Kenneth Oppel - The Klack Bros. Museum

Walden Pond Press is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

Walden Pond Press and the skipping stone logo are trademarks and registered trademarks of Walden Media, LLC.

The Klack Bros. Museum 2013 by Kenneth Oppel

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins ebooks.

EPub Edition AUGUST 2013 ISBN: 9780062289711

FIRST EDITION

W hen the train arrives in Meadows, it seems to Luke to be just like all the other forlorn places theyve stopped along the way.

Over the PA system a woman says, Ladies and gentlemen, our station stop will be longer than scheduled. A freight train has derailed up the track. Well be here roughly five hours.

Five hours. Whats five more hours in an already endless trip?

Want some fresh air? his father asks.

Luke looks out the window. There is a gravel parking lot beside the weather-beaten station. Curling shingles, water dripping from a busted downspout. Across the road are several bleak houses whose front windows look onto the tracks. In one window he spots an elderly couple sitting side by side on lawn chairs, peering out. The man raises a pair of binoculars to his eyes.

See that? Luke says to his Dad. This is big excitement in Meadows.

They step off the train. The air has a bite to it. There is snow on the rooftops, and on the grass. Luke looks back at the train, the rolling torture chamber thats been taking them across the country. Hes spent two nights aboard it already. It is March break and Dad has decided this would be a good trip for them to take together. Moms with Olivia in Fort Lauderdale. Luke wishes he were on the beach in Florida, looking at palm trees. There would be girls to look at too. As it is, he is the youngest person on the trainnot counting the crying baby that belongs to the exhausted couple from England. Even his Dad is young compared with most of the passengers.

I didnt want to come on this trip.

Youre loving this trip, his father says distractedly.

If you say so.

His father sighs and looks at him. Not at all?

Luke shrugs. Shrugging is very efficient. It could mean anything. Mom says its rude.

So whats your idea of a good time? Dad wants to know.

Just staying at home, chilling, hanging out with my friends.

You can do that anytime.

Another shrug. It kinda sucks. Theres nothing to do.

Ive told you, its a trip Ive wanted to take for a long time.

Cause youre blocked.

He sees his father inhale and frown. His fathers a writer and hates that word. Possibly.

I dont see why I had to get dragged along.

Well, you cant always get what you want, his father says, and then starts singing the Rolling Stones song. Luke hates it when his father does this. Whenever his father thinks Lukes complaining too much, he starts singing, looking very soulful and intense, and snapping his fingers in time.

Please stop, says Luke.

But if you try sometimes, his father sings, you just might find, you get what you need.

They walk to the edge of the parking lot. The road goes nowhere in both directions.

Whatre we going to do for five hours? asks Luke.

A big tractor trailer pulls out of the parking lot, revealing a white sign posted by the road:

KLACK BROS. MUSEUM

15 MILES NORTH

His father sees it too. I love it, he murmurs. Klack Brothers Museum. I wonder what kind of stuff they have there?

Its probably farm equipment. Hes been dragged to such places on school field trips.

I can take you, if you like, says a voice behind them. Its a man in a pickup, the window rolled down. Im going up there. He jerks a thumb at the back of his truck, which is filled with plastic-wrapped cases of drinks and chocolate bars. I supply their snack bar. Its only a fifteen-minute drive.

Luke fake smiles and looks to his father to make an excuse. But his father says, Youre sure its no trouble?

No trouble.

Luke stares, silent with surprise, at his father. His father is not impulsive by nature, but lately hes been doing uncharacteristic things. Long walks at night. Swimming. Trying to teach himself guitar. He says these things are meant to unlock himself.

What about the train? Luke reminds him.

Weve got five hours, Dad replies. You keep telling me how bored you are. Lets go see something new.

Theyve got some real interesting things up there, says the driver.

How would we get back? his father asks, with more of his characteristic caution.

Ill be there a couple hours. I do their plumbing too. Im coming back this way if you want to catch a ride with me.

Sounds perfect, says Dad.

It rises from the empty prairie like a mirage, a perfect little village of stone buildings and fences and barns.

Weirdest thing, isnt it? says their driver. These two brothers, they came out from England about a hundred forty years ago and they ran a circus for a while. Then they decided to build a village in the middle of nowhere. They built a big manor house for themselves, and a school house. There was a racetrack and a cheese-making shop and some livestock, and they waited for people to come. But the railway built too far to the south and wouldnt give them a spur line. So after a while it became a ghost town. One of the relatives turned it into a museum about fifteen years ago.

Luke has a sinking feeling there will be old ladies in white caps and pleated dresses telling him how to churn butter. Odd, slow-talking men in barns will show him how rope is made. If hes lucky a blacksmith will bang on a horseshoe.

Incredible story, Lukes father says, looking around.

His father and the driver make small talk. They drive through a gate and pull up outside a little cottage with a thatched roof. A sign says, Tickets Snacks Gifts. Luke cant help noticing that there are only three other cars in the entire parking lot.

Youll get your tickets in here, says the man. And Ill be leaving about five oclock.

Thanks very much, Lukes father says. Much obliged.

Luke winces. He cant believe his father just said much obliged.

Maybe theres a cowboy hat you can buy, Luke says as they walk in.

His father gives him a withering look.

White plastic tables and chairs are scattered around the room. A few shelves display dismal local history books with black-and-white photos of fields on the covers. There is a Coke machine and a rack with some chips and chocolate bars on it. An elderly man behind the counter greets their driver.

Afternoon, Wilfred.

Uriah. I brought these folks up from the train. Their driver turns to them. This is Uriah Klack. He owns the place.

Uriah turns his attention to Luke and his fatherstaring hardest at Luke.

Wed like to see the museum, Lukes father says cheerfully.

How olds the boy? Uriah asks.