story whimsy

By Angie Bromeland The pair of fawns walk awkwardly down the sidewalks in town. All along the street, people’s faces are pressed against windows to see the darling deer. Old Mr. Mitchem is eating an apple on his front porch hidden in the shadow of the awning. He hasn’t yet noticed the fawns, and the fawns are too confused by the hard cement beneath their hooves to pay him any notice. Mr. Mitchem yawns and takes a bite out of his apple. That’s when he notices the two deer. He squints to be sure he isn’t imagining the sight, and he laughs. The darker of the two fawns hears him, and gawks in his direction. Mr. Mitchem freezes in place, not wanting to startle the baby deer. Then, to his surprise, the fawn takes a step in his direction. And then another. It isn’t long before the fawn walks right to Mr. Mitchem’s porch railing. Across the street, Mr. Mitchem’s neighbor, Mrs. Gruber, is wide eyed as she watches in surprise. The fawn stretches her neck over the railing, and snatches the ...

By Angie Bromeland The kite rotated on its string. It was situated high above the trees, now, but Ezra wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. Soon, his grandmother would call him home for dinner, and he’d have to try to bring it in. No sooner had he thought it than his grandmother’s voice called to him. Ezra nervously began pulling at the kite string. The last thing he wanted was for the kite to be penetrated by a branch, or worse yet, be held captive by a tree. It would be ruined, then, and Ezra valued his kite more than any other thing he owned. Ezra wound the string in even faster as his kite imitated a tornado. The kite gradually grew closer and Ezra ran this way and that, guiding it between the branches.   At last, the kite landed in his hands. Ezra didn’t have time to inspect it for holes before running home. Ezra burst through the door and rushed to the kitchen. “The wind must have carried my voice away,” his grandmother insinuated with a knowing look. It had taken Ez...

By Angie Bromeland The spool of red thread dropped to the floor and rolled beneath the desk. “Blast!” Meredith muttered. “Where did that fool thing go?” She crouched on the floor, peering under the desk. “Got you!” she said as she grabbed the spool. Meredith threaded her sewing machine. “Why did I have to blab about having a sewing machine? Why did I say I could sew all these costumes? Now I’ll have to suffer through all this work. Serves me right.” Meredith wasn’t really a crab. She was just worried about all the work ahead of her. That’s when Meredith’s friend, Liam, knocked on her door. “Can I come in?” he called. “It’s cold out here.” Meredith wasn’t expecting anyone, but she hurried to open the door. “How did you get here?” she asked. Liam lived three and a half miles away. “I took a cab,” he said with a smile. Meredith was still confused. “Did we have plans?” she asked. “Nah,” said Liam. “I was just bored and thought you could use a hand on all those costumes....

By Angie Bromeland Henry looked downtrodden as he headed outside. He had hoped to play video games today, but his parents said not until he completed the chores on his list. Henry had almost voiced his opinion, but zipped his lips, instead . He knew if he whined, he’d get even less time to play what he wanted. First on his chore list was to help in the gardens. The rows of vegetables needing weeding. The flowers along the south side of the house needed to be deadheaded . Weeding was pretty dreadful . It hadn’t rained in a while, so the soil was hard and the weeds broke off in an unsatisfying way. Henry shook off his bad attitude when the sun shined down on him. He arms glowed in the sun, and he felt the hair on his head grow warm. The sky was blue, dotted with small, fluffy white clouds. It looked like a field of cloud sheep. Down the street, he heard kids’ voices. The bouncing of a basketball echoed. A small child squealed on a swing set. Henry smiled to himself. He mo...

By Angie Bromeland Charlie pulled at the drawer. It was squeaky and difficult to open. The handle wobbled, and Charlie told himself to remind his dad it needed to be screwed in tighter. Finally, the drawer slid out with a loud “Screech!” It was Charlie’s favorite drawer: the junk drawer. It was the place where every odd and end came to be. Nubby pencils, heart shaped erasers, paperclips, and scraps of paper were strewed about the drawer. He saw a picture of his dog that he drew when he was 4. Charlie smiled. The drawing wasn’t good, but it wasn’t awful, either. Now, Charlie couldn’t even remember what he had opened the drawer to get! Instead, he had a new idea. He hadn’t drawn in ages, and now he wanted to. Charlie scanned the drawer again and withdrew the sharpest pencil and the piece of paper with the fewest scribbles on it. Now, the question was, what to draw? Charlie walked through his house thoughtfully. He could draw Scruff, the dog, again. Or he could try Meow, the cat. ...

By Angie Bromeland It had to have been a misprinting. That’s what Antoine told himself. He was at the County Fair showing his pig, Yorkie. Yorkie had been on his best behavior all week. He showed like a real pro. He was the picture of refinement. Yet here was a poster reading Melvin had won Best in Show. It made no sense. Melvin was the meanest swine in the barn. He squealed and whined so loudly Antoine had to cover his ears. Antoine and some of the other County Fair kids talked about it in secret. They thought Melvin should be fined for his bad behavior. Their own pigs were getting nervous just being around Melvin. Truly, that pig was the definition of “nasty.” Melvin’s owner, Brad, said Melvin didn’t like the confinement of his stall, and that’s why he behaved so poorly. But Antoine and the other kids thought that shouldn’t matter—a good pig is a good pig, after all. (And a bad one is a bad one.) After all, none of the other pigs were acting up. So needless to say, when Bra...

 By Angie Bromeland Norah and Finn took turns digging with the spade they found in their dad’s gardening supplies. They were hunting for treasure. “It’s sure hot out here,” Norah said. “Just be glad we’re in the shade,” Finn said. “It could be worse.” Norah agreed. Late last night from their bunk beds, Norah had invented a story about fabled treasure being buried there. She and Finn persuaded themselves it was true. “Maybe we’re in the wrong spot,” Finn finally said. He stood and looked around the yard. “Let’s check under the lilacs, instead.” “Good idea,” Norah enabled him. They filled in the hole and started on a new one. A shadow from a crow passed over them. “That’s a lucky sign,” Finn promised. Norah wasn’t so sure, but she nodded anyway. “Want me to dig a while?” she asked. “Nah, I’ve got it for now,” Finn answered. Then he smiled. “Besides, you’re too feeble.” Norah really rolled her eyes at her teasing brother, now. She was as strong as him, and th...

By Angie Bromeland “Well, there’s always room for improvement, Quinn,” Dad said. He was holding the car I had carved. “But it’s really quite good!” He smiled at me, then asked, “What is it?” “Well, at first I was going to make it look like a tram, but I changed my mind. It’s a wedge of cheese!” We laughed together. Since I strived for perfection, I took the car outside and used sandpaper to remove every rough spot. I weighed the car. The numbers flashed at me: 101 grams. It needed to be heavier. I grabbed the drill from Dad’s workshop. He had taught me how to use it last summer. Then I jammed the car in a vice grip so it wouldn’t move while I worked on it. I drilled a hole in the back of the car to fill with weights. But what could I use that would be both heavy and small? Pebbles weren’t the right shape. Marbles didn’t weigh enough. That’s when Dad came out to check on me. I told him what I was doing. He held his chin in his hand thoughtfully, then said, “I have just the th...

By Angie Bromeland Brad lived in the city, but dreamed of having horses and cattle. When he got the opportunity to attend Cowboy Camp, Brad couldn’t wait.   “Sun’s up!” came the wake-up call on the first morning of Cowboy Camp. “Stop robbing daylight, cowboys. Let’s go!” Brad happily leapt out of bed. A few of the other campers were moping around like they didn’t care if they’d get to rope cattle or ride horses today. Brad stepped outside and breathed in deeply. He smiled at the communion he felt with the ranch. Then, the camp director pointed out a few cattle bobbing away in the open field. Brad watched as two cowboys roped the cattle and brought them back in the gate. He couldn’t believe it. He knew roping cattle was difficult, and these guys made it look easy. Afterward, one of the cowboys came loping over to Brad and tipped his hat at him. “Morning,” is all the man said. “Wow, mister, that was really something!” Brad said. “Well thank you kindly,” the man said...

By Angie Bromeland “She entertains herself so easily, doesn’t she?” Grammy said. I smiled and nodded. My little sister, Melly, was a sweet little girl. And Grammy was right. On spring afternoons, sticks became wands, leaves became hats, and wild rabbits became pets. “She wanders, though, so we have to keep an eye on her,” I reminded Grammy. Grammy clicked her tongue. “Of course,” she said. Grammy and I were on her front porch sipping apple juice from glass jars. I could see Melly from my chair next to the planter on the porch. “Hear how she chants! I wonder what she’s saying,” Grammy said. I smiled because I knew. It was our little prayer—mainly asking to show us where the fairies were. It was Melly’s and my secret, though, so I didn’t tell Grammy. Instead, I pretended to wonder, too. I watched Melly pick up a stone to count the ants beneath it. Grammy sipped her juice and sighed. She closed her eyes and said, “It enchants me, it does, to see a little girl fixed in the ma...

By Angie Bromeland I never had the ability to sneak up on people. I’ve crept up behind my sister. I’ve leaped out from behind a door at my mom. I’ve peeped through the keyhole to my brother’s room until he was about to fall asleep and swept in to surprise him. But they were never scared. One time, my sister said, “Zayne, just give up. Maybe you’ll really scare one of us someday. And then you’ll feel bad.” And she was right. One cold day in January, when I knew my mom would be returning from town, I waited in the garage. There was a shaded corner full of Dad’s rakes and other tools. I stood there and made myself as flat as I could. When Mom drove in, she didn’t see me. When she opened the trunk and filled her arms with grocery bags, she didn’t see me. When she hummed a song and started walking toward the door to the house, she didn’t see me. That was my moment. I jumped out at her with my arms up and yelled “BOO!” Mom freaked out . The grocery bags went flying. She screa...

By Angie Bromeland The snail followed the trail to scale the hall wall. He’d seen the spider do it earlier. It looked so easy, but the snail supposed all things were easy when you had eight legs. That was eight legs more than he had. The lowly snail had little to be proud of. Unless, of course, you counted his cute, bouncy antennae, and of course, his pearly shell. Thinking about that, the snail perked up a bit. He wasn’t so unlucky after all, he thought. The snail knew he didn’t have much time. It’s a terrible thing to know when you’re a snail. This is, of course, because snails are known to move so very slowly. But the mail had just been delivered, so the snail had exactly three minutes. If someone saw him, they would knock him into a pail, and dump him back outside. A hail storm was coming tonight, and he didn’t want his shell getting damaged. Thinking speedy thoughts, the snail began to slink up the wall. The spider was slung on his web in a corner, and he cheered. “Come...

By Angie Bromeland Joey stood at the front of the boat, casting his line far and deep into the lake. His grandpa was chuckling while fixing the tangled hooks of a fishing lure. “Boy, I’m sorry to tell you so, but that beast only exists in your mind,” he told Joey. Joey had just described the fish he hoped to catch: 10 feet long, with a mixture of rainbow colored scales, a golden tail and silver fins. His grandpa shook his head. Joey was 8 years old, but he still had a wonderful imagination. Even if most of his ideas did still consist of imaginary creatures.   “What did you use for bait?” his grandpa asked. “An earthworm,” Joey said. “And a leech.” “Eh, mixing the bait again,” his grandpa said. “Yep,” Joey replied. “I think that’s what the giant rainbow fish likes to eat.” His grandpa nodded and dipped his own line in the water. He couldn’t resist asking, “Who do you think will get the first bite? Should we put some money on it?” Joey checked his pockets. “I have a...

By Angie Bromeland Mason quietly walked down the hallway. It was an understandable and appropriate thing to do, given that Mason’s literacy tutor lived two doors down. He hadn’t exactly been enjoying their studies lately. But sure enough, Miss Violet’s door opened just as Mason got to it. She just happened to be leaving for her meeting with the apartment association. What luck. “Why, Mason! How nice to see you,” she said with a smile. Mason smiled back nervously. “Hi Miss Violet, ma’am,” he said. He really hope he wouldn’t be snagged into an extra lesson. “You can walk with me to my meeting,” Miss Violet said. “Tell me. How many pages have you read this week?” Mason sighed. “I’m not exactly sure, ma’am,” he said. It wasn’t inaccurate. He hadn’t been recording the number of pages he’d read. But he also knew there weren’t many pages to record. “Well I certainly hope the number of pages you’ve read is greater than the number of minutes you’ve wasted on media,” she nagged. ...

By Angie Bromeland Frankly, we should have known better when my big brother Elliot offered to bring Shandi and I drinks. He’s not usually that thoughtful. And he really loves pranks. So we definitely should have known better. Instead, we were just thankful to have a cool drink after our game of tag outside. Shandi was the first to notice. I guess I was drinking so fast that I didn’t notice. Shandi must have known to be careful. She only took a sip and then said, “My water stinks. Doesn’t yours, Monica?” I stopped drinking, and that’s when I noticed my water kind of tasted like pickles. It kind of smelled like pickles, too. I was linking two and two together in my mind. I filled in the blanks, and then realized… “Vinegar!” I said. That’s what the smell and taste was. Vinegar. Just like in a jar of pickles. From around the corner, we heard Elliot trying to muffle his laughter. I was really mad now. Nothing rankles me like someone messing with my food or drink. “Grrr,” I...

By Angie Bromeland Josa sat on the slate floor, drafting a painting. There was plenty of seating in the library, but she always chose the hard floor. It made an excellent table for all her papers. She liked to spread them out.  Josa was wearing her favorite pleated skirt, and it spread out like a fan around her. She leaned against the wall and looked up thoughtfully. “An iris!” she suddenly thought aloud. She blushed at her outburst and looked around nervously. No one was close enough to hear. “Phew,” she whispered. Lately, Josa had been enjoying painting flowers. She planned to give four or five paintings to her mom’s best friend, Jayne. Even though they weren’t actually related, Jayne was like an aunt to Josa. She even called her “Aunt Jayne.” Josa had already sketched a rose, a daisy, a tulip, and even lilacs for her. An iris would go with the collection perfectly. After Josa sketched the iris, she looked at her drawings with a satisfied smile. This would do. She v...

By Angie Bromeland Minnie and Myrtle were twin witches. They lived in a camper, deep in the woods. Their witch friends all asked why they didn’t build a cottage, but Minnie and Myrtle liked their camper just fine. The door made a delightful “squeak” each time it was opened. It pleased them very much. One day, their mail possum delivered a flyer. “What’s it say?” asked Myrtle, whose eyesight wasn’t as keen as Minnie’s. “There’s going to be a contest for best witch’s brew!” Oh, goodie!” squealed Myrtle. “What’s the prize for the champion?” “It says here the prize is a pet of your choice from Witchy Wares. Their owls all look so splendid,” Minnie said dreamily. “I’ve always wished for a sleek black cat,” Myrtle said. “I think I’ll try to win.” Minnie was glad for her sister. She would be happy to help her win. There was a week until the contest, but Myrtle started her brew right away. Soon, the brew brimmed over the top. So when Myrtle looked away, Minnie let some leak o...

By Angie Bromeland Willow the bullfrog lived in the grassy glades of the forest. One morning as she finished her song, she noticed the color of things were fading. That’s when Chester the beaver swam by. “Good morning, Willow!” he waved. “Chester, oh Chester,” Willow called to him. “Where have all the colors gone? Why is the world turning dull?” Chester stopped swimming and sat up. “Whatever are you talking about?” he asked in confusion. “Oh don’t you see? The golden petals of the black-eyed Susan are curling up and fading away. The grass is going dry, and even the wild rose has turned from red to pink. Why?” Chester was wading into the shallow water at the edge of the lake.   “My dear friend, don’t you know it is fall? And that fall comes every year? And that every year the colors fade and go away and are covered with an invasion of snow until it warms again in spring and the colors can return?” Chester’s many abilities didn’t always include being patient. Willow...

By Angie Bromeland Callen was very aggravated. He had a story to write. He knew he could illustrate it, but he couldn’t write words, yet. He tried hard to concentrate on the sounds to write the name of his book: Power-Man. But when he handed it to his mom, she read, “puraman,” so he knew he had it wrong. Sometimes it was so irritating to be 5 years old. “How about you dictate the story to me, instead?” Callen’s mom asked. “Dictate?” he asked. “Yes! You just tell me what to write,” she said. Callen didn’t hesitate to hand his mom his pen. She listened carefully as Callen told her what he wanted on each page. He knew all about periods and exclamation points and when to use uppercase letters. Soon, they were finished with the last page. Callen sat back, pleased. But when he closed the book, he saw that he hadn’t yet made the cover. He really   wanted to do the cover himself. But how could he write if he couldn’t spell? His mom saw him puzzling. “I have an idea,” she to...

By Angie Bromeland “Is it time yet, Mama?” Trina asks. “Yes, girls. Hurry to the radio.” Trina and Marcy squeal with delight and scamper to the radio. Trina coaxes their cat, Posy, to come cuddle with them. It’s time for one of their favorite weekly broadcasts, called “Great Hoaxes.” The radio show is all about stories of giants and other creatures that probably aren’t real. The girls had tuned in each week for the past month. The last time, they left off right at the climax of the story. Tonight, they would find out if Willard meets the abominable snowman or not!  The radio announcer begins: “We last left off when Willard was walking on a moonlit night and saw something huge out of the corner of his eye. Was it the abominable snowman? Let’s find out.” The story continues: “Willard goes back into his cabin and waxes his skis. He pets his dog goodbye, and leaves. Willard feels nervous. The night is quiet and still. He follows the twists and turns until he gets to a hill. He c...