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    Guys Read: Thriller
    Guys Read: Thriller
    Guys Read: Thriller
    Ebook223 pages3 hours

    Guys Read: Thriller

    By Jon Scieszka and Brett Helquist

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    A body on the tracks

    A teenage terrorist

    A mysterious wish-granting machine

    The world’s worst private detective

    The second volume in the Guys Read Library of Great Reading is chock-full of mystery, intrigue, and nefarious activity. Featuring some of the best writers around, and compiled by certified guy Jon Scieszka, Guys Read: Thriller is a pulse-pounding collection of brand-new short stories, each one guaranteed to keep you riveted until the final page.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateSep 20, 2011
    ISBN9780062102195
    Author

    Jon Scieszka

    Jon Scieszka is the National Ambassador for Children's Literature emeritus and the bestselling author of more than twenty-five books for kids, including The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales, Math Curse, Robot Zot!, and the Time Warp Trio series. Jon founded Guys Read to encourage a passion for reading among young boys, with the philosophy that boys love to read most when they are reading things they love. A former elementary school teacher, Jon lives in Brooklyn with his family. For more great books, more great facts, and more about your favorite authors, head over to www.guysread.com. You'll be glad you did.

    Read more from Jon Scieszka

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    Reviews for Guys Read

    4/5

    21 ratings3 reviews

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    • 5/5

      Apr 1, 2019

      This was a very entertaining anthology with stories from some of the hot authors for middle graders. I liked the variety of moods of the story from humorous to spine-chilling. Though maybe the spine-chilling was a personal reaction since I really, really hate snakes (The Snake Mafia by Gennifer Choldenko). I also liked the variety of ethnicities and locations for the stories. I will admit that my favorite story was The Double Eagle Has Landed by Anthony Horowitz. I loved the humor in this story about the world's worst detective and his younger, smarter brother. It makes me want to read the other stories about the Diamond brothers that I have in my media center.Some of the authors included are M. T. Anderson, Walter Dean Myers, Margaret Peterson Haddix, James Patterson, and Gennifer Choldenko. All of the authors in the anthology are already represented in my media centers. I can just see the display with this book as the centerpiece surrounded by the authors' other work.This one will definitely find a place in both my elementary and middle school media centers.
    • 4/5

      Apr 1, 2019

      Guys Read: Thriller
      What do psychics and ghosts, wish machines, serendipitous events, secret tunnels, dogs foaming at the mouth, pirates, Hatchetface, and the “scariest eighth grader ever” have in common? They all join the annals of terror in “Guys Read: Thrille”r, edited by Jon Scieszka. Volume 2 of this series artfully brings together mystery and intrigue through some of YA’s favorite authors, including Walter Dean Myers, Margaret Peterson, Haddix, Gennifer Choldenko, James Paterson, Anthony Horowitz and more. Investigate a haunting with M.T. Anderson; find yourself believing in the unbelievable with Matt De La Pena, and follow Archie and Jughead to a pair of ghost vision glasses to discover the unimaginable with Patrick Carman. The stories, though appealing easily to the most reluctant of readers, are well written, provide a pleasant variety of themes and literary command, and would entice even those long familiar with the authors. Jon Scieszka, you have done it again!
    • 5/5

      Apr 1, 2019

      Following Guys Read Funny Business, Guys Read 2 Thriller gives us short stories by authors such as MT Anderson, Matt de la Pena, Anthony Horowitz, Walter Dean Myers, Maragaret Peterson Haddix, Jarrett J. Krosoczka, Gennifer Choldenko, Bruce Hale, James Patterson and Patrick Carman. I'm familiar with several of these authors. Some, I've never heard of. But the short stories in Thriller were again great for reluctant readers and reading lovers alike.

      I found The Old Dead Nuisance by MT Anderson to be a great bedtime story, not too scary, but just enough to be appealing. It was a story about a little boy stuck on the set of a haunted house where two supposed and feuding psychics are being filmed by Paul's dad, the little boy. Paul has to hide and stay out of the way behind the sofa reading. Then Paul gets wind of a treasure that the dysfunctional family living in the house had, the father of the house hid it from his sons, right under their noses. Ironically, while investigating, Paul is the one that runs into the ghost of the cantankerous old man his children named "The Old Nuisance". The psychics are too busy feuding or being fake to ever see him. And Paul learns some very interesting information about the treasure.

      Another story I was intrigued and educated by was Pirate by Walter Dean Myers. I have to claim complete ignorance at knowing the reasons behind the actions of the Somali Pirates. I thought they were just thugs looking to profit from the unfortunate people that get in their waterways. Pirate gave me a look at the reason the Somalis have for attacking and holding for ransom Americans, Europeans, even attempting to attack a cruise ship. I guarantee you when you read this story you will feel shame and a bit of understanding. Yes, it's very frightening from both sides of the story, but it gives you pause for thought. I don't excuse or condone their tactics, but I never gave thought that their might be a real reason this started up.

      And lastly, and I'll admit by far my most favorite of the stories was the last in the book, Ghost Vision Goggles by Patrick Carman. Unique little Kyle loves to spend money on candy, action figures and weird things- like Chia pets, and fart putty (I had to look that one up. According to Amazon, where you can order it, "Work this putty with your finger to produce the hilarious sound of a gaseous explosion-very funny!") and a Magic 8 Ball. You get the picture. He's a bit quirky. And the big kid across the street, Scotty Vincent, likes to steal these things and break them much to Kyle's dislike and misfortune. Scotty is kind of sly and can sweet talk his way into getting into Kyle's house, past Kyle's mother without too much trouble, terrorizing Kyle in his own house, in his own room! But then one summer, Kyle's parents buy a cabin on Lake Lenore (the same lake Scotty has a house on) and Kyle finds a stack of comic books with all kinds of advertisements for weird things. The kinds of things he loves to buy with his money. So he counts down the days until they leave the cabin and he can order his weird things. He spends his days changing his order around but there is one thing he knows he's gotta have, Ghost Vision Goggles! He orders everything when he gets home and waits for them eagerly to arrive in the mail. There are setbacks and weird things that happen and Scotty. But he finally gets the Ghost Vision Goggles and that's when the fun really begins!!

      This collection has something for everyone and I promise you won't be disappointed when you pick it up. Read it straight through or read each story at a time. It's a great collection!!

    Book preview

    Guys Read - Jon Scieszka

    The Old, Dead Nuisance

    by M. T. Anderson

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    The psychics are having a huge argument, said Paul’s dad. Sit and read behind the sofa."

    There’s mouse stuff behind the sofa, Paul complained.

    What do you mean by ‘mouse stuff’? Tiny little lamps and suitcases?

    Poo and weird hair.

    Just hide somewhere. Stay out of the shot.

    Paul’s dad was the cameraman for a show called True Spook. They were filming at a house that was supposed to be haunted. Paul had to keep out of the way in case one of the psychics swept past, calling out the names of the dead or saying she felt cold spots near the credenza.

    All right, muttered Paul, taking his book of world records and crouching behind a side table. Is this hidden enough?

    Roger that, said his father, giving a thumbs-up. We’re probably not coming into this room. No one’s heard or seen anything in here. I’ll give a shout when the coast is clear. He hoisted his camera onto his shoulder and went to film the psychics’ argument.

    Paul looked around the room. Everything was old and ugly. The sofa was smelly and sixties. There were several TV trays with scenes of moose and ducks in the wild, standing in grasses. He picked up an ugly, three-legged ceramic plant holder filled with plastic flowers and put it on the table to hide him better, in case one of the psychics came in and had to be filmed hooting about ghostly presences. Paul didn’t want to be in their way.

    Each week, the True Spook team went to a different haunted place: a house; a cemetery; a dark, rusty factory; or even an old railroad bridge. They investigated the haunting. They filmed interviews of people who described what they’d seen.

    Paul didn’t believe a word of it. He thought it was suspicious that so many of the haunted places were inns that needed some publicity and restaurants where the rugs smelled weird. But it didn’t matter how ridiculous the story was: once the True Spook team shot their footage and an editor cut up the interviews and pasted them back together again, and once a composer created creepy, groaning music to go along with the footage of fallen walls and spiders spinning in the eaves, it seemed like the story was absolutely true and the streets of America were packed with the dead, like a bunch of grim joggers.

    Paul had just read about the record for the world’s largest pie when one of the psychics stormed into the room. Her name was Louise. She stood for a moment, shook her arms, closed her eyes, and exhaled. Her head was back. She waited for a minute. She looked irked. Then she yelled into the hall, We might as well leave. I can’t feel anything in here. She’s blocking my psionic extensions.

    I’m not blocking anything, said Phyllis, the other psychic. Maybe you don’t have enough powers.

    I have plenty of powers.

    Maybe you don’t have enough powers.

    I said, I got plenty of powers.

    Hey, hey! said the director, coming up behind Phyllis. We’re going to take a break. Louise, you go in there and try to settle down. Phyllis, you go in the dining room and try to—you know, open up a channel or something. To the afterlife. We’re going across the street to the graveyard.

    Paul’s dad poked his head into the room. Paul? he said. You want to come out to the graveyard?

    Paul nodded and unfolded himself from behind the side table.

    Louise startled a little, then smiled at him. Look at you. Hiding in here. She chuckled. You could’ve give me a fright.

    The other psychic yelled, Not if you were psychic.

    Louise bawled out, Are you saying I’m not psychic?

    I’m saying picking up on an actual, living kid doesn’t take a large amount of powers.

    He was behind the side table. Under fake plants.

    Paul left the house as quickly as possible.

    Out in the graveyard, they were filming the host, the main ghost detective. His name was Dennis. He wore a long, black coat and a black suit, and he liked to look searchingly into the distance. He was a very dramatic person. He stood by a large funeral monument—an obelisk—and tried to arrange his hair to look mysterious.

    It was a cold day out, and dirty snow lay on the ground. It was already trampled along the paths through the graveyard.

    Tell me when you’re ready, said the director.

    Dennis squinted. He didn’t say anything. He just nodded.

    Action, said the director.

    Paul’s father zoomed in on Dennis, who drew a breath and said, "A cruel father. Bitter sons. A house filled with their spirits. A mysterious gravestone. This time on True Spook: ‘The Family that Stays Together.’"

    He paused, then lay his hand on the smooth side of the stone obelisk. Here lies . . . a tragic story. The year is 1884; the place is the little town of Canaan, Massachusetts. A wealthy man, Josiah Smitch, dies. He has made a fortune in the China trade. But after his death, no one can find his money. It appears that, as a cruel prank, he hid it somewhere in his house. His sons are penniless. They tear the house apart looking for their father’s fortune after his death, but they never find a single coin. They all die poor. Their only revenge . . . is this stone. . . . Dennis patted the obelisk.

    Paul’s dad panned the camera up to film the words carved in marble.

    Here lies

    THE OLD NUISANCE

    1806–1884

    Dennis, the host, was staring off into the distance, as if unknown figures were beckoning him. In fact, Paul noticed, he was looking down the street at a gas station.

    Dennis swiveled his intense gaze back toward the camera lens. And now, both Josiah Smitch and his sons may walk the halls of his old house, still feuding. Dennis stared for a long time. Then the director said, And cut. Paul’s dad stopped filming. Dennis ate some Tic Tacs.

    Paul asked him, So where did the treasure end up being?

    Uh-eh-uh, said Dennis, to the tune of I don’t know, while shrugging his shoulders. Tic Tac?

    Paul took his Tic Tac carefully. He was not interested in ghosts. But he was very interested in treasure. He held the Tic Tac between his teeth and snapped it in half.

    The crew did some other takes of the show’s introduction with tangled, black trees in the background. They caught some sounds of dripping. They filmed tombs covered in icicles.

    By now, Paul was eager to get back inside the house. Even though he knew it was silly, he daydreamed about finding the fortune hidden undiscovered for a hundred and twenty-five years. He wanted to fiddle with the banisters.

    As they crossed back over the road to the house, Paul asked his father, Do you think the treasure’s still there?

    His father said vaguely, Who knows? He was thinking about exterior shots of the house surrounded by its bedraggled weeping willows.

    Paul asked him, What’s the haunting like? When people say they’ve heard things? Where does it happen? What rooms and stuff?

    His father said, Dining room. Where the Old Nuisance used to fight with his sons at dinner. Supposedly, you can still hear all of them yelling at each other sometimes. The old guy accusing them of things. Everyone really angry. Then there’s the staircase. Josiah Smitch has been seen at the top of the stairs, dressed in black. The owners hear him screaming down the steps at his family. . . . And, uh, the worst is the bedroom where he died. No one will sleep there anymore. Not guests or anything. When the owner had some friends stay there, they woke up in the middle of the night, surrounded by frowning faces peering down at them. A circle of the guy’s sons, waiting for their father to die. Pale faces, floating in the air around the bed.

    Wow, said Paul. I bet the gold is still hidden in one of the haunted rooms.

    Maybe. Paul’s father reached over and squeezed Paul’s shoulder. Don’t tell me you’re planning on finding the Smitch fortune.

    Paul got a little embarrassed, because that was exactly what he wanted to do.

    When they were back in the house, the owner, Mrs. Giovetti, came out of the kitchen to give the psychics a tour. She was a little old lady who had bought the house and some of its furniture from Josiah Smitch’s granddaughter. She and her dogs had often seen the ghosts. She left the dogs in the kitchen, because they were terrified of the upstairs.

    The psychics hadn’t heard anything about the history of the house. They weren’t allowed to, because then they wouldn’t have to be psychic to figure things out. Now the whole group went from room to room, and the psychics talked about all their paranormal feelings. The idea was to film them, in case they saw something that sounded like Josiah Smitch or his sons.

    Paul was very happy to get a chance to look around the old place. He followed the group carefully, hoping that if he stayed out of the shot, no one would complain. He saw the whole place. Most of the original walls had been covered in awful wallpaper—some of it striped, from the seventies, some of it with little fruit baskets, from the sixties. None of it had been fixed up for thirty or forty years. There was the dining room where Josiah Smitch had yelled at his sons during supper. The original table and chairs were still in the room, nicked and scratched. There was a battered Chinese screen with peeling painted birds. The psychics felt nothing. Then there was the staircase where the father had been seen screaming down at his children, dressed in black. The psychics said they got a vague sense of evil. They jostled each other to be the first up the steps. And upstairs, there was the bedroom where Smitch had died. The original bed was there, dusty and unused.

    While Paul’s dad filmed the bed, Phyllis, the more heavily perfumed of the two psychics, said, I’m getting something in here. She quivered her fingers around in the air like beating wings. Oh, yeah, someone’s in here with us right now. . . . A young man . . . black hair. Kind of a black mustache. He’s telling us to get out. He really wants us to leave. He says it’s his house.

    Dennis, the host, turned to the camera. The psychics have not been told the history of the house. Whatever they pick up is just the result of their powers. He asked Louise, the other psychic, Are you seeing this man, too?

    Louise closed her eyes. Yes, she agreed. He’s with us. He says he’s looking for a girl. . . . Her name is . . . two syllables. . . . Maybe Sharon?

    That’s not true, said Phyllis. Actually he left the room a minute ago.

    He didn’t leave. I just heard him talk about Sharon.

    Nope, he told us to leave the house and then he just walked out into the hall. I’m following him. Phyllis left the room with her hands outstretched, singing out, Don’t worry, spirit! At least I can see you!

    He’s still . . . he’s still here, Louise claimed, but it didn’t look like anyone believed her. Dennis left, so Paul’s father left, and the director left.

    Hey! Hey! complained Louise, and she followed them all out.

    That left Paul alone in the room.

    The others were arguing out in the hall. They tromped down the haunted steps.

    Paul was the only person upstairs.

    He looked around carefully, then poked the bed. He squeezed the mattress. It would be the perfect place to hide money. Then old Josiah Smitch would be lying right on top of it as he died. No one could take it without him knowing.

    The mattress felt kind of normal. Paul was disappointed. He knew that old-time mattresses were supposed to be lumpy, since they were usually filled with corn husks or old feathers. He thought that probably this mattress was new. Only the bed frame was old.

    Then Paul heard a rattle on the window, a tap.

    He looked up.

    The sky had gotten dark, and sleet was falling. It hit the panes with a tiny ping. The black branches outside in the yard bobbed up and down. Through them shone the dirty light from the gas station.

    Paul went back to the examination of the bed. He squeezed the pillows. They didn’t feel old, either. They felt like foam.

    He looked around the rest of the room. He wasn’t good at telling whether furniture was old or new. He figured a lot of the stuff in the room was newer, maybe from just twenty or thirty years before: a white dresser and a couple of lamps.

    He sat on the bed. The sleet still struck the window.

    A face was looking at him. It hung in the air. It glared.

    Paul yelped. The eyes were huge. The mouth was down-turned. It hung there like a mask.

    He looked wildly around—hoping that he’d see something that might be reflecting.

    There were other faces. They also hung in the air. Brothers. They hated him.

    Paul thought he should run to the door. But he couldn’t. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t move his legs or arms. Too terrified.

    The faces hung all around him, staring down at the bed. Their eyes were like onions. Their lips moved. They spoke things Paul could not hear. Terrible things.

    There was no sound of sleet anymore, or of the TV crew downstairs. Paul could hear a high, metallic ringing in his ears, but nothing else.

    He threw himself off the bed with all his might. He raced for the door, hurled it open, and thundered down the steps.

    Right into the middle of the shoot.

    He smacked into the psychics.

    Oh, great, said Phyllis. Thanks. There goes my ectoplasm.

    Honey, Louise complained, frowning at Paul. We were just about to find out who the mysterious Sharon was, in olden days.

    Paul heaved with deep breaths.

    There’s guys in the bedroom! he said. I saw their faces! It’s real!

    Phyllis rolled her eyes. Now everyone wants in. Look, whoever you are—

    He’s my son, said Paul’s father. Sorry about this.

    Phyllis nodded. Well, why don’t you take him outside. And Louise, let me tell you, once and for all, there isn’t no Sharon.

    There is too!

    The psychics were off again. Thankfully, Paul’s father took him into the living room.

    They said we should go outside, Paul repeated.

    It’s sleeting.

    I want to get out of this house. I saw guys upstairs.

    I wish you did, said Paul’s father. I can’t stand working on this show sometimes. How can anything haunt us when we’re all making so much noise? He put down his camera and ran his fingers through his hair. That’s the problem with modern life. Too loud for ghosts.

    Can I sit in the van?

    No. It’s too cold out.

    It’s not so cold.

    It’s sleeting. We’re going to be hours in here. Sit tight. Stay out of sight. I’m going to tell Dennis about your encounter and see if he wants to use it. No, never mind. What am I saying? I’m not going to let them interview you. Just stay here and for—he checked his watch—an hour and half, don’t have any paranormal experiences. Roger that?

    Roger that, said Paul unhappily.

    His father picked

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