Dead Air - Michelle Schusterman (the read aloud family txt) 📗

This one’s for the Skeleton in your closet—MS

GROSSET & DUNLAP

Penguin Young Readers Group

An Imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

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Text copyright © 2015 by Michelle Schusterman. Cover illustration copyright © 2015 by Stephanie Olesh. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN 978-0-399-54001-1

Version_1

Contents

TITLE PAGE

DEDICATION

COPYRIGHT

THE THING

THE CURSE OF THE STALE MUFFINS

THE BOY WITH NO EYES

IT CAME FROM THE LASER PRINTER

INVASION OF THE NUTJOBS FROM PLANET FANDOM

WHAT LURKS IN THE CYBERSHADOWS

IF LOOKS COULD KILL

TEA PARTY OF THE DAMNED

ATTACK OF THE KILLER RATINGS

FROM BEYOND THE OUIJA BOARD

DEAD WOMAN WALKING

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE FAKE KIND

THE THING 2: BACK FOR BLOOD

THE DAWN OF DOCTOR PAIN

RETURN OF THE JERK

THE SECRET OF THE DEAD AIR

TALK IT TO DEATH

STALKER IN THE CITY

THE ROAD TO THIRTEEN KISSES

THE THING 3: ESCAPE INTO THE ABYSS

THE RETURN OF RED LEER

FLIGHT OF THE INVISIBLE PRISONERS

HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DEMONS

EPISODE GUIDE

CHAPTER ONE

THE THING

From: trishhhhbequiet@mymail.net

To: acciopancakes@mymail.net

Subject: DON’T LEAVE ME!!!

kat,

are you packed yet? fyi, i’m working on a plan to keep you in Chelsea. so far, it involves setting a box of frogs loose in the airport to create a diversion while i steal your luggage. mark says my plan lacks finesse. it’s a work in progress.

<3 trish

My first real memory was hearing my grandma scream bloody murder while being attacked by zombie hamsters. That scream won her Best Actress at the Dark Cheese B-Movie Awards in 1979. It was also her standard reaction for birthday presents, hide-and-seek, touchdowns, and any other scream-worthy occasion.

So when I heard her award-winning shriek come from downstairs while I was duct-taping a box of books, I didn’t even flinch. Picking up a Sharpie, I scrawled Mysteries & Harry Potter on the side, then tossed the marker down and left my room.

“Was it that diaper commercial again?” I asked when I entered the living room. “With the creepy dancing babies?”

“Hang on, KitKat.” Grandma’s eyes were glued to the television. “This is the Glasgow episode, that old inn with the haunted garden. The grate scene is coming up.”

I glanced at the screen and rolled my eyes. “Again? You’ve probably seen this a—”

But Grandma flapped a perfectly manicured hand at me, so I zipped it and sat on the armrest of her chair.

Passport to Paranormal claimed to be “the most haunted show on television.” Translation: “The most low-budget ghost-hunting show ever, which blames equipment malfunctions on paranormal activity.” During the pilot episode last year, the show had blacked out for almost two minutes near the end. The network, Fright TV, couldn’t explain the dead air. So naturally, the crew claimed ghosts were responsible.

Ratings weren’t off the charts, but Passport to Paranormal’s small group of fans were pretty intense. They had a website and forums with heated debates over each episode, plus lots of gossip about the cast of P2P. They sold merchandise, too. Grandma was currently wearing a P2P baseball cap that said I BELIEVE.

You never saw anything legitimately supernatural, but the show was still pretty entertaining. Besides, ghosts had nothing to do with why most fans—like Grandma— were so obsessed.

On the screen, a guy with a flashlight edged around a stone wall. He was pretty good-looking, I had to admit . . . I mean, if too-long-to-be-real eyelashes and cheekbones sharper than a knife are your idea of good-looking.

“I heard something,” a female voice behind the camera whispered—Jess Capote, I knew right away. I’d never met her in person, but she and my dad went to college together. They’d both worked on the university’s morning news show. “Right down there. Sam?”

Sam Sumners closed his eyes. “I feel his presence.”

I snorted. Grandma swatted my arm.

“I think it’s coming from the grate,” whispered Jess, and Sam bent over to examine it. The camera zoomed in on the grate—and paused, just for a second, on Sam’s butt.

Grandma sighed happily. “There it is.”

“Grandma!”

“What?” She finally tore her eyes off the screen to hit pause on the remote. “That’s some serious eye candy.”

I groaned. “Oh my God.”

“Oh my God is right,” Grandma agreed, her gaze straying back to the screen.

“I don’t get why everyone freaks out over him,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “He looks like a Ken doll. Plastic.”

Grandma pressed her hand to her heart. “You will not speak ill of Sam Sumners in my presence. And twenty bucks says you change your mind when you meet him in person.”

“Doubt it.” But a flash of nerves hit me anyway. Not about meeting Sam, the show’s psychic medium and resident pretty boy. About being a part of Passport to Paranormal in general. After losing their third and most recent host, they would resume filming the second season at the end of this week with the newest host: Jack Sinclair, former anchor for Rise and Shine, Ohio! He was also my dad.

In less than two days, Dad and I would be somewhere in the Netherlands. Instead of sleeping in my horror movie–postered bedroom, I’d be living in hotel rooms and buses. Instead of coasting through eighth grade on a steady stream of Bs at Riverview Middle School, I’d be homeschooled (or, I guess, roadschooled). Instead of hanging out with my best friends, Trish and Mark, I’d be spending most of the next year with a bunch of people who chased ghosts for a living.

Dad had given me the option to stay in Ohio with Mom. Which, to be honest, wasn’t an option at all. Because