Tex, The Witch Boy

MuseitUp Publishing

Heat Rating: No rating
Word Count: 89,820
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Being in high school sucks. Just ask Richard “Tex” McKenna, a Kansas sophomore. Dealing with bullying, burgeoning love, the loss of parents, and dodge ball is bad enough. To top it off, he's just found out he's a witch! Oh, and fellow students are being murdered. The suspicious eyes of local law enforcement are looking right at Tex and his loyal group of friends. And so is the killer. Will Tex's new-found skills prove helpful? Or cause even more problems?

Tex, The Witch Boy
0 Ratings (0.0)

Tex, The Witch Boy

MuseitUp Publishing

Heat Rating: No rating
Word Count: 89,820
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Charlotte Volnek
Professional Reviews

“ It is a light and easy read and had me laughing and then crying. ”

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Excerpt

The skies growled, rumbled, teased, and threatened a deluge but remained stubbornly dry. It was one of those eerie, purple-skied nights foreshadowing worse weather. But for now, the heavens were constipated, and all the angrier for it.

I walked over the hill and saw the school. It looked so different on a weekend night. No lights lit up the long building. The streetlamps lining the entry drive were off. It was a shadow of its daily, bustling self—a skeleton deprived of its inner organs and muscles.

I hurried down the drive toward the parking lot next to the far end of the building. Across the street sat the abandoned gas station, hunkering in the darkness. By day, it was a den of iniquity for the pot-smokers, but now it was deserted. I thought of Josh’s last week of life, when he’d taunted Bellman there. The ghosts were out in full force tonight. At least in my mind.

The fallen leaves crunched underneath my feet as I crossed over the descending islands between the lots. A low long, rumble roared above me, the accompanying lightning bolt firing up the sky for several long seconds. There sat the Battle Bucket, waiting for me like a loyal steed.

I unlocked the door and slid onto the cold seat. I slipped the car key into the ignition and turned it over. The Bucket wouldn’t catch. “Come on, come on,” I whispered under my breath. The engine kept trying to rev up but gave up and slowed to a down-winding death-groan. “Bucket, don’t fail me now.” But I knew it was no use.

I heard a light snap. The wind blowing the leaves? From the passenger side came a scratching sound. A dark figure in a ski jacket stood outside. A sudden flash of movement, and the window shattered inward, showering me with glass shards. I screamed. A black-gloved hand reached inside, grabbing the door handle. I snatched my skateboard from the floor, swung with all my might at the intruding arm. I made contact, and with a deep thud, the person fell backward, grunting.

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