Attack of the Jack

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.

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  SLAPPY HERE.

  SNEAK PEEK!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  COPYRIGHT

  Welcome to SlappyWorld.

  Yes, it’s Slappy’s world—you’re only screaming in it! Hahaha.

  Readers Beware: Don’t call me a dummy, Dummy. I’m so bright, you need to wear sunglasses when I come into a room. Haha.

  Know why I was the smartest one in my class? Because I was the ONLY one in my class! Hahaha!

  Do you know the only one who is smarter than me? ME! Hahaha!

  I know that doesn’t make any sense. But you don’t want to be the one to tell me that—do you, slave?

  I’m smart and I’m generous, too. I’m such a nice guy. Know what I like to share? Horrifying stories to make you scream and shake. Ha.

  I don’t want to keep you up all night. I want to keep you up FOREVER! Hahaha.

  Take this story. It’s about a sister and brother named Violet and Shawn. They don’t know it, but they are about to go on the most terrifying sailing trip ever.

  I don’t want to spoil the story, but here’s a hint: Their ship isn’t exactly waterproof!

  Hope you don’t get seasick, slave! Hahaha.

  Go ahead. Start the story. I call it Attack of the Jack!

  It’s just one more tale from SlappyWorld!

  I sat on the edge of the seat and pressed my nose against the window as our bus bumped over the narrow road. A wooden sign came into view. It had a black ship’s anchor across the top above the words: Welcome to Sea Urchin Cove.

  “We’re here,” I told my brother, Shawn.

  He didn’t look up from the Battle Soccer game on his phone. “I can smell the ocean,” he said.

  I pushed up the bus window. Yes, I smelled it, too. The air felt heavy and damp and smelled like fish and salt.

  My name is Violet Packer. I’m twelve, two years older than Shawn. Shawn and I had been to the ocean only once, five years ago on a family vacation.

  I was seven and he was five. It rained every day, and we never got to swim or even play on the beach.

  Now, here we were in this little New England seaside village, about to meet our uncle Jim for the first time. Mom and Dad had to travel for work this summer. They thought this would be a great vacation for us. We’d spend our time with Uncle Jim and fish and sail and do whatever people who live near the ocean like to do. A whole new world for Shawn and me.

  The bus slowed to a halt at the end of a row of low wooden buildings. Across the way, I saw a man with a thick black beard walking quickly along the storefronts. He had a heavy-looking fisherman’s net rolled up on his shoulders. Two young women in shorts and sleeveless T-shirts stepped out of a small hotel named The Sail Inn.

  I bumped Shawn with my shoulder. “Put the game away. We’re here,” I said again. “Check out this cool village.”

  Shawn removed his earbuds and slid the phone into his shorts pocket. He’s not like most little brothers. Shawn is very obedient. Mom said I was in charge this summer and, so far, Shawn had taken it seriously.

  He isn’t a pest like a lot of brothers. He doesn’t tease me or try to start arguments or act like some kind of brat.

  He pretty much kept to himself during the long bus ride from Yellow Springs. He read his baseball books and played sports games on his phone.

  The only time he got really excited and turned to stare out the window was when four cows started chasing the bus somewhere in upstate New York.

  I think Shawn and I get along so much better than most sisters and brothers because we’re very different from each other.

  He isn’t shy. But he likes to spend time by himself.

  I like to talk and gossip and sing and laugh with my friends. I like a good joke and everyone tells me I’m pretty funny. I get really excited about things, like this trip to Sea Urchin Cove to meet Uncle Jim.

  And I’m definitely not into sports, like Shawn. I don’t spend all my time watching ESPN and reading baseball novels and playing in Little League every weekend.

  I’m tall and thin and I’ve been taking ballet lessons since I was six, and I love it, and my teachers say I’m a very promising dancer. Of course, I live in Yellow Springs, Ohio, not New York City, where the great ballet schools are located. But Mom says if I’m still so devoted when I’m in high school, she’ll take me to New York for auditions.

  But right now I was in Sea Urchin Cove, and that was pretty exciting, too.

  There were only six people on the bus. And Shawn and I were the only ones getting off here. The driver pulled down our suitcases for us and carried them to the sidewalk, which was made of wooden planks.

  As the bus rumbled away, I shielded my eyes from the sun with one hand and searched for Uncle Jim. But there was no one waiting for us.

  “Mom warned us that Jim is absent-minded,” I reminded Shawn.

  Shawn frowned. “Does that mean he doesn’t remember we are coming today?”

  “No. It just means he’s late,” I said.

  Seagulls squawked loudly, flapping over the flat roofs of the low storefronts. In a wide space between a hardware store and a bait store, I could see water. Dark green waves shimmered in the sunlight. A small boat bobbed at a dock, and men were unloading silvery fish onto a wooden cart.

  “This looks like a movie set,” Shawn said.

  “Yeah. Jaws, maybe,” I joked. I hummed some shark-attack theme music.

  He laughed. “Hey, Violet, I’m hungry.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Why don’t we go get some lunch while we wait for Uncle Jim to show up?”

  Carrying our suitcases with us, we found a little restaurant at the end of the block. It looked like a wooden shack. A sign in the window read: THE WHISTLING CLAM.

  “Remember those clam rolls we had when we went to the ocean that summer?” I said.

  Shawn shook his head. “No. I was too young. All I remember is it rained every day, and we had to stay in our cottage and play Monopoly with Mom and Dad.”

  I glanced up at the sky. Bright blue. Not a cloud.

  We dragged our bags into the little restaurant and had clam rolls and French fries for lunch. There were only four tables in the place. Three men sat at the counter, eating silently.

  The waitress was very nice. The nametag on her uniform shirt said MARIANNE. She brought us extra coleslaw and Cokes and said it was on the house.

  She lingered at the side of our table while we ate. “Where are you two from?” she asked. She had a smoky, hoarse voice.

  I told her Yellow Springs, Ohio. “Going to stay with my uncle,” I said.

  She wiped at a stain on her apron. “Who’s your uncle?”

  “His name is Jim Finnegan,” I said.

  She gasped.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “Admiral Jim?” Her voice was suddenly tiny.

  I nodded yes, and she took a step back. Her eyes were still wide with surprise.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.
>
  “You don’t want to stay with Admiral Jim,” she said, and her voice trembled. “You need to make other plans. Or … take the first bus back to Yellow Springs.”

  Shawn pushed his plate away. He had gone very pale.

  “I—I don’t understand,” I stammered.

  “Listen to me,” Marianne said, grabbing my shoulder. “Don’t stay in that falling-down old lighthouse with that crazy old coot. I’m warning you.”

  Shawn and I just stared at her. I felt a shock of dread tightening my stomach. I took a deep breath. “This is the part where you say you’re joking,” I said.

  “Right. Please say you were just messing with us,” Shawn added.

  She shook her head, her lips tight, eyes still wide. “I’m not joking, kids. Believe me. No one in Sea Urchin Cove wants to go near your uncle. Admiral Jim is hiding something in that old lighthouse. Something evil.”

  Shawn and I ended up walking to Uncle Jim’s lighthouse. The whole village was only two blocks long. A small open-air market stood at the end.

  Then the land sloped slowly down, covered in tall green reeds. The reeds swayed one way, then the other, blown by the gusting bursts of wind off the ocean.

  We could see the tall gray lighthouse perched on a low rocky cliff at the edge of the ocean. White-capped waves splashed against the shore from the shimmering blue-green waters.

  Dragging our heavy suitcases at our sides, we followed a narrow, sandy path that curved gently through the field of tall reeds. Insects buzzed in the reeds, and I saw two dark eyes that turned out to belong to a rabbit peering at us.

  Shawn didn’t talk for a long time. He appeared lost in thought. Finally, he stepped beside me on the path. “You don’t think that waitress was serious, do you, Violet?”

  “Of course not,” I replied. “Mom and Dad said that Uncle Jim is a little strange because he’s lived alone for so long. They said he’s absent-minded and weird about some things. But, remember? They said he is a lot of fun.”

  Shawn nodded. “Yeah, I remember. They said he had a million good stories.”

  “And they didn’t say he’s evil,” I said, jumping over a small pile of stones in the sand. “They would never have sent us here if he was evil or hiding something evil in his lighthouse.”

  “Of course not,” Shawn murmured.

  The sun was beginning to burn the back of my neck. I set down my suitcase and rubbed my neck with one hand. Then I swept my light brown hair off my perspiring forehead with both hands.

  Shawn’s eyes grew wide and he pointed behind me. “Hey—look what’s following us.”

  Blinking into the sun, I lowered my gaze and saw it. A large black cat. It had green eyes trained on us. Its tail was arched behind it.

  I turned toward it and knelt down. “Hey, kitten,” I said softly, “are you following us?”

  The cat tilted its head as if trying to understand. The green eyes stared up at me without blinking.

  “Are you bad luck?” Shawn asked it. “Is it true what they say about black cats?”

  The cat whipped around suddenly and vanished into the reeds.

  I laughed. “Shawn, you insulted it.”

  A few minutes later, we came to a low brick wall that marked the end of the wide field of reeds. “Check that out,” Shawn said, pointing at the wall.

  Someone had painted a grinning white skull on the faded bricks. The skull had a big black X over it.

  “Not very inviting,” I said. “Maybe Uncle Jim doesn’t like visitors.”

  “Maybe he did it for a joke,” Shawn murmured, staring hard at it.

  The lighthouse rose up on the other side of the wall. As we came near, I could see that jagged cracks ran from top to bottom on the sides, and the paint was peeling everywhere.

  A gray-shingled house stood a few yards from the lighthouse. The shutters were drawn. A triangle-shaped flag fluttered on a low flagpole in front of the house. The flag was red with a black ship’s anchor in its center.

  I gazed at the white-capped waves crashing against the shore just beyond the house. A short wooden dock had a tiny boat bobbing at its side. The wind rushed at us off the water.

  Shawn’s blond hair blew wild around his face. “Let’s get out of this wind,” he said. “I’m freezing.”

  I realized I was shivering, too. I don’t know if it was because of the wind or because of the creepy, grinning skull.

  We helped each other over the low wall. Then we dragged our suitcases to the front door of the little house. It was gray like the shingles, wooden, with the paint peeling. No doorknob.

  “Hey, Uncle Jim!” I shouted. But a burst of wind blew my words back into my face.

  I leaned forward, trying to dodge the powerful gusts. And the door swung in.

  “Uncle Jim?”

  No answer.

  I lifted my suitcase and stepped inside. I squinted into a cluttered, dimly lit room, the air hot and damp.

  Shawn followed me in. And before I could push the door closed, I saw a flurry of motion on the floor. As if blown by the strong wind, the black cat darted into the house.

  “Hey—” I called after it.

  But the cat leaped to the center of the room, onto a dark, round throw rug. It sat on its haunches and gazed around slowly, its green eyes wide and unblinking.

  Then, in a hoarse, scratchy voice, the cat said, “Admiral Jim! Visitors!”

  Shawn and I stared at the cat with our mouths open. Then we turned to each other with the same question on our faces: Did we just hear that?

  The black cat tilted its head as if waiting for an answer. Then it repeated, “Admiral Jim?”

  I heard someone groan. And then a loud squeaking sound.

  I turned to the doorway to our left. It led to another room. And in the doorway, I could see a large man slowly sit up from a white rope hammock.

  With another groan, he dropped his feet to the floor. Sweeping back his long white hair, he lumbered to his feet. He wore a white sailor uniform. His big belly bulged out from under the shirt.

  He had a round, red face—cherry red—and kept blinking his large blue eyes. His thick mustache was as white as his hair. He pulled on a white admiral’s cap as he walked unsteadily toward us.

  He stretched and yawned and then squinted, first at Shawn, then at me. “My niece and nephew, have ye arrived?” he said in a booming voice that seemed to rumble up from deep in his chest. “I apologize. I wasn’t expecting ye till later.”

  The cat tsk-tsked.

  “Uncle Jim?” I suddenly couldn’t speak. He was so huge and red-faced and old. His uniform was wrinkled, and a big stretch of his stomach showed through his open shirt buttons.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” He threw his arms up and dove forward to wrap us both in a hug. “So sorry I wasn’t there to greet you. The cat was supposed to wake me.”

  “Do tell,” the cat muttered, shaking its head.

  “The cat—it talks?” I finally found my voice.

  Shawn took a step back. I think this was all too weird for him.

  Uncle Jim nodded. “Yes, she does.” He leaned toward the cat. “Tell our visitors your name.”

  “Celessste,” the cat hissed, her pink tongue licking her front teeth.

  A grin stretched over our uncle’s face, making his mustache spread like two wings. “Forgive her slight lisp.”

  “But—that’s impossible!” Shawn cried.

  Uncle Jim kept his eyes on the cat. “Do you think it’s impossible, Celeste?”

  “No,” the cat immediately replied.

  “It’s some kind of a trick,” Shawn insisted. “The cat is a robot, right? A robot with artificial intelligence?”

  Uncle Jim tilted back his admiral’s cap and scratched his white hair. “I don’t know what that means, young Shawn.” He petted Celeste’s back. “A cat is a cat, I think.”

  He picked up our suitcases. “Follow me. Let’s get ye settled. Then I’ll tell ye the story of my cat.”

  I’d been so s
tartled by seeing him and the cat, I hadn’t looked at the front room at all. As Shawn and I followed our uncle to a narrow stairway against the back wall, it all started to come into focus.

  He had a huge fisherman’s net draped over one wall. The net was filled with dozens of seashells, crab and lobster shells, and dozens of starfish.

  The room was so cluttered with objects, there was little space to walk. I saw a black cannon with four cannonballs stacked in front of it. A ship’s anchor leaning against a skull-and-crossbones pirate flag. Two big wooden chests with carvings of mermaids on the sides. Shelves of toys and knickknacks and colored bottles and tiny model ships.

  “This is awesome,” I whispered to Shawn.

  Shawn nodded. “Like being in a weird museum.”

  Uncle Jim stopped at the bottom of a steep, narrow staircase. “Ye’ll be sleeping in the crow’s nest,” he boomed. “Careful. The old wooden stairs are a bit rickety.”

  I peered up toward the top of the stairs. Shadowy gray light washed over a bare wall.

  A suitcase in each hand, Uncle Jim squeezed into the stairway. He started up the stairs, but then turned back to us.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “The ghost seldom comes out in the daytime.”

  Shawn and I exchanged glances. Was he serious?

  We found two tiny rooms upstairs. The crow’s nest, as our uncle called it. Each room had a small dresser with a lamp on top, and a rope hammock strung between wooden posts.

  Uncle Jim set down the suitcases. “I’ll bet ye’ve never slept in a hammock before,” he said, smiling again, making his mustache flutter.

  Shawn squeezed a hand over the ropes, testing it. “Do people really sleep in these things?”

  That made Jim laugh. “Ye’ll sleep like a baby seal.”

  Do baby seals sleep a lot? I wondered.

  I unpacked some of the clothes from my suitcase and stuffed them into the small dresser. The rest I left in the suitcase. I shoved the suitcase against one wall.

  Then I hurried down the narrow, creaking stairway to rejoin Uncle Jim. I couldn’t wait to hear more about the cat.

  I found Uncle Jim sitting across from Shawn at a tiny wooden table in a corner of the kitchen.

  Bursts of wind off the ocean rattled the kitchen window. Over the rush of the wind, I could hear waves crashing hard on the shore.