Bradley Wallace Murphy just turned thirteen, and he's not happy about it. He doesn't fit in at school, he's no good at sports, a bully torments him, he's a disappointment to his parents, and his only "friends" are fictional characters on a TV show c...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER 1
Discovery
Bradley Wallace held his breath as the tall, raven-haired figure approached the door, its movements silent and cat-like. A bloodless hand reached out from beneath the folds of a dark cloak. A black onyx ring adorning the index finger caught a pale shaft of moonlight filtering through a dust-encrusted window. With great deliberation, the bloodless hand turned the ornate brass door handle and began to pull it open. A crescendo of dramatic music filled the air and the image of the hand on the doorknob dissolved into that of a toilet paper commercial.
Exasperated, Bradley Wallace sat back from the five-inch television screen and sighed, removing the yellowed earplug and scratching his itching ear. Almost immediately he heard approaching footsteps and snapped off the TV. He stuffed the earplug into his pants pocket and dashed to his roll-top desk, plopped into the chair, and flipped open his English book, burying his face in its pages.
Just in time, too. His mother, a tiny woman in her forties, pushed open his door (without knocking, of course!) and gazed suspiciously into his cluttered room. She scanned the junk-strewn counter and the horror movie posters adorning the off-white walls and shook her head with disgust. Putting a hand to her hip—she always did that when she suspected something amiss—she studied the silent television screen atop the cluttered counter.
"Bradey, were you watching television again?" she asked.
He looked up from his book as though noticing her for the first time. "No, Mom," he lied, certain his face must be turning red. He was a terrible liar. "I was just doing my homework."
His mother squinted crossly at him. "You know your father and I forbid you to watch that horrible show, and if I catch you at it again, that little TV gets locked up. Understand?"
Her intense gaze told him his lie had been detected. And he didn't think she was bluffing this time. Looking down at the floor, he murmured the usual "Yes" and left it at that.
But his mother still hung in the doorway like a predatory bat from the roof of a cave. Why does she have to keep staring at me, he thought? She's already yelled at me, so why doesn't she just leave? Next, it'll be "Why don't you go outside and play?"
As if on cue, she said, "Why don't you go outside and play?" Despite his discomfort at her presence, Bradley Wallace smiled at his own perceptiveness. If only she knew him as well as he knew her.
"I'm sure the other boys are down at the schoolyardplaying ball," his mother went on, beginning to sound like the drone of a hovering bee. "Why don't you go see? It's such a beautiful day and, well," she faltered a moment, reacting to his blank expression, "well it is your birthday, after all, and you shouldn't be sitting in here. It isn't healthy."
Bradley Wallace eyed his mother knowingly. "You mean I shouldn't be hanging around the house when Dad gets home because it'll only cause trouble.
