A touch of good news at the end of 2023:

My short story, “Midnight Echoes” is featured in the first issue of The Burgeon Zine, a selection of excerpts and short stories from the cohort of The Burgeon Mastermind 2023!

For those Only You fans out there (yes, the 1994 film with Marisa Tomei and Robert Downey Jr.), this middle grade piece was partly inspired by the fortune teller and her infamous prediction that Damon Bradley will be the love of young Faith’s life. And for those who haven’t seen this movie, please do! It’s a classic inspired by another classic – Roman Holiday!

But let’s stop chatting about adult romance movies (oops!) and switch gears to middle grade contemporary. I love writing middle grade and Cooper and his grandma’s dynamic was special and fun to write. With a dash of Only You inspiration, this turned out to be a sweet piece. I hope you enjoy it!

Midnight Echoes

A scratchy, ear-piercing sound travels around my bedroom, wrenching me out of a dream that’s instantly gone, like when Mom turns off my video games.

  The noise reminded me of a firework, right after the popping explosion part, when the air is still sizzling. With Fourth of July in a few weeks, it could have been a neighbor setting them off outside.

  Wriggling around on my pillow, I listen with my eyes closed, wondering if they’re going to set off more. We have a few neighbors who can’t get enough of them.

  The noise starts again. It’s static-like and sprays across the air. But this time, I can tell it’s not outside. It’s in here.

  Leaning up on my elbows, I scan my dark room. I see the faint outline of my desk and my shelves with action figures and Lego sets. But there’s no giant, static-spraying monster.

  A hoarse voice echoes through the darkness. “What did the fortune teller say?”

  My breath seizes in my chest.

  Um, what the what?

  I scramble out of bed and inch across the floor, searching for where the sound is coming from. What’s saying weird stuff in my room at, I glance at my glowing clock, 11:30 at night?

  Something crackles off to my right. I freeze and think about running into my parents’ room. But if my older brother, Sam, found out, he’d never let me live it down. Even from across the country, he would torture me endlessly every time we talked.

  The sound pops up briefly again, still without the voice. It seems to be coming from the corner by my desk. Slowly, I creep over.

  It’s quiet now. Maybe whatever it was went away.

  Suddenly, the same voice blares out of the corner. “Sam, what did the fortune teller say?”

  Sam? My brother? I smack my face as I realize what the sound is and who’s talking.

  Stomping over to the corner, I snap on the button for my desk lamp. It sends a halo of light around me in my black and yellow Pokémon pajamas. I twist the bendy top of the lamp so it’s pointing over the right side of the desk. Peering down, I see my and Sam’s old walkie-talkie in the narrow space between the side of the desk drawer and the wall.

  How is this thing still on? Didn’t we play with it like a million years ago?

  Bending over the side of the desk, I grasp it by the antenna and lift it up. My hands shake a little with embarrassment. I can’t believe I even thought of a static-spraying monster.

  I push the button for the speaker. “Grandma, this is me, Cooper.” There’s no response so I try again. “Grandma, why are you talking to Sam about a fortune teller in the middle of the night?”

  The walkie-talkie stays silent. Did she fall back asleep? Does grandma sleepwalk? Maybe that’s it. She’s sleepwalking or sleep-walkie-talking. I snort out loud.

  Finally, there’s a crackle and her voice shoots out. It sounds droopy, as if I’ve really let her down by answering her call instead of Sam. “Oh, Coop. Don’t worry about it.”

  Really, that’s it? Oh, it’s just you, Cooper. I mean, I kind of get it. Sam’s always been closer with her than me. I usually spent time with Grandpa. But I’m still the baby of the family. Wait, no, I’m not a baby. I’m nine. But I’m her youngest grandson and that should mean something.

  Plus, why did Sam go with Grandma to a fortune teller of all people? They don’t really predict the future, do they? Unless…maybe he went before he started Basic Training in the Army.

  Does this have to do with Sam’s future in the Army?

  I stare at my desk lamp and clutch the walkie-talkie until the channel knob pokes into my skin. The light from the lamp makes my eyes sting. I blink a bunch and glance around the room. Everything is blotchy now. There’s no way I’m going back to sleep after all this.

  I should ask Grandma to explain about the fortune teller. I need to know more!

  Heading for the door, I toss down the walkie-talkie. It thumps against the carpet near my desk chair. On second thought, I reach back and grab it, tucking it into the pocket of my pjs.

  Just in case.

#

I slide quietly out of my bedroom door and hold my breath until I’m past my parents’ room. My dad’s snores follow me down the hall and cover the sound of the squeaks in the staircase.

  Sam says I’m stealthy. He told me I could join him in the Army one day because I would be great in the field. It felt good to hear that (even if he was only saying it because I’m one of the smallest boys in my third grade class.) Now, I’m using my stealthy moves to find out if he’s going to be okay. That feels not so good. Like stomach-turning, cold-sweat-behind-my-ears bad.

  I open the back door and survey our quiet backyard under the still, night sky. I guess our neighbors haven’t started their fireworks yet. That’s okay with me. I don’t need anyone seeing me sneak around the backyard in the middle of the night.

  At least, I don’t have far to go. Grandma’s apartment is literally attached to our house. It’s part of our basement, but it has an outside entrance. Maybe to make her feel better about living in the basement. I don’t know.

  Staying low like a super spy, I run through the damp grass. My bare feet slip as I round the corner, and I slide in front of Grandma’s white-washed door. I try to knock softly so no one hears me, but the sound seems to reach across the entire neighborhood. Instantly, I shrink into myself.

  I can’t knock again. It’s too much like a firecracker at night.

  There’s no creak of Grandma’s stairs, so I know she’s not coming up to answer the door. It can’t hurt to check and see if she’s still awake. I want to know what the fortune teller said about Sam.

  The knob turns easily in my hand. I need to remind Grandma that she should lock her door at night. Nudging it open, I peer down the carpeted stairs that end at her living room. There’s a small light on. Just enough to give the room below a soft glow like a candle’s lit.

  Framed photos follow me down the stairs: pictures of my mom and dad, others of Grandma with Grandpa when he was still alive. But most of the photos are of Sam and me. I pause to look at my brother. He’s double my size, no matter what age we are. In the younger ones, he’s got a big, goofy smile, which I need to make fun of him for when he comes back to visit after his advanced individual training, or AIT, as he calls it.

  The light’s not from a candle, which would have been kind of weird. It’s from the table lamp that’s painted with blue flowers. Grandma’s still awake, pacing the room in her pajamas. They’re the ones my parents got for her that say ‘Grandma Llama,’ with an image of a llama. She doesn’t like llamas so I’m still not sure why they gave that to her.

  I’m on the bottom step when I finally say, “Grandma?”

  Her head whips over to me, and her shoulders jiggle up like a shiver’s run up her back. The walkie-talkie drops to the floor. “Cooper, you scared me! What are you doing down here?”

  “Um, well, you sort of woke me up when you used the walkie-talkie. I’m wondering what you wanted to talk to my brother about.”

  She waves me off, picks up the walkie-talkie, and puts it on the table next to the lamp. “Oh, nothing, nothing.”

  Normally, I’d shrug it off and go. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, it’s no big deal. But this is different. This is about Sam.

  Running a hand through her short, gray hair, she sits in her old, blue, corduroy chair. I remember rocking on it and spinning around on it when I was younger. She fastens her hands on her knees and won’t look at me. Is she embarrassed about using the walkie-talkie?

  “Why don’t you go to bed, Cooper?” she says in an impatient tone. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

  I shake my head and grab a seat on her sofa also covered in blue flowers. “I can’t sleep. I need to know if Sam’s going to be okay.” I push my bare feet into her plush rug. “Did the fortune teller say something about Sam in the Army?”

  She presses her lips tight together like she does when Mom makes tofu.

  Wow, this is awkward. But fear for Sam keeps my butt on her sofa.

  “I made a mistake,” she mumbles.

  “What kind of mistake?”

  She heaves out a breath and finally looks at me. “I got confused, Coop. I thought I was talking to my Sam.”

  “Your Sam?” It’s probably midnight, and my brain is tugging at her words, trying to make sense of them. It takes me a minute until everything clicks into place. I think of the face in the photographs on the wall. “Oh, you mean Grandpa Sam?”

  She nods as all her wrinkles deepen, making her look miserable.

  “I miss him, too. But I know it’s different for you,” I stammer.

  Grandma taps her fingers on the arm of the blue corduroy chair. “What do you miss about him?”

  I snap my fingers, looking around her little apartment. “There was this game we used to play. It was a tower of blocks, and you had to—”

  She’s up and moving before I can finish. Opening a cabinet across the room, she pulls out a tall, familiar box. “Jenga!” she says, shaking the blocks inside like a kid.

  I grin. “Yep, that’s the one. He loved that game. We played it a lot together.”

  She sets the box on her square table and doesn’t have to ask. I immediately sit down in front of it. While I arrange the wooden blocks to set up the game, she warms up water in her tiny kitchen.

  I focus on placing each block in the right position to make the tower strong. A sweet smell tickles my nose just as Grandma places a cup of hot cocoa in front of me. She sits next to me with a steaming cup of tea. I slurp my cocoa and sink back into my chair. I never would have thought of hanging out with her like this.

  We sip our drinks while we pull blocks from the stack and place them on top.

  “Why did you want to talk to Grandpa Sam about a fortune teller?” I ask, nudging out a wooden piece. “Or was that, um, not real?”

  She sniffs, offended. “It was real. It was something that happened a long time ago.”

  I get the feeling I shouldn’t ask any more questions. We pull out a few more pieces, and I finish most of my hot cocoa. Her laugh makes me jump when she sends all the blocks down.

  “I knew right when I pulled that last one, it was the wrong piece,” she admits and drinks more tea. “Set it up again, and I’ll tell you about the fortune teller.”

  Curiosity makes my hands work quickly. Another tower rises, and I wait impatiently while she takes her turn. She gently taps out the wooden piece then places it on top. “When I was a few years older than you, my family and I moved here to Aspen Springs. That summer, your grandpa went to a fair, and there was a fortune teller. He told me later that she’d been traveling with this fair for so many years, she’d developed a sort of reputation.”

  “What kind of reputation?”

  “She always said things that came true. But they were always very odd things,” Grandma says, raising her eyebrows in a silly way.

  I laugh.

  “So, Grandpa waited outside her tent to hear something weird but true about his future.” She removes another block, and we watch the structure tremble. But it stays standing. “His friends all went first, returning with wild stories the old fortune teller shared. Your grandpa was feeling fairly nervous by this point. He went into her tent when it was finally his turn. There was one candle burning and some sweet sort of smoke. He started coughing and thought about leaving, but she beckoned him over to her table.”

  My fingers cling to my empty cup, and I stare at grandma. The game sits forgotten between us.

  “He sat across from her and gave her his name. She laid out a set of cards in front of him,” Grandma says, laying down invisible cards on the table, “but she didn’t say anything. She just stared at them before scooping them up in her hands and shrugging.”

  “He was feeling a bit worried until she took one card off the top.” Grandma pulls an invisible card off the top of her pretend deck. “She laid it in front of him. It had golden cups and water in the background.”

  She stares down at the table as if she’s the fortune teller. “She tapped the card and told him, ‘You’ll have to help her somewhere near the monkeys.’ Then she smiled and waved him away.”

  I snort. “Really? That was his fortune?”

  Grandma nods, a smile playing around her lips. “But that wasn’t all. He started to get up when she grabbed his hand and said, ‘Sam, a second. The name, Marilee. She’s the one.’”

  I push my cup away and sit back in my chair. “But your name isn’t Marilee, Grandma! I thought this lady said things that came true.”

  “Your grandpa was convinced it was true! We started the school year, and he searched for Marilee. His friends laughed at him, but he was certain he would find her.”

  “But he found you instead, didn’t he?”

  Her eyes get shiny with tears. “He did. Near the monkey house at the zoo on our class field trip. I fell and twisted my ankle.”

  My mouth drops open. “What she said was true! Kinda.”

  “Kinda,” she repeats. “So, we had a running joke, your grandpa and me. That Marilee was going to show up one day. I’d say, ‘What did the fortune teller say?’ And he’d reply, ‘Only that I was supposed to help you by the monkey house.’”

  I laugh then shake my head. “That’s some story.” A yawn swells up inside of me and bursts out. It’s so loud; I’m surprised the Jenga blocks don’t come crashing down.

  “You need your sleep, Coop. At least tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  I nod and get up, feeling pretty sluggish. The walkie-talkie in my pocket bumps against my leg. At the base of the stairs, I look over at the other one still lying on the table. “How’d you get the other walkie-talkie, Grandma?”

  “Your brother gave it to me before he left. He said you and I could talk to each other when we’re missing our Sams.”

  I glance at the photo of my brother and me and feel my heart give a big tug.

  “He’s going to be okay, Coop. Try not to worry about him. He’ll be done with his training soon.”

  I nod as another yawn splits my face open. I trudge up the stairs and let myself out. I’m too tired for super spy moves. But I manage not to wake anyone while I make my way back to my room.

  Closing my bedroom door to block the sound of my dad’s snores, I flop into my bed. Sleep instantly takes me out.

#

My room is ultra bright when someone knocks on my door. Mom comes in holding the house phone.

  “Hey, wake up, sleepyhead. Sam’s on the phone.”

  I jolt awake and grab it from her hand. “Hey man, how are you?” I mean to say, but I think it comes out all jumbled.

  “What are you still doing in bed, little bro? You should be up helping Mom and Dad by now.”

  I wait until Mom leaves the room. “I was up late with Grandma. I guess I slept in.”

  “Really, Coop? I’m so glad you’re spending time with her. She misses Grandpa a lot.”

  I nod like he can see me. “Yeah, I know she does.” I hesitate, not sure if I should tell him about her fortune teller story. That seems like her thing.

  “Um, what are you up to today?” I ask, suddenly conscious of something that feels like a brick in my pocket.

  Sam talks about his duties this morning at AIT while I fish out the walkie-talkie and lay it on my pillow. “But now I’m done so I get a little phone time. Then Marilee and I are grabbing some chow.”

  The name echoes in my head. My heart starts beating triple time. “Marilee?”

  “Didn’t I mention her when we talked last weekend? She’s my friend from training.”

  A memory bounces back from last Saturday. “Yeah, you did mention her. Sorry, must have forgotten.”

  Sam says something, but my mind is back in Grandma’s apartment last night, recalling what the fortune teller said—Sam, a second. The name, Marilee. She’s the one.

  “Well, I gotta go, little bro.”

  My brother’s voice brings me back. He promises to call next weekend. Once we get off the phone, I stare at it in my hands. Sam, a second.

  Could the fortune teller have said, Sam the second?

  Meaning my brother, not my grandpa?

  I grab the walkie-talkie and push the button to turn it on. “Grandma, it’s Coop. Do you read me?”

  There’s a crackle, then her voice pours through the speaker. “I’m here, Coop. I can hear you, loud and clear.”

  I get up off my bed, already running. “You won’t believe what just happened. I’ll be right down!”

The End

Wow, you read the whole thing? You’re amazing! Thanks for spending some time with Cooper. Feel free to drop a comment if you’d like to share your thoughts about this short story. Thanks again for reaching The End.