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  FLOTSAM

  By

  Stephanie Skeem

  Copyright © 2011 Second Edition printing. Stephanie Skeem

  All rights reserved. Illustrations by Stephanie Skeem, copyright © 2011 Stephanie Skeem. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written permission from the author.

  Visit the author online at:

  www.thewritinggarden.blogspot.com

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to our beautiful deer, Flotsam, who inspired me to write this story in the first place. In addition, I never would have finished this book if it hadn’t been for Ruth, Karen, and Isaac.

  I also am indebted to my amazing mom, and my best friends, Bessie, Laurie, and Nate. Thanks for always pulling me up when I felt like I was sinking. Love you tons.

  ~Where Lost Things Reside~

  There is a special place where everything you’ve ever lost, every vanished penny, every dime, every misplaced chocolate chip cookie, every car key, every lost important paper, every lost sock, toy, or shoe, is kept. The sad thing is, only a few people actually know where this place exists.

  Chapter The Very First

  Lost And Found

  Amy stared out the car window, watching the rain drizzle in zigzag patterns across the windshield. She wished it would stop raining. So much of the time rain accompanied her from foster home to foster home, as if trying to dampen her already bad mood.

  In the twelve short years of her life, she had changed too many homes to count. First, there were the Foresters. They were nice—a bit jumpy, and a little too much on the vegetarian side for her liking. Their all-carrot diet had turned their skin orange, and the rabbits they kept in the house made every room smell like pee. It would have been okay living there, except for the Foresters got a little freaked out when she refused to eat carrots for every meal.

  Then there were the Darners. They were Amish and refused to keep her because she brought a flashlight along with her. It was unthinkable crime to have a modern convenience. Then there were the Smogs. They were a rich family who collected neat stuff from all around the world. The problem with them was that they had accused Amy of stealing because of her knack for finding things they had misplaced. Instead of being happy when she found their stupid stuff, they got angry. They said she was a thief and sent her away. After the Smogs, things just kept getting worse. She baffled and frightened people with her uncanny ability of finding things. Only at school was she welcomed with opened arms. At every school she went to, she had easily become a celebrity. Those who lost their pencils, report cards, and stolen items, came to her. She was great at helping other kids with homework because she could find answers without even trying. She was an expert at crossword puzzles. She aced every test and knew things about life, the world, and people that many kids didn’t. Not only that, she could find secrets, journals, and people, as if she was a human GPS that could locate almost every lost thing anyone asked her to find---and some things that some people liked to keep hidden.

  So, from age three, on, Amy never really stayed at one place for very long, because her ability freaked people out. She would live at a house for a month or two, at most and then, because she found something she wasn’t suppose to, she would be sent on her way.

  Amy wondered how long she would last at the new home they were taking her to. One, perhaps two weeks? She guessed she could quit finding things she wasn’t suppose to. But she liked finding things too much to stop. It was in her blood. No one could tell her to stop finding things, just as no one could tell the wind to stop blowing. Finding things was the only thing she felt good at. Every time someone mentioned something being lost, she could see the image of the lost thing in her head, and knew exactly where to find it. When she found the lost item, she couldn’t help but feel a great inner satisfaction. Maybe it was just because she liked what she found. Sometimes finding hidden things meant that you knew something no one else did.

  Who doesn’t like to know things other people don’t know? It gives you a kind of power. Like knowing who’s going to go on a date with whom, or knowing that Santa isn’t real.

  Over the years, Amy had found much more than lost keys, library books, and wedding rings. She had found lost children, lost money, lost credit cards, and many more important items. But for all that she found, Amy could never really find the things she herself had lost. She had lost her mother. Or her mother had lost her. She was not sure which. The only thing she had of her past life was a photo of herself when she was a child, hugging what she supposed was another sibling---a brother, perhaps? She concluded that it was a curse, or a twist of fate, that she knew so much about other people but nothing about her lost past. She only knew that at the age of three she had been placed in an old Lost And Found box along with a litter of puppies, at the side of a street corner. From that day on, she believed that she had been cursed. Cursed to always find what other people lost, but never to find the things she lost herself.

  Pitiful, yes. Disturbing, yes. Besides all that, what kind of mom would leave her kid in a Lost And Found box full of puppies?

  Amy wasn’t sure. She hoped it was a mistake. Amy figured that the only way she could break this curse was to find something that she had actually lost herself. It was a cinch if someone said they lost their wallet. She knew exactly where it was. But if she lost her own, she could never find it.

  “We’re here,” Miss Peach, the driver said, pulling the car to a stop before an old weather-beaten house. “Looks nice…doesn’t it?”

  Amy frowned and stared at the house with hard eyes. It looked like a chicken coop that had been upgraded into a two-story house.

  “What are you waiting for?” Miss Peach asked. “Go on, get out.”

  Amy opened the door, taking her small suitcase with her. The rain was cold, and she could hear thunder rumbling. “Aren’t you coming in with me?”

  Miss Peach sniffed and stared ahead. “No, of course not. I just got my hair done. It’s too wet out there for me. You’ll just have to wing it alone, this time.”

  “Fine,” Amy said, slamming the car door and giving Miss Peach a hurt look. “All you care about is your hair, anyway.”

  “Wait,” Mrs. Peach called, rolling the window down. “Make sure you try not to be so snoopy. And please try not to find stuff that people don’t want found. I’m running out of homes to send you to. I don’t want to put you back in that Lost And Found box they found you in, okay?”

  “Don’t want to put you back in that Lost And Found Box,” Amy mimicked, under her breath, watching as Miss Peach drove off, splashing Amy with mud.

  “I’ll miss you too,” Amy said, wiping mud off her nose. Miss Peach was so peachy, it was annoying. Amy hated Miss Peach. She was the worst, most twisted, paid-off social worker that had ever existed. Miss Peach had started out nice. Then as time went on, she had branched off from the government programs, and started her own business. Miss Peach took children in that nobody wanted, and sold them to the highest bidder, much like a slave trade operation, with an Oliver Twist feel to it. If the children sold did not meet the buyers’ expectations, they could resell the children back to Miss Peach, but at a much lower price.

  Amy wondered how much Miss Peach had sold her for this time. Probably not much. Amy sighed, and walked wearily over to the old, ugly house and paused before the door. The rain gutter had broken off right over the doorway, welcoming any visitors with a drenching shower.

  Amy pulled her hood over her head, stepped beneath the broken rain gutter, and knocked on the door. There was no answer. She knocked again. If someone didn’t answer soon, she would need a life jacket. She heard a groan from somewhere within the cabin, and a loud thump.

  “Hello?” she asked, knocking again.
/>   The door suddenly flew open. She was greeted by a tall man, with grayish-black hair and a large mouth. He looked as stern as a fence post, and about as inviting. “What in the name of rain, earth, fire, and heaven are you doing here?”

  Amy tried to smile, as rain from the broken rain gutter poured down over her head. “You’re Mr. Heckler, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, zo vat?” The man had a German accent, and brown eyes that would have looked kind had he smiled more.

  “I’m Amy. Miss Peach said that you paid to take me in.”

  Mr. Heckler’s face lit up in remembrance. “Oh yez. Now I remember. I paid two zousand dollars for you. You’re ze girl who has a reputation for finding lost tings. Come in. I’m glad you’ve come.”

  Mr. Heckler led Amy up a flight of rickety stairs, to a dusty room with one window, an old dresser, and a cot.

  “Make yourself at home, Amy,” Mr. Heckler said, forcing a grin. “I hope you vill like it here.” He stood by the door, awkwardly, and then left the room.

  “Yes…home,” Amy murmured, sitting down on the faded mattress, and letting out a tired sigh. She crinkled her nose, as water hit her on the face. She looked up. The rain drizzled down through a hole just above her bed.

  “Fantastic,” she said, as she scooted her bed away from the leak. “I’ve always wanted a water bed.”

  After that, she emptied her suitcase into the small dresser in the corner of the room, then settled herself by the window to watch the rain. But, instead of watching the rain, she watched as Mr. Heckler stomped from the house through the mud to an old barn where he shut the door tightly behind him. From behind the barn doors she heard snarling and howling that sounded more frightening than anything she had ever heard in her entire life. She shuddered, wondering what kind of terrible creatures Mr. Heckler kept behind the barn doors. There was no doubt about it. Her stay here would definitely be interesting.

  Chapter Before the Third, and After the First

  What Amy Found

  The next morning, Amy awoke to loud pounding above her head. A spray of dirt and sticks fell into her face. She sat up and dusted herself off. “What the?”

  “Guten morgen,” Mr. Heckler said, in his heavy German accent, peering at her through the hole in the roof.

  “I fix roof. You like?”

  Amy nodded. “Yes. I like.”

  “Good. Vhen I'm done, you help me find tings. Okay?”

  Amy grinned. “You want me to help find things for you?

  “Oh yes. Yes. I have many lost tings. You start looking for them after you make breakfast.”

  “After I make breakfast?”

  “Yez.”

  “Okay. I make breakfast,” Amy murmured, making her way downstairs. The kitchen was in disarray. There were boxes of old pots and pans with food still on them. It looked as if Mr. Heckler had just moved in and brought all his stuff along, including his dirty dishes complete with mold.

  She peered into the cupboards looking for food. But there wasn’t anything. “Great, no food. Nothing.”

  Not knowing what else to do, she stepped outside and over to the barn, hoping that he would have some chickens she could borrow some eggs from. She slowly opened the barn door, and jumped back as loud snarls, and yowls filled the air.

  “Careful!” Mr. Heckler cried, pulling Amy back.

  “Don’t you know anyting, stupid girl?” He pointed to wolves chained to posts lining the barn.

  “You keep wolves?”

  “Yes. Zey are my friends.”

  “But why?”

  “Vhy? Vhy? Vhy? Vhy so many questions? I keep Volves because I like zem.”

  “Oh. Are they nice?”

  “Yes. But only to me. Because I feed zem.”

  “Can I help you feed them?”

  “No. But you can feed me breakfast. Remember?”

  Amy threw up her hands. “I can’t fix breakfast. There’s nothing in the house to eat.”

  “Nothing in ze house?” Mr. Heckler asked. “Impossible.”

  “But there isn’t.”

  “Here, I show you. Nothing to eat? Zeesh. At Mr. Heckler’s house dere is always zomething to eat. ”

  Mr. Heckler led her behind the barn and over to a little chicken coop that she hadn’t seen before. He placed his hands in one of the chicken’s nests, and came out with two eggs.

  “Here. See, zis is food. Easy breakfast you don’t have to even fix.” He cracked one of the eggs and sucked the gooey mixture into his mouth, slurping loudly.

  “Now you try.” He handed an egg to Amy.

  “I don’t know…” Amy said, looking at the egg like it was a slug.

  “What are you vaiting for?” Mr. Heckler asked, cracking the egg for her. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  “Yes. But…”

  “Haven’t you had eggnog before?”

  “I have…”

  “Then go ahead. Is no tifferent.”

  Amy gave Mr. Heckler a woeful look, and then tried sucking the egg out of the shell. It tasted weird. Like eating snot. She gagged, and part of the egg goo dripped onto her cheek, and down her neck.

  “Zeems you have a lot to learn,” Mr. Heckler laughed.

  “Farm is good place to learn a ting or two. Ever stayed on a farm before?”

  “No.”

  “Such a pity. Farms are vonderful places. I used to own a beautiful farm in Germany, before ze bombings. After ze war, I had notting to come home to. Dang Hitler. So after ze war, I spent ze next thirty years living in apartments, trying to earn enough money to buy a new farm. But dey vere were all too expensive for me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Vasn’t your fault. Hitler’s ze one to blame.”

  “So,” Amy wondered, “have you lived here in America for very long?”

  Mr. Heckler shook his head. “No. Only about a couple months.”

  “Wow. Why did you come here?”

  Mr. Heckler raised his eyebrows and looked surprised. “Vhy you tink? Because of Farm. I see add in newspaper. I buy very cheap. Now I finally I have my farm back.”

  “Lucky you.”

  Mr. Heckler looked at Amy with probing eyes. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

  “No. I was just...”

  “Oh, yes you vere. But you vill zoon see, vee vill have dis place fixed up in no time.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “Vhatever you zay? Vhat is with dis zarcasm? Is it an American ting? Or just your ting?”

  Amy shrugged. “Both.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps I should put you to use finding tings, so you don’t haf time to be zarcastic.”

  “It’s who I am,” Amy retorted. “If you don’t like it, then, I guess I should leave.”

  Mr. Heckler ran his fingers through his scruffy, gray hair, with a look of deep concern in his eyes. “Who said anyting about leaving? Did I? You don’t vant to leave me so zoon, do you? Please stay. You vill like it here, I promise. I know I’m a grump to live with zometimes, and I’m awful messy. But all zat vill change. You vill zoon see.”

  Amy stared at the man, flabbergasted. “Nobody has ever asked me something like that.”

  “Zat’s because zey don’t know what a jewel you are. What amazing tings you can do.”

  “I can do amazing things?”

  “Yes. You can do amazing tings. You can find things no one else can. ”

  Amy folded her arms, and smiled, the truth dawning upon her. “You just want to keep me because I’m good at finding things. Don’t you?”

  Mr. Heckler smiled sheepishly as if he felt a tad uncomfortable. “No. I don’t vant to keep you chust because you can find tings. Vhatever put zuch an idea into your head? I’m a lonely old man vith no family. I need zomebody to talk to.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Fine, then, don’t believe me.”

  Amy gazed at the man, and shook her head. “But what about the lost things you want me to find? You just want to use me. Then, after I fin
d whatever it is you’re looking for, you’ll throw me away.”

  “No. I promise I von’t do zat.”

  “Really, you promise?”

  “I promise. And if I don’t hold true to my promise, may Hitler’s ghost haunt me till the day I die.”

  “Will you shake on that?”

  “Yes.” He held out his hand

  “It’s a deal then,” Amy said, shaking his hand. “No throwing me away after I find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

  “It’s a deal,” Mr. Heckler agreed. “You can stay here as long as you vant. Chust don’t get in my way vhen I’m vorking, and we vill be fine.”

  Amy leaned in close to Mr. Heckler, and asked in a hushed voice. “So. Now that we’ve gotten that taken care of, what do you want me to find?”

  “Oh, chust…tings.”

  “Things?”

  “I have lost a great many tings.” Mr. Heckler paused, and got a sad look in his eyes. “How about we talk about my lost tings later. Now go play. Make friends with ze goats, or vhatever you vant to do.”

  He led Amy up to the goat pen and pointed out the goats. “The biggest goat’s name is Dorothy. She gives ze most milk, but she gets into ze most trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Oh, you vill zoon see. Now, I vill be leaving you to yourself. I vant to be alone for awhile.”

  Amy watched as Mr. Heckler walked off. The man was tall, and walked in a soldierly way, as if he was still in the army. He seemed nice enough. Kind of strange, but okay, as far as old men go. She rather liked the fact that he wanted her to help him. No one had really asked her directly for help. She had always just volunteered.

  Amy stood there for awhile and patted the goats, giving them pieces of grass to nibble as she pondered her new situation. She wasn’t sure if she believed Mr. Heckler or not. No one had kept a promise to her so far. She wondered if she took forever in finding the thing he had lost, Mr. Heckler would keep her longer. Not that this place was anything fancy, but at least it was a place that sort of resembled a home.

  She smiled to herself and ambled through a row of elm trees alongside an old irrigation ditch that ran through the countryside. It didn’t have the regular stream of water running through it, only murky puddles left from the rain the night before. The morning air was still a little chilly, and smelled of rain. She breathed in the fresh air and gazed down the ditch with curious eyes, having an uncanny urge to walk through the muddy ditch. The feeling was distinct and urgent. It was as if something was calling to her to find it. Something lost. Something alive. Every time she got this feeling she couldn’t stop until she found whatever it was that was lost.