The Family Secret: Sara & the Sarcastic Creatures Book 1

By Tucker Bowen

Sara has seen strange creatures ever since she can remember. But now, she's about to discover why. The mystery will take her from Paris to Scotland, following a twisty trail of intrigue and danger. In the end, the answers will prove more terrifying than anything she could've ever imagined.

Also, she'll make a hat out of a cantaloupe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tucker Bowen
• Release date: Nov 28, 2015

Book preview

Chapter One

- A Latte Work -

You know the sensation of your feet pressing against your sneakers? No? Well, that's 'cause you wear shoes so much, you're used to the feeling. Your brain ignores the sensation. Over the years, it's become such a normal part of your everyday experience, that you just accept the canvas enveloping your toes. This pretty much sums up my feelings on the sarcastic creatures. I've seen them for so long now, I really don't give 'em much thought anymore.

It's no longer weird for me to glimpse...say...a puffy, little creature riding the ceiling fan, a fish-like weirdo swimming my washer / dryer combo, or even a giant salamander waiting in line for the bus. It's all normal, completely, utterly, 'oh-there's-a-creature-dancing-in-my-oatmeal' normal. Which is to say, not normal at all.

So why doesn't anymore else see these creatures?

I know what you're thinking; 'cause I'm crazy, right? Completely bonkers. Totally mental. Off my rocker. Completely cuckoo. At one point I thought so too, but logic has come to my rescue. It's really quite simple; these creatures know things I don't. They've seen things I've never seen. Heard things I've never heard. If they were figments of my imagination, that'd be impossible. They'd be limited to what I know, see, or hear, and only that. But there's no limit to these little weirdos. They're everywhere. And the stuff they've told me, I could never make up.

Right now, I'm halfway through my shift at the Java Hut Coffee Shop, inhaling the freshly brewed coffee and watching a creature named Ollie stack sugar cubes. A little under five inches tall, Ollie could easily be mistaken for an onion if it weren't for his eyes, mouth, and stubby little arms and legs. He compensates for this diminutive size with a big personality. 'Ollie, the Opinionated Onion' is what I call him. He always has something to say.

What are you doing? I ask.

Practicing, he answers without breaking rhythm.

Looks like you're building a sugar castle.

No, I'm practicing...for the tournament.

There's a sugar stacking tournament?

There are lots of stacking competitions. Cups, cards, cockroaches. I'm entering the sugar division.

Oh, I see. And where is this competition held?

Last year it was held on a boat. But that was a bad idea.

Cause of the rocking back and forth? I ask, humoring him.

No, the splashing. All the sugar dissolved.

I see. Well, don't use the cubes meant for the customers. That's not sanitary.

I washed my hands, he says, licking one of the cubes before placing it into position.

Ugh. You're really gross sometimes.

Stack, stack, stack... Ollie repeats to himself. A few other creatures pick up the chant and, gathering around him, begin to bob up and down to the rhythm. He stacks faster and faster.

Stack. Stack. Stack. The wall of cubes grows higher and higher.

Stack. Stack. Stack.

Achooo! One of the creatures sneezes.

The whole structure collapses. Ollie throws up his hands in frustration.

Why don't you take a break? I suggest, patting his flaky little back. The little guy gets so wound up.

I can't, he says. I need to practice.

Worried how the competition stacks up, huh? I pause to see if he gets the joke. Nothing. He stares at me blankly for a few seconds, blinks, and then returns to his stacking mantra. Stack. Stack. Stack. What a little weirdo. Oh, well. I've got customers anyway.

. . .

How would you like your coffee, sir? I ask the businessman. He's so engrossed with his smart phone, that he doesn't hear me.

Yeah. She's one sweet piece of meat, he laughs into the phone. That's why I hired her. OK, talk to you later. He hangs up and then rudely asks, What?

Your coffee. How would you like it?

Ice cold with juicy raisins, says the green, translucent creature perched on his lapel. I roll my eyes. I'm familiar with this type of weirdo, tiny creatures I've nicknamed Beverage Bathers. They enjoy swimming in people's coffee cups.

Cream and sugar, orders the businessman, oblivious to his tiny hitchhiker.

And raisins, adds the creature. Lots of raisins.

I'm not putting raisins in there, I blurt out. The businessman looks up from his phone.

Just cream and sugar.

Sorry, I...

And speed it up, hon. I'm in a rush. He taps his watch.

You can't rush art, I joke. He shakes his head and mutters a nasty comment. I catch enough of it to know it's not very complimentary.

One moment, sir. I turn my back to him. Then I proceed to fill half his cup with raisins. That'll show him, and it'll make that beverage bather's day. Enjoy, I say, turning with a grin.

The businessman snatches his drink without saying thanks. The expression on the green creature's face makes up for it, however. He jumps headfirst into the cup and begins using the raisins as bath sponges, vigorously scrubbing his armpits and feet. I smile again. Sometimes it's the little things that get me through the day...literally, the little things. Most of these creatures I see aren't big in stature. But their loud mouths make up for their size. And although I'll never admit it to them, a few can be pretty funny, even if it's unintentional.

The cat clock above the counter chimes the hour. It's almost time to make another roast, so I head back to the pantry to pick up fresh beans.

The Java Hut's pantry is home to a dense concentration of creatures. You'd never know it at first glance, however. They've divided up the cupboards like an apartment building and act as if they own the place. I've learned the hard way to knock before opening any doors. Once I surprised an imp bathing in a bowl of whipped cream. He was beyond embarrassed, and even though I promised not to tell anyone, he still blushes every time we cross paths.

The burlap bean sacks are housed behind a door in the center of the pantry - a kind of closet within a closet. This is also the home of the most annoying creature ever, a frog-like charlatan who calls himself, The Great Toadstradamus. He's mounted a sign on the door that reads, All-knowing Frognosticator. Enquire within. Toadstradamus, or Toadie, as I call him, considers himself a wise, clairvoyant fortuneteller. But his services don't come cheap. And today is no exception.

Welcome, wisdom seeker, he croaks from high atop the decaf blend.

Relax, Toadie. I'm just here for the beans.

But surely, you must have a question in need of answering?

No, just the...well... I stop in my tracks. Actually, I do have a question. How come I see creatures no one else does? I never thought to ask him before, but if he truly is all knowing as his sign advertises, surely he'll have an answer.

Toadie falls uncharacteristically silent.

Stumped, huh?

No, he raises a webbed hard. I know why. But this is expensive knowledge.

Uh huh. Thought so. How much?

100 dollars.

What? I don't have that kind of money! I barely earn minimum wage, and besides, all my savings are going towards a college fund anyway. Can't you cut me a break?

This is a luxury answer. Very expensive.

What does that even mean? You probably got that off a car commercial.

A platinum level, high-caliber, exclusive answer. They're hard to come by.

I'll bet. I shoulder a burlap sack and head to the door. Let me know when there's a sale.

Emerging from the pantry, I'm sad to see the businessman waiting for me behind the counter. Uh oh. He does not look pleased. Apparently, he's no fan of raisins...at least not in his coffee.

You miserable little hack, he yells, slamming his drink down. Is this your idea of a joke? He's so mad he's frothing at the mouth, or maybe it's just latte foam on his lips. Either way, his veins are pulsing with anger. Where's your manager?

He's not in right now. But I'd be happy to make you another coffee if that one isn't to your liking.

Not to my liking? Why the hell would I want raisins in my coffee?

I don't know? Fiber?

The businessman is too angry to response. Instead, he clamps a hand onto my shoulder.

Let go of that child! cries an elderly voice. The businessman withdraws and, turning around, is surprised to find a tiny old woman behind him. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Mind your business, grandma.

Young man. My son's a police offer. And if you don't leave right this instant, I'll call him up and let him know how abusive you've been. Then we'll see just how tough you are.

By now, everyone in the coffee house is staring our way. The businessman's all too aware of this extra scrutiny. He realizes he's lost the battle, and with a parting curse, storms out the door.

Thanks, Mrs. Coldstone, I say.

Wretched man. For your sake, I hope he's not a regular.

No, not like you. I smile. How's my favorite customer?

This is no exaggeration. Mrs. Coldstone stops by the Java Hut several times a week and tips generously. She always orders a Jasmine Tea and asks how my day's going, which is more than most people ask. We've been on good terms ever since I helped her locate a missing lottery ticket and become a millionaire.

I'm fine, dear, she says. Other than that brute, how's your day going?

To tell you the truth, it's not my best of days, I answer truthfully. That guy was just the icing on the cake. I actually like cake, so I'm not sure why I used that analogy - unless it's one of those dry grocery cakes with the blue icing. Yuck. Those are crummy in every sense of the word. Kind of a crummy day, I explain.

Mrs. Coldstone offers a sympathetic smile. I'm sorry to hear that. Why don't you stop by the Manor after dinner? I baked a couple pies this morning. You can have one.

Pie therapy sounds like just the thing to lift my spirits. "Sure. I'll