Listen to the episode, and scroll down for the original stories!
Original Stories
Stars and Moonlight
by Palmer, age 9, Texas
Once upon a time there was an amazing place called Pitland deep in Armville. It was known to be the most beautiful place in the world, with the most luscious foliage and trees. People said if you visited it it smelled so sweet it was like a smell you couldn’t even imagine. The flowers would be worth a ton of money if you could get there and take them. No one had even seen Pitland though. They had only heard about it. the Hand army had known for hundreds of years the only way to see or conquer Pitland was by sneaking in. So Fat Thumb and Pinky, the army leaders, planned for years how they’d sneak in to Pitland by knocking at the gates of Pitland and pretending to be friendly visitors just looking for a fun game of tickle soccer, but once the gates are open the army would charge in and conquer Pitland. The worked out for a year at the Fist Gym and Wrist Camp. Then they were ready for the trick. They knocked at the gates of Pitland, and the king of Pitland said, who is there? Fat thumb said, Hand team, we’re here for a friendly game of tickle soccer! The king of Pitland said, ok, you can come in to play tickle soccer for 30 seconds, but the. You must leave. Our plants will die if you trample on them for longer. Sure sure, no problem, said Pinky and Sgt Index. The gates opened... and the hand army charged!!! They ran into pita,Dan and started hiding in the trees ready to fight. But! As soon as they got into the forest, the most foul smell ever emerged. It was so that if the trees of Pitland are attacked they send out a skunk smell to push everyone out. Pink, sgt index and fat thumb ran out and said, everyone!! We must leave at once. This smell will kill us and we shall never breathe again. So the hand army retreated, never to return to Pitland.
Teachers Are People Too?!
by Lilly, age 10, Utah
It was a stormy night outside. The trees creaked in the wind and gutters blew streams of water away from the house. Large bolts of lightning crawled across the sky, while some found their place on the ground. The night continued to turn into an inky black pool blocking out the stars. Even the moon’s light could not penetrate the sky. And as the ground pooled with dirt and mud, I lay in my chair. This is my house. Looks more like an office, if I do say so myself. And on my door it says: Private eye.
I’m the detective on Robber Drive, next to Promet Street, and you’ve probably heard about me. No one else wanted to take the job. They say the clues are too little, the crime here too much. And as my smoke from my cigar circles around the desk, I’m here to say they’re right. Don’t get paid so much. Only enough to make a livin’. An’ as I’m telling you this, my door creaks open and slams shut. I push my ‘friend’ closer to my side. I keep him in my snakeskin pouch an’ he’s made o’ metal tip to trigger. Big and heavy footsteps came toward me as I stood up. A cloaked figure approached me and slammed down a heavy file on my desk. He was a mysterious gent, but I decided to see what his case was anyway. Besides, what was the worst that could happen?
The file was black and dirty with little wet spots clinging to the outside. The mysterious gent breathed a cloud of thick black smoke as he stood over me. I flipped open the file and typed on thick pieces of paper in tiny print was the case. It said:
12:03 am, 1.2 pounds of candy being brought by truck to unknown delivery
12:06 am, truck on Fleming Road
12:10 am, in between Fleming Road and Kases Street Driver is killed, truck thrown in ditch, and candy is stolen
I began to wonder if this gent was playing a trick on me.
“So,” began the hooded stranger. “Do you think you can handle this case?”
“You have offended my dignity,” I replied. “This case certainly is a bafflin’ one, but I’ve figured out every single case ever handed t’ me.”
“Good.” He took out a small crinkled leather wallet an’ took out 30 bucks. He shoved the money toward me and I snatched the money up cause’ like I said, I don’ get paid much. I pulled out a drawer filled with my money and then shoved the money in as the gent paced around my desk turnin’ his head every once in a while.
“Well, your case is in the proper hands,” I said as I turned around to face him. “An’ something else, what does this have to do with you,” pointin’ a finger at him.
“Private info,” he said as the gent walked out the door and into the stormy night.
I woke up on my cold, stiff bed at 6:00 am the next day. I immediately put the cigar in my mouth and chomped down on it, hard. I had someplace to go and someone to meet. I dressed, buttoned my gray coat and put on stale black pants. As I pulled open the door, a blast of freezing cold met m’ head on, and like a rabid dog, it bit and stung. It was a gloomy day outside with fog hanging in the air and the grass, dewy and muddy. My newspaper lay on the steps leading to the door. The mud and water that stained the front pages soon got wiped on my hands as I picked it up. I quickly shut my door and hurried to my Ford Anglia. When I got inside, I peeked at the front cover of the newspaper. It read:
The Robbery of Ornet Drive by Gabe Alson
As I sipped my hot coffee that I brought for the drive, I began to wonder why they didn’t say anything about the thievery of the candy. And as I backed out of my old cement driveway, I began to think. Why did that mysterious gent want me involved in this case? The police were probably involved in this case already. An’ what does the gent have to do with this case anyway? Plus, why would the thieves want to steal the candy and still, how would the thieves get on the truck? My thoughts were shaken from me as I entered Samem Street and my car lights came across a large dome-shaped house with pillars on either sides of the steps that led to an intricately carved pair of doors. I narrowed my eyes as I pulled up the driveway. This was exactly the place I was looking for.
As I inhaled a plume of jet black smoke, I shoved my loaded pistol in my rough snakeskin pouch I had on my right hip. I folded my coat over my ‘friend,’ got out of the car and walked at a steady pace toward my enemy’s door. Mr. Garstone Barrington, the sullen, bad-tempered person who everybody hated was extremely rich and fat. He’s got a sweet tooth for candy and everybody on Samem Street knows that. He could have hired criminal masterminds to steal the candy, or maybe the candy was supposed to be delivered to him. I needed to find out now.
I approached the door, stopped on the front steps, and rang the doorbell. The noise from the doorbell soon found its way through the cracks of the door and I could hear its melodious Ding-Dong Ding-Dong sound outside. The Ding-Dong Ding-Dong was suddenly interrupted by a butler dressed in a stiff black suit and red tie who opened the door in a very pleasing manner.
“May I help you?” he said in a flawless tone.
“I want to see Mr. Barrington,” I replied, trying to sound superior.
“And why is that?” he exclaimed in a matter-of-fact way.
“Head detective, here for claims and clues,” I declared while smirking a bit.
“Is there any evidence for your claim?” As I bit back an insult, my right hand dug around in my front left pocket on my coat. My hand eventually pulled a moldy card. Soil was spread thickly over the top and water pulled the ink toward the bottom. I tried handing the card over to the butler, but he quickly snatched it out of my hand.
“Hmmm, private eye,” he mumbled, looking down at the card. Then he suddenly turned his focus to me. “Very well, you may come in” and marched away from me signaling me to follow him. I shut the doors and found they were surprisingly heavy. Then I followed the steps of the retreating butler.
I followed the butler upstairs, through rooms and wardrobes till at last he said, “you may sit down here.” As the butler left the room, I sat down on a thick velvet couch and scanned the room. It was obviously a salon by the looks of it with candles at the sides of the room flickering eerie shadows across the walls. The walls were made out of polished wood and the carpet was made out of thick black wool. I picked myself off of the couch and focused my eyes on a big marble sliding door. I was going to look for clues.
I slid open the door and inside was the whitest kitchen I’d ever seen. My house is always bleak and black, I’ve never seen a room that looked as white as this. And the worst part was that everything was covered with tiles. The floor, the wall, and the ceiling was all covered with tiles. This could be a trap! With my knees bent and my hands in front of my face, I walked slowly around the room. I failed to notice that the floor was littered with water and I soon paid the price. Four things happened at once: I slipped, did the splits, my pants tore, and my nose hit something metal. I immediately looked at the back of my pants and shouted in horror. They had ripped straight down the middle leaving my knickerbockers exposed. But just then, I thought, what was the metal thing that I just hit.
I looked around the room and saw it. It was a big lock, so big and heavy, it might be there to hide something. I quickly got a paperclip out of my coat pocket and picked the lock. I opened the door and saw loads of candy stocked up on shelves.
“Mercy me!” I yelled. “I have finally found out the mystery of the…” I paused and looked at all the candy wrappers. “Eaten candy,” I finally announced. Just then, Mr. Garstone Barrington stormed in.
My eyes narrowed into slits and my hand rushed to my snakeskin pouch as I pounced on Garstone in the salon. My hand pulled out my gun and pointed it at him as I shouted:
“FREEZE, you potbellied candy robber! Scum like you will always be returned to justice.” And just then, my pants fell down exposing my knickerbockers yet again.
“Is this some sort of joke,” boomed Mr. Garston. I ignored his snide remark, and didn’t even try to pick up my pants.
“I saw you three days ago with Arston Valiac. The man is practically a ninja. If anyone could leap from a car to a truck driving on a highway, he could do it.” Mr. Garstone sputtered and was speechless for a second, but then regained his voice.
“He was teaching me yoga because my back was hurting.”
“Yeah, whatever,” I replied. “I’m not going to believe anythin’ that you say.”
Mr. Garstone went red in the face and then, after a moment he bellowed out: “Guards, arrest this man.”
I tried to run, but I forgot that my pants were around my feet so I fell flat on my face. Shouts and footsteps were coming fast toward the salon. There was no time to lose! I then did what they call the ‘worm’. I was so busy doing the ‘worm’ that I didn’t notice the stairs right in front of me. The stairs were marble and hurt more than getting your finger stuck in the car window. A guard came running out of the salon and stopped right before the stairs to see where I was. That gave me enough time to wrestle my pants off of me and throw them in his face. The pants hit directly on his nose giving me time to escape the house, pantless. I got in my car and sped out the driveway, while running into the mailbox at the same time. As soon as I raced out of Samem Street, I breathed a sigh of relief, I was still alive, but the enemy was still on the loose.
Nothing made sense. Why was the candy in the most obvious place it could be: the kitchen? And even if it was supposed to be hidden in plain sight, why did they put it by where all the guests go? But what if… what if the case was made up? All of the sudden, I went from 60 mph to 85 mph as I raced home almost disemboweling a woman on the way. I almost leaped out of my Ford Anglia as I pulled up on my driveway. I rushed inside and pulled open my drawer filled with money. I cursed under my breath as I found out that there was nothing in there but pieces of mud and dust. Suddenly, someone stormed in and pushed a pistol in between my eyes.
It was a dark, cold morning as I walked across the road to pick up rotten banana peels and muddy soda cans. I felt like I weighed ten tons as I dragged my feet against the ground. It turns out that the mysterious gent faked the case and saw my drawer filled with money. Once I left, he opened the drawer and took my month’s salary. The gents who shoved the gun in my face were the police. I’m now assigned with four months of community service. I then had to pay for the mailbox I destroyed, and got charged with ‘sharing personal hygiene’ for when I threw my pants on the guard’s face. It also turned out that Arston Valiac was helping Mr. Garstone do yoga. Everything had turned into an unmitigated disaster. But overall, I’m still the detective ‘cause no one wants to. An’ soon enough, I’ll be sittin’ on my chair next to the door that says: Private eye.
End
