The Mystery of the Laughing Paintbrush

By Jack Smith

"The Mystery of the Laughing Paintbrush" follows Mary, a curious young girl who discovers an enchanted paintbrush hidden in her attic. When she dips it in paint, the brush bursts into contagious laughter, transforming her world in colorful, surprising ways. As Mary paints, the laughter spreads, and she learns to embrace the beauty of mistakes, emotions, and creative expression. The more she paints, the more her home turns into a kaleidoscope of joy—walls come alive with murals, her furniture becomes a rainbow of colors, and even her dog gets a painted sweater!

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Good Child Bookstore
• Release date: Jul 31, 2025

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Forgotten Attic

Mary wandered through the hallways of her home, her feet echoing against the old wooden floors. It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, and the sun was hidden behind thick clouds, casting the house in a soft, muted light. The house was unusually still. Her parents were busy downstairs, and her younger brother, Donald, was absorbed in his usual world of video games. Mary, however, had always been the curious one, someone who couldn’t sit still for too long without exploring something new.

Today, she wasn’t in the mood for the same old routine. Instead, she found herself standing at the foot of a narrow staircase, hidden away in the corner of the house. She had seen this staircase before, but it had always been shrouded in mystery. The door at the top was locked, and no one had ever mentioned what was beyond it. She had always wondered, of course, but curiosity was a trait that Mary couldn’t ignore. It was like a magnetic pull, drawing her toward the unknown.

After a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, Mary tiptoed toward the staircase. She reached for the old brass doorknob, feeling the cool metal beneath her fingers. It had been years since anyone had been up here, and the door was thick with dust. Mary hesitated for a moment, wondering if she was doing the right thing. But then, the idea of finding something hidden, something forgotten, made her heart race with excitement. She twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

The room beyond the door was dark and musty, the air thick with the scent of age. Mary squinted, her eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the small, round window at the top of the room’s slanted roof. The attic was crammed with old boxes, forgotten furniture, and piles of things she didn’t recognize. It looked as though it hadn’t been touched in years, if not decades. Dust particles floated lazily in the air, catching the faint light and making the entire space feel like it was frozen in time.

Mary stepped inside, the floor creaking beneath her feet. She looked around, her mind racing with possibilities. What could be hidden in this dusty old place? What treasures could be waiting for her to uncover? The room felt like a secret, and Mary couldn’t resist the urge to explore every corner of it.

Her eyes darted across the room, taking in the items that had long been forgotten. There were old paintings leaning against the walls, their frames cracked and covered in dust. Tattered books sat on shelves, their pages yellowed with age. A few old chairs were stacked in the corner, their cushions faded and torn. A few forgotten toys lay scattered on the floor, relics of childhoods long past.

Mary’s curiosity led her to an old wooden chest in the far corner of the room. The chest was covered in a thick layer of dust, and its metal clasps had rusted over the years. It looked as though it hadn’t been opened in a very long time. Mary knelt down beside it and tried to lift the heavy lid. It was stuck, the wood having swollen over time. She tugged harder, her fingers gripping the edge of the lid until, with a creak and a groan, it finally opened.

Inside the chest were stacks of old newspapers, yellowed with age, and piles of worn clothing. At the very bottom, however, something caught her eye. A small object was nestled in a corner, almost hidden beneath the piles of forgotten things. Mary reached in and pulled it out, wiping the dust off with her sleeve. It was a paintbrush.

The brush was old, the handle smooth and worn from years of use. The bristles were frayed, but there was something about it that caught Mary’s attention. It didn’t look like any paintbrush she had seen before. It was simple, yet somehow elegant, with a narrow wooden handle that seemed to hum with a quiet energy. There was a small, intricate carving on the handle, something that looked like a swirl or a wave. Mary traced her fingers over it, wondering where the brush had come from.

She held the paintbrush in her hand, feeling its weight. It felt warm, almost as if it were alive. Mary’s curiosity deepened. Why was this brush hidden away in the attic? Who had used it, and for what purpose? She wondered if it had a story to tell, a secret to uncover.

As Mary examined the brush more closely, something strange happened. The room around her seemed to shift slightly, as though the very air had changed. A strange, soft sound filled the space, like a muffled giggle, a gentle, airy laugh. Mary froze, her heart skipping a beat. She looked around the attic, but there was no one there. The sound seemed to come from the paintbrush itself, or at least from somewhere near it.

She shook her head, wondering if she was imagining things. But then, the sound came again, louder this time, a bubbly, infectious laugh that seemed to echo in her ears. Mary glanced at the paintbrush, her eyes wide with surprise. The bristles of the brush quivered as if they were shaking with laughter. Mary blinked, unsure if she was seeing things.

What in the world? she whispered to herself. She couldn’t explain it. The brush had definitely laughed. She held it up to her ear, hoping to hear it again. Sure enough, the soft, melodic giggle returned, louder and clearer this time, as though the brush was amused by her bewilderment.

Mary had never been one to shy away from the mysterious, and this moment only fueled her curiosity. She stood up and turned, looking for something to test the brush on. There was an old piece of parchment on the floor beside her, yellowed and brittle with age. It looked like the perfect place to start. She dipped the brush into the nearest pot of paint, her hands trembling slightly as she held it above the paper.

Before she could even touch the bristles to the page, the paintbrush burst into laughter once more, louder than before, sending ripples of sound through the air. Mary laughed along with it, a warm feeling of joy spreading through her. The brush seemed to be alive in a way she couldn’t fully explain, and it felt like the brush was encouraging her to continue, to play.

Mary smiled to herself and dipped the brush into the paint again. This time, she brought it down onto the parchment, letting the bristles touch the surface. As soon as the brush made contact with the paper, something truly unexpected happened. The paint splattered across the page in an explosion of color, as if the brush had a mind of its own. The colors didn’t stay in neat lines or patterns. Instead, they splashed across the paper in wild, joyful streaks, blending together in chaotic yet beautiful swirls.

And as the colors danced across the page, the paintbrush continued to laugh, its sound growing even more playful and infectious. Mary couldn’t help but laugh too, her body shaking with giggles. It was as if the paintbrush had opened up a world of laughter and fun that she had never experienced before.

The more Mary painted, the more the brush seemed to take on a life of its own. It swished and swirled in her hand, leaving trails of paint that seemed to shimmer and glow. She painted another stroke, and the colors exploded into the air, splattering against the walls and ceiling of the attic. Mary’s laughter grew louder, mixing with the sound of the brush’s infectious giggles. The room was alive with color and sound.

Before she knew it, Mary had created an entire mural on the wall, the colors flowing in beautiful, unpredictable patterns. She stepped back to admire her work, feeling a sense of accomplishment and joy that she had never felt before. The room had transformed into a vibrant canvas, filled with swirling colors and laughter.

The paintbrush’s laughter faded slowly, as if it were winding down. Mary, still caught up in the magic of the moment, wiped her hands on her pants and turned to face the room. The attic was no longer just a dusty, forgotten space—it had become a lively, colorful masterpiece. The paintbrush had changed everything.

As the last echoes of laughter faded away, Mary stood still for a moment, taking it all in. She had found something extraordinary in the most unexpected place. The brush, with its soft laughter and wild colors, had transformed the ordinary attic into a world of joy and creativity. Mary’s heart swelled with excitement. She had just begun to discover what this magical paintbrush could do, and she knew that the adventure was far from over.

Chapter 2: The First Stroke

Mary stared down at the ancient paintbrush in her hand. Its smooth wooden handle gleamed faintly in the soft light, almost as though it was waiting for something. The bristles were slightly worn, yet there was something special about the way they shimmered, as if they held a secret ready to be revealed. She turned it over in her fingers, marveling at the delicate carvings near the end—small, spiraling patterns that seemed to dance under her touch. There was no doubt in her mind that this paintbrush was different from any other she had seen before.

Without thinking, she grabbed a jar of bright red paint from a nearby shelf. It was old and slightly cracked, but it still felt full of promise. Mary had always loved to paint, though she never had the time for it with everything else going on. She had a feeling this brush was going to be the perfect tool for something extraordinary, and she couldn’t wait to see what would happen.

As she dipped the brush into the thick, velvety paint, a strange feeling crept over her—like she was about to unlock something big. The brush seemed to hum ever so slightly in her grip, as though it was alive and eager to begin. A smile tugged at Mary’s lips. She had no idea why she was so sure of this, but she knew one thing for certain: this was not going to be like any painting session she’d ever had before.

Mary slowly brought the brush to the canvas, its bristles brushing against the smooth, blank surface. She pressed down gently, and as the first stroke of red crossed the page, something magical