Twelve-year-old Blake’s biggest fear is talking to grown-ups. Sweat drips down his face, his spit turns to glue in his mouth, and he breathes like Darth Vader every time he gets called on in class. He doesn’t know an ancient curse turns people’s secrets into creepy, black shadows only the head of the Wolf family can see. That person used to be Blake’s father. Now it’s Blake.
He’s baffled when a ginormous book fall off his desk for no reason and whirlwinds of leaves follow him at school. Blake’s guide, in the form of a strange, little girl, leads him to the tunnels below the falls. There, he discovers a journal detailing his family’s history as Secret Keepers. Blake doesn’t believe it at first…until the long, black creatures in his closet whisper the townspeople’s secrets.
His job is to unbind the Secrets from their owners by listening to them. They tell of a plot to kill Ms. Sheryl, owner of the Thunder Falls Retirement Home. Blake could save her – theoretically. Except that would mean talking to a grown-up. But if Blake doesn’t stop the killer…he’ll become the next victim.
250:
THE FUNERAL
Icicles dripped all around me. One fat drop snuck inside my coat and ran down my neck, giving me the shivers.
As we walked, I stomped in a puddle, soaking my good shoes...and my sister, Jenna. She didn't even yell at me. Just gave me a cold stare. But her red, teary eyes totally ruined the effect.
We trudged along in silence. Something was behind us. I turned around, but didn't see anything. I wondered if Jenna felt it too - being watched. Having started at the front of the group, we'd dropped further and further behind. Mom hadn't noticed, of course - too many other things on her mind. Now we were alone with whatever was tracking us.
Jenna wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
"I'm going to catch up to Mom," she said. "You better get there soon."
It'd been quiet before, but now the silence was unbearable. Times like this made me miss him more. He should be here, protecting me. I felt his absence like a concrete block on my chest. Everything got blurry and I tripped, landing on my hands and knees.
I wasn't crying. Twelve-year-old boys don't cry...at least not in public.
While deciding whether to stay there or crawl home, the wind blew. At least, I'm pretty sure it was the wind. The leaves were the only things that moved. The dead ones on the ground rose up and circled around me, like a mini-tornado. The sharp edge of one scratched my cheek, drawing blood.
He’s baffled when a ginormous book fall off his desk for no reason and whirlwinds of leaves follow him at school. Blake’s guide, in the form of a strange, little girl, leads him to the tunnels below the falls. There, he discovers a journal detailing his family’s history as Secret Keepers. Blake doesn’t believe it at first…until the long, black creatures in his closet whisper the townspeople’s secrets.
His job is to unbind the Secrets from their owners by listening to them. They tell of a plot to kill Ms. Sheryl, owner of the Thunder Falls Retirement Home. Blake could save her – theoretically. Except that would mean talking to a grown-up. But if Blake doesn’t stop the killer…he’ll become the next victim.
250:
THE FUNERAL
Icicles dripped all around me. One fat drop snuck inside my coat and ran down my neck, giving me the shivers.
As we walked, I stomped in a puddle, soaking my good shoes...and my sister, Jenna. She didn't even yell at me. Just gave me a cold stare. But her red, teary eyes totally ruined the effect.
We trudged along in silence. Something was behind us. I turned around, but didn't see anything. I wondered if Jenna felt it too - being watched. Having started at the front of the group, we'd dropped further and further behind. Mom hadn't noticed, of course - too many other things on her mind. Now we were alone with whatever was tracking us.
Jenna wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
"I'm going to catch up to Mom," she said. "You better get there soon."
It'd been quiet before, but now the silence was unbearable. Times like this made me miss him more. He should be here, protecting me. I felt his absence like a concrete block on my chest. Everything got blurry and I tripped, landing on my hands and knees.
I wasn't crying. Twelve-year-old boys don't cry...at least not in public.
While deciding whether to stay there or crawl home, the wind blew. At least, I'm pretty sure it was the wind. The leaves were the only things that moved. The dead ones on the ground rose up and circled around me, like a mini-tornado. The sharp edge of one scratched my cheek, drawing blood.
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