A Monster Ate My Sneakers: A blend of Mystery and humour
The Pirate Chest Comes Alive
The wood stayed cold under my hands.
“D-e-w… one hundred,” I whisper, trying to make out the carving without waking Mom. Her room is across the hall. Voices carry.
I wasn’t much of a reader when I was three. Now I’m nine, and I’m curious—like most nine-year-olds are.
It’s still that thin-blue time before the house is really awake. Soon she’ll sing, “Dewey, it’s time to wake up and smell the new day.” Not yet.
