Fuzzwiggs: The Switcheroo

By Amy Maren Rice

Fuzzwiggs by Amy Maren Rice

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638859239

Book preview

Chapter 1

Eccentricities

Jasper flopped against the backseat of the family SUV with a huff. You’ve got to be kidding me, he moaned. Outside a boom of thunder echoed his bad mood.

For what was probably the hundredth time, his mother, Emily, sighed. That was dramatic. What’s wrong now?

Jasper didn’t think a little drama was unwarranted in this situation. Not only had his world recently imploded, turning his twelve-year-old life upside down, now he was being forced to move into this, this so-called house, with a batty old aunt he barely knew.

What’s wrong? his voice rose as he repeated her question. I’ll tell you what’s wrong. He threw his hand at the rain-soaked window. This place! It looks like an insane asylum for loony tunes. You expect us to live here?

Jasper’s mom shifted the car into park and turned to face her oldest son. Bring it down an octave, will you? You haven’t even given it a chance.

Jasper rolled his eyes. The last year had thrown his life into a spiral of uncertainty and change, starting with the plane crash. No survivors. Those two words had changed everything.

He ran his fingers through his wavy hair, a frustrated motion he’d inherited from his father, along with his dark hair and blue eyes. He didn’t want to be here. He missed his home. He missed his friends. Most of all, he missed his dad. Being forced to move to the boonies and live in this creepy, probably ghost-filled, house was just another miserable addition to the list of miserable things he was being made to endure, miserably.

Outside, perched at the top of a winding mountain in the middle of nowhere was his family’s ancestral home. Well, technically they were in Idaho, but to the city-dwelling boy, it might as well be Mars. Gray skies, rainclouds, and the occasional thunderclap provided an eerie welcome wagon.

The heavy plunk of raindrops petered out, and for a moment, the clouds parted, illuminating the mansion in the glow of the evening sun. Gnarled trees and vines, climbing, twisting, and supporting, covered the outside walls, making it hard to tell where the two-story structure began and the plants ended. Shadows lurked in the tall leaded windows peeking out like nosy old neighbor ladies eager to spy on the new arrivals. As Jasper stared at the strange home, he felt some of his misery begin to give way to curiosity. What secrets would such a peculiar place hold? A sharp poke to the middle of his spine tore him from his musings. Milo had finally realized they’d arrived.

Scoot over, his little brother prodded. You’re hogging the window.

Jasper shoved him away. Look out your own window.

But I can’t see the house from mine.

Boys! Mom scolded. That’s enough. But it was too late. Pushes became shoves as they scuffled for position. Jasper’s foot hit the door handle, and then, as if the car had tired of enduring their nonstop tantrums, the door flew open, depositing Jasper onto the wet ground.

Milo! he screeched. You annoying little troll!

Milo ignored him, having escaped the fall, and stepped out of the car. He scrunched up his lightly freckled cheeks and green eyes—traits he’d gotten from his mother—scratched his rusty brown head and studied the mansion with interest. That’s one odd-looking house! the ten-year-old exclaimed. It annoyed Jasper that he was so excited about the stupid house, but that was Milo, always excited, an enthusiastic science geek through and through. There wasn’t a plant, animal, or mineral that he didn’t know all about—or so he claimed. Jasper never bothered to verify any of his babble.

Mom? Milo called, pushing his glasses back up his nose with a finger. Did Dad really grow up here? It’s not like any house I’ve ever seen. And the bars on the front door make it look like a prison. What are they keeping out? Or in? I wonder. He finished his observations in a single breath.

Oh my goodness, Milo. Mom smiled warmly, walking over to him. Your imagination. It’s not as scary as all of that. Just different. It’s been in Dad’s family for a long, long time, and the Slaters are known for their eccentricities.

Eccentricities had been one of Jasper’s vocab words back at his old school. It meant they were weird. Just like he thought.

Aunt Delilah did mention that it might be a little messy inside. Turning to Jasper, she added, Don’t say anything rude.

But what if there’s…?

She shushed him with a look. No buts. You’re not qualified to lecture anybody on cleanliness.

I’ll keep my room clean for the rest of my life if we can turn around right now and go back home, he volunteered hopefully.

She sighed once again. Jasper noticed she’d been doing a lot of that lately.

Just be nice. Aunt Delilah didn’t have to invite us to live here. She’s helping us out. And, yes, Milo. Daddy lived here when he was a little boy.

Wow. Milo grinned. I can’t wait to see inside.

Yes, well, right now we need to unpack the car. You two get our bags out of the trunk while I get the baby. It’s been a long ride, and I’m sure he needs a diaper change. She squinted up at the sky. At least it stopped raining.

Jasper watched as she unbuckled his brother from the car seat. Dad never knew about baby Wyatt. They got the bad news before Mom could tell him the good. Come here, little man, she cooed, her voice reverting to a soft singsong. Let’s take care of that diaper.

Suddenly, Jasper had a brilliant thought. In a place this big, he could have his own room. He’d had to share with Milo after they sold their house and moved into a crummy two-bedroom apartment. It was the worst! Jasper was turning thirteen this year, that was almost a man, and a man needed a place of his own, a man cave, free from bothersome brothers.

If he could get inside first, he could pick the best one, maybe even one with a hot tub. There’d be no brothers allowed either, on penalty of death. He’d make a sign.

There were two problems though. He needed time to look—he didn’t want to miss something good—and he’d have to do something to make sure Milo wouldn’t want it too. If the dork whined about it, it would end up in a coin toss. Mom had started flipping a quarter to solve their arguments lately. Let’s leave it up to fate, she’d say. Jasper hated the coin, and judging by how many times he’d lost, it didn’t like him very much either.

Jasper, Milo, Mom called impatiently, bouncing Wyatt on her hip. Quit standing around and come unload the luggage, unless you’d rather change the baby’s diaper? She left the question hanging ominously in the air.

No! Jasper yelped. That was the last thing he wanted to do. A quick glance at Milo showed that he was still distracted. A plan to buy himself some time began to take shape in his head.

Jasper popped open the trunk and started tossing out bags. When he’d unloaded exactly half, he made his move. My half’s done, he called. He flung his travel backpack over his shoulder and sprinted toward the house. He knew his mom would make Milo complete his share before letting him follow.

Milo spun at the sound. Wha—? he began to ask, but his voice lurched as he lost his balance on the rain-slicked drive. He slipped, overcorrected, and fell with a splash into a muddy puddle.

Where do you think you’re going? Milo demanded from his mud seat, but Mom interrupted him.

Stop messing around in the mud, Milo, and come unload your share of the bags. Then you can go exploring with your brother.

Jasper couldn’t help but laugh. They were even now. He crouched as he vaulted up the stone steps and under a canopy of thick-trunked trees that lined both sides of them. They looked like overweight sentries guarding the entrance, their branches intertwined overhead like crooked fingers ready to snatch up unwelcome visitors.

At the front door, he slid to a halt. Iron bars covered it, but that wasn’t what froze Jasper in his tracks. Whatever artist had carved this door must have just finished watching a horror movie, one filled with monsters.

Creatures, like none he’d ever seen before, covered the tall black door from top to bottom. Some were sharp-toothed, some wide-eyed. Others had open mouths, frozen midscream. All of them stared menacingly ahead as if warning intruders to turn back before it was too late.

A cold shiver ran down Jasper’s spine. Silently, he scolded himself for being a wimp, grateful no one was around to see his hesitation. Ignoring the nightmarish door, he reached for the knob—family didn’t need to knock after all—and let himself in.

Chapter 2

The Heebie-Jeebies

Jasper’s fingers lingered by the dead bolt, twitching with the urge to lock Milo out. With a regretful sigh, he left it alone and turned to investigate his aunt’s house.

Aunt Delilah! We’re here, he called, announcing his arrival, but she was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the whole house was dark, too dark to see much more than the stone floors of the foyer, and tall cobwebbed windows overhead. His arm hair suddenly popped to attention. Where there were cobwebs, there were spiders, and those creepy-crawlies gave him a fierce case of the heebie-jeebies. He loathed them, also a vocab word. Hey! Mrs. Murphy was right. I am using them in real life.

Just past the dark entryway towered, what looked like, the silhouette of a thick beanstalk reaching toward the ceiling. Jasper figured it was more likely to be a staircase than a ladder to the land of boy-eating giants and darted over. But with his first step, he met resistance.

Itsp im my mouff, he mumble-spit, scrubbing at his tongue. The stale taste of spider-butt string made him pause. He’d need to take a few precautions before he could bring himself to proceed up the sure-to-be spider-filled stairs. First, he tucked his pants into his baseball socks. Then, he pulled up his hoodie, cinching the strings so tight that only his eyes showed. Finally, he yanked his sleeves over his hands covering every last inch of exposed skin.

It occurred to him that he was about to look stupid ridiculous, but there was no other way. He wanted that man cave. Like a YouTube dancer trying for his fifteen minutes of fame, he flailed his arms in front of him to deflect the webs from his face and hopped as fast as his feet would carry him up the winding stairs.

In seconds, he was at the top, exhaling a mouthful of air he didn’t know he’d been holding. He scrubbed at his clothes then untied his hoodie to check each ear for stowaways. Satisfied he was free of eight-legged hitchhikers, he surveyed the area for potential rooms. A long shadow-covered hallway stretched out to either side of him, each wall was full of doors but lit only by a few tall windows.

Still, no Aunt Delilah.

Jasper prided himself on his bravery, but sometimes—and he’d deny this if asked—when things got a little intense, he’d pretend to be someone else, a brave someone with mad swordsmanship skills or jujitsu moves. Never ever in front of other people, of course.

He imagined he was the fearless warrior Lee Zeng Xu, trained in martial arts by Tibetan monks, and readied his ninja skills, honed to perfection in second-grade karate class, and began his quest. Milo wouldn’t be far behind, so he advanced quickly, checking each door with caution. In a spider-infested, haunted mansion, danger could be lurking around any corner.

As he explored, Jasper’s caution turned into frustration. Each shadowed room he peeked into looked, well, boring. Just regular old person bedrooms decked out in lacy old-lady décor. Definitely not what he was looking for. The rooms that didn’t have beds held things like piles of towering storage boxes, shelves full of colorful jars, stacks of bundled-up old newspapers, or nothing at all. Others were locked up tight with no way to get in. He’d expected skeletons in the rocking chairs at least. It was kind of disappointing.

He paused at an interesting looking green door and crossed his fingers. When all he discovered behind it were books lining the walls he wheezed a sigh of frustration. Lopsided piles of them threatened to topple at any moment. There was even one of those sliding ladders hooked to the wall to reach the high stuff. His mom called those dream ladders because she’d always dreamed of having a library big enough to need one.

Books weren’t his thing. In fact, he did his best to avoid them and was about to leave when a sudden movement caught his eye. A cat-sized, arachnid-shaped shadow skittered between book towers. He saw at least five legs but wasn’t about to stick around to count the rest. He lashed out with a karate kick to cover his retreat and slammed the door behind him.

Jasper’s brain tried to reassure him that he hadn’t just seen an undead catarantula, but his gut—fearing to be on the menu—encouraged him to put some distance between himself and the shadowy creature. The heebie-jeebies tried to return full force, but he mentally batted them back down. Lee Zeng Xu didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense.

If his man cave wasn’t around the next corner, Jasper vowed to give up. Being devoured by a spectral spider was not on his to-do list today. Just then, a sudden break in the rainclouds made him forget all about his arachnophobia. A bright-red door stood in the center of the hall; a shaft of sunlight shining down on it beckoned him forward. Above it, like a crown topping a shrine, hung a giant set of horns. No, not horns. Something else. Aunt Delilah had told him their name in one of her stories. He shook his head to jiggle the memory loose. Antlers! That’s what she’d called them.

This door was carved too but not scary like the front door. He brushed his fingers over its rough ruby surface. Jagged triangular mountains surrounded a valley full of trees, and right down the middle, a swift river cut the land in two. This room had to have something super awesome inside.

Jasper licked his suddenly dry lips. Would there be an elephant sized spider behind it or the man cave he was craving? His hands shook. Bucking up his courage, he checked over his shoulder one last time for Milo and cracked open the door.

Chapter 3

The Man Cave

A few seconds in the darkness had Jasper’s heart thumping like a bass drum as he fumbled for a light switch. It occurred to him that he’d just ran through a dark, possibly haunted, definitely spider-filled house without even once thinking to turn on a light. Struck by his own stupidity, he smacked himself in the forehead to knock some of the dumb out.

In his old house, his room had been baseball-themed—baseball wallpaper, curtains, posters, and even one of those bat-shaped ceiling fans. Whoever had decorated this room had gone with the theme, Old West junkyard. So far there were no giant spiders. Glass lanterns, rusted metal traps with sharp teeth, and other old-timey-type things he couldn’t identify covered every wall and surface. There were even a few ancient guns and a bow and arrow set hung up. Mom would probably call them antiques and ooh and ahh over them. All except the guns anyway. She definitely wouldn’t approve of those.

Jasper felt like he’d just stepped into one of those old Western movies and imagined himself walking onto the set to perform some masculine task, like fighting the town outlaw at high noon—if he could find him in here that was.

Plopped right in the middle of the mess was an enormous wooden bed, easily king-sized, and built from the kind of rough logs that looked like they were plucked fresh from the forest. Above it hung a grand chandelier made out of antlers. And as if that wasn’t weird enough, the decorator’s next choice made his jaw drop. Surrounding a cold fireplace, like some spooky dead zoo, were dozens of stuffed animals. Some were full-sized and standing, while others hung from plaques on the wall. Taxidermy, that’s what it was called. Mom would absolutely not like those.

He leaned against a large wooden desk and started counting the animals, trying to identify them as he went. One, a bear. Easy. Two. Some kind of mountain cat. Three, a stuffed fish. Weird. Four, a beaver, big teeth. Five and six. Some sort of deer maybe. He stopped after that. His zoology skills were definitely lacking. There were too many anyway. At least thirty.

Behind him hung a long line of painted portraits. Stern old men stared straight-ahead, each one more ancient-looking than the last. Shiny brass plaques gave the subject’s name and birth date. The final portrait read, Augustus Thatcher Slater, 1952–. The death date was blank. That was his grandpa’s name. This must be his grandpa Slater’s bedroom. That meant it had to be the best one. He was the man of the house after all.

Jasper stood, leaving a smudge of clean on the desktop where he’d sat. Mom would ground me for a week if my room ever got this dirty. He ran his finger through the grit and with a flick of his wrist painted JDS, his initials. Guess it’s mine now. A puff of dust rose up and tickled his nose.

Jasper had never met his grandpa, and even living in the guy’s house doubted he ever would. He was never around, a stranger to his own family. Jasper’s parents didn’t talk about him much, but he knew that he’d practically abandoned his kids after Grandma died. Dad and Aunt Delilah grew up on their own in this creepy old house.

Jasper wandered over to the fireplace where a bear skin rug sprawled across the floor. Where’d you come from? he asked it, giving it a pet. Tangles of coarse black fur stuck to his sweaty palms. Eww, gross, he grumbled, scrubbing it off on his jeans.

He sunk into a log chair and wondered what else he might find here. Maybe he’d go camping or learn how to fish, things his dad had done growing up that they never got the chance to do together. Maybe he’d even grow a beard. He rubbed his chin in search of a whisker or two to get him started.

It struck him that he felt, well, not quite happy, but curiously optimistic, not so angry with the world anymore. It surprised him. He’d only felt dread about moving. These new feelings were like an old friend coming back for a visit. Maybe this move wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Just as he was getting lost in the possibilities, the door creaked open, and a most unwelcome guest entered his new room.

Chapter 4

Crossing the Line

Milo! Jasper spat, scowling at the intruder.

Milo stood in the doorway, irritation painting his mud-speckled face. He’d taken time to clean up but missed a few spots. Jasper didn’t lose any time claiming his space. This room’s all filled up. Try down the hall.

Milo scowled. You’re not the boss of me.

I got here first. Rules are rules.

That’s not a rule! Milo protested.

Is too.

Did you even ask Aunt Delilah?

Ask? Why would I ask?

Milo rolled his eyes. Because we’re guests.

Jasper shrugged. She won’t mind. We’re family.

Milo huffed his doubt as he stepped into the room. It’s like a Wild West museum in here.

And it’s mine, Jasper reminded him firmly.

We’ll see, Milo replied.

That did it! Jasper knew what he had to do next. Phase 2 of his plan. It was risky. He could get into some serious trouble, but he had to make sure Milo didn’t want what he’d claimed.

Slowly, he raised two fingers to his mouth and licked them with a slurp. This is my room, he declared as he wiped his slobbery fingers down the arm of the chair, leaving a wet trail behind. His little brother had a thing about germs–germs, smells, body fluids—really anything slightly gross or even remotely funny. Jasper was sure he’d turn tail and run away. Milo winced but didn’t move. Instead he reached in his backpack and pulled out a pack of disinfecting wipes.

Jasper tried not to panic. He’d just have to turn it up a notch. That was all. Standing up, he walked to the fireplace. He raised his pointer finger to his nostril, left it hovering just below, and arched his eyebrows in challenge.

You wouldn’t, Milo gasped in disgust.

Wouldn’t I? I. Got. Here. First. he reminded him.

Milo clenched his lips and dug in his backpack once again. This time, he produced a pair of industrial-grade rubber gloves.

Jasper couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was time to pull out all the stops. His little brother didn’t know what he’d just unleashed.

Farts!

Gas. Toots. Flatulence. It was the one thing he knew would make Milo flee. You’d think it was poison the way he reacted to a close proximity stink bomb. It was extreme, for sure. Mom would be so angry with him. But it was the only way to be absolutely sure Milo wouldn’t want his fart-infested room. Jasper fought with his conscience, toying with the line he knew he probably shouldn’t cross.

The scales tipped when Milo grinned obnoxiously, stretched his gloved fingers over his head, and stepped toward the bed. I’m a little tired. I think I’ll lay down for a bit.

Oh no, you don’t! Jasper growled, leaping into action. He vaulted over the log chair and around a metal stand filled with glittering rocks, nearly tipping it over. He had to beat him to the bed. His bed.

Just inches away from the prize, they collided, tumbling them both to the floor. Elbows and knees flew as they wrestled. Neither willing to give the other the victory. Desperate to win, Jasper tried some very unsportsman-like pinches, but Milo persevered.

Finally, Jasper remembered the plan and changed tactics from physical to aromatic.

Thppppwft!

The shrill burst rang out, like an out-of-tune trumpet played by a kindergartner.

Milo’s face twisted as he gagged and rolled away.

Jasper jumped up from the floor with a laugh and slammed his hands onto the bedcovers to claim the victory. I win! he hooted. Dust filled the air making him cough. He cough-laughed so hard that his farts became involuntary. They just kept coming. Laugh-coughing, giggle-farting over and over again, he leaped onto the bed in triumph.

Milo pinched his nose and ran for the door. Mom! he screeched.

Chapter 5

A Slobbery Message

His mother’s bellow echoed through the mansion. Jasper Dempsey Slater! The use of his middle name meant he’d definitely crossed the line. Kicking at the patterned carpet, he reluctantly made his way downstairs.

She stood by the front door tapping her foot with impatience, bouncing Wyatt in her arms. Milo was beside her with a smug smile plastered on his gap-toothed face. Before she could scold him, Jasper tried to explain. He started it, Mom.

No, I didn’t, Milo denied.

Yes, you did. You tried to take my room.

It’s not your room. You didn’t even ask.

Stop it, both of you, Mom yelled over them. I’m sick and tired of your bickering.

The boys fell silent. Mom never yelled.

Switching to her inside voice, she continued, The first thing you do when you wake up is argue. Your entire day is spent fighting with each other. Even at bedtime, when one would assume you’d be tired from a long day of squabbling, its argue, argue, argue. And now, when we move to a new place for a fresh start, what is the first thing you do? Her eyebrows rose expectantly.

Jasper dropped his gaze to the floor. Argue, he answered sheepishly.

"I’ve put up with this for too long. We’re starting fresh, and you will get along. Do you