Choose Your Own Adventure: Tony the Phony and the Cursed Mansion
There was a time in my youth that I lived for Choose Your Own Adventure books! I devoured every one I could get my hands on. When fellow author and Emblazoner, Michelle Isenhoff, told me her kids were creating their own CYOA story and wanted to make a blog hop out of it, I was instantly hooked. How could I say no to such an awesome idea?
The story’s title is Tony the Phony and the Cursed Mansion, written and hosted by T. Isenhoff and M. Isenhoff on their Storyboys blog. T. is in 3rd grade, and M. is in 6th grade. This story was their winter homeschool project. Travel over to their blog to start at the beginning. Have fun!
“Let’s get out of here!” Ed whispered.
The boys dashed to the door, but it was locked. “This way!” Tony whispered, leading Ed through a doorway and down a hall.
They found themselves in an old-fashioned kitchen with a giant fireplace taking up one wall. A cast iron stove stood before it, covered with dust and grime. A tarnished copper kettle stood on top, still waiting to make tea.
An antique sideboard stood at one side of the room. Ed shone his light on it. On top rested a bag of potato chips, a package of Oreos, and a three liter of root beer. “Did they have this kind of stuff in Silas Walker’s day?” Ed asked.
“Of course not, idiot.”
“Do ghosts eat this stuff?”
“I don’t think so.”
Ed picked up the Oreos and opened them. The cellophane crinkled in his hands. A voice growled from the hallway. “Who’s in there?”
Ed froze and spoke through a mouthful of cookies. “That means that’s a real dude chasing us. Hide!”
They opened the doors on the sideboard and ducked inside. They heard footsteps in the kitchen. “I know someone’s in here. I’m going to find you and smash your face in, punk.”
“It sounds like Meatloaf,” Tony whispered. Meatloaf was the meanest kid in school. He’d been held back so many times he was the only seventh grader with a driver’s license. An encounter with his fist meant a hospital visit.
“Um, Tony,” Ed whispered.
“Shut up. He’ll hear us.”
“But, Tony,” Ed persisted, “cupboards are supposed to have back walls. This one doesn’t.”
Tony reached behind him and felt only darkness. He clicked on his flashlight and shone it down a long, black tunnel.