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Our Stories in Our Words

Read exerpts and see exclusive illustrations as reported by Will and Jeannine!

Will Allen and the Great Monster Detective

You know, I've never been a big fan of Sherlock Holmes.  My dad calls him the world’s greatest detective, but a polluted old pipe-smoker is just not my idea of a hero.  My name is Will Allen.  You’d never guess that I’m a detective myself, especially since I’m not one of those...well, detective-looking kinds of guys: you know, the ones who are big and tough with faces like stone; in fact, I’m one of the shortest and scrawniest kids in my grade.  Still, a little person can solve some really big problems, and I've cracked some of the biggest, strangest cases you could ever imagine.  But not one of them was any stranger than how I got started doing this in the first place...

     

Will Allen and the Ring of Terror

   I walked on over, my magnifying glass pressed to my face, searching for signs of monsters. Inch by inch I crept, flashlight at the ready, to the closet door. There was no sign of anything strange in the sight of my magnifying glass, but the air became stale with the odor of rotting fish, growing more and more foul with every step I took. That made me edgy.
    "I...I'm going in," I announced, and gently prodded the door.
Before I could even gasp, it flew open with a loud, creaking howl, and something dark and slimy fell upon me.
    "OH...OH MY GOD!" I shouted.  "IT'S SO HORRIBLE..." 
 
 

Will Allen and the Dubious Shrine

I've always loved baseball.  It's a game that just about anybody can be good at if they work real hard at it.  You can have moments of glory even if you're short, scrawny, and not particularly fast afoot.  My name is Will Allen, and as it just so happens, that's a perfect description of me, but for leaving out the fact that I'm also a monster detective.
     "I just don't get it!" my friend Drew complained as we trotted out to the field for gym class.  "I’m bigger than you.  I’m stronger.  I run faster¼”
    “You whine louder¼” I added with a smirk.  Drew just shook it off.
    “¼So how is it that you're always one of the first ones picked for baseball, and I'm always the last?"
    "Maybe because I practice with a bat and ball as much as you practice with your telescope and chemistry set," I answered.
    “So?”
    “So, Mr. Genius,” I chided, “When you practice a lot at something, you can get to be really good at it.”
    "Hmpf!  You think you practice a lot?" Drew scoffed.  "Look at her."   He pointed across the field to the running track that circled the soccer field on the opposite side of the gym.  A short, skinny, girl in a tracksuit was circling the track at a brisk, steady pace, with her long brown hair waving behind her like a flag.  As she passed me, though, I could have sworn she glared at me strangely.  And I wasn’t the only one who noticed.
    “Do you know her?” Drew asked.
    “No,” I answered.  “Why?”“She looked at you like you have a nasty smell,” he commented.  “So I figured she must know you pretty well.”