The Broken

By Sean Michael Frawley

Like most normal fourteen-year-olds, Link Hartkins doesn’t believe in monsters. So when he catches his little brother Ayden, talking to an empty wall, Link doesn’t think much of it and simply asks for an introduction to Ayden’s imaginary friend. But even a four-year-old knows the “moving dark” isn’t a friend. True evil doesn’t have friends.

Link mistakenly blames himself for the tragic accident that cost his mother her life. Determined not to lose his baby brother as well, he begins to frantically seek answers to Ayden’s odd behavior. During his search, he uncovers an old camera in a secret hatch beside their new house. Playing along with Ayden’s wild imagination, Link wields the camera like a weapon and pretends to capture the monsters by taking their pictures. Just like magic, Ayden returns to normal...at least for the remainder of the day.

But soon after Link develops the film, he discovers that Ayden hasn’t been imagining things. The monsters stalking him in the shadows are quite real. Now it is up to Link to save his baby brother before these monsters become powerful enough to crossover into our world and exact their revenge.
Is there still time? Or will the darkness consume them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Michael Frawley
• Release date: Mar 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310040580

Sean Michael Frawley

Sean Frawley grew up the youngest child in a family of four. He currently resides in Colorado, where he works as a full-time writer, teacher, and chauffeur. He is married with three boys and the world’s largest lapdog.As a dyslexic kid with ADD, Sean never discovered the joy of reading until high school. After devouring books by Tolkien and Rowling, he decided his goal in life was to become an elementary teacher focused on helping other reluctant readers like him. Since that time, he has created a generation of readers. Students in his 6th grade classes have averaged over 70 books a year for the last decade. This continued success at discovering the hidden reader inside all his students has earned him a Teacher of the Year Award and scores of devoted followers and grateful parents.Over the past seven years, Sean diligently worked to convert his passion for finding books that his reluctant readers would enjoy into writing new ones for them. From humorous adventure tales, to bone-chilling stories of suspense, Sean has taken his natural gift for storytelling and infused it with his considerable experience at creating excited new readers. The result has been a new series of page-turning novels, filled with action, humor, and the sort of connection with his middle grade audience that comes from years of working with them.

Book preview

Fire licked the air, greedily devouring the night sky. The punishing intensity of the blaze would have pushed most sensible people back, out of harm’s way. The knowledge that someone might still be trapped inside the bakery would have sent a hero crashing through the front door. Link Hartkins was neither sensible nor heroic, so he stood where he was and watched the building burn.

A sudden scream from the building stabbed the night, but Link was powerless to react. His feet might as well have been nailed to the ground with three-foot spikes, because he couldn’t move. His skin grew hot and began to sting as smoke spilled deeper into his chest with every breath. A loud banging interrupted the fading scream.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

With the painful throbbing of his blood being brought to a boil, it was hard to tell if the sound was real or imagined. Maybe there was still time to save someone. He scrutinized the place where the sound had come. As he did, he sputtered into violent fits of coughing and started to panic.

He had to do something. He wiped his eyes with the end of a sleeve. Summoning all his strength, he dragged his right foot forward a few inches. Link raised his head and squinted in the direction of the noise. A monstrous crash from the other side of the building distracted him as a portion of the roof collapsed.

The invisible wall of heat that had been steadily building pushed him back. Was it possible that somebody was alive in there? Even from this distance, Link’s skin felt ready to blister. Maybe he had only imagined the thumping. He coughed again, this time finding it impossible to stop. Hunched over, hugging his chest in agony, he heard the easy, melodic singing of a little girl. With his body still bent, he rotated his head to see white, bulging eyes the size of onions pop from the inky blackness of a shadowy silhouette. The figure, seemingly unaffected by the flames, casually lifted her hand and waved in his direction.

Link collapsed to his knees. From stolen glimpses between coughs, he watched in horror as the silhouette stretched and bent in every direction, at crazy, impossible angles. Within seconds, the shadow blotted out the fire entirely and surrounded the bakery in a shroud of night. But Link felt the heat. He knew the fire still raged behind the darkness.

Off in the distance, sirens began to wail. The unexpected sound yanked Link from his trance. Instantly, the fire reappeared to punish the weakened structure with a relentless fury. He rubbed his eyes in confusion. Where had the shadow gone?

He heard the knocking again. Only this time it was accompanied by the eerie giggling of a little child. He glanced back at the window and saw the shadowy figure had returned. Though small once again, it still stared at him with those devilish, onion eyes. Link pulled himself to his feet and staggered backwards.

The sirens grew louder. He looked out over the hilly landscape and saw bobbing headlights off in the distance. Link knew he couldn’t be caught here. The police would have too many questions about how the fire started. Questions that he couldn’t answer... not in a way they’d believe.

Lincoln Hartkins cast one final glance toward the bakery. Then he threw the lighter to the ground and began to run as if his life depended on it.

Which, of course...

It did.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Get the door, Lincoln, his father called from the upstairs bathroom.

Link shook his head to help the world around him drift back into focus. He took a few deep breaths to steady the rapid beating of his heart and flinched when a small hand touched his arm. He looked down to find his baby brother, Ayden, normally bouncy and carefree, eyeing him with obvious concern. Without saying a word, Ayden tilted his head and squeezed Link’s arm.

Link forced an uncomfortable smile and ruffled the brown tangle of his brother's hair. Stop your worrying, Bug. I’m fine. Just spacing again. No big deal.

Ayden nodded but appeared unconvinced. He may have only been four years old, and there was no question his language development lagged behind most kids his age, but his understanding of things never ceased to amaze Link.

There was another loud series of knocks at the front door.

Ayden’s eyes narrowed with suspicion when Link jumped in surprise. A spoon clattered to the floor.

Link froze. He stared fearfully at the front door, visions of the fire still fresh in his mind. He bent over to retrieve the spoon. Then he wiped it between thumb and forefinger and plunged it into his bowl of cereal.

Lincoln―Amoeba―Hartkins, his father called from upstairs, What are you waiting for? Answer the door.

Link knew he needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t let his dad find out he’d been having daymares. He’d have Link in therapy again for sure. And Link couldn’t allow that. This was a new town, a fresh start. He wasn’t about to let the rumors about his sanity follow him here, even if the visions had.

Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of that little girl with those onion eyes waving at him from the flames. Even the knowledge that he was acting mental didn’t prevent him from gingerly tapping the iron doorknob a few times to make sure it wasn’t hot.

When he opened the door, he discovered a teenage girl with flashy, hazel eyes, wearing large hoop earrings and a short stack of beaded hemp necklaces. She had two short pigtails and a bouncy sort of smile that made Link feel nauseous.

What do you want? Link said.

Still smiling, the girl said, Is that any way to answer the door? What if I was a wandering god? Or an angel in need of help? What if I was here to announce that you were the next million dollar sweepstakes winner?

Are you?

She rolled her eyes. You’re missing the point, silly. Here. She reached for the doorknob and began pulling it shut. Maybe you should try again. This time come out with a smile and say something like, ‘Good morning, beautiful neighbor whom I have never met before. You have remarkable eyes.’ Once the door had closed, she shoved it back open and beamed at him expectantly.

Link returned her stare but not her smile. Was this girl for real?

I see that you are understandably speechless, she said. You probably don’t even know where to start.

Link nodded. That was indeed what he was, though he doubted it was for the same reason the girl believed it to be.

A minute passed in awkward silence. Finally Link reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. How much?

For my eyes? The girl looked confused, but she quickly recovered. She giggled nervously and said, Oh, you mean the box of cookies I’m holding, don’t you? I’m not selling them. I brought these little bites of goodness as a gift because I don’t bake. Did you seriously think I was in the Girl Scouts? If you ask me, which I know you didn’t, their uniforms are totally wrong. Dull earth tones? What is that about? Are they trying to become trees or something? I get the whole green thing. She threw up finger quotes to emphasize the word. But too far is too far. That’s what my mom always says. At least that’s what she would say if she had any sense.

The girl punched Link playfully on the arm. You know how moms are, right? Am I right? She stopped nodding and rolled her eyes. What am I saying? Of course you do. I mean, you have a mom.

No, Link said.

No, you don’t know how moms are...or no you don’t have a mom? Because that’s a pretty major difference. She didn’t wait for an answer. She thrust the box of cookies into his hands. Then, without a word, she turned and ran. Only after jumping a three-foot picket fence did she call back, Good luck with the NGP!

The NG what? Link watched the girl fade into the distance. When she was gone, he flipped the small box of cookies over and found a yellow sticky note attached to the bottom. It read:

In case I forget to tell you, my name is Celia. If you have any questions about the neighborhood, call me at 555-6767. Toodles.

Toodles? Link shook his head. Who in their right mind used the word toodles? He wasn’t sure how long he stood there. Too many thoughts flooded his mind for him to make sense of any of them. Finally, he muttered, Whatever. And he shut the door.

What did you say? Mr. Hartkins asked from the kitchen. Link’s dad was a tall man, thin and well groomed, but the way he currently hunched over Ayden, attempting to thread his belt through the loops, made him look awkward and out of place.

Nothing, Link groaned, just talking to myself.

I wish you’d stop doing that.

Doing what?

Talking to yourself. It’s very confusing. How am I supposed to know if you want me to answer? his dad said as he draped the damp towel on the back of a nearby chair.

Link shrugged. Please don’t invite any more kids over, Dad. I can make friends on my own.

Mr. Hartkins looked up. What are you talking about? I’ve got no idea who that girl was. Cute though. She certainly was bouncy.

Link knew his dad meant well. But fourteen-year-olds didn’t need their fathers making play dates for them. He turned to leave.

Forgetting something? his dad said before he could go.

Link had forgotten about his promise to watch Ayden for the afternoon, but he wasn’t about to admit this to his father. He beckoned Ayden to follow. Let’s go, Bug. I’ll find something for you to watch downstairs.

Ayden plunged both hands into the front pocket of his oversized green hoodie. His chaotically tousled hair stuck up at random angles, and he smiled one of his goofy, lopsided grins. What Ayden lacked in words, he more than made up for in cheerful enthusiasm.

Before following Link to his room, Ayden looked up and whimpered, Milty?

Mr. Hartkins opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. He clearly wanted to respond, but for the moment, he said nothing. Instead, he squinted and appeared to be scanning his mental archives for anything that matched the word ‘milty.’ Finally, he said, Minty to you, too, son, and smiled.

Ayden’s lower lip jutted in protest. Milty, me said. No minty.

Link shook his head. Despite his brother’s difficulty speaking, Link had almost always been able to understand him. He patiently retrieved a sippy-cup helping of milk and placed it into the eager hands of his four-year-old brother. Let’s go, kiddo.

Milty! Ayden squealed in triumph. Milk in hand, they both moved toward the basement.

Milty means milk? Mr. Hartkins said, shaking his head. I never would’ve gotten that.

Dad, Link called once the pair of brothers had reached the bottom of the basement stairs, stop talking to yourself.

2

Shadows Don’t Tear, They Blend

Lincoln? Are you up yet? his dad called from the door at the top of the basement steps. Don’t forget that school starts today. I need to get Ayden to daycare. Then I have a meeting with a client at the Windsor House. Do you have my new cell number? The knocks on the door felt like the punctuation to his questions. Lincoln?

The question alone said it all. Of course Link was up. He’d already gone running and had taken a shower. He’d even talked to his father briefly while they’d been eating breakfast at the dining room table. Link ran his fingers through his hair. Then he began tying his shoes.

Lincoln?

Link exhaled quietly.

Lincoln? You know I can’t leave until I hear your voice.

Got it, he said at last.

Well, his father called, have a wonderful day, son! And don’t worry. I’m sure this school is going to be even better than Shady Elm Academy. Oh, and Ayden says goodbye, too. Or something about fly goo. I’m not totally sure. Anyways, just remember to have fun! And learn, learn, learn.

Link listened as the subtle squeaks of his father’s rubber-soled shoes retreated overhead. ‘Have fun.’ Like that was going to happen. His smiley-faced father might have managed to block out the last year and a half to better fit his life is what you make it mantra, but Link hadn’t. He clenched his fists without realizing it. Then again, how could things possibly get any worse here than they had been at his last school?

As if in answer to this question, he heard the muted ping of the doorbell upstairs. What the─? Seriously? Link muttered.

By the time Link reached the door, he was prepared to give this early morning solicitor a piece of his mind. The front door was paneled with two matching panes of frosted glass surrounded by scroll work. Sunburst cross patterns etched inside the glass allowed a filtered glimpse to the outside. It wasn’t much, but it was all he needed to recognize his visitor. Standing on his front porch with a broad smile across her face and a furry backpack in the shape of stuffed bear slung over her shoulder was Celia, the girl from the previous night. He opened the door.

Beautiful day, isn’t it? she said with an impossible glee.

What are you doing here? Link asked.

Standing. Celia pulled her book bag higher onto her shoulder.

But...

I’m only kidding. I know what you meant, silly. I was trying to get you to smile. You do know it takes more muscles to frown, right? Her smile grew even larger in an obvious attempt to prove her point.

Link stared at her. Was this girl for real? If he was being honest with himself, he had already harbored a sneaking suspicion that he was living someone else’s twisted bedtime story. The weirder things got, the more crazy people like Celia that he met, the more convinced he became that his suspicion was true.

Anyway...Shady Oaks Academy won’t wait forever, Celia continued. I mean it will...probably. Not forever, of course. But a long time. Buildings don’t actually travel that much unless there is a flood. But we still need to get going, or we’ll be late.

Shady Oaks Academy? His new school was called Shady Oaks Academy? Unbelievable. The only thing that had changed was the type of tree his new school was named after. Link felt a lump rise in the back of his throat. There it was. More proof that this was all some kind of bad joke. He looked up at the sky and shook his head. Typical.

Celia followed his gaze. Typical? How do you mean? You don’t think it’ll rain, do you? If so, we really need to hurry. I positively refuse to go sloshing about in wet clothes on the first day of the new school year. What sort of impression do you think that would make? Hmmm? Anyway, I didn’t even bring my−

Not what are you doing here, Link said, interrupting her barrage of words and going back to his original question. I meant, what are you doing here at my house?

That’s the spirit. Diagramming sentences already. Good for you! Personally, I think grammar is a total snooza-palooza, but I figured someone had to like it. So it is totally wonderful that you do. Besides, it was−

Link held up his hand to cut her off again. He closed his eyes and rubbed the side of his head. This time he used sharp, biting words punctuated with a dramatic pause between each. Why―are―you―here?

Oh, you mean me personally. Last night at the NGP meeting, your dad told my mom that you’d probably be late to school this morning. Something about you not liking school. She sighed and casually tossed her head back. But that can’t be true. Who doesn’t like school? Right? Anyway, I live five blocks over that way, she said, quickly pointing over her shoulder, so we’re basically neighbors. And I figured I’d walk my brand new neighbor to school.

The NGP?

The what now?

The NGP. You just said my dad attended a meeting there last night. What is it?

Celia leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, It’s not a place. It’s a group. Technically it’s the Neighborhood Housing Committee, but I call them the NGP. It’s short for Neighborhood Gossip Patrol. The letters don’t match, but believe me when I say that it’s a far better description. So...are you coming to school or not? I really don’t want to get stuck out here if you’re expecting rain.

Celia’s cheerfulness was exhausting, but Link found he was too tired to argue. Without saying a word, he grabbed his school bag from the closet. Then he closed the door behind him. Do you always talk this much?

Celia smiled wide. Her eyes twinkled with pleasure. That depends. Do you always talk this little?

Link placed a hand over his stomach when he saw the colonial style schoolhouse. The building stood ominously behind a six-foot cast iron fence that stretched the entire perimeter of the school grounds. As Link scanned his new home, he felt the urge to vomit. But the terrible sense of dread building in his gut was not due to something overtly evil. Quite the opposite. It was the frightful familiarity of the place. It could have been built from the same plans as Shady Elm Academy, the school he’d very much hoped he’d never see again.

A tall, scruffy boy with muscles bulging through a soiled rugby shirt suddenly launched a Frisbee at Link’s head from thirteen yards out. Though the Frisbee missed, Link had no trouble catching the boy’s intended message: You’re not welcome here.

Link could have protested, stood up for himself, but what was the point? Back in Pensy his defiance had only earned him detentions, ridicule, and black eyes. Why should he expect anything different here? What he needed was anonymity...not friends. After all, it was hard to hate a shadow. Who knew? If he could become one, perhaps shadows would also prove hard to hit. With this in mind, Link kept his eyes focused on the floor as they entered the west wing hallway in search of their locker assignments.

Glancing up, he said, Thanks for the escort and all, but I can take it from here. Without waiting for a reply, he turned to leave. He had only taken two steps when he heard someone’s voice rise above the crowded din of the hallway bustle, Look, everybody, Ron Weasley is back from Hogwarts!

Fully aware that the heckler’s mockery was directed toward him, Link didn’t even turn around. He just continued up the hallway, trying hard to find the scuffed linoleum more interesting than it actually was. He couldn’t believe the jokes had begun so soon. The hair color thing he could handle. He only prayed these kids hadn’t found out anything about his mother.

In his attempt to make a hasty getaway, Link stumbled briefly over the strap of a girl’s bag but managed to catch himself before he fell. Fists clenched tightly into a ball, he hurried down the remainder of the corridor. He kept his head down to avoid eye contact, but he desperately fought the urge to go back to the boy who’d made the joke and tear his head off. But shadows weren’t allowed to tear. Shadows were supposed to blend. I am a shadow, he told himself. I am a shadow.

Link knew that if only he could keep his temper in check this year, blending shouldn’t prove that difficult. After all, he was painfully aware that aside from his unruly red hair there was nothing particularly special about him. He was an average height, possessed an average IQ, and exhibited ─ at best ─ an average athletic ability. And, unless sarcasm and procrastination counted, he didn’t possess any usable superpowers. For the record, he had been bitten by at least three spiders, but none had been radioactive, so it hadn’t helped much.

Upon entering room 209, Link noticed that the only seat available was on the front row, not exactly the best place to blend in. The desk also appeared to have been adjusted to accommodate a midget. When he sat down, the front two legs squeaked loudly and his knees touched the underside of the desk. But it wasn’t until Link noticed the poster on the wall next to him that he knew for sure how badly this day was going to go. A life-sized poster of Ron Weasley stared back at him, a book in one hand and a wand in the other.

Every time the legs of Link’s chair emitted a high pitched squeak, the entire class looked over at him and giggled. A few of them even pointed at the poster while they laughed. For the next fifty minutes, Link struggled in vain to keep his chair from moving. But it didn’t matter. Apparently, he even sucked at being a shadow.

3

An Empty Wall

Once home, Link rested his bag on the table and stared off into the distance for a while before he finally walked into the kitchen. As he poured some chilled coconut milk into a tall, blue-rimmed glass and took a sip, he did his best to block out the misery of his first day of school. He swished the milk around his mouth then swallowed. He returned the carton of milk to the fridge and noticed a small battalion of sticky-notes pasted together on the kitchen counter.

Lincoln,

I’m sure you had an amazing day just like me. So far business is booming! I’ve opened a couple more listings. I need to attend a realtors’ meeting at the office. Please pick Ayden up from the neighbor’s house. Mrs. Greta volunteered to watch him after daycare, but she has plans later this evening. Please get your camera stuff ready. I need to make a circular for the new homes. Maybe later we could take a spin around the neighborhood and scope out all the new houses that are for sale.

Love, Dad

Back in Pensy, Link’s mom and dad had worked together in real estate. His mother had used her artistic talents to create flyers so picturesque she could have sold