General
Was this supposed to be a change? No way. We lived here every day of the year. I knew every detail by heart. I knew the neighbor across the street would come out the next minute to water his lawn. And he did.
This wasn’t going to be a vacation at all. A vacation is when you go somewhere special and see new things and do stuff you’ve never done before. A vacation means going, not staying . . .
“A stay-cation,” I said to Max. “I wonder where Dad got that one.”
“I’d rather go on a go-cation.”
Then he laughed his head off.
* * *
“See that orange truck?” Max whispered. “The guy inside it is an ax murderer.” He ducked his head. “Here he comes. Stay down!”
An ax murderer? What was Max talking about?
The next minute, an ancient truck moved past our house, so slowly I could have beaten it in a foot race. The truck didn’t have any doors, and standing at the steering wheel was a man even more ancient than the truck. The lines on his face were so deep you could have drowned in them. He was steering with one hand and ringing a bell with the other.
The truck was covered with drawings of knives, scissors and axes.
“Look – knives!” Max whispered. “I told you so.”
The truck stopped right in front of our house. I could have explained to Max that it was Tony the Knife Sharpener and not Tony the Bloodthirsty Criminal, but why not have a little fun? After all, there wasn’t anything else to do.
“You’re right,” I said to Max. “We’d better go investigate.”
Max put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "C'mon. You're not giving up already, are you?"
"Already?" said Sam. "I've tried everything! It's hopeless."
"You haven't tried everything. Have you talked to the clowns yet? You'd be a natural with them."
"Thanks a lot."
"Marcus, come meet my cousin Shelley," Kyle called. Marcus walked over slowly. "Hi," he muttered. He looked at Shelley. "How old are you?" "I'm eight," said Shelley. "I'm ten," said Marcus. "You're just a kid." "I am not a kid," Shelley declared. She decided she did not like Marcus very much. She wished he would get back in his car and go home.
The ice near where I was walking groaned. I froze to the spot and looked down. Crack. My foot went through. I jumped back. Water splashed up from a foot-sized hole where I'd been standing. I backed away. Another piece of ice disappeared. Black water grabbed at my feet. I kept stepping backward. Each time, the ice held just long enough for me to take another step, and then it sank.
I looked over my shoulder at the shore in panic... Crack. What was I going to do?
