When children go missing, people want answers. When children go missing in the small coastal town of Astoria, people look to Wendy for answers.
It’s been five years since Wendy and her two brothers went missing in the woods, but when the town’s children start to disappear, the questions surrounding her brothers’ mysterious circumstances are brought back into light. Attempting to flee her past, Wendy almost runs over an unconscious boy lying in the middle of the road, and gets pulled into the mystery haunting the town.
Peter, a boy she thought lived only in her stories, claims that if they don’t do something, the missing children will meet the same fate as her brothers. In order to find them and rescue the missing kids, Wendy must confront what’s waiting for her in the woods.
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Excerpt
Peter dropped his hands, tucked his
bottom lip under his front teeth, and produced the quiet thrum of cricket
chirps.
It sounded just like the crickets
that lived outside her window. Wendy fell asleep to that sound every night
during the summer. The edges of his lips quirked up and the lantern’s light
sparked in his eyes. Peter continued to make the gentle chirps. The sound
melted the knotted muscles in her shoulders.
Memories of catching crickets at
night with her brothers danced in the back of her mind. John quietly waiting in
one spot with a paper cup in his hand, listening hard to find one of the
musical insects. Michael careening through the bushes when he caught one,
scaring the rest off. John always threw a fit. They were never able to catch
more than one at a time. They would put it in a jar, turn off the lights in
their bed- room, and sit in silence—after Wendy told Michael to shut up at
least three times—until the cricket felt safe enough to start singing for them.
Even in the dark, she could always tell that John and Michael were smiling just
as much as she was.
It was one of her favorite sounds.
“You’re really good at that,” she
said softly as she stared up at Peter. They weren’t walking anymore.
He gazed down at her, no longer
chirping. The way his eyes searched hers made her want to look away, but it
seemed impossible to manage right now.
“You really don’t remember me?” he
asked quietly, tension caught in the lines of his face.
“How could I remember you? We just
met . . .” She lied because the truth just didn’t make any sense, no matter how
much she wanted to believe it.
“What about your dreams? Do you not
dream about me anymore?” he pressed.
Wendy squinted. “My dreams?”
Sadness, almost a sort of hurt,
fell across his face.
“You can’t dream about someone you
don’t know . . .” Could you? The sound of the crickets floated back to her even
though Peter’s lips were completely still.
Peter’s chest rose and fell in a
sigh. “It’s me, Wendy. Peter. Peter Pan.” His blue eyes bored earnestly into
hers. He closed his hands around both of hers. “I know you remember me, you
have to . . .”
Wendy felt like she wanted to cry,
laugh, and run away all at the same time. She shook her head quickly. “That’s
not possible. Peter Pan isn’t real,” she told him. Even as she said it, she
felt herself doubting her own words. A part of her wanted to believe, as silly
as it felt.
One thing was certain: He knew who
Peter Pan was. So, even though she fought against it, the truth was that he’d
heard the stories before. At some point, she had told him.
“Wendy Moira Angela Darling!”
Her father’s voice cut through the
night. Wendy looked around. They were at the edge of the woods. The crooked
white fence of her backyard was no more than twenty feet ahead.
She could see the back door to her
house through the sparse trees. The kitchen lit up her father’s bulky
silhouette.
“Where have you been? It’s the middle of the night! I’ve been calling
you for hours!”
Wendy knew her phone was in her
pocket and on silent, as always. The ringer always made her jump, and she found
the vibration setting just as jarring.
“I—” Wendy turned, but Peter was
gone, leaving her to stand alone at the edge of the woods, her hands cold, the
lantern gone with him. “Peter?” she hissed into the darkness. She stood on her
tiptoes and tried to peer deeper into the trees. “Where are you?”
But no one was there.
Wendy swallowed and faced the
house. Behind her, the breeze through the woods tickled the back of her neck.
They were only slightly more terrifying than her father waiting for her at the
door.
She half ran to the fence, clumsily
climbed over, and steeled herself against her father’s angry glares and shouts
as she crossed the backyard.
He stood there, red-faced, his
large fingers gripping the doorframe. Wendy wouldn’t have been surprised if he
ripped it right off. “Were you in the woods?!” he demanded. Spittle flew from
his lips as he yelled.
Wendy tried to think up some
reasonable excuse, but her mind was back in the woods with Peter. “No, I
thought I saw something, so I was just looking—”
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Wendy!” he said.
Wendy’s face turned red. She didn’t
know what to say. She couldn’t tell him the truth. If he knew she had been in the woods with the boy from the
hospital—who the police thought might be connected to her and her brothers’
disappearance—well, Wendy had no idea what he would do, but it wouldn’t be
good.
She felt guilty and, to her
surprise, scared for Peter. He was out there alone with only the hunting shack
as shelter.
For the second time in the past
twenty-four hours, she wondered if she would ever see him again.
“I—”
“And what happened to you?” His
chest swelled and his face darkened from red to purple.
Wendy looked down at her torn pant
leg, felt the throb of her head. Luckily, the pain had subsided to a dull ache.
“I was sitting on the fence and fell off by accident,” she said.
“I forbid you from going into those woods.” His eyes glared into hers,
but they had a glassy sheen. “I thought you were smart enough to know better
after what happened!”
Wendy winced.
No, she couldn’t tell him the
truth. Not until she figured out what to do about Peter. But this also wasn’t a
situation she could lie her way out of.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said quietly.
Her father breathed heavily through
flared nostrils. Wendy braced herself for more shouting, but his shoulders
sank. “Just go to bed,” he told her, his voice now a low rumble. She almost
preferred the yelling. The defeated tone just made her feel worse.
He moved out of the doorway to let
her pass. As she did, he lifted his hand. Wendy thought he was going to place
it on her shoulder, but he hesitated and let it drop back to his side. “Stay
out of there,” he repeated.
Wendy nodded and crossed her arms
over her chest. “I will.” She didn’t blame him for being mad at her.
She wasn’t the only one who’d lost
something in those woods.
Author Bio:
Aiden Thomas is a New York Times Bestselling author with an MFA in Creative Writing from Mills College. Originally from Oakland, California, they now make their home in Portland, Oregon. As a queer, trans Latinx, Aiden advocates strongly for diverse representation in all media. Aiden’s special talents include: quoting The Office, winning Jenga, finishing sentences with “is my FAVORITE”, and killing spiders. Aiden is notorious for not being able to guess the endings of books and movies, and organizes their bookshelves by color.
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DeleteAiden Thomas is a new author to me, but I look forward to reading this. I always love meeting new authors. Thanks to this blog for the introduction.
ReplyDeleteI like the cover end synopsis, this sounds like a great book to share with my teen-aged grandchildren. Thank you for sharing the book and author details
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