“Now!” I screamed, my chest burning.
The cage didn’t budge.
“Again! As hard as you can!”
The cage tipped to one side and lifted a few feet into the air. Not good enough.
“Again!” Tears poured down my face. Whether they were from pain, exhaustion, terror, or a mix of all three, I couldn’t be sure.
The entire cage rose in the air, swaying and shifting. I gritted my teeth, straining to keep my hold on the bars.
“No!” Atticus leapt, but he couldn’t reach it. He grasped the metal bars, but he was no match for Adam.
As the cage rose into the portal’s glow, I felt myself passing through. This time, it didn’t feel like I was going through a too-small plastic tube. It felt like being mangled in a juicer. I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in my breath.
“Got you!” Adam cheered. I opened my eyes and groped around, feeling wood and the grit of dust beneath my fingertips. I’d been right. As soon as the cage hit Up There, it had disappeared.
Strong hands pulled me, sliding me across the floor.
I blinked. I was out from under a bed. A tall bookshelf filled with bright hardback books stood against the far wall. Haylie had helped herself to one and was sitting cross-legged on the shiny hardwood floor, studying the pictures. The other little girls sat next to her, huddled together and blinking.
And Adam! He was kneeling, looking dazed, staring at a small blonde figure standing quietly next to the nightstand. Colin.
“I’m home,” Colin whispered, his huge brown eyes scanning the dim room. “There’s my train.” He pointed to a circle of tracks across the room. “And my Transformer!” He raced across the room and snatched a toy from a wooden shelf.
As I looked around the room, I choked up. It looked like Colin’s parents had kept it exactly like when he’d disappeared. They’d never given up hope that he would come home.
Haylie abandoned her book and stepped toward him, putting her hands on her hips so she could examine him. “You’re cute,” she announced.
Tears spurted to my eyes, and I let out a half laugh, half cry.
“Look, Adam. It’s dawn. We made it.”
He glanced at the closed door. “Any second now, that door’s going to open. And we’re going to have a lot of explaining to do.”
I crossed the room, stopping where he was now standing by the window. “I can’t get over it. Without you, I would have lost Haylie. And Colin would still be a monster.” I gestured to the room. “This room would have stayed like this forever.” Another lump formed in my throat.
Adam shook his head. “Nah …”
“It’s true,” I insisted. “You risked everything for us. I can’t believe you did that. You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah, I did. I mean”—Adam wasn’t looking at me—“I’d do anything for you.”
I grabbed both sides of his face, and pulled him to me in a truly movie-worthy kiss. Only I was missing my shoes and my hair looked like a rat’s nest and we both totally smelled from our adventure in Down Below.
It wasn’t really all that Hollywood. But here’s a secret. Sometimes a real kiss is better.
Footsteps sounded outside the door, and a man’s tough voice made us jump apart. “Hello? I heard voices! If anyone’s in there, you’re gonna regret it!”
We all froze. Colin’s eyes went the widest I’d ever seen them go. “Daddy,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
The door flung open and a man in blue pajama bottoms and a T-shirt stood there clutching a baseball bat in his rough hands. Hands that looked like they worked in an auto shop. When he saw Colin, the color drained from his face and he dropped the bat.
“Honey?” came a voice behind him. “Is everything okay?” A woman with blonde hair peeked over his shoulder. She looked uncertainly at me before her eyes landed on Colin. Her hands flew to her mouth as she let out a strangled cry.
Colin’s parents flew across the room. The man scooped Colin up in his arms, tears rolling down his cheeks as he held his son for the first time in a year. The woman stroked her son’s hair, sobbing like the world had ended.
It hadn’t. Colin was their whole world, and they’d just gotten him back.
CURTAIN CALL
In the movies, when a main character risks her life to save her loved ones, she always comes out looking hot. Maybe she’ll have some dirt on her forehead and her hair will be wild and crazy, but her eye makeup will still look perfect.
But this wasn’t a movie, and I looked like, well, a monster. Frankenstein’s monster, to be precise. In addition to my singed hair, it took twenty-three stitches to close up the cuts on my feet, knees, and forehead. Dad promised they’d heal just fine, but he could have been lying. He knew my experience was traumatizing enough.
When Blue’s—Colin’s—parents had opened the door to his bedroom and found us all crowded in there, they called our parents. Only thing was, when they asked the little girls we’d saved—Amy, Emma, and Sadie—what their phone numbers were, they realized that something weird was up. It was the Los Angeles, Detroit, and Chicago area codes that tipped them off. So, after the initial screaming and hugging and crying, our entire crew found ourselves loaded up and en route to Chester County Hospital, with the police on the phone.
Mom and Dad met us there, our SUV parked all cockeyed in the half circle in front of the ER. They were almost to us by the time I’d helped Haylie onto the sidewalk.
“Kids!” Mom’s scream was strangled as she tried to gather us both in her arms. After a bone-crushing hug, she started examining us for signs of maiming. “Lissa, your forehead,” she murmured, wiping away a tear. I glanced at Dad, and his eyes looked misty, too.
“Oh, man,” I said, horrified to see my parents crying. I’d never seen Dad cry before, and Mom maybe only once or twice. “We’re fine, I promise. And I’m so, so, so sorry we worried you. I feel horrible.”
Haylie was uncharacteristically quiet throughout all this. Her eyelids fluttered, and I remembered she’d been up all night. Mom cradled her against her chest.
I looked up. The sky was gray, the rising sun streaking it with yellow and pink and orange. With a jolt, I realized that some of the kids taken last night would never see another sunrise. They were goblins now, trapped Down Below.
“Haylie?” Dad prodded. “Want me to take you home? Are you ready to go to sleep?”
Haylie’s eyes opened all the way. “Can I have a pony? I’m good at riding.” Her eyes closed, and Mom and Dad looked at each other, frowning.
A black-and-white police cruiser pulled up behind our car, followed by the Griggs’ pickup. Adam’s parents looked more dazed than anything; I suspected they hadn’t known Adam was gone until they got the call.
I kept my eyes on the police cruiser. I wasn’t worried about getting in trouble; more about explaining the impossible. Should we tell the truth and let everyone think we were crazy?
Would they? There was no way to account for the three little girls.
Two black-uniformed officers climbed out of the cruiser. They walked toward Colin’s parents, who were kneeling down, whispering to the little girls. When they noticed the officers, they stood up. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but there were a lot of hand gestures and head shaking.
Dad noticed the officers, but he put his hand on my back. “I’m taking you inside. If the police have questions, they can find you. Medical help first.”
Hours later, after my cuts had been cleaned and stitched up, I sat in a hospital bed, smelling the anesthetic and trying to keep my eyes open. There was a needle in my arm, since I was dehydrated and weak. Dad had ordered that I stay in the hospital for a day for “observation.”
The officers came in to question me, but I played the recovering victim bit, giving only vague answers that didn’t make any sense. Something about Haylie disappearing in the dark, and going after her underground and finding the other kids. When they started asking harder questions, that was when I prete
nded the medicine was kicking in.
After the officers gave up, Mom pulled the thin hospital covers over me, kissing my forehead on an uninjured spot. “You can tell us what happened when you’re ready,” she said, but I doubted I’d ever be ready.
“Mom?” I asked. “Would you mind lying here with me? Just until I fall asleep?”
She smiled, pushing her hair back from her forehead. “Sure.” Careful not to upset my IV or to touch my bandaged feet, she arranged herself in bed with me. “Goodness! Not exactly a Sealy mattress, is it?”
“Ha. If this was a movie scene, that would be obvious product placement.” Companies pay big bucks to have characters mention their brands.
I closed my eyes.
For the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt safe.
When I woke up, my head was foggy and my throat felt as dry as the sandman’s desert. I turned to where Mom had been sleeping beside me, but she was gone.
“She’s getting coffee,” an unfamiliar female voice said from in front of the closed door.
“How long have I been out?” Ugh. My tongue felt like sandpaper. Sun glared through the blinds, and I averted my eyes. When I raised my left hand to adjust my covers, plastic hospital tape covered an IV.
Rising, the woman poured a cup of water from a plastic pitcher. In the light, I noticed a small scar that ran above her right eyebrow. “All day.” She handed me the water, and I gulped it down. It was warm and tasted like plastic, but I held my cup out for a refill.
Shivering beneath my thin white blanket, I wiped my palms against my scratchy hospital gown. “Are you with the police?”
She shook her head and flashed a bronze badge. “Faye Jacobs, United States Central Intelligence Agency.” Her tone was clipped and authoritative.
I swallowed hard. “Central Intelligence Agency?”
I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, just those words—Central Intelligence Agency—made me nervous. I’d never met a real CIA agent before. I wondered if she had a gun.
I glanced at the closed door. How long until Mom got back?
It was like she’d read my mind. “I don’t think you want your mother to hear this conversation.”
“And why is that?” I tried to sound tough, which was hard considering I was basically wearing paper doll clothes. And if I wanted to escape, I’d have to drag an IV machine along with me. It would be the shortest escape scene ever.
“Because your mother wouldn’t believe a thing about Down Below, would she?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. When I opened my mouth to answer, nothing came out.
She raised one eyebrow. “After all, the only people who believe in it are the ones who have been there. Right?”
LISSA’S FILM GLOSSARY
In Monsterville, Lissa sees her world through the lens of a camera, often thinking in film terms. The following is a list of some of the film-related terms used in Monsterville. Access the full list (and their use in the book) at www.lissablackproductions.com.
AD-LIBBING – A line of dialogue improvised by an actor during a performance; can be either unscripted or deliberate.
AERIAL SHOT – A camera shot filmed in an exterior location from far overhead (a bird’s-eye view), like from a helicopter.
ANCILLARY RIGHTS – Ownership of profits made by the sale of action figures, posters, CDs, books, T-shirts, etc. related to the film.
ARC SHOT – A shot where the subject is captured by an encircling or moving camera.
BACKDROP – A large photographic backing or painting for the background of a scene (e.g., a view seen outside a window, a landscape scene, mountains), usually painted on flats (composed of plywood or cloth).
CUE – A signal in a film, usually a line of dialogue, to indicate the next action or line of dialogue.
DEATH TRAP – A plot device in which a villain who has captured the hero, or another sympathetic character, attempts to use an elaborate method of murdering him/her.
MONTAGE – A series of short shots or images that are rapidly put together into a clear sequence to create a whole picture.
PAN – Abbreviation for “panorama shot”; refers to the horizontal scan, movement, rotation, or turning of the camera in one direction (around a fixed axis while filming). A movie can also be “panned,” which means it receives very negative reviews.
STAGE DIRECTIONS – Also referred to as “blocking.” The positioning of actors to facilitate the performance of a play.
TRIPLE-THREAT – Someone in the entertainment industry who can fulfill a number of roles, such as actor, producer, director, screenwriter, etc.
TYPECASTING – When an actor or actress is commonly (but usually, unfairly) identified with or stereotyped by a particular character role.
VILLAIN SPEECH – Often referred to as “monologuing,” where the villain, after having captured the hero or another victim, gives a long speech about why and how he plans on killing his victim.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As a writer who has been on the journey to publication for a very long time, it feels incredible to be in a position to acknowledge those who helped me get there. Boy, am I exhausted, and I am so grateful to all of you! Goodness, the things you’ve had to endure.
First and foremost, I want to thank my husband, Scott. Honey badger, I love you so much—for all that you are and for all you’ve done to show your support, to prevent me from losing hope, for trying your best to understand this wacky world of publishing. I can’t imagine having done this without you.
Also, thank you to my parents, Bill and Joyce Schauerte, for exposing me to the worlds of books and movies, which ultimately led to Monsterville’s creation. I will always treasure our movie marathons while camping. Thank you for your special method of filtering movies to ensure appropriateness for children, which shall remain our secret.
Alison Weiss, my editor at Sky Pony—you have been an absolute dream. Thank you for taking this project on and for your insightful notes and input to bring Monsterville to life. You’ve been so respectful of my creative vision, kept me in the loop, answered my (insane) questions. I am so grateful to and for you.
Lauren Galit, my amazing agent—thank you for taking a chance on me. You are a fantastic communicator, editor, friend, and champion of my work, and this book is in print because of you. Thank you for putting up with me.
Caitlen Rubino-Bradway, thank you for your amazing attention to detail and your enthusiasm for this project.
To the teachers at Millstadt Consolidated School, particularly Mrs. Martha Story and Mr. Kenneth Kinsella, thank you for planting the seeds of storytelling and writing. And thank you to Professor Thomas Walsh of Saint Louis University, whose love for the craft will always inspire me.
Thank you to Marianne Reida, for always being a cheerleader for my writing. Thank you for reading everything - good or bad - and loving it.
Thank you to the two writing partners who have been in this with me since 2012. 2012! Veronica Canfield, I treasure our Skype sessions, where we complain and moan and ultimately accomplish real editing. Kate Pawson Studer, I admire your attitude, writing, and treasure our email chains where we overanalyze everything about the process. We don’t sound crazy in those emails—not at all! To both of you: there isn’t a book of mine you two haven’t touched, and I thank you for your role in Monsterville.
To everyone at the Sky Pony Press family—I am so proud and humbled to be on your list and part of your team! It’s been a true pleasure to work with all of you.
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