CHAPTER ONE

The Quietest Morning (EVER)

You ever have one of those dreams where you’re not sure if you’re still sleeping or already awake? Your mind racing with morning thoughts. Something you forgot. Something creeping.

That was me this morning.

I dreamt that a creepy shadow slid under my bedroom door and crept across the floor—straight toward my sneakers. Speedy and Fifth Gear. Their laces stood up like little lightning bolts, like they were trying to scare whatever it was away.

I tried to yell to them. Nothing came out.

I sat up fast, heart thumping.

My bedroom was still mostly dark. Only a thin beam of moonlight came through the curtain, like a flashlight picking out the usual stuff: bed, posters, and the old pirate chest in the far corner.

Speedy and Fifth Gear were still there. Laces up. The dream had felt real enough.

The chest was the one my dad gave me when I was four. “Here, son,” he said, struggling to lift it into the corner before he left for work. “This magic chest was given to me when I was three or four by my father.”

It looked like it had been buried for a thousand years. On the front, carved deep in the wood: Dew-110. I didn’t know what that meant then. I still don’t, not all the way.

For about five years it just sat there. I thought about it more than a thousand times. Why a pirate chest in my room? What makes it magic? I never tried to open it. Not once.

Until this morning.

I wondered if any of my friends had one. Trevor Sparks is too cool—his would be full of sunglasses. Big Bang (Clarence—our teacher, Ms. Cussimano, calls him a prodigy) would stuff his with musical instruments. Shy Annda would fill hers with basketballs. She’s my secret weapon against the Stape Twins. Cindi Joy’s would be full of pom-poms and cheerleading things.

But Fussie Fran? Francine would tell Horton Elementary, Hilltop Elementary, every kid in Doesville, and their parents.

I can hear her now:

Have you seen what Dewey’s got?

A pirate chest that holds a lot!

What’s inside it? No one knows!

Gold or maps or pirates’ clothes?

“Ugh, no way,” I whispered. Voices travel in this house, so I keep mine low. I better not tell anyone. Not even Ms.

Cussimano, my fourth-grade teacher. Last time Fussie Fran got a secret out of me, I ended up running for class president.

I looked over at Speedy and Fifth Gear again. Still here. Still too quiet.

If something was after them, I needed to know. And the only thing in this room that felt like it knew more than I did was sitting in the corner with part of my name carved on it.

I walked over to the pirate chest.

I put both hands on the lid. The wood felt colder than it should. I stared at the carved Dew-110 with greater interest than ever before.

Time to find out what a magic chest actually does.