The 13th Floor: A Ghost Story

The 13th Floor: A Ghost Story

4.7 4
by Sid Fleischman, Rick Adamson, Richard Adamson

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There's a mile-long word for the fear (and magic) of the number thirteen-triskaidekaphobia. In this comic fireworks of a novel, newly orphaned Buddy Stebbins stumbles onto the 13th floor of a shabby old building and finds himself transported aboard a leaking pirate ship in a howling storm--300 years in the past! Cast adrift, he washes up in New England where his…  See more details below


There's a mile-long word for the fear (and magic) of the number thirteen-triskaidekaphobia. In this comic fireworks of a novel, newly orphaned Buddy Stebbins stumbles onto the 13th floor of a shabby old building and finds himself transported aboard a leaking pirate ship in a howling storm--300 years in the past! Cast adrift, he washes up in New England where his plucky ancestor, ten-year-old Abigail, is caught up in the witchcraft mania and is about to be hanged. Firing off surprises like Roman candles from almost every page, award-winning novelist Sid Fleischman tells a many-mirrored tale of ghosts, witchcraft, razzle-dazzle treasure, and the mischief of illusion and delusion.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly
Hold on to your hats-there's never a dull moment when Fleischman (The Whipping Boy) is at the helm. A rollicking ride, this tale by the Newbery Medalist casts off into comic adventure with the young orphan Buddy, his lawyer sister, and a magical elevator that whisks them 300 years into the past. Fleischman deftly juggles several equally entertaining story lines, one involving a pirate ship and a hidden treasure, another focused on a 10-year-old girl accused of witchcraft in Puritan Boston, and a third revolving around Buddy and his sister's present-day struggle to pay off their recently deceased parents' debts and keep the family home. Liberally laced with dry wit and thoroughly satisfying-in Fleischman's world, villains always get their just deserts and endings are as happy as they are unexpected-readers could hardly ask for more. Ages 8-up. (Oct.)
Children's Literature - Kathleen Karr
Written by the Newbery winning author of The Whipping Boy, this book is always worth reading. This adventure transports a very modern Buddy Stebbins back to 1692 to meet his Puritan ancestors. On the high seas, Buddy learns the ropes of sailing and pirating, while returning to the homeport of Boston gets him involved with a witch trial involving his feisty ten-year-old grandmother (many times removed). This is a funny, non-scary ghost story that makes one actually grateful to live in the twentieth century.
Children's Literature - Jan Lieberman
"Help! Make haste to India Street! The Zachary Building. To the 13th floor! I'm Abigail Parsons, aye, your own relative herself!... Don't fail me!" That message leads Buddy Stebbins, 12, on the adventure of his life. Buddy is transported 300 years back in time to a leaky pirate ship captained by a distant relative, then to New England where Abigail, 10, is about to be hung as a witch! He must save her, find his missing sister, Liz, and get back to his own time. The action never stops. That delicate line between the comic and tragic adds believability to Fleischman's stories. His tall tale language is sheer fun to read aloud. 1997 (orig.
Children's Literature - Deborah Zink Roffino
Forget those romantic notions of by-gone days and the adventurous life of a sailor. This adventure, penned by a very gifted writer, transports a modern youngster back in time to meet his Puritan fathers. Along with learning the ropes-and the sails-on the ocean-blue, Buddy learns the ins and outs of piracy, witch hunting, puritan punishments and the raw difficulty of life in the 1600's.
School Library Journal
Gr 4-6-Recently orphaned Buddy Stebbins, 12, is in the care of his sister, Liz, a young attorney. Faced with the prospect of selling the family home to pay off their parents' debts, Buddy calls on an ancestor, Captain Crackstone, rumored to be a pirate, for assistance. In response, a plea for help from the 17th century arrives from another descendant, Abigail Parsons, who is about to be tried for witchcraft at age 10. Independently, Buddy and Liz find their ways back to 1692 Massachussets to join forces with their forebears. This rollicking time-travel adventure requires a willing suspension of disbelief on the part of the characters as well as readers. Thrust into scenes of piracy and witchcraft hysteria respectively, Buddy and Liz experience the most dramatic and fascinating aspects of life at that time. Fleischman's characteristic flair for compelling action, lively dialogue, authentic details, and humorous elements are all present here, resulting in a thoroughly entertaining page turner. However, Buddy's 20th-century mannerisms and dress, including glow-in-the-dark shoelaces, are almost uniformly accepted after his initial appearance. Liz, for all her cleverness, foolishly refers to upcoming events in Salem, which casts suspicion of witchcraft upon her. Still, the rambunctious events aboard the ship and the tension of the trial will engage readers. The tidy ending is satisfying, containing enough irony to avoid predictability. An author's note eloquently and articulately explains the historical context of the setting.-Starr LaTronica, Berkeley Public Library, CA

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Product Details

Listening Library, Inc.
Publication date:
Edition description:
Unabridged, 2 Cassettes
Product dimensions:
5.62(w) x 7.43(h) x 1.26(d)
Age Range:
8 - 12 Years

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One


The phone lit up and began to warble. I was watching an old Tarzan movie on TV, studying for a test in Spanish, and baby-sitting the kid next door. I could also chew gum at the same time, except that I didn't have money for trifles.

"The phone's ringing, Buddy," said Hayley, who was sitting on the stairs and drawing pictures of horses with long yellow manes. She was the kid next door, with long yellow hair.

Sometimes I answered the phone, and sometimes I let the answering machine get it. Lately a girl from school, a girl everyone called Garbo, was stalking me. Could that be her now? I liked her a lot, but she was into weight lifting. I wasn't crazy about having a girlfriend who had larger biceps and deltoids than I did.

The phone rang again just as the Lord of the Apes began to bellow out his jungle yell. I grabbed the phone to shut it up.

"Hola?" I said, trying out my Spanish.

"Buddy, don't you ever answer the phone?" It was my grown-up sister, Liz. "I knew you were home."

"I thought it might be the stalker calling me."

"That cute girl with the sunglasses in your theater group?"

"And my Spanish class. She has me surrounded."

Liz was about a thousand years older than me. She was twenty-three and just out of law school. She wanted to specialize in legal aid for poor people, and her first case had made her kind of famous. A neighbor had charged a harmless old man in Chula Vista with having the "evil eye" and causing flowers to wilt every time he looked at her garden. Liz came up with the curveball defense that it was not against the law to wilt flowers by looking at them. Shewon the case and made the evening news all over the country.

The trouble with being a hotshot in legal aid is that Liz hardly earned parking meter money. Now that we were orphans, we needed some big bucks. It wasn't that we were broke. It was worse than that. We owed a gasping ton of money.

Liz was saying, "Maybe you're not answering the phone in case it's someone calling about buying the house."

"Maybe," I muttered.

"Buddy, you know we need to raise money. We've got to sell the house."

"But we grew up here. My room is my room. This is home."

"I'm sorry, Buddy," she answered. She must be hurting as much as I was, I thought. She just wouldn't show it.

The big old stucco house had been in the Stebbins family since way back in the Dark Ages. It must have been around 1910 that my great-grandfather had come out from Massachusetts and opened his law office on India Street. Then he'd built this house on a hill above Old Town. I guess he'd liked the airy view of the ships going and coming in San Diego Bay, and so did I.

He also liked to hold spirit meetings in the garden at night among the orange blossoms and pepper trees. Liz told me they were called séances. He'd lift a ship's old copper speaking trumpet to his lips and command the dead to talk. He claimed that sometimes they answered back—once through the spout of a brass teakettle in the kitchen.

"But the Stebbins house is haunted," I said. "No one's going to want a home with ghosts in white sheets running around and voices whistling out of teakettles and chains rattling."

"The house is not haunted," Liz snapped back. "There are no ghosts, and when have you ever heard chains rattling? Don't start any crazy rumors, Bud."

"Do you think our great-grandfather was a nutcake?"

"Nutcake is neither a medical nor a legal definition," she said.

"Liz, we're not in court. Do you think he was balmy?"

"I think it just amused him to believe he could talk to ghosts. You remember how much fun it was to believe in the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy."

"But I was only four or five."

"Perfectly sane people can be slightly mad," she conceded, laughing.

"I wonder why anyone would want to rap with the dead. It would give me the cold chills."

"You mean to say you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"He was trying to contact an ancestor from way, way back. The ghost of a sea captain." She paused and then snapped her fingers. "Crackstone—that was his name. Yes, Captain Crackstone."

"Who was he?"

"A dashing pirate."

My eyes must have popped. A pirate hanging from our family tree? A genuine, bloodthirsty buccaneer? I was thrilled. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Liz seemed surprised that this family lore had slipped past me. "Captain Crackstone was hardly table conversation anymore, Buddy. He lived almost three hundred years ago. "

"Did he have men walk the plank and bury treasure and things like that?"

"I don't know about walking the plank," she replied. "But he'd buried a treasure somewhere. Crackstone was the name he used only when he was flying the skull and crossbones. His real name was Stebbins. As a direct descendant our great-grandfather hoped to coax the captain into revealing where he'd buried the loot. After all, the riches would be useless to a ghost."

"Did Captain Crackstone ever turn up in the garden?" I asked.

"Not so much as a foggy wisp. The only thing of his that has come down through the generations is that battered ship's trumpet."

"Maybe I'll give it a try," I said.

Liz broke into a small laugh. "Tell the captain that if he buried some treasure, we need the money." Then she said, "I know it's my turn to make dinner tonight, but would you mind fixing your own? I've got to balance my checkbook."

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13th Floor 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 2 reviews.
Guest More than 1 year ago
This book was a very exciting one. I read the whole thing in about three hours!!!! Anyone that loves books will love this one. Its great!!!!!
Guest More than 1 year ago
I loved this book!! It was Awsome!! I liked how it had a little history, a little mystery, fictional facts, and best of all it had today life.You'll want to read this book, it will give you chills!!