Zoe the Fearless Read online

  My father navigated the maze, looking for a way out, I hoped, but instead, he took one of the countless corners and turned into an even smaller and quieter street. Then suddenly he stopped the car. A huge wooden gate appeared up ahead in the fog: 7 Old Sutton Road. I looked at my father for the first time since we left Boston. He bit his lip and when he felt my gaze, he turned slowly to me.

  “What do you think?”

  “I hate it,” I said. What else could I say. My whole world was gone and he didn’t even notice.

  My words bit him, but he was my dad, and so he was, of course, wiser than me. “Mom knew you would say that,” he said, pensive. “But she also said you would learn to love it.”

  I couldn’t believe he said that. Tears flooded my eyes. How could he talk about Mom at a time like this? She never would have made me to move to Chicago. It was my father who was chasing his dream. Wasn’t it? At that moment, I felt totally and utterly alone. He was my best friend. With Mom gone, he was the only person in the world who let me be me. Why was he doing this?

  The wooden gate at 7 Old Sutton Road creaked open as if by magic, and the car slowly rolled into the dark cobblestone driveway. The tires clattered. The headlights invaded the darkness. Up ahead, a lantern swung in the wind and I could hear it creaking even from inside the car. It swung and creaked above a small wooden door in the house that I swear, looked more like a creepy castle than home sweet home.

  The house looked crooked and twisted, even though it was brand new. The tile roof bent as if carrying the weight of five hundred years. On one side the roof touched the ground as if it walked with a crutch. Beams crisscrossed the walls like bloodlines, and windows peeked through and glared back at me. Big eyes and small eyes, some open wide, others with lids half closed, all in different shapes and sizes. This was my mother’s dream house? Like I said before and I stand by it: this wasn’t a dream house, it was a creepy castle.

  The wind howled when I got out the car. Fall had come early this year, and the leaves whirled through the moonless night like waves of bats. Although I knew that ghosts and goblins weren’t real, I rushed into the house and slammed the door shut behind me.

  Bam!

  My father looked at me in surprise.

  The house had seemed so small outside, but inside, it was huge. And empty. Completely empty. No rugs, no furniture. Not a single picture on the wall. Nothing.

  “Your mother wanted us to furnish it and decorate it together. A house needs to grow with the people who live in it. What do you say?”

  What do I say? What could I say? Why should I help decorate this house? I couldn’t stand being here! And so I said nothing.

  “The only thing we can’t touch is the kitchen. Mom said it was perfect. Everything else is up to us. Come on, Zoe. Say something.” At that moment, my father smiled the smile I really don’t like to see on his face. That soap bubble smile that adults flash us kids, telling us our problems seem like huge problems today, but someday will disappear, like soap bubbles, when we pop them.

  “I’m tired,” I said. “Where’s my room?”

  My father’s soap bubble smile burst. He nodded sadly, grabbed my bag, and marched through the living room toward what looked from across the room like a small Alice in Wonderland door. Up close I could see that the door wasn’t small at all, it just looked that way because it was at the bottom of three short stairs. My father stopped at the top and turned.

  “Everything beyond this door is yours. Your rules and your laws apply.”

  I shrugged. I know he was trying to win me over, but to me, the door seemed more like a gate to a nasty old dungeon. My father went down the steps anyway and opened the door silently. There was no turning back.

  The room behind the door was fantastic. It was wild, with five or six crooked corners, walls with lots of nooks and crannies, and ceilings that stretched to the sky. At least that’s what it looked like when I first stepped into it. But then I got it: the room was in the part of the house where the roof touched the ground, and high above me the beams of the attic crossed like the crown of an ancient tree. This was the perfect place for a tree house, I thought, and a few days ago I probably would have started building one the very next day. But not now – I didn’t care anymore. I walked to the mattress sprawled on the floor in the center of the room and sat down.

  I’m sure my father had expected more excitement from me. But he didn’t let on.

  “You’re having a tough time with this, aren’t you?” he asked.

  I just looked at my feet. I mean really. Duh.

  “You know, Zoe, it’s tough for me too. Both of us are starting all over again. How are we going to help each other? Let’s say we’re playing soccer …”

  “Let’s not and say we did,” I said.

  My father shot a glance at me the way he always did when I did something wrong. “That was rude,” he said.

  I knew it was rude. I was angry. He was right and I never liked it when he was right, which was a lot.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “If you have the ball, you’re on your own until someone takes it away from you. You know how it is. But your teammates can help you keep it. They can break free and block and maybe even help you get to the goal.” He shrugged. “You’re having a hard time, I can break free and help you. Same goes for you.”

  My father sat down in front of me, not getting too close. He knew I didn’t want anybody in my face.

  “What do you say, Zoe? Can we do this? Can we be a team?”

  I slowly lifted my head and looked at him. I was hurting and really, I didn’t know what to do. So I cried.

  “I don’t have a team anymore.” My eyes burned with tears. “My team is gone.”

  I shoved my head into the pillows and for a moment, everything was quiet. Then I heard my father’s footsteps fade away as he left and seconds later the door slammed shut with an echoing boom. I was alone.

  Horror Birthday to You!

  Two hours later, I was still awake. It was almost midnight. The wind howled and whispered through the beams and I’m not going to lie, it was scary. It was like I was living in the house on haunted hill.

  I’m Zoe the fearless and this is no ghost story. There went that wind again. You know, fearlessness doesn’t do you any good if the situation is hopeless. Giving up is far worse than fear or dread. Giving up is weak; it makes you feel small and helpless. And if you feel small and helpless, fear catches up with you. Fear like you’ve never felt before, mean and monstrous.

  The wind whispered and howled; it was creepy. At thirty seconds to midnight, thirty seconds to my ninth birthday, I closed my eyes and wished a horrible monster would come get me and put me out of my misery. Or maybe come and save me. If I sounded crazy, that’s because I was. I was in a new town in a new house in a new room where the wind was playing tricks with my mind. New rule: be careful what you wish for.

  The wind howled and whispered, the shutters rattled, the beams creaked and moaned. When the hands of the clock moved to midnight, church bells chimed from far away; too far to protect me. I could hear shuffling steps coming closer and closer and then they stopped just outside my door.

  Red smoke seeped through the keyhole and the cracks underneath my door. Somebody pushed down the handle with a creak. I held my breath and played dead. A nanosecond later the door flew open, and a blinding light pierced the fiery smoke that billowed into my room. A bone-chilling roar chased the smoke and light all the way to my mattress. I could see it standing in the door frame: two horns atop a huge head, green eyes, and sharp claws on hairy paws. A monster.

  “Stay calm! This is not real!” I told myself as the monster roared louder. It roared and roared, and then it stomped into my room.

  Galumph! Galumph! The monster feet stomped on the old wooden slats. Galumph! Galumph! Galumph! The monster thundered directly towards me. Galumph! Galumph! Galumph! Galumph! Ten more steps tops until it would reach me, and as if to mock me, it snapped its claws in rhythm wi
th its steps. Galumph! Snap! Galumph! Galumph! Snap! I could see its powerful fangs clearly now, and I’m telling you, these fangs didn’t lose any of their horror when the monster suddenly began to sing.

  “Heyheyhey!” The monster kept the eerie rhythm.

  “Heyheyhey!” Galumph! Snap! Galumph!

  “Heyheyhey and Happy Birthday!” Galumph! Snap! Galumph! Galumph! Snap! “Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday! Happyyyy! ROAR!”

  The monster tore open its mouth. It was directly above me, its powerful fangs ready to rip into me. That’s when I saw my father’s face, hidden behind the darkness of the mask, grinning through those gigantic horrifying yellow fangs. At the same time the monster shoved something into my face. It looked like a brightly burning black soccer ball. It was a chocolate birthday cake with nine candles on top, all of them lit.

  “Happy birthday, my darling!” my father laughed and the monster head laughed too.

  But I didn’t take the cake right away. No way!

  “Dad, I thought you were going to give me a heart attack!” I pouted. “Are you trying to make fun of me?”

  I spun and hid beneath my blanket. My father took off the monster head and sat down next to me on the bed.

  “I don’t get it, tiger,” he said. “The most exciting year of your life is about to begin and you’re trying to miss it.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “A cake and a monster mask? How is that exciting? Scary, maybe, but exciting? I don’t think so! You’re hopeless!”

  “No, you are,” my father said, squinting at me. At least I think he was squinting. I don’t know for sure because I was still spun around from him, but that’s usually what he did when I told him he was hopeless and he said, “No, you are.”

  “I’m not talking about cakes or monsters,” he said. “I’m talking about your new soccer team.”

  That got my attention. I turned around slowly. Now it was my turn to squint. In fact, I went all snake-eyes on him. “What are you talking about?” I said.

  “Nothing much to tell, tiger. Your first practice is today.”

  I sighed and spun away from him once more. Here we go, I thought. Another pink fru-fru team, this time from the sugar and spice windy city, all pink high-tops and jerseys with rhinestones and screaming, giggling girls keeping me from my dream.

  “And what’s the name of the team this time? The Soccer Sweethearts?” Sheesh. What I don’t need is another girls’ team in a new town. What was I going to do? Nothing could replace that boys’ team back in Somerville.

  My father laughed. “Soccer Sweethearts. But do us both a favor and don’t mention that name around the boys. I don’t think they’ll appreciate it, especially since it’s not a sure thing you’re even going to make the team.”

  “Wait a minute, Dad!” I yelled and spun back around. “Did you just say – boys?“

  My father grinned. “Good. Your hearing still works. But I’m warning you – this is a real team. They’re called The Wild Soccer Bunch, but I hear the name isn’t half as tough as they are.”

  “Really tough, huh?” I asked. “How do you know?”

  “Their coach and I go way back.”

  “Tomorrow, huh?” I was getting really excited now.

  “It’s not tomorrow anymore. It’s today at four o’clock,” my father said, and checked his watch. “You have exactly 15 hours and 58 minutes to get ready.”

  I was suddenly on my feet and I swear I don’t know how I got there. “Holy Goalie! A real boys’ team! Dad! Why didn’t you say so?!”

  “I think I just did,” my father said.

  “I mean, why didn’t you say it before I threw everything I owned in the trash?”

  “You’re kidding, right?” It was a fair question. I just didn’t want to answer it.

  “Well, I, kinda threw all my soccer gear into the trash,” I said, finally.

  “When did you have time to do that? We just got here!”

  “Not here, Dad. Back in Boston.”

  My father gasped. “You didn’t.”

  I nodded real fast, like a bobble-headed doll.

  “Zoe.” He couldn’t believe his ears. “Everything you owned was soccer gear. All your school clothes, everything,” he said. Then he muttered to himself, “I guess that explains why you didn’t have a suitcase.”

  I nodded even faster and I must have looked crazed because he immediately backed away from me and got out of range. He knew I sometimes pounded my fists on things whenever I got excited, and boy was I excited. But, seeing as this was a new house in a new town, I decided to try something different. I took a deep breath instead and said calmly: “And that would also explain why the neighbor’s trashcans were so full. We probably ought to call them and apologize. And while we’re at it, see if my stuff is still in there? Maybe they can dig it out?”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I noticed the bulging trash cans and dug them out,” my father said, grinning. He raced across the room and grabbed something just outside the door, then came back and dropped a familiar duffel bag in front of me. I was speechless.

  My father burst out laughing. “This belong to you, young lady?”

  “No young ladies here, Dad,” I replied, pretending to get all serious. “You’re hopeless!”

  “No, you are,” I said and flashed my best smile. He scooched over to me and put his arm around me and it felt like he was going to crush me. “Well, I can’t argue with that. Looks like we’re both hopeless. I guess we deserve each other!”

  I leaned my head against him. It had been a long time since I did that.

  My smile became even more triumphant and my father scratched his ear. “Of course, all that stuff is dirty and needs to be washed, which means you still don’t have anything to wear tomorrow. Am I right or am I right?”

  My smile vanished. “Hmm,” he grumbled. “I guess that means no practice today – unless you stop moping and start celebrating your birthday.”

  With that, he pulled a present out of the monster head and held it out to me. “What do you say? Want to try having a good time?”

  I considered it. That is, I acted as if I was considering it. Truth is, I was so excited I could barely stand still. “Okay!” I yelled and tore the present from my father’s hands. It was soft and flat. I ripped the wrapping paper as if I was the monster. Then I held it up to see. It was a brand-new U.S. Mens’ National Team jersey with the number five and my name on the back.

  “Awesome!” I exclaimed and put it on. “How did you get it? You can’t just walk in and buy these, you know!”

  “True. I made it part of my deal. Like the company car.”

  “No way.”

  “Okay, you got me, maybe it wasn’t part of the deal, but you have it and that means I got it for you. So, just figure your dad has connections, how’s that?” My father flashed me a big smile. “You’re going to have to get your own cleats, though, and that’s not going to be easy. Grandma Kate is coming tomorrow morning and you know how she feels about girls playing soccer.”

  “Grandma? Here?” I gasped. “Really?”

  “Afraid so,” my father sighed. “And no funny stuff; your mom wouldn’t appreciate you playing tricks on her own mother.”

  I shrugged. “I would never do anything like that,” I said.

  My dad rolled his eyes. “Let me remind about the shaving cream in the hand while she was sleeping? Does that sound familiar?”

  “That was so long ago. What was I? Eight?”

  “Yeah. It was last month. Just knock it off.”

  “No problem,” I said, admiring the jersey again. “Why is she coming anyway? We don’t need her here, do we?”

  “She thinks we do. New house, new town. You know the drill.”

  “Great,” I sighed. “With Grandma, resistance is futile.” My father shrugged. “Exactly.” “As long as she doesn’t make me wear a dress, we’ll be fine.”

  My father made a funny face like he’d just sucked a lemon and I laughed. “Yea
h, that would be devastating, wouldn’t it? Don’t worry. I have your back. I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go out on a limb for you. I’m going to tell her exactly what you need.”

  “Really, you’d do that?” I asked. I was really surprised.

  “What do you think? I’m your father. It’s my job!”

  “She’s not going to like it when you get to the word ‘cleats’,” I said.

  “How can she say no?” he said. “It’s not every day her only granddaughter turns nine!”

  I hugged my father and kissed his cheek like some wild child and didn’t let go. “I love you, Daddy! And you know what else? If Grandma Kate takes over you, I’ll do everything I can to bring you back!”

  “Well, I appreciate that, tiger,” my father said. “But before we do battle with Grandma, how about a last meal? I vote for a piece of cake!”

  He sure deserved some cake, but first I had to make a wish. I closed my eyes and imagined my mother was with us. I imagined taking her hand and then taking my father’s hand. Then I made my wish: to be forever as happy as I was at that moment.

  I blew out the candles, all nine of them at the same time. Then we dug our hands into the cake. Yes, we ate it with our bare hands, licking our fingers, and laughing at what Grandma would say if she saw us. Then I brushed my teeth, kissed my father one more time, rolled over in my jersey, and listened to the groaning and creaking and moaning of the house. It wasn’t creepy any more. It was playing a wild birthday song, lulling me to sleep and into a cool dream about living in a tree house between the attic beams in my new room.

  Grandma Comes to Creepy Castle

  I slept late the next morning. I was exhausted from the day before, but I felt great after my midnight birthday party with my father. It was about eleven when I stumbled into the kitchen, sleepy and a little lost, looking for the refrigerator.

  “Oh dear, dear, dear, look what the cat dragged in!”

  I recognized the voice immediately. I turned slowly. The woman who belonged to the voice wore a pink leisure suit with matching hat and carried a fake leather bag.