Cursed! Read online

  Cursed!

  MAUREEN BUSH

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  Text copyright © 2010 Maureen Bush

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Bush, Maureen A. (Maureen Averil), 1960-

  Cursed! / written by Maureen Bush.

  (Orca young readers)

  Issued also in an electronic format.

  ISBN 978-1-55469-286-6

  I. Title. II. Series: Orca young readers

  PS8603.U825C87 2010 jC813’.6 C2010-903606-9

  First published in the United States, 2010

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010929064

  Summary: Jane is the quiet, fearful one in a family of extroverts—at least until the Spirit Man in her grandmother’s bathroom starts messing with her family.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Typesetting by Nadja Penaluna

  Cover artwork by Eric Orchard

  Author photo by Mark Harding

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B

  Victoria, BC Canada

  V8R 6S4

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO Box 468 Custer, WA USA 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  13 12 11 10 • 4 3 2 1

  For Mom, for all the silliness; and for Mark,

  Adriene and Lia, again and always.

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1 Up the Stairs

  CHAPTER 2 Just Jane

  CHAPTER 3 The Worst Trip Ever

  CHAPTER 4 The Spirit Man at School

  CHAPTER 5 Cursed!

  CHAPTER 6 Bear

  CHAPTER 7 Halloween

  CHAPTER 8 I Hate Chess

  CHAPTER 9 Renovation Chaos

  CHAPTER 10 Egyptian Curses

  CHAPTER 11 Pleurisy for Christmas

  CHAPTER 12 Postpone the Party?

  CHAPTER 13 Waiting for Spring

  CHAPTER 14 The Perfect Week

  CHAPTER 1

  Up the Stairs

  Here goes, I thought, the knot in my stomach so tight I could hardly breathe. I pulled my backpack and suitcase out of the van, grabbed Old Moby, my very old, very worn puppet, and walked into the house. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looked up at Grandma’s masks and swallowed.

  “Why does she have to hang them here?” I asked Old Moby. Before he could answer, my big brother BB squeezed in behind me.

  “Jane, are you talking to Old Mouldy again?” he asked. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

  “Old Moby,” I said. “His name is Old Moby.”

  BB grinned as he pushed past me and bounded up the stairs. I envied him—he wasn’t scared of the masks. He’s twelve and not scared of anything. Although I noticed he kept his head turned away as he ran past the masks.

  My little brother Lewis came in, dragging his too-full backpack. He looked up the staircase at the masks and sighed. “Let’s go together,” he said.

  I took his hand. “If we go together, they can’t scare us.”

  We crept up the stairs past the first mask. Carved in black wood, round, with flaring eyes, it was dark and fierce and brooding. We hugged the far wall as we climbed. Of course, that meant the masks could see us better, but at least they couldn’t reach us.

  We passed the second mask—dark again, long and narrow, tongue protruding, a long nose thick enough to grab. But I’d never dare. I kept my eyes on the blank wall opposite as we stepped past. They couldn’t hurt us if we didn’t actually look at them.

  Then the third mask—the third was the worst. It was the largest, covered in long, straggly hair, and it was nasty. I couldn’t quite see the eyes, but I was sure they were staring at me.

  Finally we were past them all. Lewis squeezed my hand and ran up the next flight of stairs to find the toys Grandma kept for us.

  Grandma had bought the masks the year she lived in Papua New Guinea. That’s a country on a mountainous, jungly island north of Australia. She loves the masks, so I couldn’t possibly tell her how much they scare me.

  As horrible as they are, not one of them is as bad as the carved wooden statue in my grandmother’s bathroom. He was from Papua New Guinea too. Grandma says he’s an Ancestor Spirit from the spirit world whose job is to help his clan. Lewis and I just call him the Spirit Man. He’s as tall as the toilet he stands beside, but he seems much larger. He glowers and fills the room.

  “I put the boys in the third bedroom upstairs,” said Grandma as she and Mom and Dad came up the stairs behind me. “And Jane’s in the studio.”

  I shuddered. The studio was right next door to the Spirit Man’s bathroom.

  BB glanced toward the studio, looking disappointed.

  “I don’t mind sharing with Lewis,” I said. “BB can have the studio.”

  He flashed me a surprised smile. I wasn’t sure if I’d done him a favor though.

  I kept my eyes far from the bathroom door as I walked around to the second flight of stairs and hauled my bags up to the third bedroom.

  Lewis was already playing, lining up little wooden animals in a trek across his books. Grandma keeps toys and games for us in boxes on the shelves, and Lewis had pulled out all his favorites. I like sharing with Lewis. He’s only six, but he’s a lot more fun than BB. Besides, when I’m with Lewis, Mom and Dad are pleased that I’m looking out for him.

  I shoved his backpack to the end of his bed, lifted my bags to the trunk at the end of my bed and picked up Old Moby. Years ago I’d found him among the toys Grandma had kept, from when Mom and her sisters were little. He’s a bear puppet, with a hard head covered in tan fur and a green cloth body. Sometimes he says things I’m too scared to say. I gave him a little pat as I laid him on my pillow.

  I sorted out my stuff and headed for the bathroom. Not the Spirit Man’s bathroom, but the upstairs bathroom. It has a big window over the tub that looks out into the rain forest. Once I saw a deer as I brushed my teeth.

  The door was shut. Someone was inside. I crossed my legs and jiggled, feeling desperate but not desperate enough to use the Spirit Man’s bathroom.

  Then I heard whistling and water running. Oh no. BB was having a bath. He loves baths, especially in Grandma’s big tub.

  I slumped to the floor. It was going to be a long wait.

  Finally I got up and wandered off, walking very slowly. I chatted with Grandma; she probably wondered what was wrong with me. I walked outside and admired Grandma’s garden, which was full of flowers spilling down the mountainside. I had a snack and a very small drink, and checked out Grandma’s projects in the studio. After far too long, I heard water draining from the tub, rushing and gurgling.

  Finally BB emerged from the bathroom, pink and damp. He sauntered down to the studio to set up his bed.

  I raced upstairs as fast as I could manage, only to find Mom filling the tub. “Are you going to have a bath now?” I asked, trying not to squeak.

  She spoke over her shoulder. “No, this is for Lewis. He needs a bath before bed. I don’t know why you kids always have to bathe when we’re here.
Our tub at home isn’t that much smaller, and the shower downstairs works just fine.” She gazed out the window as she adjusted the temperature. “I guess it’s the view.” She turned to me. “You can have a bath after Lewis, if you want.”

  There was no way I could last that long. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the time for me to face the Spirit Man, like Kara said. She’s my best friend, and she’s almost as brave as BB.

  Before we left on holidays, she’d said, “Jane, you have to face him. You can’t go through life scared of a block of wood. You have to show him you’re not afraid.”

  I don’t think she’d say it that easily if she’d actually met him, but I knew she was right. I did need to face him. But maybe not just yet.

  “I’ll help Lewis with his bath,” I said to Mom. “You can go visit with Grandma.”

  Mom smiled, surprised. “Thank you, Jane. That’s very sweet.”

  I smiled back, struggling to hold my smile until she left the room.

  Later, while Lewis played in the tub, I told him about having to wait so long to get into the bathroom.

  “Just tell Grandma about the Spirit Man,” he said, floating a boat past a family of rubber ducks. “She’ll move it.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “It’s too, too—just Jane.” I felt my cheeks go hot.

  Mom and Dad like to describe our family as Creative and Bold and a little Wild. They smile to show they don’t mind the wildness.

  Then they continue, “Except for Jane, of course.” They smile again, to show they don’t really mean it, but those smiles are always a little tight. So I couldn’t tell them I was afraid of a wooden statue. I didn’t have to explain to Lewis. He understood. He always understood.

  He patted my knee with a wet hand. “You’re the best Jane,” he said. “My best Jane.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Just Jane

  Our week at Grandma’s was wonderful. We all love Sooke, on the southwest end of Vancouver Island, overlooking the wild Pacific Ocean. The weather was perfect: sunny and clear with just enough wind to keep us from getting too hot. Mom and Dad hadn’t brought much work, so they had time to hang out with us, to listen to Lewis’s stories, spend time at the beach and drive into Victoria. Even BB was nice. But no matter where we went, the Spirit Man was always waiting when we got back to Grandma’s.

  I remembered Kara saying, “Jane, you have to face the Spirit Man.”

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even walk past his bathroom. I always used the upstairs bathroom. I always took the long way into the kitchen, through the living room. I always waited for Mom in the morning so I could hand her my dirty clothes instead of creeping past the Spirit Man to drop them into the laundry basket. And every day I felt like I’d failed again.

  On our one rainy afternoon, Grandma offered to make masks with us. “I have everything we need. We can make papier-mâché masks of our own faces. It feels a bit weird—cold and wet—and we’ll need to breathe through straws for the last part, but that just makes it more fun.”

  What she described took my breath away. Make a mask of myself? Wet goop layered all over my face? Breathing through a straw without letting anyone see my panic?

  Lewis saw the look on my face and said, “I’d like to learn how to draw Egyptian hiro…hiro…Egyptian writing.”

  “Hieroglyphics,” I said.

  “That’s it. I have a book about them,” he told Grandma.

  Grandma grinned. “Hieroglyphics it is. You get your book, and I’ll look for my calligraphy pens and some good paper.”

  “I’ll do hieroglyphics too,” I said.

  While I arranged stools and Grandma rummaged for supplies, Mom and BB decided to make masks. I sat with my back to them so I didn’t have to watch.

  By the time we were done, Mom’s and BB’s masks were drying, and BB was planning how he’d paint his for Halloween, transforming himself into a hideous monster. Lewis and I had written pages of hieroglyphics. Even though he couldn’t read English yet, Lewis could read our hieroglyphic messages. His favorite was the Curse of the Mummy.

  We spent the hottest day at the beach. The rocks were huge, the water icy and the waves wild. “Just the way we like it,” Dad said, grinning, as we stepped onto the hot sand.

  We stripped down to our bathing suits and pulled out the sunscreen. Dad and BB just slapped some on. They have warm brown skin and never worry about burning. I was a little more careful, although I rarely burn.

  With auburn hair and pale skin, Mom and Lewis burn really easily. Mom lathered sunscreen all over Lewis, hanging on to him while he wiggled. She did his ears and the back of his neck twice, just to be sure. Then she carefully rubbed sunscreen all over herself. I did her back.

  When they were ready, Mom, Dad and BB lined up to race into the waves. They grinned down at Lewis and me, turned and dashed into the ocean. I could tell it was cold from their gasps, but complaining wouldn’t have been brave or bold.

  Lewis settled onto the sand to build a castle, muttering to himself while he raised the castle walls. I read for a while and then joined him.

  When he saw me, he smiled and raised his voice so I could hear his story. “There are sand creatures here. You don’t notice them at first, because they push up a couple of fingers, and pull their arms out really, really slowly. Then they slowly roll to lift out their soldiers—their…”

  “Shoulders,” I said. “Sh—” Mom thought Lewis’s mispronunciations were cute, but I worried the other kids would laugh at him.

  “Sh-sh-shoulders,” Lewis repeated. “Then they’ll lie still on the beach, so unless you look closely, you can’t tell anything is going on.” As he spoke, his hands kept working, slowly shaping the walls higher and higher.

  I started digging a moat where he directed, piling up sand for him to build with.

  “They live in wet sand. If they think I’m busy building, they might move, and I might be able to see one. They’re curious—they’ll want to know what’s happening.”

  I tried to watch for them without moving my head.

  “Once they pull their entire body out of the sand, they lie like little sand dunes, and move very slowly. When the tide comes in, sometimes it looks like the water is pushing them closer.”

  Suddenly Mom and Dad descended and ruined his story. Mom grabbed Lewis and carried him out to sea. Dad lifted me and ran after her. Mom dangled Lewis’s toes in the water while Dad dangled me. All of me.

  The water was freezing. My legs screamed with pain until they grew numb. I struggled, and Dad dropped me just as a wave roared in, folding over my head and rolling me toward the beach.

  I staggered to shore, a castaway on a deserted island, shaking with cold, dying from hypothermia. As I crawled up the beach, I was oblivious to the sand creatures lurking nearby. I lay on the shore panting, eyes closed, letting the sun thaw my frozen limbs. The sand creatures crept closer and closer.

  Then BB jumped over me, dripping on my newly warmed back.

  Hungry, sunburned and sandy, we drove back to Grandma’s house. To Grandma and the Spirit Man.

  On our last night, Grandma invited some friends over for dinner. They talked about traveling and living in different countries. When they started to compare the colors of sand in different deserts, Lewis and I went upstairs to play. Their voices drifted up the stairs.

  “Why do you call Brandon BB?” a friend asked.

  “When Lewis was a baby,” Mom said, “he couldn’t say Brandon, so he called him BB. That works for Brandon Bartolomé and for Big Brother. Then Lewis Bartolomé became LB, Little Brother.” She paused. “But mostly we call him Lewis.

  “Now Jane,” Mom said. “Jane is really Mackenzie Jane Bartolomé. She was named for Mom’s grandmother. Why don’t you tell them her story, Mom?”

  I heard Grandma’s voice take over, softer and a little lower. “My grandmother, Jane Mackenzie, was born in Scotland and homesteaded in northern Alberta. She was brave and bold and raised seven children, often alone with them in t
he wilderness. One day, when she was telling stories about life in the North, I asked, ‘Grandmother, what did you do when the Indians came?’” She paused, and I heard the clink of a glass on the table.

  “She looked at me like I was an idiot and said, in her Scottish brogue, ‘What dae you think we did? We put on the kettle.’”

  Everyone laughed, and I heard Dad offering more wine.

  Then Mom picked up the story. “So we named our daughter Mackenzie Jane Bartolomé, destined to be one of the wild and bold Bartolomés, but…” She stopped for a moment. “Well, she’s just quiet. And shy. Timid, I guess. So we call her Jane. Just Jane.”

  I sighed. I even looked like a Jane, with round cheeks and straight brown hair and big dark eyes. I was a little too tall to be cute like Lewis, but not tall like BB, who was good at every sport he tried.

  I wondered what it would be like to be her, to be Mackenzie Jane, striding down the beach, leaping into the waves, strong and brave, but the more I imagined, the more my stomach twisted.

  Lewis got up and shut the door. He handed me Old Moby and said, “Tell me a story, Jane.”

  I smiled at him and slipped Old Moby onto my hand. “‘Once upon a time,’ Old Moby said, ‘there were two children, Lewis and Jane, and they were the bravest children in all the world. They had to be, because their world was filled with monsters. Late one night, when the wind was howling…’”

  That night I dreamed about the Spirit Man. He scowled at me, his face still, his eyes staring into mine, deeper and deeper. I cried out and woke myself. Lewis’s hand reached up to take mine. I groped in the bedclothes for Old Moby and lay in the dark clinging to my puppet and my little brother.