{"product_id":"the-crossroads-isbn-9780375846984","title":"The Crossroads","description":"\u003cb\u003ePerfect for Halloween! From the\u003ci\u003e New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eEscape From Mr. Lemoncello's Library\u003c\/i\u003e and coauthor of \u003ci\u003eI Funny\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eTreasure Hunters\u003c\/i\u003e, comes a series of spine-tingling mysteries to keep you up long after the lights go out.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eZack, his dad, and new stepmother  have just moved back to his father’s hometown, not knowing that their new house has  a dark history. Fifty years ago, a crazed killer caused an accident at the nearby  crossroads that took 40 innocent lives. He died when his car hit a tree in a fiery  crash, and his malevolent spirit has inhabited the tree ever since. During a huge  storm, lightning hits the tree, releasing the spirit, who decides his evil spree  isn’t over . . . and Zack is directly in his sights.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Award-winning thriller author  Chris Grabenstein fills his first book for younger readers with the same humorous  and spine-tingling storytelling that has made him a fast favorite with adults.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ \u003ci\u003e“A rip-roaring ghost story.”\u003c\/i\u003e—Booklist, \u003ci\u003eStarred\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003eStarred review, \u003cu\u003eBooklist\u003c\/u\u003e, May 1, 2008:\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"An absorbing psychological thriller . . . as well as a rip-roaring ghost story.\"\u003cb\u003eChris Grabenstein\u003c\/b\u003e is the Anthony Award–winning author of \u003ci\u003eTilt a Whirl, Mad Mouse\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eWhack a Mole\u003c\/i\u003e. He used to write TV and radio commercials and has written for the Muppets. Currently, Chris and his wife live in New York City with three cats and a dog named Fred, who starred in \u003ci\u003eChitty Chitty Bang Bang \u003c\/i\u003eon Broadway. You can visit him (and Fred) at \u003cu\u003ewww.chrisgrabenstein.com\u003c\/u\u003e.Billy O'Claire was doggy-dog tired.\u003cbr\u003eHe'd been trying to fix the toilet in the brandnew house for over six hours and the weather outside was extremely hot and muggy, especially for the Friday before Memorial Day.\u003cbr\u003eBilly was sweating up a storm.  Since nobody lived in the new house yet, they hadn't turned on the air-conditioning. His work shirt was a soppy sheet of wet cotton with full-moon stains oozing down below both armpits.\u003cbr\u003eIt was nine p.m.\u003cbr\u003eHe tightened one last nut, then gave the trip handle on the toilet a flick. Instead of the customary whoosh of water swirling into the bowl, Billy heard a roaring gurgle. The toilet was working backward. He raised the lid and saw a commode burping up chunks of brown gunk. Leaves. Dirt. Twigs.\u003cbr\u003eNothing else, thank heaven, because nobody had actually used the toilet yet. This woodsy debris had to be seeping in from a cracked sewer line, and Billy realized they might have to rip up the newly sodded lawn to fix a drainpipe ruptured, most likely, by tree roots.\u003cbr\u003eBut that was a Monday-morning kind of problem.\u003cbr\u003eFortunately, it was Friday night and Billy was finished working for the week. He cranked the shutoff valve behind the toilet and went out to the driveway, where he had parked his pickup, the one with O'Claire's Plumbing painted on the door over where it used to say O'Claire's Painting and, before that, O'Claire's Satellite Television Repair.\u003cbr\u003eBilly sat in the cab and drank half a gallon of water out of a glugging plastic jug and aimed two of the truck's air-conditioning vents up at his armpits.\u003cbr\u003eIt felt good. Real good. \u003cbr\u003eHe yawned and thought about grabbing a quick nap. Instead, he slammed the transmission into reverse and backed out of the driveway, not realizing that something wicked was lurking a little ways down the road--just waiting for the next doggy-dogtired driver to come along.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA flashing red stoplight hung suspended over the intersection where County Route 13 crossed Connecticut State Highway 31.\u003cbr\u003eA gigantic oak tree stood near one corner, and its highest branch--as thick around as the trunk of any ordinary tree--suddenly started to move. No wind was blowing. No sports car zooming past had sent up a swirling wake. But the massive limb began to bend and rotate. It sensed an easy target approaching and, longing for a little fun, tore against itself--slowly at first, then with gathering speed. When the final strands ripped free, the bough broke off and fell like a two-ton truck, tearing down the blinking beacon.\u003cbr\u003eThen the tree stopped moving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBilly O'Claire remembered that there used to be a flashing red stoplight hanging over the intersection of 13 and 31. Tonight, however, there wasn't one.\u003cbr\u003eGood.\u003cbr\u003eBilly didn't want to stop.  He needed to find a bathroom. Bad. Chugging half a gallon of water straight from the jug will do that to you. And he preferred a bathroom where the toilet didn't gurgle back at him. He pressed down on the gas pedal.\u003cbr\u003e\"How dry I am,\" he crooned off-key. \"How wet I'll be, if I don't find . . .\"\u003cbr\u003eSuddenly he saw someone standing in the middle of the road.\u003cbr\u003eA cop.\u003cbr\u003eA motorcycle cop--holding up his hand and commanding Billy to stop.\u003cbr\u003eSo Billy slammed on his brakes and the pickup skidded sideways. Tires screeched, the truck swerved, and he almost hooked on to the bumper of a car he hadn't even seen coming. He spun around and wound up on the far side of the intersection--backward and straddling a ditch.\u003cbr\u003eBilly wasn't injured, just totally dazed. He could see the taillights of the car he had nearly hit as it zoomed up the highway. Glancing at his rearview mirror, he saw the cop standing next to his motorbike, which was very weird-looking--it had a moonfaced headlight and chrome fenders swooping up over its tires.\u003cbr\u003eIt's from the 1950s, Billy thought. An old Harley Softail. Billy liked old motorcycles. Wished he had one right now so he could hightail it out of here before the cop came over and started hassling him. Then Billy realized: The cop's uniform and hat looked old-fashioned, too.\u003cbr\u003eIt looks like he's from some black-and-white movie. One of those old monster movies where the police try to capture Godzilla.\u003cbr\u003eThe cop marched slowly toward the truck.  Billy strained to see if it was anybody he knew, thinking this was some kind of practical joke. He tried to see the cop's face.\u003cbr\u003eOnly the cop didn't have one.\u003cbr\u003eHe had a crew cut and mirrored sunglasses and ears but no face!\u003cbr\u003eBilly jerked up on his door handle hard. When it wouldn't budge, he kicked the door open. He screamed once and scrambled out of the truck and ran as fast as he could up the highway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e***\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe police officer didn't care about Billy O'Claire. Didn't chase after him.\u003cbr\u003eHis job was done for the night. He had prevented a horrible, possibly fatal, collision.\u003cbr\u003eSomething he had tried to do once before.\u003cbr\u003eJune 21, 1958.\u003cbr\u003eThe day he had died.","brand":"Yearling","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304445759717,"sku":"NP9780375846984","price":9.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375846984.jpg?v=1767738881","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-crossroads-isbn-9780375846984","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}