The Tell-Tale Start (The Misadventures of Edgar & Allan Poe, Band 1) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Gordon McAlpine is the author of adult novels ranging from magical realism to hardboiled literary mystery. This is his first work for younger readers. He lives with his wife in Southern California.  His Web site is www.gordonmcalpine.net.

Sam Zuppardi used to draw pictures at school when he was supposed to be doing work. In fact, he still draws pictures, though he is no longer at school. At the moment he lives in York, England which is a very picturesque city and particularly good for ghost walks. Sam likes a good ghost walk.  Visit his Web site at www.samzuppardi.com

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SUBJECTS OF A MYSTERIOUS EXPERIMENT

“We’ve been observing you boys for a long time,” he continued. “And we’ve concluded that this is the moment to take control.”

“Control of what?”

“The two of you.”

“Hey, nobody controls us,” the boys snapped in unison.

“Boys, boys, boys,” Mr. Archer said, holding out his small hands in a reassuring gesture. “What I meant was control of your case.”

“We’re not a ‘case,’” Allan said.

Mr. Archer’s face froze, like a mask, and he fixed the boys with a glare.

Edgar and Allan kept silent.

He moved quickly toward the boys as if to shake their hands, but instead removed something shiny from his jacket pocket—tweezers! In a flash, he reached up and plucked several hairs from each of their heads.

“Ouch!” they shouted, jumping away.

He slipped each sample into its own small plastic bag and tucked the bags into his jacket.

The boys started toward the little man, their faces set in identical expressions of anger. But before they got close enough to snatch back the bags of hair, the office door burst open.

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THE TELL-TALE START

THE TELL-TALE START

A black cat crossing your path signifies

that the animal is going somewhere.

—Groucho Marx

NO ORDINARY SCHOOL DAY

EDGAR and Allan Poe sat beside each other in the back row of their homeroom class, asleep. They’d been up late the night before, reading the latest in their favorite series, True Stories of Horror, and now they leaned shoulder-to-shoulder, head-to-head, together in dreamland. Like little sleeping angels….

Well, maybe not angels.

The Poe twins bore an uncanny resemblance to their famous great-great-great-great granduncle Edgar Allan Poe, the author of gothic tales so horrifying that for close to two centuries they have kept readers awake long into the night. Edgar and Allan were proud of their great-great-great-great granduncle and happy to look like him. Nonetheless, the resemblance ensured they would never be mistaken for run-of-the-mill boys.

The author Edgar Allan Poe as he looked in the 1840s

The Poe twins today

Edgar

Allan

It wasn’t just external similarities that the boys shared with their great-great-great-great granduncle—they also shared his taste for the thrilling and unexpected.

Intrigue, coded messages, dark secrets…

And in at least one way, the boys’ minds were even more unusual than their famous uncle’s. If at this moment you could observe the insides of their sleepy heads rather than just the outsides, you’d discover the following:

Edgar was dreaming he was Allan.

Allan was dreaming he was Edgar.

The boys were jolted awake when their homeroom teacher, Mrs. Rosecrans, slammed her stapler on her desk (inadvertently squashing an unlucky ant that happened to be making its way toward the glazed doughnut Mrs. Rosecrans had set beside her attendance book). Now Edgar was no longer sure he was not actually Allan, as he had been in the dream, and Allan was not sure that he was not actually Edgar. They looked at each other and saw only their own faces looking back. It happened to them all the time.

No big deal.

No one could tell the difference between them because there was no difference—not even to Edgar and Allan. One moment one was Edgar, the next he was Allan. Same boy, different identity; same identity, different boy. Their thoughts and actions were not identical but coordinated, like moving parts in a single fine Swiss watch. Each always knew what the other was thinking, feeling, experiencing. Sometimes, they wondered if they were actually one boy with two bodies. Or two boys with one mind.

“So sorry to have disturbed your beauty sleep, boys,” Mrs. Rosecrans said.

“Oh, that’s all right,” Edgar said, rubbing his eyes.

“You can just pick up your lecture where you left off and we’ll get right back to sleep,” Allan added.

The rest of the class laughed.

Mrs. Rosecrans didn’t think the matched set of Poes was funny, even if they were the most knowledgeable students she’d ever had. “So you two didn’t hear a word of what I just said?”

They shook their heads no, in unison.

She waved a note from the main office. “The principal wants to see you both, immediately.”

The boys’ classmates looked concerned.

But Allan and Edgar just yawned and ruffled their own already unruly heads of hair. “Why?” they asked.

“When it comes to you two, I can’t even begin to guess,” she answered.

The boys stood and gathered their books.

“Maybe Principal Mann needs our help planning the school’s curriculum,” Allan said.

“Either that or he wants our help writing his memoirs,” Edgar added.

Mrs. Rosecrans pointed to the door.

“Good luck,” the boys’ classmates whispered.

Edgar and Allan nodded appreciatively, though they didn’t think they’d need luck. The principal had always been putty in their hands.

The long hallway that led from Mrs. Rosecrans’s classroom to the main office of Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin Middle School was empty aside from a scattering of other students who were excused from class for one reason or another.

“Hey, Edgar and Allan, are you guys going to the principal’s office again?” asked perky Sherry George, who was on her knees painting LUNCHTIME PEP RALLY on a ten-foot-long strip of paper.

The boys nodded.

“Does he want to see you about the skeleton?” she continued.

“Could be.”

A few days before, the boys had slipped into the biology lab during lunch period and artfully rearranged all the bones on the human skeleton. The result was a grotesque form that so startled and wrecked poor Mr. Parker’s nerves when he returned that he had to postpone that afternoon’s exam. The Poes’ less academically prepared classmates had been very grateful.

Another voice called from across the hallway, “Pssst, guys!”

It was Stevie “The Hulk” Harrison, one of their best friends, perched uncomfortably on a tiny chair outside Ms. Jenkins’s (“No talking will be tolerated!”) classroom. He motioned them over. “Does the principal want to see you about the rockets?”

The previous Thursday night, Edgar and Allan had stolen onto their rival school’s soccer field and dug half a dozen holes. Into these holes, they deposited six small rockets, covering their handiwork with a thin layer of turf. Late in Friday’s game, with the score tied 1-1, the six rockets simultaneously launched, ripping into the sky and bursting at their apex into a spectacular shower of red and gold sparks (Aldrin Middle School’s colors). Naturally, everyone gazed skyward—or almost everyone. When the wide-eyed fans, referees, and players eventually returned their attention to earth, they discovered that Stevie “the Hulk,” who’d been in on the plan, had just kicked the ball into the net for his first-ever goal, a game-winner, unopposed.

Who knew the two most valuable players weren’t on the field but in the stands, putting away their remote launchers?

The twins continued down the hall to more questions: Could it be this? Could it be that?

“Could be,” the Poes acknowledged every...