Emmylou and the Pixels

By Mary Mager

Eleven-year-old Emmylou is angry with her mother for getting sick, and with her father for bringing the family to a remote mountain cabin. When she and brother Levi discover the Pixels, tiny people living hidden lives, the family is drawn into a battle to save them from a ruthless logging company.

In helping the Pixels the family finds healing and hope for themselves in this intimate fantasy tale.

A book for every child who builds fairy houses in the yard, or any adult who would like to!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kindle Direct Publishing
• Release date: Apr 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393789789

Mary Mager

Mary Mager is a Nevada – raised writer and songwriter.  She has been a registered nurse, a business owner, substitute teacher, and stay-at-home mom, which; she considers her most rewarding occupation.  Mary has always been a storyteller, and since retirement from the business world she has had the time to work on projects inspired by the special joy of having a grandchild on her lap. She has been a church musician for many years, and that experience led her to compose her own songs, culminating in release in 2014 of an album, “On Grandma’s Lap,” a collection of bedtime songs and lullabies.  At the same time, she has continued to imagine and write stories both long and short for her grandchildren. “Pretend Princess” is the first book in the Concordia series for middle-grade readers. "Under the Summer Sun" is the second in this engaging series. Mary has a Facebook page, On Grandma’s Lap, and a website:  http://www.ongrandmaslap.com. She is delighted to hear from her readers at [e-mail].

Book preview

1  A CABIN IN THE WOODS

T

WO FIGURES sat on a rock, so silent and unmoving they seemed part of the surrounding forest as they considered a structure before them. The only sounds to be heard were birdsong, the occasional rustle of leaves, and the constant shushing of the river below, still high in spring runoff. A late storm was brewing, and from time to time a sharp breeze would cause the tall evergreens to murmur in protest.

The object of interest was an old cabin, squatting amid overgrown saplings and brush in what had once been a meadow. Its cedar walls were faded now to gray and the screened porch that ran around two sides, as well as the steps that led to them, were beginning to sag noticeably. The gravel parking area and what passed for a drive were covered with yellow wildflowers. On a sunny day the cabin could still appear welcoming  but today it was as gloomy as the weather.

They’re goin’ to rent it out ag’in, I tell ya, said one of the figures, breaking the silence. I saw a truck here the other day. They were carryin’ stuff in. He snorted in disgust. He was older than the other, with long gray hair and an unruly beard, and went by the name of Grumps.

Well we can’t be sure. Maybe they’re going to sell it, finally, said the younger one, whose name was Tickler, though that might be worse. He looked much like his elder, both of them dressed in rough, home-made clothing and wearing strange, wide-brimmed hats of woven grass, Grump’s with a jaunty yellow feather stuck in it. Tickler’s beard was short and dark brown instead of gray, his hair tied back with a piece of string, but he wore the same worried expression.

Only one way to know. We’ve got ta go in and see what they was up to in there. Grumps pulled himself to his feet with the help of a gnarled walking stick, though he hardly seemed to need it.

You know how to get in? His companion eyed the cabin uncertainly.

Grumps was chewing a blade of grass, and paused to spit it out. Sure. Waddya think?

Tickler didn’t answer immediately. He also stood up, brushing off his pants. Let’s go, then.

After a good look around for anyone or anything watching, the pair of would-be intruders crept up to the building, climbed up the steps, and made their way to a spot near the corner where there was a patch in the screen. Grumps tugged and slid it to the side, exposing a hole about three inches wide. Plenty big enough.

The two figures were only six inches tall.

2  A TRIP TO OBLIVION

E

MMYLOU ANDERS was sulking.

Emmylou was sulking as only an eleven-year-old girl who felt herself deeply wronged could sulk. When her father looked in the rearview mirror he saw a skinny girl with light brown, curly hair and a pouty lip, and he frowned. When her mother looked over her shoulder into the back seat, she saw her knobby-kneed daughter with arms crossed tightly across her chest, and she sighed. Emmylou’s little brother, Levi, had his nose in a book and paid no attention to her. Between them a sleeping Harriet drooled in her car seat.

Emmylou did not want to be in the car, traveling to who-knew-where up in the mountains. She wanted to be home, playing with her best friend, Riley, who lived two houses down and who was having a birthday party a week from Saturday and which Emmylou would miss. Riley had confided that her parents had a surprise which involved her. They had purchased tickets to an all-ages show by their favorite heartthrob, who went by the name of Trounce. She would miss the concert too. The unfairness of it all was beyond comprehension.

Emmylou nursed her anger, intent on keeping it burning as long as possible. Emmylou was angry a lot, these days.

The SUV hurtled through a monotonous stretch of desert nothingness, or at least nothing that interested Emmylou. No amount of last-minute crying and pleading had changed her parents’ minds, and she had had no choice but to take her place next to the window, behind her father. She refused to speak, even when they stopped for gas and a potty break in Reno. That would show them.

Look at those mountains! Aren’t they beautiful? Mother would try to get her to respond.

How ya doin’ back there, Em? Father would ask from time to time, raised eyebrows in the rearview mirror.

When she didn’t answer they would exchange sad looks.

Finally leaving Nevada, they climbed steeply into the Sierras, where a lake sparkled far below. Snow still lay in banks here and there amid outcrops of bald, gray granite, the bones of the earth.

This is Donner Pass, where the wagon train was stranded all winter, Father told them, where they ran out of food and had to...

Frank! They don’t need to know about that! interrupted Mother. Levi sat up straight, interested.

Emmylou began to listen.

...eat nuts and berries, finished Father.

In spite of herself, Emmylou began to take an interest in the scenery. When they left the freeway for a twisty two-lane highway she began to watch for bears, leaning into the window and pressing her head against the glass. The trees closed in from deep shadow on both sides of the road. There were mountains at home, too, but Emmylou had never felt herself so inside them, as she did here. She imagined herself being swallowed by the forest. Would they even miss her?

When she finally looked around, she saw Levi had put his book aside and was also staring out the window, his glasses askew on his round face. She looked to see what her brother was reading. Another fantasy about a magical forest. He loved that stuff, though his other interests were mostly scientific in nature. A curious contradiction. Emmylou was certain he still believed in Santa.

What are you reading now? Another stupid story about fairies? She forgot she wasn’t speaking.

Levi didn’t respond to her snarky tone, just hugged his book and hunched his shoulder away so she wouldn’t see the hurt on his face. In the mirror, her father gave her a warning scowl. She was rude to Levi too often lately. With a loud sigh, Emmylou turned back to her own window as the highway wound endlessly down and around through deeper woods.

Awake now, Harriet played with Woogins, her stuffed bunny, bouncing him up and down and making what she imagined were bunny noises. Father had a death grip on the steering wheel, intent on the narrow road. Mother was asleep again, her head tipped back and her mouth open.

Emmylou felt the first weakening of her anger as she looked at her mother. Emmylou saw how thin she was, and pale. Her once-lovely hair was only beginning to grow back after the chemo. Kathleen Anders was only 38 years old. Too young to have cancer, Emmylou thought. Didn’t that only happen to old people? Didn’t you have to be at least 50 to get it? But her own mother fought breast cancer and was winning, they hoped, the war, though she had suffered greatly from the battle. Emmylou pushed the thought away.

Her mother’s illness was the reason for this vacation, as her father called it. He had tried to explain it to Emmylou and Levi.

Dr. Harper says your mom needs a complete rest, and no stress, so she can recover from that last round of chemo, he had told them. We’re going somewhere with no phones, no e-mail, and no one to bother us. You kids can play and swim in the river, and keep an eye on Harriet. It will be fun. He hadn’t sounded entirely convinced himself, but tried to present it all as a wonderful adventure.

Emmylou wasn’t fooled. No e-mail or phones meant no WiFi or cell service. No texting. No games. No way to talk to Riley or her other friends. Six weeks out of her summer with no one for company but her awkward little brother, a baby, and her parents. As far as she was concerned, this was a trip into oblivion, an undesirable destination she heard about once. She didn’t really know where that was, but she was certain this would be just as bad.

3   LOST POT

I

T WAS LATE  in the afternoon when Father finally turned off the highway onto another narrow road, even more twisty than the last. It seemed to drop off the side of the mountain, down and down through one hairpin turn after another into a deep canyon. Emmylou glanced at her brother, who was famously fearful of heights. Levi was on the inside of the turns, and was