Jermaine Peterman and the Haunted House

By Mark T Briggs

Jermaine Peterman has a dream of going to a professional football game with his friends. This is a dream that his dad is refusing to fulfill due to the cost. All seemed lost until Jermaine discovered that his school is having a fundraising contest to win tickets. He jumped at the chance without realizing just what was required and that now

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Briggs
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781734334517

Mark T Briggs

Mark Briggs lives on the outskirts of Denver, CO with his wife, 4 kids, 2 dogs, 1 cat and no sanity. He has long enjoyed writing stories for friends, family and co-workers before deciding to write a complete novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jermaine Peterman, what in the world is this mess, young man?

The harsh tone froze Jermaine Peterman, a fork inches from his face while his eyes were as big as the stack of syrup-covered pancakes in front of him. Uhh, I told you I would clean my room in a bit, Mom, he called back a moment later in a panic of what would happen if he said nothing. Jermaine knew full well he was supposed to have cleaned up at least a dozen or more messes, but he figured his room was his best bet in this case.

Your room? his mom, Cindy Peterman, asked while entering the kitchen. You told me last night you’d clean it before bedtime.

Oh. Umm, yes. Yeah, last night … Right. Jermaine thought as quickly as he could, which really wasn’t all that fast.

Jermaine, please … She shook her head, knowing it would do no good at all. Eat that bite of food before you drip syrup on your pajamas.

Jermaine quickly took the bite he had forgotten about then examined his favorite fuzzy pajamas to look for any mess. If my friends knew I had fuzzy pajamas, he mumbled to himself, I would get laughed out of the fifth grade and most likely the state.

Now convinced his prized PJs were in no danger, he returned to eating the breakfast his mother had prepared for him—five pancakes, three fried eggs, bacon, toast, and a glass of orange juice with extra pulp.

His mother still couldn’t believe a boy of his size could eat all that food and not gain an ounce, but he proved her wrong every Saturday morning. After watching him for a moment, she grabbed her favorite coffee mug—the one Jermaine had made for her a few years ago. It donned a giant strawberry on the front, and I love you BERRY much! was painted across the top.

Since I know you cleaned your room last night—she gave him a look that said they both knew he hadn’t—I was talking about this mess. She held up his backpack from school. It was a black and grey bag stuffed full of papers, candy wrappers, and who knew what else.

Oh yeah, that mess. Yeah, I mean … You know, there aren’t any other messes that I have, of course, aside from that mess, I mean. He unknowingly gave a very uncomfortable laugh. Man, oh man. Silly me. What was I thinking? Yeah, kids. Man, we sure are crazy sometimes, huh, Mom?

Ignoring Jermaine’s failed attempt at both humor and excuses, she unzipped the bag and, with a level of bravery only a mother could have, rummaged through the chaos her son carried through school every day. I’ll try to get through this mess before your father gets home, because if he sees it, you won’t like it.

His dad was on his Saturday morning ritual at the golf course, getting mad enough to swear, coming home grumpy, then his wife surprising him with his favorite lunch—a bologna and bacon sandwich with mac and cheese mixed with cut-up hotdogs. It happened every weekend, yet, to his dad, it always seemed so unpredictable.

Yeah well, really, Mom. It shouldn’t be that bad. You know, ‘cuz I already cleaned it out and stuff. You know, like you asked me to. I, um, just left the important stuff.

Uh huh. His mom rolled her eyes. Just like in your room? She gave him a smirk as she filled the kitchen’s recycling bin with paperwork she could swear was from last school year, even though she had bought him a new bag this year. And what are you plans today, dear? she asked while elbow deep in his tragedy of a backpack.

Without looking up from his plate of food, he gave his typical answer. I dunno. Probably hang out with Toad, Dave, and Jenny or something.

Toad, Dave, and Jenny were his only three real friends. Sure, he got along pretty well with most kids in his class, but, when it came to hanging out after school or on the weekends, they were his group.

You need to decide what you’re doing for Halloween too, you know. Isn’t your school having a Halloween party on Saturday?

Before he had a chance to finish his bite and answer, she reached the bottom of the stack of papers she didn’t think she would ever find and came across a bright green flyer. Hey, honey … She paused to examine it a moment more. Aren’t you always bugging your dad about taking you to a football game?

Yeah! Jermaine chortled, thinking about how he constantly begs his dad to take him to a game. It was the one thing he wanted more than anything else in life.

Why didn’t you enter this contest to win some tickets then? she asked with a look of puzzlement.

Contest? What contest? No one told me about any contest, he said to protest this injustice keeping him from his dream, but his mother quickly shut down his objection, however.

"Jermaine! It was in your backpack!"

Oh yeah, I forgot! So how do I win? And where will I sit? Oh! And I can I bring my friends? Oh, oh! Can I have money for food and popcorn and stuff? Come on, Mom. I need it! You can’t go to a game and not have that stuff. He pouted a bit about how his mom wouldn’t give him extra spending money.

You haven’t even won yet, silly! So, let me see. It says here you can go online to enter for five seats at a football game and that this is some sort of a fundraiser for the school. I guess you can pay to have access to the video stream. Video stream? Video stream of what? She was more talking to herself rather than Jermaine at this point, so he sat and listened instead of answering. And okay, that’s where the school will get their money for this. Whatever happened to just selling overpriced candy? She scanned the crumpled document while occasionally mumbling to herself. Oh, here we go. Rules to enter. Huh, it looks like this has two parts, sweetie. I guess to win, you must spend the night in a haunted house, but first, I think you have to write a story about why they should pick you and your friends to spend the night in a haunted house. And then they will choose the best story to give that team a chance to win.

"Oh. So basically, what you just said is I’m not going to a football game, because no way would I spend the night in a haunted anything. Thanks for crushing my spirit though, Mom. That one hurt."

Oh, stop, she said with an eye roll she didn’t even know she gave. You know darn well that if it’s a school function, then it isn’t a real haunted house. Come on, it would be fun. Oh look, a note on the bottom says sixth grade and under must have a parent chaperone present. I’m sure your father would be happy to do that. How fun! It’s on the same night as the school Halloween party you didn’t bother to answer me about, but I think the party would end first, if the school is hosting both. I think you can enter this and still make it to the party.

Jermaine gave a look of uncertainty toward his mother, who was still reading the page and didn’t take notice.

And, sweetie, it says here they will even have a hidden prize. It doesn’t really say what it is, but if the regular prize is football tickets, then this must be even better than that.

You sure it ain’t a real haunted house, Mom? Jermaine’s voice trembled, pleading for his mother’s reassurance and completely ignoring this later discovery; he can’t enjoy a hidden prize if the ghosts get him first.

It isn’t, dear. And I couldn’t imagine it would be. Now hurry and finish your breakfast, put your dish in the sink and get upstairs and get dressed. You can hop on the computer in your room and enter right now. Here’s the website written on this flyer.

Jermaine sat for a moment more in hesitation then cleared his plate and raced to the top of the stairs. Considering his mom said it would be safe, he could work past the ghosts and had already pondered how awesome the football game would be.

His mom sat at the kitchen table and listened as she heard her only child run up the stairs, throw open his bedroom door and yelp in pain as he stepped on one of the hundreds of plastic building blocks laying around his mess of a room. She sighed. That kid, will he never learn?

Jermaine scowled at his disaster of a room and at his throbbing foot. Man, somebody really should clean this place. He threw on some jeans and a tee-shirt while waiting for his computer to boot up.

Once it was on, he logged onto the website written on the page. He followed the directions and tried not to read anything, as it was his personal belief no one should have to read on the weekends. He did notice stuff about some official rules or something—who cares? Click this after reading the terms and conditions; click that as a waiver for something no one cares about; click here, and yes, there it was, the spot to enter.

He remained deep in thought for a moment before beginning. His focus wasn’t so much about the haunted house as much as it was on attending an actual pro football game with his friends. This may not have been the best move for him, because Jermaine wasn’t what you would call brave or strong or courageous. In fact, he really didn’t possess any of the qualities one would need in order to spend the night in a haunted house.

He usually didn’t bother to mess with his brown hair, and