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    The Ghost of Bradbury Mansion: The Childhood Legends Series
    The Ghost of Bradbury Mansion: The Childhood Legends Series
    The Ghost of Bradbury Mansion: The Childhood Legends Series
    Ebook142 pages1 hour

    The Ghost of Bradbury Mansion: The Childhood Legends Series

    By Judith Blevins and Carroll Multz

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Their most daring adventure yet! 

    When a walk home from a birthday party turns into a ghostly encounter, the R*U*1*2s are drawn into the mystery of Bradbury Mansion. 

    Join the gang as they discover that even though a spirit may be unseen, its influence and power are not.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBHC Press/Barking Frog
    Release dateJun 6, 2017
    ISBN9781386429883
    The Ghost of Bradbury Mansion: The Childhood Legends Series

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      Book preview

      The Ghost of Bradbury Mansion - Judith Blevins

      TP_1_FLAT_fmt

      THE GHOST OF BRADBURY MANSION

      Copyright © 2017 Judith Blevins & Carroll Multz

      All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

      This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

      Published by Barking Frog

      an imprint of BHC Press

      Library of Congress Control Number:

      2017940066

      Print edition ISBN numbers:

      ISBN-13: 978-1-946848-14-7

      ISBN-10: 1-946848-14-X

      www.bhcpress.com

      Also44893

      Even though your authors have not seen the ghost of Bradbury Mansion and base the novel that follows on mere rumor, doesn’t mean that ghosts don’t exist. The spirit of Christmas, for example, though unseen, is as real as night and day. Until proven otherwise, the ghost of Bradbury Mansion is more than a fable.

      We have fought hard to refrain from discounting the possibility that Lucinda really existed and that she achieved superhuman feats through a group of preteens known as the R*U*1*2s. Despite our resistance to the possibility, the overwhelming evidence points in the opposite direction. Therefore, it is more likely than not that Lucinda really existed and that her legend lives on.

      This is the fourth young adult novel in the collection known as the Childhood Legends Series®. Follow the journeys of the R*U*1*2s as they continue to substantiate the belief that the world is made by and for our youth.

      Special thanks to Margie Vollmer Rabdau for her editing skills. And to our publisher, BHC Press, our continuing gratitude.

      44944

      Cole, Emily, Joey, Kate, Kirsten,

      Logan, Taran, Trenton, Bridgette,

      Hannah, Irina and Caroline

      Title_Page_Main_Flat_fmtTitle_Page_Main_Flat_fmt1

      An open mind leaves room for possibilities.

      ~ Blevins/Multz ~

      45044

      Our newly formed club, the Are You One Toos (R*U*1*2s for short), has close to two dozen members ranging in age from five to twelve years old. All the members live in and around our neighborhood and each was instrumental in converting an old apple shed into a fitting clubhouse.

      Homer Pearson, Rhymin’ Sally’s father, gave us permission to use the shed as a clubhouse after Sally, a precocious five-year old, was threatened by a band of thugs. It is almost a year ago to the day that Sally was rescued from the lawless group, who as it turned out, had been cruising our neighborhood looking for something to steal or destroy. They descended on the apple stand on the edge of the apple orchard manned by Sally and her mother like a swarm of bees. Apparently, the thugs had staked out the stand as a target, and when Sally was left alone while her mother sought to replenish the apple supply, they struck.

      The thugs would have made off with the cash drawer had it not been for a group of neighborhood youngsters returning from a school function and who just happened to be passing by the stand. Seeing what was happening, they immediately sprung to Sally’s aid. I am proud to say I was part of that group. We struggled with the intruders before the thugs were frightened away by Sally’s mother who, after seeing what was taking place, used her cell phone to summon Sally’s father. When Sally’s father arrived and was told about the heroic actions, he praised us and a bond was forged between the Pearsons and our neighborhood group.

      What can we do to repay you? Homer Pearson had asked.

      Aww, it was nothing. We don’t need to be repaid, I replied.

      However, when Sally’s father was persistent and insisted he be given the opportunity to repay us, I pointed to an abandoned apple storage shed that had stood vacant for a number of years in the middle of the Pearsons’ apple orchard and said, We are in the process of forming a club to occupy us for the summer and could use your apple shed as a clubhouse.

      It’s yours, Sally’s father replied without hesitation. I’ll meet you at the apple shed tomorrow at noon. We, that is the Pearson three, will have lunch waiting for you and your friends and we’ll explore what needs to be done to fashion that dilapidated old shed into a suitable clubhouse.

      Yippee! we all shouted.

      The next day, with some of our fellow classmates, neighbors and friends, we descended upon the orchard. There were at least twenty-four in number. And as promised, the Pearsons had lunch waiting. After everyone had settled in, Sally asked each of us, one-by-one, if we were one of the heroes who had rescued her the day before.

      Are you one too? I remember her asking. And so it came to pass that the name of our newly formed club was conceived. From that point forward, we would be known as the Are You One Toos (R*U*1*2s). All those present, including Sally, became the coveted charter members.

      With the help of Homer Pearson, we furnished the clubhouse with empty packing crates and other odds and ends we gathered from our families. Our mothers took turns providing sandwiches, drinks and snacks. It is cool inside the converted apple storage shed because the apple trees outside provide shade and a persistent breeze wafts through the open door and windows as if on cue.

      The clubhouse is soon jammed with an assortment of games and books. During these summer months, Genius and I take turns reading to our fellow R*U*1*2s. Our seventh grade teacher to be, had challenged us to do something over the summer to promote education in our respective neighborhoods. At first, we did this to satisfy the homework assignment but it was not long before we discovered it was not only educational but fun as well.

      Everyone looks forward to our reading sessions. The reading sessions have not only became a hobby, but an obsession, and needless to say, our parents are delighted that we are not whittling away our time or getting into mischief.

      It was not long before we outgrew the apple storage shed and moved our clubhouse to the larger bunkhouse at the other end of the orchard.

      45128

      Although it was over a dozen years ago, I remember much of my early childhood as though it was yesterday. Those were impressionistic years. I was twelve at the time of the events I’m about to relate.

      Divider_Flat_fmt

      THE SUN WAS PLAYING peek-a-boo with dark clouds in the distant horizon as the R*U*1*2s left Tina Shorter’s birthday party. We had fifteen minutes to beat curfew, more than enough time to reach our respective homes and our expectant parents.

      We had only walked a few blocks before the storm clouds blew in and blanketed the sky. Soon bolts of lightning and the loud clap of thunder let us know what Mother Nature was intending. While the R*U*1*2s scattered in different directions, Genius, Tank and I hung together.

      While Tank and I were disturbed by nature’s display, Genius was making a beeline in the direction of our neighborhood. Genius lived on the opposite end of the block where I lived. Tank lived in the next block. I was an only child and Genius and Tank were considered my surrogate brothers, and according to them, my guardian angels.

      Wait up, I had yelled at Genius as Tank and I hastened our pace. Now we could feel the intermittent drops of rain that were undoubtedly the prelude to the downpour we knew was only moments away.

      Tank and I were out of breath as we caught up to Genius. He, too, was trying to catch his breath.

      Let’s take the shortcut to save time, Tank suggested as he waived one arm in the direction of Bradbury Mansion, a spot declared out-of-bounds by our parents.

      But…but we’re not supposed to go near that place, I stammered thinking about all the sordid stories associated with the mansion. It’s haunted, I said in a shaky voice, unable to mask my fear.

      Would you rather be grounded for being late? Genius asked sarcastically.

      We have no choice, Tank replied with a stare that convinced me I had better follow along or forge on my own.

      I guess I have no choice, I murmured. Since none of the other R*U*1*2s were in sight, I followed Genius’ and Tank’s lead and headed in the direction of Bradbury Mansion. After all, it would shorten the distance and lessen the penalty for being late and violating curfew. I deliberately avoided considering the alternative.

      The cool foggy evening darkened by the storm played tricks with our vision and the forlorn mansion looked even more sinister than usual. The Victorian sat high on a hill on the outskirts of Jefferson City. The premises were in a sad state of disrepair. As we passed, we observed that the louvered shutters, for the most part, hung by a single hinge and were banging loudly against the house in the wind. The noise they made competed with the thunder that was heralding the oncoming rain. The wooden exterior hadn’t been painted in years and the wraparound porch sported gaping holes where boards had rotted away. Trees around the manor had been severely neglected and their dead branches reached out into the night sky like skeletal fingers on a giant gnarled hand.

      Suddenly Genius shouted, DUCK! We looked

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