Restoring Tween Time: A Roscoe Creme Adventure

This is a story I wrote over a period of four years. Yep, it took four years to write (and rewrite and rewrite...) this novella of 70 pages. I have discovered that writing for children is much more difficult than writing for adults. I love this story about Roscoe and his new friends, Askuonas and Medallioness, a cranky gnome and a singing fairy. If you look at the lower part of the book cover you can see red-headed Roscoe staring into the woods. I wonder what's around the bend...

Restoring Tween Time is available as an ebook at Amazon. The paperback will be available soon.

Chapter One: Askuoanas and Medallioness

"Roscoe, your breakfast is getting cold!" shouted Mrs. Crème down the long, narrow, high-ceilinged hallway leading to Roscoe’s bedroom. "You’re going to be late for school!" she shouted again.

Standing in front of his mirror, Roscoe was having quite a bit of trouble squeezing the last drop of hair gel out of the tube. Only a tiny dollop plopped onto his hand, and no matter how much he squished nothing more would come out.

Unfortunately, Roscoe had the kind of hair that required loads of hair gel; unruly cowlicks that refused taming. He pressed the precious dollop into his most stubborn swirl and hoped for the best. With only a brief glance in the mirror at his freckled face and copper-colored hair, he grabbed his backpack and headed toward the kitchen and his mother’s yelling voice. "Roscoe! Hurry! The bus will be here in five minutes!"

In his usual methodical manner, Roscoe thought, Okay, that gives me three minutes to eat breakfast and two minutes to reach the bus stop. He jogged down the narrow hallway to the kitchen.

As always, Roscoe’s oatmeal and orange juice were waiting for him. Watching the clock above the kitchen door, he proceeded to shovel his oatmeal and gulp his orange juice in three minutes. He kissed his mother goodbye, and then raced out the door to reach the bus stop in his allotted two minutes.

As luck would have it, when he dashed around the corner, the bus was already pulling away from the curb and picking up speed. Dang! Now, I have two choices:  I can go home and tell mom I missed the bus, or I can walk to school and face the consequences of being late. For Roscoe, the decision wasn’t a difficult one. Even Roscoe’s father avoided an irate Mrs. Crème. Dashing to the field behind his house, he hurried to the path leading to Bendville Middle School.

With the first hint of summer escaping the confines of spring, the day was perfect for being outdoors. Marshmallow clouds crept like snails across a vast blue ocean. Of course, Roscoe was in no mood to appreciate the wonder of such a perfect day, and so he paid little attention to the buttercups, star jasmine, rosemary, and wild berries dotting the field. He was too busy practicing what he was going to say to his teacher about being late. Absentmindedly, he followed the path and pondered several scenarios.

Beyond the field, the trail made a sharp turn into a thick forest of ancient trees. Only filaments of sunlight penetrated the copious covering of leaves, making the forest floor a jigsaw puzzle of dappled light. The path meandered alongside a lazy creek that Roscoe kicked a few stones into.

After several minutes following the river trail, and still pondering his fate, Roscoe failed to notice a tree root protruding from the water’s edge. Whoosh! Whoop! Down he went, face first. Thankfully, his face hit a thick pad of curly green, but somewhat slimy, moss. Not so thankfully, his chest landed on a partially covered boulder. Ouch! Whoosh! His heart missed a beat and air rushed from his lungs. He lay sprawled on the forest floor gasping for breath.

What is that strange sound? Carefully opening one eye, Roscoe squinted. The sound was laughter and it was coming from…Roscoe focused.

The sound was coming from a stout old man no taller than Roscoe’s kneecap. Roscoe blinked at the little man's clothing: rumpled jacket the color of ripe oranges, purple shirt with purple sleeves protruding from the too-short jacket sleeves, matching orange-juice colored pants that only reached the little man's stubby knees, and striped purple and orange socks falling over huge black scruffy boots. On his head perched a pointed purple cap that drooped a little more in one direction than the other. His gigantic nose, jutting above a snow white beard that reached his chest, wiggled with his laughter.

Roscoe gazed in wonder at the strange little man gripping his round bulging belly and laughing uproariously. He blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming before tentatively asking, "Who are you?"

The little person immediately ceased laughing. "You can see me?" he choked.

"Yes, I can see you."

"Oh, oh, oh. This is not good! This is not good!" repeated the stranger.

"What's not good?" asked Roscoe.

"What is not good?" echoed the little man. "It is not good that you can see me. You are not supposed to see me unless I want you to."

In the next instant, another unusual creature befuddled Roscoe when she flew into his sight. This sparkling being was only the size of Roscoe’s forearm, with black hair cascading around a lovely, flawless complexion. Her green eyes slanted upward and dimples played peek-a-boo in her cheeks. She wore a splendid midnight blue dress that twinkled like stars unobstructed by clouds. Her tiny wings fluttered as fast as a hummingbird’s. Her voice sounded excellent as she sang her words.

"What is not good? What is not good? Please tell me, Askuonas, what is not good?"

The old man replied, "The human child can see me!"

"Oh, my! Oh, my!" she sang in her soprano voice. "Can he see me, too?"

"Yes, I can see…" Roscoe sang the words, but stopped mid-sentence. He cleared his throat and began again, enunciating each word. "Yes. I. Can. See. You. Too." The temptation to sing the words was almost overwhelming.

"We must go to Fadiwave, immediately!" sang the little old man. "Oh, drat, now you have me singing. Stop casting the singing spell! We don’t have time for this nonsense!"      "Singing is not nonsense!" retorted the flitting female. "It’s very natural and you should do more of it! Maybe you wouldn’t be so grumpy."

"Humph!" replied Askuonas.

Roscoe interrupted the disagreement between the strange little people when he gingerly sat up.

"Oh," gasped the female, and flew backwards.

"Ugh," grunted the old man, and stepped sideways.

"My name is Roscoe Crème. I take it your name is Ask-u-o-nas." Roscoe pronounced the name carefully.

"Askuonas… Askuonas… Yes, strange human child."

Leveling his gaze on the… what… fairy? Roscoe inquired, "And what is your name?"

The tiny female glanced from Askuonas to Roscoe, and back to Askuonas. When Askuonas gave a slight nod, she sang in her sweet voice, "My name is Medallioness."

Roscoe started to sing a repetition of her name, "Me-dal-," stopped, cleared his throat, and repeated slowly, "Me-dal-lio-ness."

"Oh drat," sang Askuonas. "Her name is Medallioness. Just say it quickly or she’ll have you singing it."

"Are you a fairy?" Roscoe questioned the tiny female.

"But, of course," she sang in a tone that clearly expressed her irritation. "Are you a human child?"

Before Roscoe could answer, Askuonas impatiently interrupted them with a wave of his hand, "She is a fairy, I am a gnome, you are a strange human child, and we must stop wasting time and be on our way to find Fadiwave."

"Who is Fadiwave?" questioned Roscoe.

In unison, Askuonas and Medallioness gasped and turned to gaze at Roscoe in disbelief.

"Who is Fadiwave?" choked Askuonas.

Roscoe nodded and waited patiently for an answer.

"Fadiwave is the Deva of Air; everyone knows that!" sang Medallioness in a shrill tone.

"Oh," Roscoe replied, not wanting to offend further by asking what a "Deva of Air" was.

"Come, come, you two," Askuonas demanded as he turned and headed into the heart of the forest. Medallioness, wings humming, flew obediently behind him. Hesitantly, Roscoe brought up the rear.

"Don’t dawdle!" commanded Askuonas with a backward glance at Roscoe.

As they ventured into the thick of the forest, Roscoe’s analytical mind struggled to understand the strange turn of events. "It’s a dream," he finally reasoned.

Roscoe guessed they had traveled about twenty minutes when Askuonas paused and then darted behind an ancient tree stump, its gnarly surface dripping bright green moss.

Medallioness flew in front of Roscoe’s nose and motioned with her tiny hands for him to follow, then she, too, zipped behind the stump. Intrigued, he gingerly stepped over ancient roots and rounded the dead tree to find…no one. There was no grumpy gnome and there was no flighty fairy. He glanced in all directions, but saw only forest.

"I guess I just woke up," Roscoe muttered, a little disappointed. Unexpectedly, he felt a tug on his earlobe and a singsong voice warbling. "This is not the time to dawdle, human child. Follow us."

Medallioness zipped in front of his nose and flew upward. Up, up, and then down inside the ancient stump. Curious, Roscoe stepped closer to the base of the old trunk. It was so tall he couldn’t see the top of it. Just as he was wishing for a ladder, Medallioness flew back through the opening and peered down at him. She sang in exasperation, "You are so slow, human child. Hurry! Hurry!"

Grasping ancient vines entwined around the base, Roscoe slowly climbed to the top of the trunk while listening to Medallioness sing, "Hurry, hurry, hurry," each word a higher note than the last. Several scrapes and bruises later, he triumphantly gripped the top of the trunk and dragged himself to a seated position with his feet dangling into the hollow interior.

"Wow!" said Roscoe, peering down into the darkness. It was like looking into a bottomless pit, and Medallioness had disappeared into it.

He had no desire to analyze this situation further. No way was he descending into that dark hole. This was only a dream anyway, and he was really late for school now. He turned to climb down, but suddenly felt a tug on his shoes. Whoosh. He was literally pulled, feet first, into the dark abyss of the stump.