Stories By

Charles Gearhart

Charles M. Gearhart First North American

1932 Raulston Ave. Word Count 2770

Poplar Bluff, MO, 63901

Never Nurse a Grudge

"Seth, I can't play basketball with you today," Malcolm said, bouncing the ball between his legs. "The teams are already even."

Seth shoved his fists deep into his pockets and stomped away. He wiped his eyes dry with a floppy sleeve of his checkered shirt. Then he plopped down near a broken swing set and grumbled, "That's the last time I'll play with him!" Finding a sharp rock nearby, he began cutting grooves in the dusty ground.

If he still lived in St. Louis! But no! He rolled his eyes. His mother had wanted to move. She hadn't liked the big city after his dad died. So they moved to Ellsinore, and Malcolm had become his first friend. For the last six months they practiced basketball moves almost every day.

Until Today!

He glared back up at the basketball court, his face hot with anger. He turned away and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

Seth looked over at a rusted slide. "This school has nothing to play on," he muttered. Something half-buried beneath the slide sparkled. "What's that?" he whispered. He crawled over and began scraping the dirt away from it. It looked like a huge egg. Maybe it was a dinosaur egg! Seth rubbed his hands over it and lifted it. It was lighter than a rock and shiny blue with purple and pink . . . bumps? "Weird! Cool."

Seth picked up his prize, quickly wrapped it in his shirttails, and hurried into the school building. He was about to run right out into the hallway, when he heard Mr. Greely, the janitor, clomping down the hall. The sound of his heavy work boots was an alarm signal for all the students.

Seth hugged the wall, trying to stay out of sight. Mr. Greely's dust mop slid into view then stopped.

"Mr. uh, Greely?" a timid voice called. "Sir, there's been an accident in the cafeteria."

Seth tried to still his racing heart. His breath caught in his throat.

The janitor huffed and leaned his mop handle against the wall. "It better not be a big mess," he growled and stomped back toward the cafeteria.

Seth peeked around the corner. With a sigh of relief, he sneaked down the hall and into his classroom. He went straight to his backpack and carefully slipped the egg, or whatever it was, into it.

"Whew!" He wiped the back of his dirty hand over his forehead. For the rest of the afternoon, Seth held onto his bulky backpack.

Later, Malcolm came up to him. "Seth, I'm really sorry," he said, "but I had already promised . . ."

Seth, still holding the backpack, just glared at him until he walked away. When Malcolm was out of sight, he reached into his backpack to double check on the egg. It felt warm!

Before the last school bell had finished ringing, Seth was out of the classroom and hurrying down the street. He carried his backpack as if it was a treasure chest. When he got home, he went straight to his bedroom and stashed his treasure under his bed.

"Hi, Mom!" he called out, "I'm home."

"Your snack's ready," his mother called back from the kitchen.

On the table, Seth found a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and milk. The cold glass felt good in his hands. His backpack had gotten pretty warm on the way home from school.

"How was school, Seth?" she asked.

"Malcolm made me mad today! He wouldn't even play with me."

"Why didn't he want to play with you?"

"I don't know . . .," he mumbled.

"Maybe you should call him after supper."

"Maybe . . .," he grumbled.

"Listen, Son. It sounds to me like you are nursing a grudge. You mustn't do that. Bad things happen when people hold grudges."

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"What you just said . . . nurse grudges."

She smiled and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Let's just say, you need to keep all the friends you can."

"Yeah . . . Maybe. When's supper?"

"It will be ready in an hour. You can do your homework while you wait. But, wash up and scrub those filthy hands first! It looks as if you've been playing in the mud."

After supper, Seth checked on his egg, finished his homework, and got ready for bed.

"Are you feeling okay, Son?" She sat down on the edge of his bed, right above his egg. She checked his forehead and then her watch. "You've never gone to bed this early!"

"I know." Seth yawned.

"I hope you and Malcolm work things out tomorrow," she said, bending down to pick up something.

Seth swallowed hard. Would she see his . . .?

Then she stood up. "There's that missing sock. It was sticking out from under your bed. If I didn't know you better, I'd bet you've got treasure stashed under there."

"Uh, nope, huh-ugh!" He gripped his sheets. "I'm really tired, Mom. I'll talk to Malcolm tomorrow. Okay?" he sighed, but inside he screamed. NO WAY! "Good night, Mom."

She paused a moment and gave him a worried smile. "You know, I think you've got a good idea. I'm going to go to bed early, too," she said and turned out the light.

When the house became completely dark, he crept out of bed. On his elbows and knees, Seth reached under his bed and pulled out his treasure. The bumpy jeweled egg twinkled in the moonlight. It still felt warm in his hands, but . . . "Oh no! It's broken," he whimpered.

Then the egg wiggled!

"No, it's hatching!" he quietly exclaimed. "Pe-eew!" Seth frowned. Was hatching eggs supposed to smell sooo bad? Trying hard to breathe, Seth gently pulled the gooey shell from his new pet. "I guess I've gotta clean you up," he mumbled. Cringing at the yucky goo, he carried the smelly fur ball to the bathroom. Then he washed its greenish gray pointed ears, stubby fingers, and big furry feet. He dried off its wrinkled, yellow-green face as two large golden eyes blinked at him. Except for a pink tuft of fur on top of its head, the rest of his pet was covered with soft purple fur. It opened its mouth in a large yawn and then smiled at him.

Seth whispered, "I think I'll call you, Toby. Are you hungry?"

Toby nodded and licked his lips with a disgusting black tongue.

Seth opened the bathroom door and listened. His mother's door, just down the hall, was open a crack. He could faintly hear her snoring. Then they tiptoed to the kitchen for some cookies and milk. While Seth ate quietly, Toby noisily gobbled down clawfuls of cookies. "Cr-nnumm. Nnumm. Yummm," Toby smacked his lips. Milk dripped from his chin. "BURP!" He quickly put a claw over his mouth, knocking over his milk with his elbow. Giggling, Toby hopped off the table and stuck out his tongue to catch some of the milk dribbling down the table leg and running onto the floor!

"Oh, Gross! Stop that!" Pushing Toby out of the mess, Seth snatched a paper towel and cleaned it up. He sighed. It didn't matter. He had a new pet. “Malcolm probably never had a pet this cool!” Seth muttered. “He's probably never heard of a . . . a Toby.”

When the mess was cleaned up, Seth proudly carried Toby to bed. Toby's purple fur tickled Seth's nose and made him sneeze. His smell was getting a little stronger, but Seth just smiled and fell asleep.

The next morning, Seth got up early. "Don't eat my homework!" he commanded, slipping Toby into his backpack. "My teacher would never believe me and neither would Mom!"

"Are you feeling all right, Son?" his mother asked, just as he was getting ready to leave. He gulped in surprise, looking over his shoulder. "You didn't eat all your breakfast."

"I'm fine," Seth replied, slipping out the front door. He waved goodbye as he walked down the block. Out of sight from his house, Seth stopped and unzipped his backpack just enough for Toby to get his head out. "Here, Toby! Here's a piece of French toast." He dangled it just over Toby's head.

"Nummm-crunnch!"

"Oouch! Toby, that hurt," Seth shouted, rubbing his finger. "Don't bite."

Toby looked at him with sad eyes. Then he wiggled his ears and smiled.

"All right. I forgive you, this time. Now! Get back down. I'll get you out later." Seth pushed Toby back into the backpack and zipped it shut.

Seth reached his classroom early. He sat his backpack on his desk and opened it, then had to turn his head to breathe for a moment. "Toby! You're stinking up my stuff," he said, reaching in to get his textbooks.

Toby tried to scramble out. "Oh no, you don't! You have to stay in there," Seth said. He shoved Toby back down. "Keep Quiet. I'll get you out during recess."

"Who are you talking to?" Malcolm asked, coming through the classroom doorway.

"Nobody," Seth shot back, "and especially not to you!"

"Okay!" Malcolm threw his hands up in defense. "Listen. I didn't mean to make you mad. We can play together today, if you want to?"

"No way. Never!" Seth shouted and turned away.

Malcolm just shrugged and walked out.

When Miss Jackson and his classmates came in, Seth sat quietly with his backpack close by. He could smell Toby, but no one else seemed to notice. "That's weird," he muttered.

When the first recess bell rang, Seth trotted out to an empty spot on the playground and opened his backpack. Toby burst out of it, landing on Seth's back, and playfully rode him to the ground. Seth giggled as they played tug-of-war with his backpack handles. After recess, Seth put Toby back into his backpack and carried it inside. The backpack seemed heavier. "Nah! It can't be," Seth mumbled. "Nothing grows that fast."

He saved most of his lunch for Toby, who ate it greedily. Then they played together again. Each time they played, Toby got bigger and stronger. His claws were getting longer, greenish gray bumps on his back were beginning to poke through his purple fur, and he was really beginning to stink! By the end of the last recess, Toby could hardly fit into the pack. When the last bell rang, Seth's backpack was so heavy that he had to drag it home. Toby's head and arms stuck out of the top of the backpack.

"Reeegulleep. Eeedee-up. Hee. Hee," Toby giggled, holding onto the handles, enjoying the bumpy ride.

When Seth got home, he crept into the house, listening to find out where his mother was. He heard her humming in the kitchen. He quickly hid Toby in his closet. "Shhh. Stay in here, he whispered."

Toby rubbed his belly and it gurgled.

"I know. Get back inside my backpack. I'll bring you something to eat soon," Seth said, zipping up the pack. Some of Toby's purple fur got caught in the zipper and stuck out. Then Seth went into the kitchen.

"I brought hamburgers and french-fries!" his mother said.

Toby's odor drifted throughout the house. Seth felt a pain in his stomach every time he caught a whiff of it, so he did not eat much. He saved most of his food for Toby.

"What's wrong, Son?" his mother asked, as she felt his forehead.

"I don't feel so good. My belly aches and my head hurts."

"Do you have any homework? Did you play with Malcolm today?"

"No, Mom," Seth moaned.

"Are you still holding that grudge?"

"Aw, Mom . . ."

When she left to run his bath water, Seth went to check on Toby. The backpack was all pooched out and jiggled as Toby squirmed inside. The backpack looked as if it would explode. Toby had grown again! Seth sat on his bed and whispered, "Why am I the only one who smells you?"

Toby smiled with three french-fries dangling from his mouth. "Ssaalty," Toby answered. "Tobbyy innvissible! Grrudges are innvissible."

Seth gasped. Toby was talking! Just then, his mother came in with his clean pajamas. She walked right past Toby, who made faces at her. He stuck his tongue out at her. "Ppuufftt!" He jumped onto Seth's toy box and flapped his ears. Then he ran around the room. But his mother left without saying anything about it.

"Seeee, Tobbyy innvissible."

"You may be invisible to everyone else, but I'm giving you a bath, Mister!"

Seth scrubbed Toby, who howled and splashed water everywhere. After his bath, Seth cleaned up the mess as Toby climbed all over everything, leaving wet foot prints behind. He found the deodorant. "Yumm." He licked his lips and opened his mouth.

Seth grabbed the deodorant from Toby's claws. "No! You don't eat the deodorant. You put it on, under your arms, like this." Seth demonstrated how. But he was pretty sure that no matter how much deodorant Toby used, it would never be enough.

Seth crawled into bed, while Toby bounced on it. Seth's stomach tumbled wildly and his head throbbed.

Friday morning, Seth was too sick to go to school. Toby slept late, curled up in the toy box, hugging a teddy bear.

"I called Suzy. She'll be here before I leave for work," his mother said. She felt his forehead and frowned. "Are you sure you don't want any breakfast?"

Seth just groaned. He stayed in bed all day, while Toby ran throughout the house, pigging-out and getting bigger and uglier. But it was so weird, because Suzy never saw Toby, although by the end of the day, he was almost as tall as Seth.

When his mother came home, Seth just moaned as she placed a cold, damp cloth on his forehead. She rocked him to sleep that night.

Saturday morning, Seth opened his eyes and saw his mother sitting near his bedside. Toby was in the toy box again, snorting and snoring like a freight train. "Mom?" he wondered aloud, "Uh-h-h . . . Will holding a grudge make somebody sick?"

Toby twitched and opened a sleepy eye.

His mother smiled, leaned over, and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Yes, it can, Son," she said. "Why do you ask?"

Seth struggled to say the words. "Well, because . . .," He swallowed hard and continued, "I guess I have been holding a grudge, ever since Malcolm wouldn't play with me."

Hearing Seth's confession, Toby leaped out of the toy box, jumping and screeching at him to be quiet. But, Seth ignored him. "Malcolm was sorry, Mom. He wanted to play with me Thursday, but I was too angry to play."

Toby jumped on Seth's bed, pleading for him to stop talking. "I even named my grudge, Mom," Seth whimpered. "His name is Toby, and it wants me to stop telling you about this."

"I know. I see it."

Those words caused Toby to freeze. "You can't see mmeee!"

"Yes, I can. I can hear and smell you, too! Mothers know when their sons are nursing grudges."

Seth blinked away his tears and asked, "You knew all along, didn't you?"

His mother smiled and nodded.

He shrugged and begged, "But Mom, what can I do?"

"There is only one thing to do! Now, you and Toby, just follow me." She opened the front room window blinds and said, "Look at all those people walking on the sidewalk. Look closely at the sad man in the blue suit. What do you see?"

"I see! He's chained to a grudge, Mommy. It's a huge one, with gray and black fur. It has curly tusks and boy, is it ugly!" Seth thought for a moment, looking sadly at Toby. "I think it's time to get rid of this grudge," he said. He went to the front door and held it open. "Toby! Get out! I don't need you anymore," he said. "I'm going to call Malcolm." Then he asked his mother, "Is it okay if I ask him to come over?"

She nodded. "Yes, Son."

The grudge lowered its furry, purple head and walked out the door. As it walked, it began to fade. When it had completely disappeared, Seth turned to his mother and hugged her. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "Thanks for helping me." He backed up and said, "I'm gonna do my best, Mom, not to nurse any more grudges.

***

Charles Gearhart First North American

1932 Raulston Ave. 3226 Words

Poplar Bluff, MO 63901

E-mail: cgearhar@pb.k12.mo.us

The Storm Chasers

The low unnatural growl of distant thunder woke Joey. Something about its uncanny echo raised goose bumps on the back of his neck. He tilted his head and listened closely. Hearing nothing, he stretched and yawned. Morning already, he thought. I don't want to get up.

Somewhere on the farm a rooster crowed. "Oh, Hank, put a sock in it," he muttered, testing the damp air with a big toe.

"Wake up, you sleepy heads. Get your bodies out of bed!" called Aunt May. The sound of banging pots and pans and smell of sizzling grease filtered into his room.

Joey groaned and rolled over. Propping himself up on one elbow, he looked out the open window, past the swaying curtains.

A red dawn blazed into a new day. Then he remembered something Uncle Ben had once said, "Red sky in the mornin' means a storm's a comin'." Joey looked across the farmyard to the barn. Uncle Ben was surrounded by children . . . with beards and tall green hats? Joey stared, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared again. No, not children. They were peculiar little men wearing funny clothes and they all were about half as tall as Uncle Ben. The tallest one pointed to the sky across the meadow. Uncle Ben looked and nodded. Then he gave Uncle Ben something and they shook hands. All of them tipped their green hats to Uncle Ben and climbed aboard a tall wooden wagon the color of spring grass.

With all these strange sights, Joey thought he was still asleep and dreaming. He twisted his fists into his eyes again. However, by the time he could see again, the wagon and the little men were gone. "Where'd they go?" He climbed closer to the window and looked across the field. He could barely see their tiny wagon, leaving a rainbow in its wake, as it disappeared behind a distant hill.

Uncle Ben waved goodbye for a moment, turned and spotted Joey peeking out the window. He smiled and then went back to feeding a juicy red apple to Rascal, a chestnut horse.

"Whoa! Now that was weird. That will teach me not to eat cantaloupe and lima beans for supper. They give you crazy dreams." Joey rested his chin on the windowsill to watch the farm animals wake up.

Hank, the Rhode Island Red Rooster, stretched his feathered neck and vigorously shook his head. Then he opened his strong wings and flapped them hard enough to stir up the dust beneath him. He strutted toward the front porch, spread his wings again and flew. He landed, wrapping his clawed feet around the handrail. "Rook-ka-doodle-roo!" he crowed.

The farm woke up. Chickens poured from the hen house and scattered across the yard. They strutted around, bobbing heads. They were soon joined by a small flock of ducks and they all began pecking and shoveling up small bits of gravel to help them digest their morning breakfast of corn. Cassy, a three-year-old collie, clawed her way out from under the barn. She shook her shaggy tan and dirty white coat from nose to tail and then gave Hank a "Good morning" bark.

Inside the wooden farmhouse, Joey could hear Aunt May already cooking on the kitchen stove. He smelled bacon frying, as she called again, "Up and at ‘em, you sleepy heads. Breakfast is almost ready."

Joey peeked past his bedroom door and saw Aunt May. She was a tall slim lady hurrying to finish breakfast. She brushed back a light brown strand of hair with her hand and slid a ceramic plate onto the oak table. Then she wiped her hands on the blue and white-checkered apron she wore over a baggy work shirt and faded Levi's.

Ten-year-old Michelle bounced passed Joey's bedroom door on her way to the table. Her tangled corn-silk hair flapped as she went by. "Joey's still in bed," she said and giggled.

"Am not, Michelle," complained Joey, as he tucked his tee shirt into his jeans. Joey was a year older than his sister and stockier too. They had been on the farm all summer and Aunt May's cooking and Uncle Ben's hard chores were beginning to show on him. His sun-bleached brown hair stood out defiantly in all directions. It looked like a nest of grand-daddy long-legged spiders riding above his eyebrows.

"Hush, you two!" shushed Aunt May. "I've made eggs, bacon, and biscuits for you both." The screen door slammed behind Uncle Ben. He strolled passed Joey's doorway on his way to the kitchen table and Joey followed at his heels. Uncle Ben took his place at the head of the table and sat down. His green eyes shone brightly as he smiled at the two youngsters and his wife. "We have a lot of work to do today, younguns," he said, just before taking a large bite of his meal. With a strong hand, he reached out and snatched an extra biscuit. He wore a red-checkered long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows. His overalls were faded green and had several large pockets in them. Joey could never tell what Uncle Ben had in his bulging pockets. But no matter what he asked for, Uncle Ben would magically dig it out of a pocket and hand it to him.

"Some friends dropped by this mornin' and told me that there's a nasty storm comin' in pretty soon. I just hope the rain holds off ‘till we get the cows and horses rounded up," he said.

"Maybe it will," Aunt May replied as she bit into her steaming biscuit.

"Even if it doesn't, we'll get to play in the puddles," piped up Michelle, as she dipped her biscuit into the yolk of her egg.

"I'll tell you what we really need," Uncle Ben said, "is a couple of those magical storm-chasing whistles from the Land of Oz."

Joey and Michelle looked at him and then turned to Aunt May, who just shrugged. "Well, it doesn't look like we're going to get them in time today," she answered.

With a mouthful of food, Joey asked, "What's a st--"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Aunt May scolded. "You heard your Uncle. We need to get the cattle into the barn as soon as we're finished eating."

Joey wanted to ask about the Storm Chasers, but Aunt May was right. They had earnest work to do so he went back to stuffing down his breakfast. He knew Uncle Ben would tell him if he asked, but getting the morning chores done was more important. Uncle Ben could tell some fanciful stories about his trips to Oz and the Emerald City as well. Joey did not believe the tales, but he always liked to listen to them.

A sharp blast of a trumpet startled everyone at the table. Joey and Michelle nearly jumped out of their skins.

"Oh! Ben could you turn that thing down."

Uncle Ben got up and trotted over to a large old-fashioned green radio setting on the mantle above their fireplace, next to an Emerald green framed picture. Joey had never heard the radio play before and always thought it was broken. A month ago, he had tried to tune in a local radio station, but nothing came in, not even static. He had taken it off the mantle, turned it around looking for a cord or a place to put in batteries but there was neither. So he put it back and forgot about it. But it was working just fine today.

"Please stay tuned for the following weather bulletin," the announcer said.

Uncle Ben turned the volume down and stood near the radio, listening to a happy little tune. He took a faded color photograph down from the mantle and gently ran his calloused fingers over its green and gold frame.

Joey remembered the picture, too. It was of an older lady with long braided pigtails and a blue-checkered dress. She stood waving next to a tall smiling scarecrow. But what Joey liked best about the picture the sky. It always changed from day to day. Sometimes the sky was crystal blue and sometimes it was streaked with velvety violet clouds and a setting sun. A small golden plate on the bottom read, "To Little Ben With Love From Your Great-Aunt Dorothy."

The music stopped and Uncle Ben set the picture down and adjusted the volume again. "To all relatives of citizens of Oz and its surrounding townships: The great storm that has been ravaging our fair capital has been repelled by the valiant efforts of the Storm Chasers and their magical whistles. These mighty Munchkins have sent the storm fleeing our fairy country. However, they are concerned that this storm may take vengeance upon relatives that live outside the borders of Oz. Please be advised that this is a particularly bad tempered storm and it has caused untold damage to our territories, which have not been protected by the Storm Chasers. Concerned for all relatives of residents of our fairy lands, the Storm Chasers have dispatched a battalion of fearless Munchkins to supply each family member a magical storm chasing whistle which has been crafted by the magnificent Wizard himself. These whistles have proved to be the only deterrent to this dreadful storm. We will be broadcasting further developments on the storm as they arise. Thank you for your attention and we will now return your radio to its regularly scheduled silence."

Uncle Ben turned the volume down again and came back to the breakfast table. Aunt May cast a worried look at him. Uncle Ben gave her a reassuring smile as he chewed his biscuit. "It will be all right. There's nothing to worry about."

"I hope you're right," she said, but everyone remained silent for the rest of the meal. Joey watched their worried faces while they ate. Their concern gave him a sudden shiver. After seeing the little men with green hats this morning, hearing the radio announcer, and seeing his Uncle and Aunt's worried expressions, he began to wonder if Uncle Ben's tall tales were really true after all.

When breakfast was over, Joey and Uncle Ben went outside. Michelle stayed inside and helped Aunt May with the dishes.

Uncle Ben and Joey shuffled over the dry earth, gently kicking up small dust clouds as they walked. He told Joey some jokes, while they began their chores and Joey soon pushed the Storm Chasers' whistles out of his mind. They scattered yellow corn for the chickens and the ducks, which pecked and shoveled it up. They herded the cattle and horses toward the rust-red barn and into their stalls.

Once the animals were safely inside their stalls, Joey stepped out of the barn only to get a face-full of dust and dirt. The damp wind had flung a handful of sand into his eyes and mouth. He quickly whirled around to wipe the grit from his stinging eyes. And he sputtered and spit to get the rest of it out of his mouth. Uncle Ben strolled out to look at the sky and caught Michelle, who came running along with the blowing wind. Hank with wind-ruffled feathers fluttered into the barn as well.

"Looks like we're in for a really big storm," Uncle Ben said, while holding onto his straw hat.

The sky changed from an angry red to dark red, blue-violet, and a menacing gray-green. The clouds twisted, churned, and piled themselves together, as if they were alive. Lightning flashed and thunder growled as the clouds crashed together, quickly building a massive thunderhead.

Joey watched dark, rain-heavy clouds roll over the horizon. Branches of lightning arced downward, striking the ground. They looked like long silver legs supporting the massive clouds and marching them onward. The ground shuddered as each great lightning foot collided with the earth. Deafening thunder rolls echoed across the prairie. Lightning suddenly flashed in the huge thunderhead, lighting up two very large fiery eyes. The strange clouds quickly changed shape below the red eyes, creating a huge gaping maw. Short shafts of lightning formed jagged teeth and a thunderous roar issued forth from its gaping jaws. It was so loud that Uncle Ben, Michelle, and Joey had to cover their ears. Cassy tucked her tail under her and whined.

The strange thundering growl alerted Aunt May, who looked out the screen door. She too, saw the huge gray-black and greenish clouds marching for them. "May, come on," Uncle Ben called and motioned her to join them in the barn. As Aunt May opened the screen door, the storm cloud thundered its anger and reached out with a pair of huge branching lightning claws. She quickly ducked back into the house. Huge raindrops pelted the ground.

Raindrop bullets stung Joey's tanned face and hissed as they splattered on the dry ground. Driving rain sent nearly everyone, the people, the chickens, and Cassy, scampering for shelter in the barn. Only Aunt May was trapped in the house, so she locked the door.

Uncle Ben swung the heavy wooden, barn doors shut with a loud bang as rain and chunks of hail pounded down on the rusty tin roof. The howling wind rattled the barn walls and shook the doors.

Joey looked through the hayloft window just in time to see more lightning arc across the sky. "Is it a tornado?" he asked, worriedly.

"I don't know, but we will be safe in here," Ben said.

Just then a sheet of tin ripped free from the barn's roof and the wind, rain, and hail came pounding through.

"Whoops! Maybe not. When this is over, we might not be in Kansas anymore. What do you think Cassy? Do you think you can chase this storm away?" Uncle Ben asked, rubbing her furry head.

Cassy barked at the storm, trying to chase it away. It thundered again and Cassy barked and growled back. Everyone laughed at their crazy dog, who was trying to chase the storm away. But the storm stayed.

"Hm-m," Uncle Ben said, rubbing his chin. "This storm is a strong one. I think we could sure use those Storm-chasing whistles about now."

"But we don't have any," Michelle cried.

Joey smiled, remembering the strange little men with tall green hats who visited Uncle Ben this morning. He remembered that they had given his uncle something too. "Do you think they will work on this storm, Uncle Ben? It sounds pretty mean," Joey said.

A great clash of thunder rattled the barn and lightning streaked across the sky, above the hole in the roof again. The huge storm stood right on top of them now, hammering the barn's roof with more rain and hail.

"Well, I think it's worth a try," Uncle Ben said, while he dug deep into his overall's pockets. He pulled out three bright green, hand-carved, Storm-chasing whistles and passed one each to Michelle and Joey. Each whistle had the words "Storm Chasers" stamped into small golden, scalloped, rectangular plates on the whistles. He kept one for himself. "Now after the next loud thunder clash, we all must start blowing our Storm-chasers as long and as loud as we can. Okay?"

Michelle started to blow hers.

"No! Wait, Michelle," Uncle Ben said. "Wait for the next thunder roll."

They did not have to wait long, for the thunderstorm answered with a low rumbling growl.

"Ready! Set! BLOW!" Uncle Ben shouted.

They blew and blew. Each whistle made different sounds. Michelle's made a shrill, high-pitched scream. Joey's made a little deeper cry and Uncle Ben's made a hollow moan. The storm answered with another flash of lightning and a series of clashing thunder peals shook the ground and rattled the barn.

"I hope Aunt May is okay, cause she don't have a whistle and the storm's got her trapped in the house," said Michelle.

"Well, we'll have to try again," Uncle Ben said. "Now wait until it thunders again. Then blow HARD."

Joey looked out the hole in the roof and saw the rooster weather vane. It was spinning crazily in the wind and another sheet of the tin roof tore loose and began flapping noisily. Another long branch of lightning streaked across the sky. He could see both ends of it through the hayloft window and the hole in the roof. It left a loud crackling boom in its wake.

"Now!" shouted Uncle Ben. And everyone blew their whistles again. This time Hank, Cassy and the rest of the animals quickly joined in to chase the storm away. The storm growled back at them again. But they blew and blew while the animals barked, crowed, quacked, mooed, and whinnied, until they were all out of breath.

As everyone stood there panting, Joey heard some more whistles off in the distance. The sound grew louder and louder the closer it came. "Is that what I think it is?" He asked Uncle Ben.

"Yep. The Munchkins are coming."

"Who!?" asked Michelle.

"The Storm Chasing Munchkins from Oz, silly. They've come to rescue us," piped up Joey. He turned to Uncle Ben. "That was who I saw this morning. Wasn't it Uncle Ben?"

Uncle Ben smiled, and rubbed Joey's head. "Yep. I believe so."

The storm moaned as if in pain and the Storm Chasers marched closer and closer. The wind and rain eased up, while the hail stopped all together. This time when the storm thundered, it sounded weaker and more distant.

Uncle Ben swung open the barn doors to see what kind of damage the storm had done. Everything had changed. Joey saw the shutters dangling loosely on the house and the screen door was twisted off its hinges and broken. Aunt May peeked out the front door window. Joey waved at her as she opened the door. Uncle Ben looked at the roof of the house. Many shingles were peeled loose and some of them littered the ground. Joey saw that the sheet of the barn's tin roof had been blown across the field and came to rest at the foot of the sagging pasture gate.

"Look!" Joey shouted, pointing to the sky. "The storm's leaving!" They all watched as the storm clouds went scurrying away, fleeing from the three bands of Munchkins in three large green wagons. Their magical wooden wagons rolled all by themselves. No one even had to steer them as they chased after the frightened storm. All the Munchkins were standing up and blowing their whistles at the top of their lungs. One of them looked back and waved his tall green hat at Uncle Ben, Aunt May, Michelle, and Joey. Then he turned around and started blowing his whistle again.

"Well, I believe the Wizard's Storm Chasers did it again," Uncle Ben said proudly as he tucked his whistle into another pocket. He put his arm around Aunt May and added, "But, it looks like we have a lot more work to do now."

"Yeah! But first we get to play in the puddles," shouted Michelle.

Joey and Michelle dashed out of the barn and splashed through the mud. They blew their whistles as the battalion of Storm Chasers disappeared over a distant hill, chasing the storm far away and leaving a big, bright, magical rainbow behind.

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