TITLE: Olivia Boogieman
GENRE: MG Fantasy
My family is a bunch of monsters. I don’t mean to be mean but facts are facts and when I say my family is a bunch of monsters I don’t mean they do horrible things, they are literally monsters. My mommy is a mummy; her family comes from ancient Egypt. My dad is a werewolf and when I say werewolf I mean a hairy, scary, howl at the moon werewolf. I also have an older brother and younger sister. My brother is a shape shifter, meaning he can take the form of anything or anyone he wants to be. My sister is a scrawny little skeleton, all bones and nothing else. So you are probably wondering what I am, I am a girl, an ordinary, everyday normal girl. If you haven’t guessed it by now, my parents adopted me when I was a baby. My name is Olivia Boogieman.
To say the Boogieman family is a normal family would be a lie. Sure, we have a dog like every other family on the block but we also have a pet dragon living in our backyard. We didn’t start out wanting a dragon, he just followed my brother home from school one day and we kept him.
“Olivia come down for breakfast or you are going to be late for school again,” My mom shouts from the bottom of the stairs.
I just want to stay in bed, I hate school, and especially today, which is family day. Every year the family of students visit the school at Middlebury Middle School in Midtown Middleton, Wisconsin, (I know the name of my school is a tongue twister).
“Did you feed your dog?” My dad asks me.
“Yes,” I lie. I hate feeding the dog.
“Are you sure,” he asks me.
“Yeah, why?” I ask.
My dad points down at the dog gnawing on my sister’s shinbone. I will admit now that it was a mistake to get a dog when your sister is a skeleton but I really wanted one and after a month of begging and pleading my parents let me get Godzilla, a Chihuahua that is small in stature but giant in attitude.
“Feed your dog,” my dad growls at me.
I grumble as I get up, taking a can out of the refrigerator. I scoop a portion of wet food into Godzilla’s dish and fill his water bowl. I gag at the smell of the food.
“Come on Godzilla,” I call out. The dog continues to nibble on my sister. “Godzilla, now!” I shout.
My sister shakes her leg to get the dog off her but it is no use. The dog prefers bones to food.
“Godzilla, go,” my dad roars. His voice echoes throughout the house.
The dog’s tail slinks between his hind legs and he cowers off into the corner where he eats his food.
“If you can’t take care of your dog we will have to take him to the pound,” My dad says in a low growl.