The Professor's Secret

By Steve Galliford

Charlie Aldino is a smart kid with a major problem. And it's not just bullying this time. He discovers incredibly weird secrets in an abandoned house on the outskirts of town. Who lived there long ago and what strange things happened inside? And why are weird tornadoes suddenly appearing everywhere?

 

Join Charlie, Jake, Penelope, and Trevor on an amazing adventure where "normal" no longer exists. Why did almost everyone in town disappear? Is travelling through space and time the same thing? Charlie needs to use his passion for science if he and his friends are to survive. The Professor's Secret is an adventure of mind-bending possibilities. It's also about the importance of friendship during difficult times in life. Based on actual recent scientific discoveries, you'll be left wondering, what if . . .?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Opal Cone Publishing
• Release date: Jul 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9780986645860

Steve Galliford

Steve Galliford was born in Vancouver, Canada. As a young man, he lived in an old house on a hill in the beautiful backwoods of Quebec. While breathing country air and gazing at the starry night sky (and hoping the old wood stove would survive the winter), he wrote and sold short fiction. Many years later the creative writing bug resurfaced when his young children asked for "just one more invented story" before bed. The seed was planted and nourished until the birth of the new Charlie Aldino Adventures. ​"Albert Einstein once said that 'imagination is more important than knowledge.' I try to tell stories based on my interest in rational thinking/science coupled with my imagination. I'm grateful to learn that this combination of imagination & knowledge is also enjoyed in my writing by many curious children . . . and their parents. We're never too old to be young."  -Steve Galliford ​Steve lives in North Vancouver with his partner of many years; they have two adult children. Steve also writes thought-provoking thrillers "in the tradition of Dan Brown*" under the pen name Tony Norse. *Australian Rationalist Magazine

Book preview

Chapter 1

Warning! You might find this story difficult to believe. So would I if I didn’t know better. It started in a little country town called Rosedale. Most folks there were simple people, good people, always willing to lend a hand or donate stuff if your family’s barn burnt down or your crops got eaten by a swarm of bugs. Rosedale was a good place to live.

Until the weird stuff started happening.

How weird? Just wait. You’ll see soon enough. That’s when everything changed. But first things first:

The kids in Rosedale did normal kid stuff like racing bikes down old dirt roads, catching grasshoppers and frogs, playing tag and baseball, and going fishing. But when the lazy days of summer finally ended and leaves painted the streets with crisp fall colors, the kids of Rosedale got excited because they knew the first winter frost was just around the corner.

Winter was about wool hats and scarves and mittens and hand-me-down boots and ice skates and hockey sticks. Winter meant red cheeks and runny noses and toboggan hills and hot chocolate. But winter in Rosedale was mostly, of course, about the frozen pond just outside of town. The little kids called it a lake, but it was more like a pond and the perfect size for a hockey rink.

But there was a problem. The frozen pond was only so big, and the older kids were not exactly friendly about sharing the ice with the younger kids. Truth be told, there was a fair amount of bullying. If you were not one of the bigger kids, you could stand on the snowy edge of the frozen pond for hours until it got dark. Especially if Ben was at the pond. You might not even want to play if Ben was on the ice.

Ben. All the younger kids knew about Benjamin Porter. He was big and mean, the kind of kid you stayed away from. You didn’t want him to notice you because he always made you feel bad. He usually had one or two of his bully friends with him. Ben would say something sarcastic and nasty, and his friends would laugh until you got that awful sick feeling in your belly.

Ben had bushy black eyebrows and lots of mop-like curly hair and even a shadow of a mustache that made him look older than his fifteen years. Older and meaner. His eyes darted around as he walked, always on the lookout for someone to pick on. He wore a fake smile that said, What’s your problem, loser? That was Ben.

Charlie Aldino was easy to pick on. He didn’t think of himself as a little kid, but he was small for his age. At twelve years old, Charlie had an innocent face with a few freckles over his nose, brown wavy hair and eyes the color of hazelnuts. He was a quiet kid who never looked for trouble. Maybe that’s why Ben liked to pick on him.

Charlie was used to feeling disappointed when the teens voted to keep little kids off the ice. That’s the way it was one chilly afternoon when Charlie was planted at his usual spot, ankle deep in snow beside the frozen pond. He wasn’t alone. His best friend Jake stood beside him, both boys hoping for a chance to play hockey.

Anyone sick today? asked Jake. Think they’ll let us play? Jake looked at the ice and counted players under his breath.

I doubt it, answered Charlie. They already voted. He rubbed his hands together to keep warm. Ben and his pals are playing. So it looks like we’ll be watching.

This drives me crazy, said Jake. It’s just not fair.

Life’s not always fair, said Charlie. But Trevor voted for us. Look at him. He’s a great skater.

Trevor was almost fifteen years old. Charlie liked him. He was an excellent hockey player and certainly not mean. Sometimes Trevor would stop and talk with Charlie and Jake. But it wasn’t as if they were close friends.

Ben had just scored a goal and was whooping and hollering in celebration and high-fiving his two bully buddies. Trevor skated by, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if to say, Ben is such a clown. Charlie smiled at him.

Jake pulled his wool hat down to cover his ears. Who do you think is heavier? he asked. Trevor or Ben?

Ben, said Charlie. He’s got a gut on him, and Trevor is in great shape. Why do you ask?

Well, I was just thinking about the chances of the ice breaking and someone falling in, and if Ben is heavier . . .

You’re not nice, said Charlie.

So why are you smiling? Jake grinned. What about Penny? Is she coming today?

Penny was Trevor’s twelve-year-old sister. Charlie looked away. No idea.

Jake grinned and bumped Charlie with a shoulder. But you’re hoping she’ll turn up, right?

Don’t start, Charlie said, frowning at his friend.

Okay, okay, said Jake. Hey, you want to go to the fort?

Maybe tomorrow. I need to stop by the library.

Then I’m heading home. See ya later.

See ya, Jake. Charlie watched his best friend plod along the snow-trampled trail that led back to his house on the other side of town.

Jake was smaller than Charlie, which meant he was by far the smallest twelve-year-old boy in town, and his skin was darker than most of the Rosedale kids. Some people referred to Jake as Indian or Native American or Cree. But Charlie knew his best friend simply as Jake. Jake didn’t talk about his heritage except when he told Charlie that one of his distant relatives was a famous chief long ago in the old days, before the white folks arrived.

Charlie had known Jake since kindergarten and envied his friend’s fantastic imagination. Jake was great at making up stories about the old days, or even science fiction about the future. His eyes would light up when an idea struck and — when they were younger—they would transform into pirates or aliens, playing make-believe for hours on end.

Jake lived with his grandparents in a small house on the outskirts of town and never talked about his mom and dad. Whenever Charlie asked him about his parents, Jake changed the subject. Charlie assumed Jake’s parents must have died somehow, maybe in a car crash or some other accident.

Charlie was very intelligent, gifted, some people said. Others said he had some sort of disorder, and that’s why he was different. But Charlie just preferred to do things his own way. Usually on his own, with plenty of books. The only school in Rosedale was kindergarten through grade twelve, but because of his high marks, Charlie only had to check in once a week with the school’s principal. He spent most days at the Rosedale Public Library reading books on subjects like astronomy or quantum physics.

One time a doctor from a big university came to do some tests on Charlie because nobody could understand how he knew so much about everything. Charlie told Jake he felt like a lab animal. Except instead of being poked and prodded, he was asked questions on a computer monitor, and then the doctor tested his reflexes and had him draw pictures of the solar system and constellations in the Milky Way. The doctor wanted to take him back to the university for more testing, but Charlie and his parents declined the offer.

He was fond of Mrs. Doyle, the wrinkled old librarian who always helped him with his studies. Feed the fire of learning, she would say to him, and follow your interests and passions. She even brought in special science books just for Charlie.

Isn’t science hard to understand? Jake once asked him.

It depends how you think about it, Charlie replied. Science is kind of like a gigantic puzzle, and you need to find the pieces. If you’re curious and think about things logically and in the right order, the puzzle makes sense. Then it gets really fun.

Yeah, but physics and astronomy?

And cosmology, said Charlie. Very cool topic, especially now with the discovery of the Higgs boson. Plus the amazing new images from the James Webb telescope.

I still don’t get it, said Jake. How can invisible particles inside an atom help anyone understand the Big Bang at the start of the universe?

That’s why science is so exciting, said Charlie. It’s like a super-cool puzzle waiting to be solved.

As daylight faded, Charlie looked at the empty field on the other side of the frozen pond. Long brown and yellow grass swayed in the icy breeze above the crusty snow. Nobody ever went to the other side of the pond, and very few people even mentioned the place.

That’s because of the haunted house.

Well, that’s what the little kids called it. The old, abandoned house stood alone, smack dab in the middle of the deserted, frozen field. It had been empty for as long as anyone could remember.

Even from a distance, Charlie could see the broken windows. The roof was crooked, and torn shingles littered the ground near the damaged front porch. The house was officially off limits, but sometimes in the summer when they were looking for things to do, one of the kids would mention the house. But the conversation usually changed to something like looking for frogs in the pond. Which, of course, was not frozen in the summer. It seemed to Charlie that even though nobody (except the smaller kids) really believed the old house was actually haunted, none of them had the courage to get too close. Just in case.

There were rumors about the house, creepy stories about the old days before Charlie was born. Once, when he was younger, Charlie asked his parents about the old house in the field. He never forgot his dad’s response. It was as if Charlie had asked an embarrassing question. His dad told him never to talk about the old house—or the field—ever again.

Charlie shivered and was about to head home when he heard someone shout from the pond.

Hey Aldino! It was Ben. The bully. Charlie cringed as he looked at the big, mean kid on the ice.

Puck! Ben yelled.

This meant that someone had accidentally shot the puck off the ice. Since Charlie was the only one not wearing skates, they expected him to fetch the puck.

You deaf? Ben yelled. He looked at his friend, and they both laughed.

Charlie’s heart beat faster. No, I’m not deaf. Where’d it go?

Big Ben grinned and pointed. Charlie’s heart pounded faster still.

Ben was pointing toward the old house. In the grass over there! What are you waiting for, loser? Go get it!

Chapter 2

The last thing on earth Charlie wanted to do was look for a puck in the field near the creepy old house, especially since it was getting dark outside.

How far did it go? he asked.

Not far, Charlie, said a friendly voice. It belonged to Trevor.

Charlie felt a little more confident.

The older kids watched as he made his way onto the frozen field. He could feel their eyes on his back as he tried to push the fear from his mind. He continued walking . . .

There was no reason for Charlie to look at the house, but he couldn’t resist sneaking a quick peek. He was close enough to see the broken No Trespassing signs and the rusty wire fence someone had built around the house in the old days. Charlie had never been this close to the house. He looked at the broken windows. Old tattered curtains rustled in the winter breeze.

He shuddered, then turned and faced the kids on the pond. How far did it go?

Keep going, loser! Ben shouted.

Charlie heard Ben laughing as he turned and took a few more steps toward the house, his eyes down as he continued searching. He knew the house couldn’t really be haunted. But still . . .

To make matters worse, daylight was fading fast now, as if a shadow were sweeping over the field. He felt like giving up on the puck and running home for dinner.

Something moved behind him.

He gasped, spun, and felt relieved to see Trevor jogging through the snow toward him. Trevor had changed into his boots, skates hung over his shoulder, hockey stick in hand. Good old Trevor, thought Charlie.

Charlie, Trevor called. Wait up.

Hi Trevor. Did you see where it landed?

Trevor stood beside him. It’s around here, for sure, he said. Then he looked up at the house. Spooky place, huh?

I guess so, said Charlie. He would not tell Trevor that just a few seconds ago he was thinking of heading home because of that spooky house.

Ben’s voice boomed from the pond: Too dark to play now, but you better bring my puck to school tomorrow!

Charlie looked back to see the hockey kids changing from skates into boots, some of them already walking back to town.

It’s getting late, tried Charlie. He hoped Trevor would agree and they could forget about Ben’s puck.

That’s when something strange happened. The air was crisp and clean, and there were rarely any odors outside during winter, but Charlie was pretty sure there was a weird scent in the air.

Hey Trevor, do you smell something? he asked.

Like what?

I don’t know. He felt silly now for mentioning it. Would Trevor think he was scared?

He saw something dark lodged in the snow, partially hidden under a tuft of brown grass. There’s that strange odor again.

Charlie dropped to his knees to inspect it. Definitely not the puck. Whatever it was, it looked like it had been there a long time. But what was it? Something made of leather? He took off a mitten and tried to pick it up. The thing was cold as ice and stuck solid in the crusty snow. A gust of stiff wind sent shivers down his back.