The Talent Diary

By Chris McFarland

Sixth grader Samantha Branson is a normal, everyday girl, playing with her friends, and having a great time building the “clubhouse” in the bamboo covering her backyard. And her twelfth birthday is almost here. She is planning a fantastic party with her friends.

But her grandfather is also coming, with a gift she may not want but will not be able to refuse. Changes come fast for Samantha as she discovers a family secret even her parents know nothing about. The talent brings lies and dangers and she is pursued by ominous strangers who will harm her just for her new-found gift. She is aided in unexpected places by others who share her mysterious talent. At the same time, she's arguing with her best friends and the next door neighbor boy Mark goes missing.

When Samantha's friends don't want to help Mark, Samantha decides to go alone and when she does she knows nothing will ever be the same.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris McFarland
• Release date: Oct 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466182424

Chris McFarland

Chris McFarland is making her publishing debut with Can’t Turn Away after spending most of her youth writing multiple romance novels on the backs of math worksheets and history notebooks. Born and raised in Humboldt County, Ms. McFarland learned first-hand the joys and hardships of living in a geographically secluded area. A third-generation Romance reader, she grew up watching her mother and grandmother read and catalog books, which eventually led to her becoming a book reviewer herself. She currently resides in the Willamette Valley, Oregon with her handy mailman (er, husband) and two VERY energetic and creative sons.

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The Talent Diary

Copyright © Chris McFarland, 2015

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Chapter 1: The Clubhouse

Her grandfather’s behavior in the two weeks before her twelfth birthday did not seem strange to Samantha Branson. She noticed he was at their house more frequently, but this seemed like a positive thing because it was always fun to have her Grandpa around. If anything, his more frequent appearances made her wish that he would continue to visit so often in the future. She never suspected his new proximity originated from a deep concern for her.

Her life was simple, good, and fun. Nowhere did she have any hidden uneasiness or concerns and she felt in control of her life. The day before her birthday had been a good one and she got ready for bed that evening feeling so happy that she had no need to recognize the fact. That was fortunate, perhaps, because her grandfather was also getting ready for bed, thinking long thoughts and nervous for the following days. He had something he needed to tell Samantha and he was not looking forward to the task.

Samantha Branson’s birthday started with bright sunshine coursing in through her window. Her curtains, simple and white, blocked the lower half of the window so the sun was not in her eyes. The upper half of the window was open and the sunlight fell squarely against the far wall. The wall, at least where the sunlight struck, was painted a pale sky blue. The thick paint made for an excellent reflector and the brightness of the morning pulled Samantha out of sleep before her body would have liked.

She sat up and stretched, wondering if she should feel any different than she had the day before now that she was twelve years old. It was Friday, November 22nd, and their school was on holiday. She pulled off her heavy blankets, which she couldn’t sleep without even in the summer, and walked over to the window, parting the lower curtains that looked out on the front lawn and the cul-de-sac. The sky was bright and clear and she could see a light breeze fluttering the tree limbs in the walnut tree that occupied the left half of their front yard. The fall had been exceptionally warm.

Samantha, who slept in a pale green nightgown, hurried across the hall and into the bathroom. Flicking the bathroom switch bathed the room in the heavy glow from the lamps across the top of the medicine cabinet. Before entering the shower, Samantha glanced at herself in the mirror, rubbing her still sleeping eyes. As she suspected, nothing had changed between the end of her eleventh year and the start of her twelfth. Her hair was still a light brown, loose, and reaching her shoulder blades. She was still a little tall for her age and thin-framed. Her friend Marissa had told her that all young girls eventually end up looking almost exactly like their mothers, but if that was true then the day was still far in the future for Samantha.

After a quick shower and dressing in old jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweatshirt, Samantha headed back to her room to check the time. She was surprised to see it was only 8:30 A.M. and that meant Becky wouldn’t be over for at least an hour and Marissa might not make it until ten. Samantha sat back down on the bed, wondering if she should go back to sleep, knowing that she was up and wouldn’t be able to fall asleep if she tried. Her relaxed eyes examined her room. There was her dresser and desk, both old and supposedly antique. They had been collected by her Mom’s Mom, a grandmother she had never met. Her carpet was white and full. The closet door was open, showing the jumbled clothes inside. On the night table beside her bed and spilling onto the floor were books and papers.

Her parents let her do whatever she wanted to her room and she didn’t even have to clean it, unless she wanted to, which she usually did because otherwise she could never find what she was looking for. If she paid for the paint herself, Samantha could make her room any color and any design she wanted. Last summer she and Marissa had spent almost a full week painting her room, always changing their minds. Finally, they painted a blue sky with puffy white clouds and near the bottom of the walls were forests and mountains. When Becky got back from vacation with her parents she was upset they had painted without her. Samantha asked her to paint something else. Becky painted two beautiful eagles flying above the forest.

Walking out of her room and turning right would take her down the hallway, the hardwood floors leading to her parent’s room and the extra bedroom, which her mother, Sandra, used as an office. Samantha turned left, ignoring the bathroom across from her, and walked into the dining room. The dining room was separated from the kitchen by a long counter and to her right was a sliding glass door that led onto the porch and into the backyard.

The porch was full of potted plants, a small picnic table they hardly ever used, and her mother’s Jacuzzi and hammock. The hammock was spread over the hot tub so Sandra could sit in both the hammock and the Jacuzzi at the same time. Beyond the porch was their enormous backyard of three acres. Her father, Thomas, had a large garden that was growing old and brown as autumn progressed. A small stream emerged from a culvert twenty feet from her parent’s bedroom window. The garden ran from the edge of the stream all the way to the fence that separated their yard from Mr. Henson’s. The stream led straight into an enormous, straining mass of bamboo, filled with stalks that reached over forty feet high. Emerging in two spots from the bamboo were ancient oak trees, in one of which Samantha and her friends had built a tree house. To the left of the porch was a trail that led straight into a large grove of eucalyptus trees, all tall and spaced close together, their schizophrenic limbs intertwining at height. The trail led through the grove and emerged at the back edge of the bamboo, where the well-hidden entrances to the clubhouse were located.

Samantha went into the kitchen and got a bowl of cereal, which she took into the living room to eat. The living room was joined to the dining room by a large, open doorway. As she walked past the doorway to the living room she was startled by a large mass snoring on the couch. Then she remembered that her grandfather, Neil, had stayed the night and he always slept on the couch.

Trying to be quiet, Samantha slipped into the large, fluffy white chair that her mother had purchased during the summer. It was comfortable and ugly, a combination Samantha found she liked very much. She munched on her cereal, wondering if sound from the television would wake her grandfather. Deciding that even if the television woke him he had already slept long enough, she turned it on, put the volume on low, and started flipping through channels. She stopped every fifth channel to take another bite of cereal. She finished the bowl before she found something to watch, so she turned the television off, looked across the room, and was surprised to see that her grandfather was awake and looking directly at her.

Grandpa! How long have you been looking at me?

Neil didn’t answer, except with a low rattling snore.

Grandpa?

She looked at him closely, a little nervous, and saw him breathing slowly, his face slack and relaxed. For a moment it had seemed she was in the darkened living room with a living dead man.

Grandpa, Samantha said, perhaps more loudly than she intended.

Neil shook and fluttered on the couch, his eyes closing and then reopening. The quick shuttering of his eyelids restored consciousness to the eyes, much to Samantha’s relief.

Sam? What…..did you say something?

Sorry Grandpa. You scared me a little. You were asleep with your eyes open.

Neil sat up, rubbing absently at his face with both hands. Samantha heard the thick rasp of beard stubble. Her grandfather’s hands were calloused.

You’ve never seen anyone sleeping with their eyes open?

No. I didn’t know you could.

Sure. How else do you think sleepwalkers move around? Actually, I’m not surprised that I still sleep with my eyes open every once in awhile. I used to sleepwalk all the time when I was your age.

How strange. I’ve never sleepwalked.

Well, maybe not yet. Neil said.

What do you mean, Samantha asked.

Sleepwalking runs in our family. I started about your age and kept doing it until I was eighteen or so. It is a strange business, waking up somewhere different than you feel asleep.

You really walked all around your house asleep? Where was the strangest place you ever woke up?

Hmmm. Well, probably the strangest was when I woke up in a restaurant booth with a half eaten hamburger in front of me. It was the middle of the night and I was sitting in this booth in sweats and a T-shirt. I asked the waitress how I had gotten there and she looked at me like I was drunk. She said that I just drove up and walked in like everyone else.

Samantha laughed. You’re kidding right?

Completely serious Sam.

How could a person do that in their sleep? It seems like you would have to know what you were doing.

I don’t know how but it happened.

Samantha looked at him carefully, trying to decide if he was serious or not. He looked serious, smiling gently at her and with a full head of silver gray hair. Her grandfather, though fun and friendly, was not much of a joker. Samantha believed him.

Are you ready for your party this afternoon?

Oh yes, Samantha said. I can hardly wait. Marissa and Becky are coming over early and we’re going to play in the clubhouse. Then later everyone else is coming over.

I think you are going to get good weather this year. Much better than last year at least. Do you remember that?

Yeah I do. We had the flood.

Neil nodded.

Are you going to be in the clubhouse later on this afternoon, he asked.

Are you crazy Grandpa? You know that no one else can go in there. Becky, Marissa, and I are the only ones who know the secret entrances.

Oh, right. Sorry.

But mostly it will be Mom and Dad’s friends anyway. I didn’t want to invite too many people this year.

More people might mean more presents, Neil said, knowing what the reaction would be.

Grandpa! You know I don’t even want to get presents. It feels weird.

Weird, Neil said, more to himself than Samantha. Then he laughed suddenly, abruptly, like a dog bark. Well, just wait until you see what I have for you. It isn’t like anything you’ve ever got before, I guarantee that.

Becky and Marissa arrived together a little after 9:30 A.M. Samantha had seen them through her bedroom window and ran down the hall to open the front door right as Marissa was about to knock.

Happy Birthday, they shouted together and they pushed their way into the house, each carrying a present.

Thanks, Samantha said, a little embarrassed, as always, at receiving presents. You can put those down on the fireplace if you want.

Becky walked right over and placed hers carefully on the smooth rock fireplace. She was thin, strong, and agile, with long blond hair that she tied back into a ponytail. Marissa followed, a few steps behind, and plunked her package down with a heavy, wooden sound. Marissa had a lovely, pale face framed by dark hair as straight as wet string.

As they walked back towards her, Samantha, feeling unusually emotional, gave both of them a simultaneous hug.

So what are we doing today, birthday girl, Marissa asked, although she knew.

We’re off to the clubhouse. That’s why I wanted you to come over early today. That way we can play out there before everyone else gets here so no one else finds the entrances.

Are Mark and Cliff coming, Becky asked.

No. Of course not, Samantha said. This was a girls-only party.

Besides, Marissa said, If they came over all they would do is try and trick us into showing them how to get into the clubhouse.

Samantha nodded and started walking towards the back patio door, skirting around the edge of the dining room table. Sandra was sitting at the table.

Girls. Heading outside?

Yes Mom, Samantha said.

Ok. But don’t forget that we’ll have other guests coming over in a few hours.

We won’t Mrs. Branson, Marissa said.

Sandra Branson was slightly built, with sloping shoulders. She walked with her feet outward, like a ballet dancer. Samantha had the same hair color as her mother but Sandra had beautiful dark blue eyes instead of brown.

I’m heading out to the store and your father and Neil went out to do something too so you’re on your own for a couple of hours. Be good.

We will Mom!

Yeah, I know, Sandra said, looking like she half believed her daughter. No one said anything for a moment while Sandra ran her eyes over the girls. Then she turned and headed towards the kitchen.

Have fun. Sandra said.

Taking the opportunity, Samantha flung the patio door open and ran across the patio, not stopping until she reached the eucalyptus grove. Becky had caught up to her but Marissa had, characteristically, lagged.

The grove contained about a hundred trees planted close together, blocking everything from view. The trees themselves had an unusual smell, especially when it rained. The trail through the grove was difficult to follow because the trees dropped leaves, nuts, and shreds of bark continuously, forming a thick, springy layer over the dirt. The three girls followed this implied trail until they again emerged into sunlight and stopped, looking over the rest of the yard. Beyond the grove, about another two hundred feet, was the fence marking the property line. Behind the fence the stream ran through a marshy, undeveloped area away from town, called Thompson’s flat. To the left of the grove was the back fence of Samantha’s neighbors, the Wilson’s. They had fraternal twin boys, Cliff and Mark, who looked nothing alike and were in their sixth grade class at school.

Samantha remained in the grove, listening carefully, and Marissa and Becky did the same.

I don’t hear them, Becky began.

Shhhh, Marissa said, quietly.

They listened for the Wilson boys carefully, because they sometimes tried to spy on them when they were going into the clubhouse. No one knew how to get in but Samantha, Marissa, and Becky.

They aren’t there, Samantha said.

You sure?

Yeah. They can’t stay quiet that long, no matter how hard they try.

Marissa and Samantha started walking and Becky followed after a moment. The trail led out of the eucalyptus grove and into the sunshine. The dry weather plants Samantha’s father Thomas had planted last year spread to the back fence. There was cactus and scruffy, itchy chaparral. They had seen a rattlesnake coiled on a hot, flat rock last summer and hadn’t gone back into the clubhouse without carrying a shovel for the rest of the year. To their right was the beginning of the bamboo.

The bamboo spread out over a full acre, growing forty feet tall in the center. Two large, ancient oak trees were also in the bamboo, but the bamboo had overtaken them and only the tops of the trees could be seen. The bamboo spread outward from the center like spokes on a wheel, which made the bamboo completely impenetrable unless you knew one of the secret entrances they had discovered or built over the past few years.

Looking closely into the outer layer of the bamboo the outline of an ancient wooden fence was evident. The old fence snaked around the entire bamboo patch. It was rotted and deformed from the weight of the bamboo hanging over the top. After walking about twenty steps from the eucalyptus grove, Samantha, Marissa, and Becky stopped. They all looked around, verifying no one could see them. There was no sound from next door.

I think it’s safe, Becky said.

Samantha looked at Marissa, who nodded her head. They all dropped to crawling position and scampered under the outer layer of bamboo. Beneath the bamboo stalks was a layer of dried, decayed bamboo leaves. Although the leaves scratched if their shirts pulled out from their pants as they crawled they never made a clear path because that would give away their main entrance. After crawling for fifteen feet they came to the old wooden fence, which made a corner several feet from where they stopped. The wood looked rotten but was still relatively solid. The bamboo grew over the top of the fence and sagged down to the ground because of the weight of the upper layers, making a little tunnel. Samantha went to one of the boards in the fence and pulled it free. If Cliff, Mark, or another one of the boy’s friends found the loose board they still wouldn’t know what to do because there was an impenetrable wall of bamboo on the other side of the fence. Marissa, however, had crawled around the corner of the fence to where a small string was buried. She uncovered the string and started to pull. The wall of bamboo was nothing more than a door they had built two years before. Beyond it was a tunnel carved through the old bamboo, floored with raked dirt.

Samantha and Becky crawled through the fence and stood up in the tunnel on the other side. Samantha held up the door.

I’ve got it Marissa, she called.

Marissa buried the string again and came crawling back around the fence and through the doorway. She turned back around and pulled the loose fence board back into place. Samantha lowered the bamboo door and they walked down the tunnel.

The tunnel went straight for twenty feet, then forked to the right and left. All three of the girls went left without hesitation. Just beyond the turn three wide planks were set into the ground. They spread over the stream, which was narrow and steep walled through this section of the bamboo. Their shoes clunked over the dead wood, shaking dust and leaves off into the sluggish water.

The tunnel through the bamboo made a long, slow curve to the right. The sun was filtered and channeled by the many interlocking layers of bamboo, creating a virtual twilight. After twenty feet they came to another junction. This time they went right because going left would take them to the back door, which they would sometimes use if they heard Cliff or Mark lurking outside the main entrance. After going right for thirty feet they came to the clubhouse.

What they called the clubhouse was really a series of rooms they had carved out of the thick, live bamboo. The first room they entered was the living room, a large cleared circular area. On all sides the bamboo enclosed them but they could see the sky. They had brought an old couch all the way down the street from Becky’s house and brought it in by the third secret entrance. There were a couple of chairs and scattered bits of carpet. Off the living room were two hallways. One led to the kitchen, in which they had a small refrigerator using a long extension cord plugged into the back of Thomas’s shed. The other hallway led to several smaller rooms they built mostly for fun and didn’t use as often. They called them bedrooms. The main tunnel also branched off of the living room, continuing towards one of the old oak trees.

Marissa walked over to the couch and lay down. Samantha sat on one of the pieces of carpet and Becky walked towards the tunnel that led to the kitchen.

Don’t bother Becky. I haven’t had a chance to fill it back up yet, Samantha said.

We haven’t spent the night out here in a long time, Becky said.

That’s because it’s almost winter, said Marissa. I wish it was summer again.

Yeah, then we could go swimming, Becky said.

It’ll be raining soon. We won’t even be able to be here in the clubhouse as much, Samantha said. The creek rises too high.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Becky, as she did so often, broke the silence with a burst of speech.

"Samantha, you’ll never guess what happened this morning. Do you want to tell her Marissa?

No, you go ahead.

Marissa was lying down with her hands behind her neck, looking up at the light clouds passing overhead. Her dark, black hair flowed over the edge of the couch. Becky turned to face Samantha.

I walked over to Marissa’s so we could walk over here together. When I turned the corner, I could see her on her driveway talking to a boy. When I got closer I could see it was Brian McManus.

Brian? He’s a seventh grader right?

Yeah. He was talking kind of funny. Marissa thinks he was trying to ask her to the Christmas dance.

I thought only sixth graders could go.

A sixth grader can bring anyone they want with them, Becky said. He wanted Marissa to take him.

But I gave him the hint that I didn’t like him, Marissa said suddenly.

Samantha looked at her. Why not?

Because he’s kind of a jerk. My Mom knows his Mom so I’ve seen him before. We had dinner at their house once over the summer. I don’t like him. He is really cocky and stuck-up.

But cute, Becky said, and giggled.

Yeah, he’s cute. He also said that he was going to play football at the junior high.

So you have a date to the dance already, Samantha asked.

Well, not yet. But I don’t think that will be too hard, Marissa said.

She said that she couldn’t go with him yet because she was thinking of asking someone else first. You should have seen his face Samantha. I thought he was going to cry for a second. It was really mean to do that Marissa. You should have said yes.

Well, I still may. He’ll just want to go with me more now.

I don’t know why, Becky said somberly, you were mean to him and now he won’t like you.

Are you crazy? He’ll like me even more because I told him no.

How?

It’s called playing hard to get dummy.

I don’t understand.

Oh forget it, Marissa said. You’ll never understand.

Sure I will. Come on Marissa. Tell me why he’ll like you more.

Who cares, Samantha said, getting up. Let’s do something fun.

Becky got up as well, still looking a little sourly at Marissa. Samantha had already walked out of the clubhouse through the main tunnel, towards the old oak tree. Marissa stayed on the couch for a moment and then followed through the tunnel.

Samantha stopped as the tunnel opened up to reveal a small pond flowing slowly through the bamboo. The stream was dammed further back by bamboo interlocking across the stream channel and a low concrete plug. It created a shallow, but swimmable, pond. During the summer, before the water turned mossy, they often jumped in to swim, kicking up enormous clouds of