By Cullen Bunn
For Charlie and his brother Alex, an unforeseen journey to go to their Aunt Mary within the haunted city of Crooked Hills becomes a life-changing experience, forcing them to confront neighborhood bullies, hell hounds, useless witches, and ladies with slingshots! A throwback to vintage adventures like that of the Hardy Boys, combined with the creepiness of GOOSEBUMPS and CIRQUE DU FREAK, Cullen Bunn's CROOKED HILLS blends secret and experience to weave a enjoyable and unforgettable tale of will, friendship and kinfolk bonds.
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Additional info for Crooked Hills
We were ignored. Our cargo, however, the few sacks of unidentified white stuff, was briskly shouldered away through a doorless doorway leading into the least bombed-out of the buildings. We were left sitting in an empty yard roomy enough for four prostrate camels or one battered six-wheel truck. My dreams had been fixed on chain-drinking chilled sodas in a street café. The sudden incarceration made me testy. ” I yelled at the driver when he returned. He was speaking rapid Arabic to an In Guezzamer.
On the road, we stopped often, picked people up, set them down, pulled in for snacks. Children climbed on at each stop to sell shreds of goat on wooden skewers, oranges with their skins shaved off or Coca-Cola in plastic bags. ” My eyelids drooped. Then, WHACK! Ejected from my seat, head smacking the roof, van shuddering as though booted by a giant. By dawn, I was dizzy and wobbled on my feet as I got off. I felt as if I’d just crossed an asteroid belt in a garbage can. During the waits I daydreamed of the jungle.
Oda-san had switched to his summer suit: the light grey instead of the dark. It looked as if he’d ironed it that morning. Still the same navy blue tie, though, I noticed, knotted with enviable precision. The windows on the third floor were heavy, sound-resistant slabs of glass not designed to be opened. You had to pop the catch on one, then lean into it with your shoulder. There would be a gasp and an out-rush of smoky air. Then a gust of wind would shoot in and scatter everyone’s papers. After that, the prehistoric roars of parting airliners heaving themselves into the sky, company lettering in white on the blue tails, bellies full of people going places.
Crooked Hills by Cullen Bunn