The Crossroads by Chris Grabenstein Read Free Book Online Page A

p.m.
    Thunder boomed and the windows of the restaurant rattled. Judy didn’t mind: Mrs. Emerson was an excellent storyteller. She regaled Judy with tales of a girl so ugly “her face could stop a clock.” Apparently, she arrived by train in North Chester one day at exactly 9:52 p.m.
    â€œThen there’s the story of Osgood Vanderwinkle,” Mrs. Emerson said.
    â€œWho’s he?”
    â€œClock keeper, dear.”
    â€œDid he have any monkeys or squirrels on his staff?”
    â€œNo. None that I’m aware of. However, he might have
seen
several—as well as assorted pink elephants. Mr. Vanderwinkle loved to tipple his rum. He was soused so often, we suspect he forgot to close the trapdoor at the top of the tower. The rains came…”
    â€œThe gears rusted?”
    â€œExactly. I suppose that story is the most mundane and, therefore, probably closest to the truth.”
    â€œToo bad.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    Â 
    Around nine-thirty p.m., Judy said goodbye to Mrs. Emerson and ran across the muddy restaurant parking lot to her car.
    She shivered and waited for the front and rear window defrosters to do their job. A twist of the wiper-control knob sent the windshield blades slapping back and forth to chase away the unrelenting rain. Judy cranked up the radio so she wouldn’t have to listen to any more clouds explode.
    She had called George earlier, told him about her dinner plans with Mrs. Emerson. He said, “Have fun. Drive carefully.”
    She had had fun.
    Now she would try to drive carefully.
    Â 
    The radio was calling it a gully washer.
    Flood warnings were in effect. Water rolled across the freeway in rippling waves. Wind gusted and made the treetops dance a wild, frenzied tango. The weatherman predicted that the storm would last until midnight with “the usual creeks overrunning their banks.”
    For an instant, Judy wished she still lived in New York City. In a high-rise apartment building. Someplace without creeks.
    Then she heard a tire blow out.
    The car skidded slightly and Judy carefully eased it off the road. She came to a stop right in front of an old graveyard about a quarter mile west of the crossroads. She could see the flashing red light blurring in the distance.
    That meant George and home weren’t far away. He could drive out in their other car and rescue her. She reached for her cell phone.
    The battery was dead and she had forgotten the car adapter.
    She looked up and down the highway. There was no traffic. No tow trucks cruising the highways she could flag down like a taxi in Times Square. There was nobody on the road at all.
    Except, all of a sudden, Judy sensed somebody staring at her.
    Somebody outside the car.
    She turned slowly to the left. To the window.
    She practically jumped out of her skin.

The storm moved closer.
    Zack sat on his bed with Zipper, stared out the window, and counted the seconds between seeing lightning and hearing thunder.
    â€œI used to be afraid of thunderstorms,” he comforted his dog. “Now I just pretend it’s somebody bowling in the clouds. A giant probably. And he uses the moon for his bowling ball.”
    Zack heard the familiar gurgling from behind his bathroom door. The rainwater was probably flooding the cracked sewer lines—sending more gunk upstairs to burble out of his toilet.
    It was a good thing their new house had so many bathrooms. Zack’s was currently off-limits and would be, his dad said, until the plumber showed up.
    So Zack had rolled up a spare towel and jammed it into the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door.
    He didn’t want the odor oozing out to make his bedroom smell farty, too.
    But what if the lightning moved too close and an electrical spark made all that trapped gas explode?
    Zack tried not to look worried. He didn’t want to scare his new dog. Besides, he’d already unpacked his G.I. Joe firefighter action figure—the one Judy said knew