
“No thanks,” Colt said, shaking his head.
Ron took a handful for himself. “Wrestling. You should try out for the wrestling team. You’re scrappy; I’ll bet you’re a natural.”
Usually the word people used to describe Colt was scrawny. He supposed scrappy was a step up. Colt was just as tall as the rest of the boys in his grade, but more bone than meat. He had dark brown skin, buzzed black hair, and hazel eyes that adults were forever fawning over.
“I wrestled in junior high. I even went All State. But football has always been my sport. If I hadn’t busted my knee senior year, who knows where I’d be. Maybe playing for the Lions!” he laughed and tossed a couple of pretzels into his mouth. “My boy inherited my talent. He’s built like his old man. I bet you ten to one that he’ll get a football scholarship to the school of his choice. And from there, who knows!” he laughed again and popped a couple more pretzels in his mouth. “Did your dad wrestle? He’s scrappy like you.”
“Not that I know of. My dad’s not really into sports.” Brody’s mom and Colt’s mom were good friends, but Ron and Malik never really hit it off. In fact, they were opposite in just about every way. Whereas Ron was large in every sense of the word, Malik was average height and slender with long dreadlocks that he kept tied back and glasses. Ron was a jock, in spirit if not in body, and Malik was a nerd through and through. They were polite, but the only thing they had to talk about was the weather.
“Here you go.” Brody handed him The Sizzlin’ Six, Issues 1-6.
“Thanks. Bye.”
“Bang! Bang! See ya Colt!” Ron laughed.
Colt left the Strapping residence and crossed the street to his house. It was a little ranch with blue siding and black trim. Fallen leaves carpeted the yard, and four fat, orange pumpkins sat on the steps of the porch, waiting to be carved.
He let himself in the front door and found Talia sitting on the living room floor. Poster boards, markers, and glitter surrounded her as cartoons blared on the TV. He knew she was working on her science project—something to do with the moon. She had been working on it for weeks.
“You’re getting glitter everywhere,” Colt complained.
His sister just turned to him with a smile, then blew a handful of silver glitter at him.
“I hate you,” he said, brushing the glitter off his blue hoodie.
“I hate you more!” she said happily.
Colt just glared at her. He envied Brody and Whip—they were only children.
He walked into the kitchen where his mom was at the table working on her laptop. Nisa Kingsley wore her hair short and natural and liked to dress in skirts and cardigans and scarves.
“When’s Dad getting home?” he asked eagerly.
Mom looked up and removed the red-rimmed reading glasses from her nose. “Oh, honey. They had a server fail in Mount Pleasant and he was the closest tech, so he had to drive straight there from Saginaw.”
His heart dropped and all the excitement drained out of him. “Is he going to make it home for the weekend?”
“He doesn’t know yet.”
Colt just nodded.
“You know he’s doing this for us, right?” she said, trying to catch his eye. Last summer his dad got a new IT job. He earned a much higher salary, but he was gone all the time. “So we can get a bigger house. And so I can go back to school. And so we can pay for your and Talia’s college education.”
“Yeah,” Colt said, quietly. However, on the inside he was simmering. He didn’t want a bigger house. He liked this house just fine, thank you very much. And he certainly didn’t want to move and leave his friends behind. And he knew his mom wanted to get her Master’s degree so she could finally become a librarian, but that would just mean she’d be home less often too. And college was a million years off . . . He’d rather have his dad home. Home to play vintage Nintendo games before dinner every night. Home to tell Talia she had to do all her glittering in the garage. Just home.
Sulking, Colt turned and left. Before he could reach his bedroom, Mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “Hey, what do you guys say to make-your-own-pizza night?” she asked with an enthusiastic smile.
“Yay!” Talia cried out, jumping to her feet. “We each get to make our own right?”
“Of course! What kind of mother do you think I am?” She turned her eyes to Colt. “What do you say, Colt?”
“Whatever,” and he went into his room. It was a small room. His bed with its blue and green comforter was shoved against one wall. A small nightstand next to it. A bookcase and his dresser against the opposite wall. His desk sat next to the door. There were a few superhero posters on his walls, but mostly it was papered with his own drawings. Colt was really good at drawing. He would sketch fan art—superheroes, mutants, manga—but mostly, he drew stories from his own brain. Like the kid who could enter his favorite videogames, but if he died in-game, he died in real life. Or the ghost boy that haunted his school and got revenge on mean teachers and bullies by scaring the crap out of them.
He pulled the comics from his backpack and flopped down on his bed. The Sizzlin’ Six by E.C. Holland was his dad’s favorite comic. Colt’s too. It was about this weird but hilarious crew of goblin thieves and the outlandish heists they carry out in the fantasy world of Goblonia. The crew mostly pulled off their crimes by con and sleight of hand, rather than violence. Like in Issue 1 when Crags and One Eye dress up like old men and get into a bickering fight outside a bank. It begins with insults and yelling and devolves into a slapping fight that the bank security guard has to break up, giving the other crew members time to sneak inside. Or in Issue 4, when the police are chasing half the gang through the streets of Skunkweed and Drakegon shows up as a distressed mother who has lost her child. The police give up the chase to help her find her imaginary children. But sometimes the Sizzlin’ Six do resort to violence. In Issue 6, the crew plans to rob a casino when they realize the casino is a front for a group of terrorist gremlins who want to blow up City Hall. The goblins end up stealing the terrorists’ dynamite and blow up their casino (of course, after they’ve already raided the casino’s vaults).
When his dad was in college, he became really good friends with the owner of the local comic book store, who also happened to be the author of his favorite comic book. E.C. disappeared when Malik was in his junior year. No one knew if just up and moved or if something nefarious happened to him. The loss of his friend made The Sizzlin’ Six even more treasured.
His dad didn’t mind it when Colt went through his comic book collections. He didn’t even mind it when Colt’s friends read his comics. However, he never said Colt could lend out his comics to his friends—BUT his dad also never said he couldn’t lend them out. So technically, Colt hadn’t broken any rules, but he would feel much better once the comic was back in its box under his parents’ bed. He supposed there was no rush to put it back now. Who knew when his dad would be home.
He flipped through the comic until his mom called him for dinner. The pizza dough was made and an array of toppings sat out on the table. Talia already had sauce on her pizza and was making a mess of sprinkling shredded mozzarella on it.
“I want Parmesan cheese too!” Talia declared, and Mom handed her the grated Parmesan.
His mom smiled at him. “I’ve got pepperonis, bacon, mushrooms . . .”
“I want olives and pineapple!” Talia said, reaching for the black olives Mom had sliced.
“Gross,” Colt said, spooning pizza sauce on his crust.
Talia stuck her tongue out at him. “Daddy likes it and so do I!”
“He only pretends to like it so you don’t feel like a freak.”
“Colt!” Mom scolded. Talia gave him a satisfied smile.
“It’s the truth,” he mumbled, tossing cheese on his pizza.
“Can we watch The Wizard of Oz while we eat?” Talia asked.
“You know you can’t watch that movie,” Colt said, annoyed. For Talia, The Wizard of Oz might as well be Nightmare on Elm Street.
“I’m not scared of the flying monkeys anymore,” she insisted.
“I don’t know, bug,” Mom said, putting green peppers and onions on her pizza. “Last year you had nightmares every night for a week. Why don’t we watch Hocus Pocus? You love Hocus Pocus.”
Talia shook her head. “We can’t watch that movie without Daddy. It’s tradition.”
“What do you want to watch, Colt?” Mom asked, changing tactics.
“I don’t care,” he said with a shrug.
“Then it’s settled. The Wizard of Oz,” Talia said happily.
“We’ll fast forward through the flying monkeys,” Mom said.
“That never works,” Colt reminded her.
“I told you. I’m not scared of the flying monkeys anymore!”
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