Kitsy and Teddy McGullen's adventures begin in Down the Wishing Well and continue in The Wish Thief.
Chapter One
Down the Wishing Well
There is a little town at the tippity top of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula where wishes really do come true. All you have to do is visit the little wishing well in Hope’s End, close your eyes tight, make your wish, then toss a coin into the well. And if the wish isn’t stolen by the mermaids or woodwoses and contains enough value, it shall be granted.
However, there once was a boy who faithfully trekked to the little wishing well three times a day every day and tossed every last penny he had into the well, wishing with all his might. But not a one came true. He couldn’t understand why. Everyone else’s wishes came true, why not his? Then one sunny summery afternoon, as his eyes were closed tight and he was making his wish for the millionth time, he heard a voice.
“Psst!”
Startled, the boy opened his eyes and looked around. The well stood atop a tall hill and he could see all of Hope’s End laid out below him and the deep blue of Lake Superior beyond it, not another person in sight. It must have been a bird flying overhead, or maybe a fly buzzing past his ear, he assured himself. Then an unsettling thought occurred to him—it could have been a snake. The boy looked down, nervously picking up his feet. He wasn’t fond of slimy, scaly, slithery things. In fact, just the thought of one slinking over his foot sent a shiver down his spine.
Still a little uneased, he once again closed his eyes and resumed his wish making. I wish—
“Psst! Down here, sport.”
The boy’s eyes flashed opened. That was no buzzing fly!
“Hey! Down here!”
The voice seemed to be coming from inside the well. Cautiously, the boy peered inside. “Hello?” he called out, the tremble in his voice magnified as it echoed off the stone walls.
“Hi-ya sport!” the voice called up, cheerfully.
“Who-who’s down there?” he demanded, his forehead furled.
“So what will it be today, sport? Same old wish, different shiny penny?”
“Huh?”
“Stubborn, stupid, or just sickly sincere?”
“What?”
“Which are you? Never mind, sport; I think that might be self-evident. Listen, I can help you out. I can not only grant that single wish you have your boyish heart set upon, but make even your wildest dreams come true.”
“How?” he asked with a surge of excitement. He had been wasting all his pocket change on the well for a whole year when maybe there was another—easier—way to get his wish granted. Who knew, maybe the voice could even get him all his money back!
However, there was a voice in the back of his mind that reminded him, if it sounds too good to be true, it is. Family, teachers, just about every grown-up he had ever met was always saying things like that. They were always trying to tell you what to do, acting like they knew everything. But grown-ups were wrong all. the. time. Whenever he dared to go outside without a hat or coat during cold or rainy or snowy weather, someone was calling after him, You’re going to catch your death out there! But after many coatless and hatless outings, he was very much still alive. And when he made himself a sling shot—You’re going to shoot someone’s eye out with that! He may have hit Mrs. Berger in the bottom once (accidentally on purpose) and broke a window or two (definitely accidents), but he never shot anyone in an eye, on purpose or otherwise.
“All you have to do is come down the wishing well.” He could hear the smile in his voice.
The boy frowned. He didn’t like that idea. “You come up here.”
“Nothing would make me happier than to do just that, sport. I would if I could, trust me. That’s why I need you to come down here.”
“I don’t know . . .” he said, looking down into the blackness. Anything could be lurking down there. Seamus MacDougall, a boy he knew, had told him all kind of stories about water demons—horses that drown children or beautiful ladies who lured men to their watery graves. Could this be some other kind of water demon? He was too old to believe in such rubbish yet . . . he was talking to a wishing well.
“If you’re too yellow, I get it. Probably still scared of the dark at your age. Come back when you’ve grown a backbone and are serious about your wish.”
“Not serious?! I’ve thrown every cent I’ve earned down there!” The boy wasn’t like other kids, whose mothers would just give their children pennies from the purses. He didn’t even have a mother. He had to earn his own spending money. And he hadn’t spent his money on anything all summer except for wishes.
“Tossing pennies is for little babies. Not men. When a man truly wants his wish granted, he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure it comes true. Maybe the wish just isn’t that important to you after all. Not worth the risk.”
But his wish was important. He had never wanted anything more.
He hesitated, then asked, “How do I get down?”
“Just lower the bucket and climb down the rope. Easy-peasy.”