SAMPLE - Braidy von Althuis and the Pesky Pest Controller

Chapter 01

BEFORE YOU READ:

This is a sample of my Middle Grade Paranormal Fantasy, Braidy von Althuis and the Pesky Pest Controller! As this was published before I joined Wattpad, I thought I would upload samples of my work here to tickle your fancy. If you decide you'd like to purchase the work, which is available in print and ebook formats, you can head on over to Amazon to learn more. Information is also available on my website. Thank you, and happy reading!

Words hit like sticks and stones, even harder, and a young boy covered his head to protect himself from the shower of them. They pelted down like hail, chilling his soul with their frigid viciousness. And the scariest part of it all was not the number of children shouting at him, and it wasn't the way they pointed and chanted in unison at him; it was the idea that wriggled into his head that they could be absolutely right.

 "Weirdo! Weirdo!"

"Dressed like that!"

"From his stupid buckle shoes!"

"To his stupid, floppy hat!"

Now, Braidy did not think any article of clothing he had on his person was inherently stupid in one way or another. They just were. And they made him Braidy. His Gran, his parents, or his aunts or uncles gifted the articles of clothing he wore to him, and some of them were hand-me-downs or family heirlooms. Braidy's mother always told him it was wonderful and special to be unique but the other children thought otherwise.

"Maybe he's too poor to afford new clothes," one laughed.

"He lives in an old dustbin of a house; I bet he eats out of the trash, too!"

"Eeeeeeeew," another cried. "Trash eater!"

"Trash eater!"

"Trash eater!"

"Trash eater!"

They moved in to him, closing the circle so that there stood only inches between Braidy's arms and face and the fingers of the children.

"I don't eat trash!" Braidy shouted over the rabble. "I would never eat trash!"

They did not hear him. Braidy straightened as tall as his tiptoes would let him to see if he might get the attention of a savior, any adult that could come and end the humiliation. Ms. Winsby stood by the back door that led into the gym, but she chatted with Mr. McIntyre and was not looking. She was never looking.

"I mean look at these things," Neal Salter sneered as he tugged on Braidy's frilled collar. "Did something crawl into an old trunk, give you its clothes and then die?"

"This ascot belonged to my great, great, great—"

"Oh, shut it," Rita Easley barked as she shoved Braidy's shoulder, attempting to knock him over. "No one cares about who died and gave you your lacy necklace. I would wear it better."

"Actually, Rita... you would wear it better," Neal Salter agreed, a devious idea flashing across his eyes. "Why don't we just take it from him?"

Braidy's stomach did an acrobatic backflip inside him (judges would have given it a ten out of ten), which turned his insides to goop. His mother always said nerves wriggled like butterflies that came out of their cocoon. Braidy felt positive that the result of this experience would be nothing like a butterfly and something more like road kill.

Neal Salter took a swing at Braidy's head, hoping to box his ear, but Braidy moved down in time. Neal Salter lost his balance and tripped over his own untied shoelaces into Ronald Raymond, who bumped into Patsy Gibson, which opened a space, the teensiest, eensiest space through which Braidy saw escape.