There’s always more to the story. In the latest middle grade speculative novel from The Toe Beast looms large in the Barnes family lore--a tale concocted by twelve-year-old Roman’s grandpa to explain his missing toe. But Roman has never actually heard the full story, and after his grandpa dies suddenly, it seems like he never will. That is, until Roman is tasked with clearing out his grandpa’s house, and stumbles upon some strange things. An old mason jar full of formaldehyde, a mysterious handwritten book about a girl and a pack of dogs, a rusty metal bucket with peculiar abilities. And they all tie back to extraordinary secrets from the distant past. By unraveling even more unbelievable stories that have been hidden from him, Roman is forced to rethink how he fits into his family’s history. Now it’s up to him to see his own story through to the end. Because the Toe Beast was only the beginning;.;.;.

Autorentext

Aaron Starmer

Klappentext

**There’s always more to the story.

In the latest middle grade speculative novel from Spontaneous author Aaron Starmer, Roman follows the twisted threads of bizarre family legends and magical secrets to write his own chapter in his peculiar family narrative.

"A triumph of imaginative storytelling…"—Booklist, starred review**

The Toe Beast looms large in the Barnes family lore—a tale concocted by twelve-year-old Roman’s grandpa to explain his missing toe. But Roman has never actually heard the full story, and after his grandpa dies suddenly, it seems like he never will.

That is, until Roman is tasked with clearing out his grandpa’s house, and stumbles upon some strange things. An old mason jar full of formaldehyde, a mysterious handwritten book about a girl and a pack of dogs, a rusty metal bucket with peculiar abilities. And they all tie back to extraordinary secrets from the distant past.

By unraveling even more unbelievable stories that have been hidden from him, Roman is forced to rethink how he fits into his family’s history. Now it’s up to him to see his own story through to the end. Because the Toe Beast was only the beginning . . .

Leseprobe
One Quick Thing

On the eve of his twelfth birthday, Roman Barnes made a wish. Alone in his room, tucked under his covers, he softly said the following words into the dark: “I wish I had someone to talk to, someone who understands me and what I’m going through, someone who will tell me everything is gonna be okay.”

The next morning, he received a gift.

“Oh, a magic eight ball,” he said as he sat cross-​legged on the sofa, opening a box covered in shiny silver paper. “You ask it ‘yes or no’ questions and it tells your fortune, right?”

“Yep, just give it a shake and voilà, the answer will appear,” Roman’s dad said, and then he turned to Roman’s mom. “Where’d you find that?”

She shrugged. “Wasn’t me.”

“Must’ve been from his real parents,” Roman’s brother, Alex, said. “I guess now’s as good a time as ever to reveal the family secret. You’re adopted, Roman.”

“Not true and definitely not funny, Alex,” Roman’s mom said.

Roman was used to this sort of teasing from his brother, so he focused on the magic eight ball instead. He asked it, “Will you be nice to me?”

Roman shook the ball and an answer emerged in the murky waters. It was a definitive:
Yes.

“Well, it is your birthday,” Alex said. “It has to be nice to you on your birthday.”

Maybe that was the case, but it turned out that the magic eight ball was nice to Roman all the time.

Over the next week, he asked it more questions. Countless queries about who he was and what he wanted to be.

“Am I smart?”

“Will I make a difference when I’m older?”

“Do I matter?”

Whatever Roman asked the magic eight ball, it always answered with the same solitary word.

*Yes.

• Roman knew magic eight balls were supposed to be equipped with a whole slew of answers, phrases like Without a doubt, or Outlook not so good, or even Ask again later. But this particular magic eight ball would only ever answer with that short and sweet yes.

  Such unbridled optimism meant the toy was clearly ­defective. Perhaps the floating die inside was unevenly weighted, or maybe the entire thing was misprinted with the same word on every surface. Yes, yes, yes, twenty times over. For this reason, Roman didn’t dare ask it any morbid questions such as “Will my parents die soon?” or “Will I always feel so alone?” because he couldn’t bear to see it confirm these things. Though he did posit a few silly scenarios, like “Will I grow up to be a capybara?” and “If I started training now, could I jump high enough to touch the moon?”

  *Yes. Yes.

• Eventually, Roman grew bored with the toy. He stuffed it away somewhere and forgot where he put it. He didn’t even think to ask it about the Toe Beast.

  Part One
  The Toe Beast
  
  Chapter 1

  Roman’s cousins weren’t afraid of the Toe Beast. Neither was his brother. To them, it was simply a creature in a creepy tale that Grandpa Henry told when he pulled off his slippers and revealed his nine toes.

  “How’d you lose that pinkie toe, Grandpa?” one of his grandkids would say.

  And Grandpa Henry would arch an eyebrow and reply, “The losing part is the prologue. The real story is what came after the losing.” Then he’d proceed to tell whatever crowd had gathered about the Toe Beast and they’d cringe or laugh or gasp, but they’d all act as if it were harmless fiction.

  Roman suspected it was fiction, but he couldn’t know for sure. Because he had never heard the story. At least not the entire thing. Bits and pieces would slip out of his cousins’ mouths when they were crowded around the kids’ table at Thanksgiving or scrunched up in the back of Uncle Pete’s van on trips to the beach.

  The storms. The ax. The jar.

  Invariably Roman’s brother, Alex, would say something like, “He’s not ready for that yet,” and the others would clam up immediately. Roman found that suspicious, even though he appreciated it. As the youngest of the cousins, his default mode was to be on the defensive. In most other instances, his brother—​and the rest of the Barnes clan—​would not be quite so considerate of his feelings.

  The funny thing was, Roman really liked stories. But he couldn’t handle ones with blood and gore, and he suspected the story of the Toe Beast was full of both. So, whenever Grandpa Henry unveiled his foot, Roman would sneak away to another room until the tale was complete. He had no idea what the Toe Beast even was. He told himself he didn’t want to know.

  There was a problem, however. Just because a guy tells himself he doesn’t want to know something, it doesn’t mean he won’t wonder about it. So, on some nights—​many, in fact—​Roman would lie awake in bed for hours pondering the Toe Beast. Was it a beast made of toes? Or was it a beast that ate toes? And what did it have to do with his nine-​toed Grandpa Henry?

  Grandpa Henry lived alone as a widower in a small house not far from Roman’s home. His wife, Dorothy, was gone by the time Roman was a baby, but the old man still talked about her constantly and lovingly.

  “You and your grandma would’ve been the best of pals,” he…