“You’re a drooler.”
“Huh?” Ethan stretched.
“You drool when you sleep. It’s really gross. Anyway, let’s go.”
“No grosser than watching someone sleep,” Ethan muttered, struggling to wake up. “What time is it?”
“It’s two o’clock and time we headed to Tom’s grave.” Amos slung his backpack over his shoulders.
Before leaving the cave, they kicked dirt on the smoldering coals from their fire.
It was dead still when they scaled the wall to the rear lawn of the house. Careful to step in their old tracks, they slipped on the frozen footprints. The windows of Gramarye were black sheets, except for the yellow glow of the solar’s side windows. Ethan motioned Amos forward.
Once in front of the grave, they stared at Thomas Malory’s tombstone glowing in the moonlight. Amos handed the shovel he’d brought to Ethan. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?
“Me?” Ethan whispered. “No, we are really going to do this.”
“Ethan, I don’t like it.”
“Amos, if we’re right, it won’t be a grave.”
“I guess there’s some bizarre logic in that; let’s get this over with.”
Together they raised the shovel above the grave, and then pushed down as hard as they could. The tip of the blade cut into the frozen soil. A wooden, hollow sound echoed in the still night air.
“Oh, my God! You hit the coffin!” “We hit the coffin,” Ethan replied.
“Gee whiz, I can see the headline in the Deadmoor Daily Inquisitor: ‘Local Sexton’s Son Arrested for Grave Desecration.’ ”
They had moved a few yards from the grave. It was as if they expected the body to rise out of the coffin.
“Wait a minute. Who would bury someone in such a shallow grave?” Amos whispered.
“The grave—it’s too shallow. You bury people six feet deep.” Ethan looked at the small indentation in the dirt—it was about six inches deep. Leaning down, he felt the splinters of wood that were exposed. He chipped away at a layer of frozen earth. Amos joined him, and more wood was exposed until a flat wooden panel was revealed. “Amos, it looks like a big board.”
“Not a board. A door.” Amos’s flashlight showed a set of stout hinges and a hasp for a lock.
Ethan struggled to push the rusted steel pin to release the hasp, but it wouldn’t budge. He used the shovel handle to knock it aside. Without a word, they pulled on the hasp, and finally the door broke free, the hinges creaking. Ethan clicked on his flashlight and joined Amos in shining light down into the hole. A flight of stone steps led to darkness.
“This has to be the entrance to the maze.”
“ ‘The path to the goal begins with the mole. From the door of Old Tom’s home,’ ” Amos whispered.
“You ready?” “Let’s do this.”
As the boys made their way slowly down the stairs, the light from their flashlights danced over the narrow space. Except for the damp stone and slight echo, it was like going down to a friend’s basement. At the foot of the steps was a gray stone floor.
“Amos, check out the torches.” Ethan pulled a torch from its bracket. “Do you still have some matches from our camp?”
“Lucky for us, one of my jobs is burning our leaves at home. In a twisted way, I guess it is pretty cool.” Amos pulled the matches from his backpack and gave them to Ethan.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Ethan said, striking a match and then lighting the torch. He waved the burning torch. “This is so choice.”
The boys continued down the twisting and turning passage. It looked as though no one had been in it for a very long time—rat carcasses littered the stone floor. Ethan shuddered as he heard the crunch of small bones under his feet. Spider webs clung to their hair and clothes as they crept through the passage. The air smelled of mold and damp earth. They reached a wooden door.
“I think we’re supposed to leave the torches here.” Amos pointed to a skinny iron bucket to the side of the door. He pushed his torch into the bucket and snuffed it out.
Ethan copied Amos, and then they stuck the torches in the rusty brackets bolted to the stone wall. Pushing the heavy door open, they were soon standing on a path running between the snow-covered high walls of overgrown privet hedgerows.
“Ethan, which way?” Amos asked him.
“The way that’ll get us to that building in the middle.”
After rummaging in his backpack, Amos pulled out a roll of tape and showed it to Ethan. “Never go anywhere without duct tape.”
“What are you gonna do with that?”
“Mark our trail, of course. Well, shall we?” Amos said.
They walked forward, both boys cautiously looking around them. In some places the untrimmed hedge was so uneven it was difficult to walk through. They turned left at the first opening and reached a dead end. Amos turned them around and walked to their original position near the trap door, stuck a piece of tape on a branch, and said, “This will let us know it’s the right way to exit the maze.” Snow clinging to the hedge’s branches made it seem otherworldly. The moon’s light bathed the maze in a blu- ish glow, and they passed through shadows cast in strange angles across the paths. They traced their tracks in the snow, continuing to stick the silver tape to mark proven paths, but the dead ends began to frustrate them. To Ethan, at first it was like a game, but it had grown tiresome with each retreat back to the main corridor.
Amos asked, “How big is this maze?” He sighed.
Ethan didn’t answer. He was staring at a truly awesome sight—the limestone building at the center of the maze.
The building’s domed roof was supported all around by cracked stone columns. Wide steps lead to large double doors in the center of the building. Two large stained-glass windows framed the doors, their brilliant colors revealed by the brightness of the full moon. A pair of weathered statues flanked the top stair, guarding the building’s entrance.
“Are they fish or eels?”
“I don’t know. I’d say scary,” Ethan replied. “Anyway, we’re here. So, what now?”
“I want to go inside,” Ethan said, moving toward the door. “Ethan, we’ve found it. Let’s just go back.”
“Go back? This is where the light comes from. This is why we did this.”
“Ethan, that’s definitely a mausoleum. We just desecrated a grave. You want to add to that? Is it your family’s mausoleum? It’s certainly not mine. We shouldn’t go in there.”
“Amos, I want to know what’s in there.”
Ethan climbed the steps, grabbed the large handles of the door, tugged, and then pushed. But the doors were locked. Then, one of the doors creaked open on its own.
“I’m outta here!” Amos shouted and ran down the steps.
Ethan followed, and just as he passed Amos, another noise made them stop.
“Amos, it’s coming right at us! Run!”
The largest crow they’d ever seen was flying directly toward them. They ran back to the mausoleum. Once inside, they slammed the doors shut and turned their flashlights on. “Gee whiz, what got into that crazy bird? That thing could have killed us.” Amos looked around the inside of the tomb. “We’re actually in here. We’re in the crypt,” Amos whispered.
Ethan shined his flashlight on the rear wall.
Amos joined him, staring in amazement; a huge painting of symbols and creatures covered the entire wall. “It’s exquisite.”
“Yeah, cool picture. I wonder if there’s anything else in here?” asked Ethan, shining his light around the room’s interior.
“Anything else? Anything else? Ethan, do you see how vast that painting is? It could be like the Egyptian tomb paintings that told the story of the pharaoh’s passage through the underworld.”
“Awesome. Maybe there’s cool jewels or gold stuff—you know, treasure.”
“I give up,” Amos said.
Ethan’s flashlight stopped on some stone boxes and large figures lying on the floor. “Are those stone coffins, and statues of dead guys?” he asked.
“Yes, a sarcophagus—or sarcophagi, to be precise,” Amos said.
“Nasty. Dead people are in there?”
“Only in the sarcophagi. The others are effigies, or statues commemorating the deceased. Ethan, I wonder—the doors can be barred from the inside. Tombs like this are usually in Europe, and not in Virginia. The statues look ancient. See, he’s in chain mail and armor.”
“I guess tombs don’t usually flash colored lights either, do they, Amos?”
“There’s considerable unexplained phenomena around here,” Amos responded. “Speaking of colors, I wish this place had lights—the painting’s so big. It’s impossible to see the whole thing.”
“Since everything around here is so old, maybe there are torches.”
The boys searched the interior. On either side of the doors, they found two torches in brackets on the wall. Ethan lit them, and amazingly, the painting began to glow from the flickering flames.
“But that’s impossible,” Amos said. “Wait a minute. Fascinating!”
“Even I get this one. The torches are lighting up the painting.”
“They don’t give off enough light to brighten it that much,” said Amos. “Those glass panels up there are mirrors, and they’re focusing the torches’ light to that glass lens hanging from the ceiling. The lens is spreading the light evenly over the entire painting.” His voice was unsteady.
“That is so choice! Some bands could use that.”
“You don’t get it, Ethan. This is freaking me out. I think this mausoleum was built hundreds of years ago, and even stranger, was made so that living people could spend time in it—lots of time. Who would build a mausoleum like this?”
“What was is it you said that Sherlock Holmes would say? ‘Once you get rid of the impossible, what’s left must be right,’ ” Ethan said.
“Loosely quoted, but surprising nonetheless,” Amos replied.
“So, shouldn’t we start getting rid of the impossible?”
The painting was ten feet high and fifteen feet wide. The now muted colors must have been dazzling when the paint- ing had been new. Dominating the center was a large gilded sun—with gold brackets and small ledges sticking out of the gold leaf surface.
“It’s a fresco,” said Amos. “The paint is applied when the plaster is still wet.”
“Do you ever do anything except read?” “Not especially.”
Arcane objects were painted around the gilded sun: a scarlet dragon, a tower, and a map of an island with an ominous black flag. Unusual symbols resembling letters were painted inside various plaques in the plaster. The night sky, with the moon, stars, and the planets, surrounded the sun.
“We need to know what this fresco means,” Amos said.
“The dragon’s really cool.” Ethan’s jaw had dropped. Amos gave Ethan an annoyed look.
“Oh, sorry. Where do we start?” Ethan asked. “We don’t have much time. Even with my lax uncle, we can’t stay in here forever; we’ve got to get back.”
“Everyone thinks we’re at the other’s house.”
“Yeah, but look,” Ethan said, turning to the doors. Faint gray light peeped from under the heavy oak doors; dawn was approaching. “Oh man, what if Gooch calls your parents?”
Amos narrowed his eyes. “No one ever calls my house— well, unless someone’s died.”
“Amos, we’d better go, just in case.”
They followed the duct tape back through the maze to the passage door. Daybreak approached as they closed the trapdoor in front of Thomas Malory’s tombstone. After brushing snow over it, they were soon trudging through the backyard.
“I’m a numbskull. I didn’t think to pack a notebook, so I couldn’t write anything down. We’ve got to go back to the mausoleum,” Amos said.
“I’d have taken a picture with my iPhone, but Phoebe took it away,” Ethan said.
“At least you’ve got an iPhone. My mom thinks they’re possessed by ‘evil spirits.’ We need to make a copy of that painting. All that peculiar stuff—it just has to mean something.”
“I’ve got to get some sleep—like a million hours’ worth,” said Ethan. “Let’s meet in the library tonight; we can figure out what to do then.”
Ethan made his way quietly through Gramarye House, stopping at Jynx’s door. He could hear her snoring. His room was cold, but when he saw his bed, he felt warmer. Too tired to change into pajamas, he snuggled under the heavy quilt, glanced at the dark fireplace, and as usual, fire suddenly danced on the logs in the grate. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
“Outta that bed, ya big lummox! It’s almost noon. You ain’t sleeping the day away—not in my house,” Mrs. Gooch shouted.
Your house? Ethan thought, slowly stirring beneath the covers. The housekeeper stood at the foot of his bed with a smile on her face.
Ethan didn’t want Mrs. Gooch to catch him sleeping in his clothes. “Um, Mrs. Gooch, I don’t suppose you could, um, leave the room so I can get out of bed, could you, please?”
“Why on earth, child? Well, I never! With all them brothers I practically raised up from pups.” She left the room, and Ethan could hear her muttering, “Sleepin’ buck nekkid. Well, I never!”
Ethan chuckled as he looked out of his window. No clouds were in the sky, and the snow was an intense white from the late morning sun. He got out of bed and changed into some fresh clothes. Hurrying downstairs to the kitchen, he couldn’t remember ever being so hungry. Mrs. Gooch stopped Ethan from entering the kitchen. “Nope! Dining room,” she said as she washed dishes.
The butler walked through the room and laughed quietly.
He heard Fergus mutter: “Buck nekkid.”
Ethan thought, She doesn’t gossip much, does she?
He ate quickly. As he left the dining room, he heard music coming from the conservatory. He stood in the doorway and listened to Socrates play his guitar—warm, rich tones filling the air with eerily beautiful music.
Socrates stopped playing when he noticed Ethan. “Do you play?”
“I can’t play anything. I have to be in chorus at school, but it stinks.”
“You want me to show you some guitar chords?”
“No thanks. I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to do.”
“If you change your mind, you’re welcome to play my guitar anytime,” Socrates said, his eyes grinning over the glasses perched on his nose.
Ethan couldn’t help but smile as he left the room. He really is cool. Phoebe and Reginald won’t let us touch anything at home. It’s like living in one of those expensive stores, he thought. “I’ll leave it out on the guitar stand for you,” he heard his uncle say as he walked down the hallway.
Ethan had hoped to go back to bed, but Mrs. Gooch said she needed help with Christmas shopping. He and Jynx spent the afternoon carrying packages in and out of every store in Deadmoor, it seemed.
Still tired from the previous night’s adventure, Ethan fell asleep in his room later that afternoon. After dinner that night, he trudged to the library. Still sleepy, he nodded off as he sat in front of the fire. He was almost asleep when a gentle tapping came from the window. Amos crawled through the window and joined Ethan at the fireplace.
“All afternoon, my brain has been grappling with the painting’s possibilities,” said Amos. “I really want to make a copy of that painting. You look horrible, by the way.”
“I’m really tired. I’ve barely had any sleep. Would it be okay if we go back tomorrow?”
Amos shook his head. “Tomorrow? Are you crazy? That painting means something, and I’m going to find out what it is. I’m not going to waste time sleeping. By the way, I owe you big time for finding this truly incredible adventure.”
Ethan yawned. “If I go today, will you let me get some sleep?”
“I knew you’d be game!” Amos pumped his fist in celebration.
After checking to make sure Crag wasn’t in the back- yard, they made their way back to the graveyard. Thomas Malory’s grave looked undisturbed, and the boys hurried to brush away the snow and open the trapdoor. They ran through the passage and soon found themselves in the snowy maze.
Ethan squinted. “It’s different from last night.”
“You’re right. Don’t tell me this stupid maze changes.” Amos put his hand to his forehead.
“What happened last night?” a girl’s voice said. Both boys jumped.
“Jynx, what’re you doing here?” Ethan asked, clutching at his heart.
“How’d you—” Amos began.
“You two aren’t very good at sneaking around,” said Jynx. She was leaning against the door with her arms crossed.
Ethan stepped toward her. “Jynx, go back to the house.”
“How’d she get here?” Amos asked, wrinkling his brow and looking around them.
“Jynx, I mean it. Go back to the house,” Ethan said, pointing a rigid finger at her.
“How could we not hear her? It’s like she’s a ghost,” Amos said, checking to make sure his glasses were working.
“Amos, shut up. Jynx, you’re leaving.” Ethan was walking in circles as if the movement would keep him from exploding in anger.
Jynx widened her stance. “Why would I leave? I’ve decided to join this adventure of yours. You need my help.”
“You’re not coming with us. Go back now or you’ll get it, understand?” asked Ethan.
“You’ll do nothing to me, Ethan Edgar Moseby. If you touch me, I’ll use bartitsu on you. I’ve been taking lessons.”
“Who takes bartitsu? By the way, it’s ‘baritsu,’ ” Amos scoffed.
Jynx asked, “Really? You sure you want to go there?”
“Okay, you win. Anyway, I know it’s Sherlock Holmes’s favorite martial art—it’s a form of Japanese wrestling. What kind of a family are you guys from?” Amos held up his hands, looking back and forth between Ethan and Jynx. Then he blinked and narrowed his eyes. “Wait a minute—did she just call you Ethan Edgar Moseby? Edgar? Honestly? You made fun of Amos. I don’t feel so bad now.”
Ethan gritted his teeth. “Amos, shut up. Jynx, go back to the house. I mean it.”
“I’ll tell Mrs. Gooch,” Jynx said, raising her eyebrows.
“So, go ahead.” Ethan folded his arms across his chest. “Okay, then, I’ll tell Uncle Socs.”
“Big deal. He won’t believe you,” Ethan said.
“Mr. Crag, then!” Jynx said, her chin high.
At the sound of that name, Ethan froze. Knowing she’d won, he muttered, “Okay.”
“Awesome,” Jynx said as she twirled around. “So where are we, and what are we doing?”
Reluctantly, Ethan told Jynx about the painting. She thought for a moment, then said, “Let’s go.”
The maze had indeed changed, and they worked their way through it using Amos’s duct tape. When they reached the center courtyard and the mausoleum, Jynx said, “I’m not going in there.”
“You don’t want to stay out here, do you? Alone?” Ethan whispered.
“I didn’t think it’d look so creepy. I mean, there are dead people in there. Could be ravens—or worse, moths. I’m okay here,” she replied.
“Suit yourself,” Ethan said, handing her a flashlight.
Once again, they lit the torches and illuminated the painting. Amos rummaged around in his backpack and produced two notebooks and a pencil box. Ethan, meanwhile, was looking around the interior of the tomb. Amos stopped him and gave him one of the notebooks.
“What’s this for?” asked Ethan.
“We need two copies, in case I leave something out or mess something up. You know—backup.”
Grudgingly, Ethan took the notebook and sat down. He stared at the painting, thinking, This’ll take all night.
“You know, this’ll probably take all night,” Amos said, smiling and rubbing his hands together. “Make sure you copy the colors. They could mean something—I’ve got tons of different colored pencils.”
Of course you do, Ethan thought as he began drawing the painting.
The doors slammed open. The loud bang reverberated throughout the building, making the boys jump. Jynx ran into the room. “There’s a huge, scary black bird flying around out there!”
“We know, Jynx,” Ethan said.
“How about not bursting in here like that again? You scared us half to death. Pardon the pun,” Amos said.
“Sorry. Oh, wow! Look at that,” Jynx said, pointing to the painting. “What a beautiful picture. It’s so big! Great colors.” Ignoring her, Ethan and Amos continued drawing.
Jynx sat beside her brother. She began to “help” him by reminding him of things he needed to add and correcting his colors. After thirty minutes passed, though, she became bored and walked to the painting. Slowly she reached out her hand.
Amos yelled, “NO!”
Jynx jerked her hand back.
“We’re not supposed to touch it right now—please don’t,” Amos said.
Time passed, and the only sounds were the scratching of the colored pencils on paper.
“Finally—done!” Amos said, sliding his pencils back into the box.
Ethan had finished earlier and sat quietly on the stone floor, looking up at the painting. It occurred to him that he’d just spent an hour copying a painting, but was really only seeing it for the first time. Amos was right; it had to mean something.
“Amos, look,” Ethan whispered.
Jynx was curled up asleep on the floor near Ethan, her head resting on Amos’s backpack.
“I thought it had become refreshingly quiet,” Amos whispered. “I didn’t think it was possible for her not to talk.” He chuckled.
“Funny—she never gets to talk to anyone at home. Our au pair doesn’t allow it,” Ethan said.
“Ethan, wake her up. Let’s get out of here.”
Ethan had a hard time waking his sister. She was usually grumpy if anyone ever woke her. Maybe she’s grown out of that, he thought.
She hadn’t. The last time he gently pushed on her shoulder, she snarled at him.
As they opened the doors to leave, Ethan walked ahead, looking for the bird and motioning the others forward when it was safe. They were making their way down the front steps when Ethan stopped. “Oh no, it’s back!”
They heard the beating of ragged wings, and the mid- night-black raven landed on the head of one the stone serpents. It spread its wings as if it were stretching.
At the sight of the bird, Jynx’s sleepy eyes opened wide. She screamed and ran. The bird startled into flight.
“It’s going after her!” Amos shouted as he too started to run.
“We can’t lose Jynx,” Ethan shouted, and he ran as fast as he could after Jynx. He was surprised at how fast she could run.
“What do the Mosebys feed these kids?” Amos muttered as he too pursued Jynx.
Ethan noticed her footprints were disappearing rapidly.
He stopped running. “I’ve got to get my eyes checked.” He was standing in the middle of a path when Amos caught up with him. They watched their footprints behind them disappear with amazement.
Ethan glanced behind him and noticed the bird had stopped chasing them.
When he felt a sudden strong pinch on his upper arm, he yelled in pain. “Crap! What was that?”
“Just checking to see if we’re awake,” Amos said. “You pinched me to see if we’re awake?”
“Sorry, but this is freaking me out,” Amos said. He kneeled in the snow and watched his handprint magically fill up with snow.
Ethan looked up, but no snow was falling. The maze is like Gramarye, he thought.
Jynx could be anywhere deep inside the maze by now. He hoped she had found her way back to the passage door or the mausoleum, but the privet hedges were so thick and overgrown, it was almost impossible to know where you were going.
They called out to her, and when she didn’t answer, they decided to move in the direction they’d seen her go. Their calls echoed eerily around them as their breath misted in the dim light.
“Why doesn’t she answer?” Ethan asked.
“She has to be frightened. Gosh darn it, I’m frightened,” said Amos.
“I don’t hear the bird either.”
“I’m a nincompoop!” said Amos, switching on his flashlight.
“I didn’t think about the flashlight either. Amos, I don’t see any tape. What if we all get lost in here tonight? It’s getting really cold.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Amos rubbed his temples.
“Should we split up or stay together? Do we stay here and wait for her? It’s maddening. The purpose of a maze is to get through it—not find someone in it.”
“Maybe that’s it—get through it.” “Ethan, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Jynx is not dumb. She’ll get through the maze. So, we find our way back to the passage door, and we’re bound to run into her.”
“Sorry to be a wet cemetery, but not necessarily. Ethan, there could be hundreds of path combinations in this maze.”
“It’s the best plan.”
Amos thought for minute, then said, “Agreed.” He gave the flashlight to Ethan.
Once again, they worked their way through the maze; the only sounds were the wind and their shoes crunching the hard snow.
“ETHAN!” they heard Jynx shout.
They turned and, in the moonlight, saw what looked like a large mass of darting and swooping black rags rolling like a dark cloud toward them. Amos had already started running in the opposite direction. To his horror, Ethan saw that dozens of birds were diving and darting at Jynx. Unable to move, he watched her hurtle down the path with her arms flailing and hair flying. She screamed as her short legs churned like pistons. Seeing Ethan, she headed straight for him.
He focused the flashlight on her. The ravens weren’t actually attacking her. It was as if they were chasing her— chasing her away from something. She reached Ethan and ran behind him. The ravens stopped swarming and landed on the tops of the maze all around them, causing powdery snow to waft down. Ethan noticed the one-eyed bird staring at him with its head cocked to the side.
What do they want?
He threw a snowball at the top of the maze. Not a single raven flew away. A few flapped their wings, and a few croaked lazily. He threw more snowballs, but the ravens just dodged them and continued their cacophonous chorus. “We’ve got to get away from them. Look, I don’t know how to get back to the door just now. Start running and I’ll follow you,” Ethan whispered to Jynx. She nodded her head, her eyes wide. Taking her hand, he shouted, “Now!” They ran forward but were stopped by the ravens flinging themselves down into the maze’s path and diving angrily at them. Jynx began to cry. The one-eyed bird landed on the snowy path, hopped a few steps forward, and then retreated a few steps, as if nudging them.
“I think it’s trying to push us back to where we were before.” Ethan took a few steps forward, challenging the bird. It bobbed its head and shrieked loudly, shaking its wings at him.
“Jynx, on three, we turn around and run.”
“No, not me,” Jynx whispered, her eyes fixed on the ravens.
“Jynx, we have to. We have no other choice. Look, you go first. I’ll be between you and them. Okay—one, two, three!”
She didn’t move. “Jynx, go!”
Still, she didn’t move. She was glued to the spot. Ethan reached forward, pinched his sister on the back of the arm, and yelled “Go!” as loud as he could. She started running, and Ethan followed behind. The birds swarmed into the air in pursuit.
Jynx kept running and took different paths. Ethan worried as he followed her: What if we get even more lost? Where’s Amos? He could see a larger path ahead. She ran straight toward it, but ravens appeared out of thin air and blocked the opening before they could enter. Jynx whirled around and headed in the opposite direction. The birds flew wildly around them. Reaching the end of a long passage, she veered to the right, but once again the ravens blocked her. Taking another path, Ethan saw the tunnel door ahead. He looked around for any sign of Amos. Why did he leave without us? he thought. What a jerk. Anyway, we’ve got to get away from these birds. “Jynx, the door’s up ahead! Keep going and don’t look behind you!”
They reached the door, and Jynx flung it open. Once they were in the tunnel, Jynx hugged her brother. Just outside, they could hear the ravens flying off into the night.
“Come on, Jynx. Let’s get you to the house.”
Owen R. Minter was inspired to write The Shrouded Sword, a fantasy story filled with ancient magic and time travel, after creating a drawing based on Arthurian legend. The Shrouded Sword is the first book in the Gramarye Cycle series. When he’s not writing, Owen makes paintings with a leaf blower, reads, and enjoys coaching Special Olympics Athletics.
This website uses marketing and tracking technologies. Opting out of this will opt you out of all cookies, except for those needed to run the website. Note that some products may not work as well without tracking cookies.Opt Out of Cookies