Max Downstairs: Episode 7

“I don’t think that troll is Max’s brother,” Arty whispered. He moved up a few steps up the stairs.  

Keisha followed. “Me either. Did you hear what he said when he came out of the fissure? ‘Where is the little creep?’ I thought he meant the cat, but now I think he meant Max.”

Arty swallowed hard. “Mrs. Patterson was really specific about how to call Max, using the top stone of the third mound of the third ring of stones, or we might unleash the Underside’s powers.”

“Or its dangers,” Keisha said.

Arty looked at Keisha. Keisha looked at Arty. “We have to get out of here now,” they both said.

They turned to sprint up the stairs when three very scary things happened: 1) a dog howled at the top of the long stairs; 2) Mom called out in her Mom warning voice, “How dare you enter our basement!” 3) someone roared, “Where is it!?!?”

That someone was Malvin.

The dogs at the top of the stairs howled again. The animals pawed and clawed at the stairs so viciously, Arty and Keisha felt the vibrations all the way down where they crouched. Malvin said Max had sent the dogs to keep the police at bay, but it felt much more as if they were straining to get at the children, or the troll, or both. Why would Malvin mislead them?

They didn’t have time to find out. The dogs began bounding down the stairs.

“We’re trapped!” Arty said. He pulled Max’s stone out of his pocket. Keisha shook her head.

“We have to find Max. Only he can tell us what to use that for.”

“How?” Arty said.

The sound of steps and scrambling was getting closer and closer.

“Max’s tunnel to the forest,” Keisha said.

The two children flew down the stairs. They paused momentarily when they  reached the bottom. Malvin had been busy. He had rebuilt the stone garden. One stone was clearly missing, like the piece in a puzzle. Malvin was bent over on all fours in a corner, digging furiously. His cat squeezed between one of his huge arms and body, digging with him. Did they think the stone was buried there? Or were they trying to dig their way to the Underside? Was that even possible?  

Arty stuck his hand in his pocket and gripped the stone. Now more than ever he didn’t want to show it to Malvin. The giant troll seemed more and more as if he hadn’t come from the Underside, but somewhere else. Somewhere much, much worse.

“We need to get out of here.” Keisha grabbed her brother and pushed him past Malvin, who was so busy digging he didn’t even notice. Not even the cat noticed. The brother and sister slipped into Max’s tunnel. They grabbed the huge boulder resting just inside the passageway that Max always carefully rolled into place when he left , but neither of them could move it. They tried together when the most deafening noise erupted in the basement.

The dogs had arrived. They charged toward Malvin. He whirled around. He was a horrible sight. Grime caked his face, and tears streaked through it.

Arty looked at Keisha. Keisha looked at Arty. Malvin might not be a friend, but he might not be a foe either. And he was scared, very very scared.

“This way!” Keisah held out a hand to Malvin.

He grabbed it and jumped into the tunnel, his cat on his heels. The dogs followed, their breath so close now Arty could smell mealy worms and rotting meat. One opened its jaws and lunged.

Malvin grabbed the boulder the siblings couldn’t move. As if it were a frisbee, he chucked it at the dogs. They skittered backwards. The boulder slammed into the tunnel opening. Dust went flying. They all doubled over coughing. When they finally looked up, though, the tunnel wasn’t pitch black. Malvin had thrown the stone so hard, it slammed right through the hole, not closing it, but only partially blocking it. The dogs were already forcing their heads through the small opening.

“Run!” the troll roared.

~ Stacy with the help of some very clever Anonymous readers. Thank you!

Ingredients needed for the next scene: What do the kids learn about Malvin? Do Malvin and kids find Max? What do they discover at the end of the tunnel?

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you'd like, sign your first name so we can give you credit for your idea.

NOTE: Come back next Thursday to see what we wrote!

P.S. If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 6

“Stay here,” Arty whispered to Keisha. Then he leapt away from Max way over to the other side of the fissure in the ground. “Down here! There’s a hand in the fissure.”

"A hand in the fissure?" Tilley Tartmore raced over, dropped to her knees and peered in.

"A hand in the fissure?” The troll flopped to his belly, practically shoved his whole head inside. Pieces of the rubble tumbled way, way down.

Keisha had a few precious seconds to see what Max needed. Ever so gently, he placed a stone about the size and shape of a cardboard toilet paper core on the ground. He put a finger to his lips. “Shh.” Then he disappeared back into the tunnel.

Tilley Tartmore harrumphed. “There is no hand here.” 

“There is no hand here.” The enormous troll rose back up, his vibrations toppling Max’s secret stone. Even worse, Tilley Tartmore had regained her composure and was stomping over to the tunnel entrance, her feet flapping too close to the stone. No! Would she kick it into the fissure?. Or... had she seen Max? Was she going to claim the stone for herself?

“Arty,” Keisha whispered. “Play along.” She slapped her neck. Then her shoulder. “Ahh! The hand! It wasn’t a hand. It was super mosquitoes!”

Arty followed her lead. He started shrieking and swatting away fake mosquitoes, giving Keisha the distraction she needed to grab up the stone and slip it into her pocket. 

“Ow!” Arty stumbled toward Tilley Tartmore, hitting himself all over. “Ow! Ow!”

Tilley Tartmore spun back, slapping her own self, and skittered right into the arms of the larger, hairier troll. She shrieked the loudest yet, ran to the stairs, and ran up them, two at a time. “Just you wait! Just you wait!” she yelled.

The commotion and barking quieted upstairs.

The large troll sniffed the air. “Don’t know exactly where those killer mosquitoes came from or where they went, though I do know this. That woman, though human, has been to the Underside. She has the smell of fresh wormworts and clamsuckle clover about her.”

“Who are you?” Keisha asked. “And why are you here?”

“Permit me to introduce myself. Max sent for me. I am Malvin, Max’s bigger brother.”

“Bigger?” said Arty. “I’ll say.”

“Tell me about it. I had 17 growth spurts instead of the usual 14.”

The kitten scratched her back against Malvin’s ankle.

“And this is Rascal. Say hello, Rascal.”

“Mew!”

The dogs started howling again.

“Don’t mind them,” Malvin said. “Max sent them here to keep the police at bay.”

Keisha and Arty sighed in relief.

“However,” Malvin said, “that doesn’t lessen the dangers we are facing. First, I understand that Max is no longer safe here, which means neither am I. We must clean up this disaster area before the authorities see it.”

“But Tilly Tartmore already saw it,” said Arty. “She’s probably on her way to summon someone now.”

“Can you imagine, though?” said Malvin. “If everything looks normal when they arrive, they’ll think she’s gone loony. Which she has anyway. She believes one of us killed her father many years ago. She’s wrong, of course, but she wants her revenge. And if she gets it, trolls like me are doomed. You can already see what I’ve been through. My skin, my clothes.”

They got to work, Keisha and Arty moving the stones against the far wall while Malvin somehow knit the fissure closed.

“But how will you be able to leave? And how will Max come back?”

“The way he always has,” Malvin said. “The trap door to the tunnel.” Malvin let out a deep rumble, which was probably his version of a laugh. "Moving on, we took care of the first problem, clean-up. But that’s just the beginning of your troubles. They catch wind of any troll living here, and you’ll have more than your human authorities to deal with. They’ll be after you, the same way they are after me.”

“Who are they?” said Keisha.

“The Underside Patrol,” Malvin said. “Far worse than anything you’ve ever seen.” He gave a shiver. “That said, may I ask for a modicum of personal assistance? I haven’t eaten in two days.” On cue, his stomach made a noise like Mom’s drill. “I could use some sustenance before I begin to manage all your trouble.”

Keisha and Arty stirred up a double-sized portion of Extra Fine Troll Slop. Malvin licked his lips, leaned over, dipped a finger into his food, and sampled it. “This is fine; fine, indeed. Stand back. I’m going in. Then I’ll tell you my plan.”

“Wait,” said Keisha. “Aren’t you gonna sing your grateful song?”

“In all the commotion I forgot.” Malvin took a deep breath. “Grateful! I’m grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful...for youuuuuu!” He dug in and started shoveling the slop into his mouth.

Keisha looked at Arty. Arty looked at Keisha. They moved part way up the stairs. “That’s not Max’s family grateful song,” he whispered. “And Mrs. Patterson said she has only one son. He’s not Max’s brother.”

“Then we can’t show him this.” Keisha took the single stone from her pocket.

And the dogs started howling again.

     —Jody (with help from story ingredients provided by Fiona, Anonymous, and Unknown ... Thanks!) 

Ingredients needed for the next scene: Who or what is The Underside Patrol, and are they related to the barking dogs? Why is Malvin pretending to be Max’s brother? What is his plan?

Bonus question: Who is the real villain in this story: Tilley Tartmore, Malvin, The Underside Patrol, the human authorities, or Max himself?

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you'd like, sign your first name so we can give you credit for your idea.

NOTE: This is a double-long episode because we are taking Memorial Day off. Come back next Thursday to see what we wrote!

P.S. If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 5

The floor gave way under Tilley Tartmore’s feet, Max’s garden stones flying every which way. 

Tilley wobbled on the edge of the stinky, smoky hole, pumping her bony arms like a windmill to keep from falling in.

Arty and Keisha stood there a second, considering. But if a person is about to fall into the Underside, you pretty much have to help her no matter what she plans to do to your resident troll. They pulled her to safety. The three of them ran to Max’s bed and huddled together, trembling.

Keisha wished she still had her mop. She didn’t like confronting situations like this without a weapon.

Arty, being more of a diplomat, wished he had a bucket of troll slop or a chocolate chip cookie to offer whoever was doing all the growling.

“That fissure is very smelly,” Tilley Tartmore said. “A disgrace to the neighborhood.” She didn’t even thank Keisha and Arty for saving her, and she didn’t say how she got into Max’s cellar in the first place.

The crack was six feet long and four feet wide when it stopped growing. The smoke cleared, but the smell intensified.  

“Like that time we had a dead skunk under the porch,” Keisha whispered. “Plus gym socks.”

“Gym socks that fell in a sewer,” Arty said.

The growling got louder.

Something crawled out of the fissure.

Something small and gray and furry. “Mew,” it said.

“Aw,” said Arty. “It’s a kitten.”

“But something’s still growling,” Keisha said.

A huge hand emerged from the crack in Max’s garden. The kitten danced over and hunkered down on it, purring. The hand flicked her away. “Not now, kitty,” said a voice like an earthquake. 

And out crawled . . . another troll. But this one was bigger than Max and Max’s mother put together. He wasn’t green like them—in fact, he was pasty pale, not that healthy-looking. He had on leather pants and a vest, just like Max’s, but they were dirty and ragged. He was barefoot.

The troll stood up, bending almost in half to keep from whacking his head on the ceiling. “You called?” he bellowed.

He looked around, saw Arty and Keisha and Tilley Tartmore cowering on the bed, and growled like a giant rockslide, showing his pointy teeth.  “Where is that little creep?”

The kitten danced over and bit him on the toe.

“Cutie,” said the troll, picking her up.

“That kitten must be an alien too,” Tilley Tartmore whispered.

A few things happened then. A door slammed far, far upstairs, probably in the kitchen. A pack of dogs started howling.

Max peeked out of the entrance to his tunnel. Arty dug an elbow into Keisha’s ribs, but she’d already seen him.

Max put a finger to his lips, telling them to be quiet. 

—Ellen, with story ingredients by the clever Joanna.

Ingredients needed for the next scene: Who is the giant troll, and why is Max hiding from him? Who slammed the door upstairs, and why are the dogs howling? Who (or what) is the kitten?

 Bonus question: How did Tilley Tartmore get into Max’s cellar?

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back Thursday to see what we wrote!

If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 4

Mom, Dad, Keisha and Arty stared at Mrs. Patterson’s wizened face and the coarse hair sprouting from her neck. She looked ferocious, but had kind blue eyes.

“Who? What? What are you?” Dad sputtered. He stretched out his arms as if to protect his family.

Keisha and Arty glanced at each other. They thought of the times Mrs. Patterson babysat them. How she always invited Max upstairs for story time and a pocketful of slugs. How she knitted him a pom-pom hat in purple, his favorite color. 

Suddenly, they knew.

“Mrs. Patterson is Max’s mother,” Keisha explained.

“My only son.” Mrs. Patterson placed a hand over her heart. 

Mom and Dad looked dazed. 

“Don't feel bad you didn't figure it out,” Arty said to his parents.

“Yeah,” Keisha said. “Grownups can’t recognize magic like kids can. It’s a fact.”

Mrs. Patterson pulled her grandmother mask back over her face. She patted her moon-white bun into place, settled her huge glasses on her nose and tucked a few stray neck hairs under her shirt collar. “Better?” she said to Mr. and Mrs. Wachter. Then she tilted her head, listening. “We have at most seventeen and three-quarter minutes before Edward King and his bloodhound arrive. We need to call Max from the forest and get him to safety in the Underside as quickly as possible.”

“Tell us what to do,” the Wachter family said together.

Mrs. Patterson wrapped several cookies in her tea towel and slid a couple more onto her palm. She left the rest on the plate. “We’ll spread the cookie smell inside and outside the house to hide the scent of Max and his slop. If we do a thorough job, even the bloodhound will be tricked.”

She passed the plate to Dad and the tea towel to Mom. “Watch me,” she said holding out her palm. She sucked in a deep breath, pursed her lips and slowly, gently blew over the tops of the cookies in her hand. A dusty breeze wafted up, swirling the dank, earthy smell through the hallway. 

“I’ll take the front yard,” Dad said, opening the door. “And I get it. These aren’t chocolate chip cookies.”

“And I’ll spread the cookie smell in the kitchen,” Mom said, heading down the hall.

“Keisha and Arty, go to Max’s stone garden,” Mrs. Patterson instructed. “Retrieve the top stone from the third mound of the third ring of stones. Hold that stone high in the air for three seconds. That will call Max here pronto.” 

“We’re on it,” Keisha said.

“Do not disturb any other stones. We do not want to unleash any of the Underside’s power,” Mrs. Patterson said. “And remember, time is of the essence.”

“No worries,” Arty said.

Keisha bounded down the long, long cellar stairs, Arty right behind. She stopped abruptly at the bottom. Arty bumped into her.

Crouched by Max’s stone garden was Tilley Tartmore. She was clicking photos with her phone camera. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Keisha demanded. 

“I have every right to gather evidence.” Tilley Tartmore stuck her pointy nose in the air. “For the safety of the neighborhood.”

“This is private property.” Arty pushed past Keisha. “Get out of here.” 

Tilley Tartmore stepped back. Right into the stone garden. Right into a mound of stones.

Clatter! Clatter!

Stones scattered on the cellar floor. A low rumble shook the basement. The ground in the middle of the stone garden split open. Smoke poured out. Along with a sickening, rotting stench. And the sound of growling.

 —Barrie (with help from story ingredients provided by Parker, Malcom, Fiona, Alexander, Jonathon, and a couple of very creative Anonymous helpers.... thank you!)

Ingredients needed for the next scene: What comes out of the Underside? What happens to Tilley Tartmore? What do Keisha and Arty do next? 

The Recipe: In the comments to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Saturday at 12 noon. (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back Monday to see what we wrote!

If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 3

Dad slowly opened the door. Arty and Keisha both squeezed their eyes shut.

"Oh, what a relief, it's you," Mom said.

Arty opened his left eye. Keisha opened her right. Mrs. Patterson stood in the doorway. Both kids breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Patterson was the grandmotherly woman who lived next door. She wore her moon white hair in a bun that somehow made her HUGE glasses seem even bigger. Tonight, she had on both her gardening hat and an apron, as if she'd been baking in her garden, or didn't want to be recognized.

"I hope now isn't a bad time, dears, but I have something that might help." She held out a plate covered with a tea towel. The smell of gooey chocolate chip cookies filled the air.

Arty licked his lips. Dad did too. But Mom and Keisha both wrinkled their noses. How could the boys think that smelled good? Didn't they smell that dark, earthy smell, like nightcrawlers?

"Thanks, Mrs. Patterson," Mom said. "But we were just sitting down for a special dinner."

Keisha nodded, moving in front of Arty, whose hand was already moving toward the plate. Keisha pushed it back down.

"Of course. Of course. I should come back later." Except Mrs. Patterson didn't move. She looked at the mop in Keisha's hands, then the bucket in Max's, and, finally, at a flap of an empty sack of Max's food Dad had stashed behind the open door. She leaned forward ever so slightly and in a voice as quiet as a cave said, "I've come to help. I know what Tilley did."

Keisha shuddered. Tilley Tartmore was their other neighbor. Mom and Dad said they should never judge a book by its cover, but Tilley Tartmore was a book with the scariest cover. Her lips pursed in a permanent scowl, her nose was so pointy, it once jabbed Keisha in the eye when Tilly scolded her for stepping on her grass (Tilley cut each blade by hand with a pair of scissors). And she called the police once when Arty put his hand on her freshly washed window. She was scary!

"What did Tilley do?" Dad said.

Mrs. Patterson looked toward the eerie old mansion at the top of the hill. "Do you have some milk to go with the cookies?" she said loudly. Then, in that quiet cave-like voice whispered, "The letter was only a distraction. They're coming, and they called in Edward King and his bloodhound. These cookies will hide your guest's scent for only so long."

Then she did something very unlike Mrs. Patterson. She stepped into the house without being asked and closed the door. Before anyone could say anything, she pulled at the base of her neck, and her whole face came off. It was a mask! Underneath was the most wizened, ancient creature Mom, Dad, Keisha or Arty had ever seen. And her voice was as gravelly as the bottom of a cave.

"Does he have a stone garden, this troll of yours? If he does, we might still be able to get him to the Underside, but we must hurry. I can hear them coming!"

—Stacy (with help from story ingredients provided by Parker, Kylie, and a couple of very clever Anonymous helpers.... thank you!) 

Ingredients needed for the next scene: Who is Mrs. Patterson really, and why did she bring those cookies? What will the stone garden do? And, what is the Underside? 

The Recipe: In the comment to THIS EPISODE, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time), and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back Thursday to see what we wrote!

If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 2

Keisha grabbed the letter first.

To the Wachter Family:
It has come to our attention that you have an unregistered tenant living on your premises, which is a violation of Section 51 of the Springfield Housing Code. Our inspectors will arrive at noon tomorrow to: 1). Inspect for suitable living conditions; 2). Gather information about the circumstances; 3). Interview the unregistered tenant; 4). Issue instructions as to next steps; 5). Collect the fine for harboring a potentially dangerous tenant.

Mom looked at Dad. Dad looked at Mom. They both looked at Arty and Keisha. “How’d they find out?” Mom said.

Arty glared at her. “It wasn’t me!”

Keisha huffed. “Me, either. I can’t believe you thought that.”

“Never mind," said Mom. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now, we need to protect Max. And that starts with removing all traces of him.”

“We can’t,” said Arty. “It’s Max. He came with the house. He’s our friend.”

“Exactly.” Dad said. “Which is why he needs to disappear. So he can stay here.”

Keisha tossed up her hands. “Dad, that makes absolutely no sense.”

“Think of it this way,” he said. “If we make it look like no one else lives here or ever has, they’ll leave us alone. Things will go back to normal.”

Their special supper would have to wait. All four of them scrambled downstairs. Max wasn’t there; he'd probably left for the woods.

Keisha covered the feeding slab with a pile of cardboard boxes. Arty swept the troll hairs off the dirt floor. Mom and Dad bagged up the straw and folded the pile of sheets and towels and blankets that Max used as a bed. Then they all stood before the stone “garden” that Max had tended every morning before he went to sleep.

“We can’t touch that,” Arty said.

“It’s his sacred place,” said Keisha. “It’ll kill him.”

“Here’s the hard truth,” said Dad. “If they find out about Max, someone might kill him anyway.”

Arty gasped. “Kill Max? Why?”

“Let’s just say this isn’t the first time a troll was found in the neighborhood,” Dad said. “People panicked. Some of them thought he was an alien and wanted to run painful tests. Others thought he was responsible for the disappearing wildlife population in the woods. And nearly everyone agreed he was a danger to society and needed to be punished. He was barely able to escape… if he did escape. He was never heard from again. So, Max’s sacred stones have to go.”

Keisha grew a sly smile. “But Dad, you can’t take away my hobby!” 

“Yeah!” said Arty. “OUR hobby. We’ve worked on this stone garden so long, ever since we read about Stonehenge and the rock formations in Norway.”

Mom looked at Dad. Dad looked at Mom. “We can work with that,” she said. “Right now though, we have to do something with those bags of feed outside.”

There were at least 30 of them in the shed, but they had no clue where to hide them. One thing was for certain: they had to. They grabbed all the evidence of Max having been there and trudged up the long, long set of stairs. 

Boom-bah-boom-boom!
Dad raced ahead.
Someone was pounding at the door.

Ingredients needed for the next scene: Who was at the door? Who found out about Max (was it really the Housing Authority) and how?  How will the family hide Max?

—Jody (with help from story ingredients provided by BDB, Malcolm, Fiona, Kane, Parker, and unnamed contributors ... Thanks!) 

The Recipe: In the comments, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Saturday at 12 noon (Eastern Daylight Time) and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back Monday to see what we wrote!

P.S. If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!

Max Downstairs: Episode 1

"Whose turn is it to feed Max?" Mom asked when Arty and Keisha walked in from the backyard.

They pointed at each other. Nobody liked feeding Max, because of the disgusto factor.

“Both of you do it,” Mom said. “It’ll go faster. Don’t be down there chatting with him all night—I’ve got a special supper cooking.”

Keisha fetched the mop and a pail of soapy water.

Arty went outside to fill a feed bucket with special-order Extra Fine Troll Slop. It smelled like super-bad breath, but Max liked it. Arty and Keisha tried not to think about what was in it.

They headed down the long, long cellar stairs—longer than in most houses. Max had to stay deep and dark during sunlit hours.

He was awake and all dressed in his leather vest and pants when they got down there. As tall as two Dads and a Dad-and-a-half wide, he was green and hairy and ferocious-looking, his voice as big as he was. But his blue eyes were kind.

“Good evening, my dears.” Max bowed as if they were royalty and he was too. He was older than any living human, and his manners were old-fashioned.

“Good evening.” Arty put the bucket down on the cement slab in the corner—the rest of the floor was dirt— and joined Keisha on the stairs, out of splatter-range.

Max knelt on the slab and sang his grateful song, then dipped his hands into the slop and started shoveling it into his huge mouth.  Pretty soon the slab was covered in yuck.

Arty and Keisha closed their eyes. But they could still hear the squishing and sploshing, and there was that bad-breath smell.

“Ahhhhh,” Max said when he was done. “That was marvelous. Thank you, dears.”

He lumbered over to wash up in the huge sink by his bed.

“We can’t stay and talk tonight,” Keisha said, “There’s a special supper.”

“That’s fine, dear. I have plans myself.” He often went out at night—he’d dug himself a tunnel out of the subdivision and into the woods—but his family fed him so well he didn’t need to hunt much.

Arty took the Extra Fine Slop bucket upstairs to hose it out. Keisha washed down the concrete slab with her mop, then said good night to Max and trudged upstairs.

She’d just put the mop away when Dad slammed in the back door, panting and waving a big, ivory-colored letter, with official-looking print.

“Oh, no,” Mom said.

“Oh, yes.” Dad threw the letter down on the kitchen table. “They found out about Max.”

--Ellen 

Ingredients needed for the next scene: Who sent the letter? Why is it a problem that they found out about Max? Why does this family have a troll living in the cellar?

The Recipe: In the comments, give us your best ideas to answer our questions. We’ll collect your answers Tuesday at 11 p.m. (Eastern Daylight Time), and will use as many as we can to write the next scene. If you want to, sign your first name to your idea so we can give you credit.

Come back Thursday to see what we wrote!

If we don’t take your suggestion this time, be sure to keep playing—we need your help to cook up a good story!