by Dan Poblocki
Harris stood next to the bike rack. He squinted and looked confused. “Well … yeah. ‘The Place Where Stories Are Told’ … It’s the phrase that’s carved into the stone near the roof of the library. In the middle of town.”
Eddie thought about his English class and how Maggie accused him of believing in monsters. So basically, you’re saying that monsters are real? she’d asked him. Slowly, he began to nod. “Are these words carved into the library because Nathaniel Olmstead wrote them? Or did Nathaniel Olmstead write them because he saw them carved into the stone?”
“I don’t know,” said Harris. “What do you mean?” He stood over his bike, undoing the chain lock, looking at Eddie as if he were nuts.
“I just have a hunch about something,” said Eddie. “My English class today has me thinking about these books again. The statue in the clearing, the symbol on the book, the lake in the woods, the dogs from the Haunted Nunnery … If they were real, if Nathaniel Olmstead had seen them with his own eyes, then maybe it stands to reason that other parts of his books are real. And not just the places that inspired him.”
“Are you saying …?” Harris started, then added, “What are you saying?”
“In order to solve The Enigmatic Manuscript‘s code language, we need the key. Right?” said Eddie, picking up his own bike lock and swirling the numbers on his combination pad. “The answer might be in Nathaniel’s stories.”
“You think there might be a clue about the code somewhere here in Gatesweed—a clue we might find in one of his books?” said Harris.
“Exactly.” Eddie yanked the chain away from his front tire. It clattered against the steel rack with a loud clang before he shoved it into his book bag. “How about we forget the video games tonight?” he said, swinging his leg over his bike and hopping onto the seat. “Let’s read a book instead?”
9
Kate was in the kitchen trying to plant the Gremlin’s Tongue flower when she heard the baby start crying again. Rolling her eyes, she whispered to the bright purple plant, “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait. Someone else wants to be more important than you right now.” She went into the hallway and called up the stairs, “Caroline … please! The sooner you take your nap, the sooner my headache goes away.”
The child’s screams echoed down the stairwell, and Kate looked at her watch. Thank goodness—only a half hour until Mrs. James was due back from her meeting. If the baby was sick, Mrs. James would know what to do, and Kate could simply go home. Still, half an hour is a long time to listen to such screaming, she thought as she made her way back up the stairs. Caroline was probably just hungry.
The wet wind slapped leaves against the window at the top of the stairs.
Kate could hear Caroline screaming from behind the closed door. “I’m coming. I’m coming,” said Kate. She swung the door open, and immediately the crying stopped. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” But the only answer was the storm outside. Kate approached the crib. The blankets were wrapped up in a tangled mess.
Oh no, she’s strangled herself, Kate worried as she rushed to the bed and struggled to untie the blankets. When she pulled the sheets away from the mattress, she gasped. The baby was gone.
“You were just crying,” she said, looking around the bedroom. “Where did you crawl to?” When she didn’t see Caroline anywhere, Kate leaned against the railing, hanging her head in frustration.
Something brushed her legs. Startled, Kate leapt away from the crib. “Caroline!” she said, quickly crouching so she could peer underneath the spindly metal frame. “How did you get under there?” But when she looked, there was nothing under the bed except for a few dust bunnies.
Before she could turn around, the bedroom door slammed shut. The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor toward the stairs.
“That child!” Kate whispered to herself, running toward the door and yanking it open. “Caroline, you are gonna be in so much—” Kate’s voice died in her throat.
Down the hall at the top of the stairs a small figure stood, but it was not Caroline. It was about a foot tall and looked human, but its expression was purely animal. The creature was scrawny, naked, and covered in greasy green hair. Its catlike yellow eyes stared at her, and as Kate stared back, it began to emit a quiet growling sound.
When Kate screamed, it raised its claws at her and opened its mouth, revealing pointy brown canine teeth. Then it came at her. Kate didn’t even have a chance to close the bedroom door before it—
“You’ve got to eat something, Eddie,” said Dad, from across the kitchen table. “We Fennicks men have a tendency to stay skinny.”
Eddie was jerked out of the fifth chapter of The Curse of the Gremlin’s Tongue—one of his favorites.
“Sorry,” said Eddie, looking up. “What?”
“You haven’t touched your macaroni,” said Mom. “I spent a good two minutes heating it up in the microwave. The least you could do is pretend to like it.” She laughed heartily at herself, then blew her nose into her napkin. “Seriously, Edgar, put that book down until after dinner.”
Eddie reluctantly closed the book and slid it away from his plate. He pushed his chair against the wall near the refrigerator. A stained-glass lamp hung over the table and cast colorful shadows across the floor.
“Haven’t you read it already?” asked Dad.
“Four times,” said Eddie.
“Can I borrow it when you’re done?” said Mom, getting up and rinsing her dish in the sink. “I really enjoyed the first one you lent me. In fact, I started writing a spooky story—the one I was thinking about at the beginning of the month.”
“That’s great,” said Eddie. “I can’t wait to read it.”
“Speaking of spooky stories, did you ever figure out that weird book we found at the Black Hood Antiques Fair?” said Dad.
“Not yet. But I have a feeling I’m getting closer to an answer.” Eddie cleared his throat. He didn’t want to tell them everything he had learned about Nathaniel Olmstead, especially since he and Harris had trespassed onto his estate. If they knew how much trouble Eddie had almost gotten himself into at the Nameless Lake, his parents might have asked for the book back. “Me and my friend Harris are working on it together.”
Mom closed the dishwasher door and leaned against it so it clicked shut. “That’s so nice. Harris seems like a smart boy, doesn’t he, honey?” she said, glancing at her husband across the table. Dad smiled and nodded. Before she sat down again, Mom threw her hands into the air. “Darn it! I forgot to serve the spinach!”
Eddie grabbed his plate and his book. Standing up, he quickly said, “I’ll eat this in my room, okay?” Eddie hated spinach.
Mom looked like she was going to say no, until Dad grabbed his plate and stood up too. “And I’ll finish this in the den.” He didn’t like spinach either.
Later that night, a dream brought Eddie back to the edge of the clearing in the Nameless Woods. The statue of the girl was staring at him from across the circle. He could almost hear a voice calling to him, but he couldn’t make out whose voice it was or what she was saying. In the forest behind him, moonlight broke through the trees, sprinkling the small creeping plants with glints of silver, but in the clearing, it shone brilliantly, lighting the statue like a fluorescent bulb. She held out her book, as if she wanted to share it with him. As he stared at her, she glowed even brighter. Her white stone became translucent, and from deep inside the stone, a brilliant blue fire began to flicker. Her eyes darkened. Something moved among the trees directly behind her, and Eddie took a step backward. A horrible stench filled his nose and made him dizzy. He turned to run, but something leapt up from the ground and tripped him. Rolling through the brush to get out of its way, Eddie came face to face with a mouthful of sharp canine teeth.
Screaming, Eddie jolted himself awake. He lay in bed for several seconds, then checked himself to make sure he was not still dreaming. His forehead was clammy, and he felt sick. Moments later, his father peeked his head thr
ough the door.
“Nightmare?” he asked.
Eddie tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. “Uh-huh. Sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“Nah,” said Dad. “I was reading. Mom is up late too, scribbling away into her notebook. She’s been doing that lots lately.”
His father went to the bathroom to get Eddie a glass of water. When he came back, he noticed the book sitting on Eddie’s bedside table. On the cover of The Curse of the Gremlin’s Tongue, a bright purple flower glowed poisonously. Dad flipped the book facedown and turned off the light. “All those scary stories you two have been reading probably don’t help.”
Eddie knew his father was wrong; the scary stories were the one thing that would help.
10
Early the next morning, a northern wind chilled Gatesweed. The previous night’s scary dream clung to Eddie’s skin, sending him into fits of shivers over breakfast. Outside, the sky was gray and solemn, so Eddie put on his puffy olive coat with the furry hood and set off on his bike.
He found Harris waiting for him, as usual, on the corner of School and Market. Harris was wide-eyed and looked ready to burst with excitement. “I made some progress last night,” he said mysteriously.
“What kind of progress?”
“Well, I sort of think you should read it for yourself. The Witch’s Doom.”
“What about it?” said Eddie, glancing down the street, where the school waited for them patiently.
“There’s some stuff in there I think might point us in the right direction.”
“Which direction would that be?”
Harris smiled and said, “Nathaniel Olmstead’s house.” He slung his book bag off his back and opened it. He pulled out The Witch’s Doom and handed it to Eddie. “Pay attention to the chapter in the basement. You’ll see what I’m talking about. If you get a chance to read it during class, maybe we can head up there after school and do some exploring.” He pushed away from the curb and swung his bike around into the street. “Come on,” he said, calling over his shoulder, “race you!”
Gertie blindly swung her arms around in the pitch-dark basement. Her fist made contact with something hard, and she screamed. But then she heard a smash and a crash and realized she’d only toppled another small pile of dusty junk. Maybe she’d broken the antique clock radio she’d noticed earlier, or possibly it had been the framed photograph of Sojourner Truth. At this point, she didn’t really care. Smash everything to pieces, she thought, just let me out of here!
When the echoes stopped ringing against the walls of the cramped stone room, she shouted, “I know you’re there!” She was not, in fact, sure that the Watcher had followed her from the woods into the farmhouse, but she figured that if he had, she needed to sound tough, especially now that she couldn’t see. She shuffled forward a few inches. It was impossible to tell where she was. If only she hadn’t dropped her flashlight into the hole under the stone in the floor!
“I know you can’t move if I’m looking at you, so don’t even try!” she cried. She couldn’t see a thing, but the Watcher didn’t know that. Finally, her fingers made contact with cold, wet rock. Following the slab to the right, she was able to locate the ladder, which ran up the wall of the dank basement. She clutched the bottom rung with her fingers. Keeping her eyes forward, she held on to one bar with her hands and put her left foot on the bottom rung. Slowly, steadily, she made her way up. The stone walls dripped with black moisture, and she tried desperately not to slip.
She couldn’t believe it had come to this. The only comfort she had was the key she’d taken from the secret compartment in the floor in the center of the room. She hoped that if the monster was indeed down here with her, he hadn’t seen her tuck the key in her pocket.
It took all her strength to keep moving up the ladder. Finally, she made it to the top. Reaching up blindly, Gertie could feel the rust-covered door. She pushed at it, but it wouldn’t move.
“Fudge!” Gertie whispered to herself. “What do I do now?”
She thought she could hear breathing below her, and when she looked down again, the shadows seemed to move. Gertie screamed. Her voice echoed around the chamber, as she turned and scratched at the rusting metal door above her. Finally, the scream was answered by the turn of the latch and the squeak of the hinges. A sliver of faint light appeared, then the door swung up and out. A face peered at her through the opening.
“Mrs. Thompson!” Gertie said, shocked. “What are you doing up there?”
Gertie’s teacher smiled. It was not pleasant. Gertie had never seen Mrs. Thompson look like this before. “Oh, Gertrude. I knew when you found out, you’d act like a nincompoop. You were never very good at tests.” Gertie’s grip loosened. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It had been her teacher, all along. The notes. The voices. The nightmares. Mrs. Thompson was the witch. “But this is what was meant to be,” Mrs. Thompson continued. “This has always been your destiny, my dear one. Now why don’t you climb up here.” The witch’s eyes darkened. “So you can give me what you have in your pocket.”
Something grabbed at Gertie’s sneaker, and she screamed louder than before. She swung her foot away from the ladder, but before she could scramble away, the thing’s claws tightened around her ankle. Looking down, Gertie could see the terrible face of the Watcher rising toward her from the darkness below.
“Maybe Edgar can tell us?”
Eddie looked up from his book. Ms. Phelps was staring at him; so was the rest of the class. A pie chart was drawn on the blackboard. The students had their math books out. “Uh,” said Eddie. The book he was reading was obviously not math. “I don’t know?”
Ms. Phelps came over to his desk. She picked the book up. “The Witch’s Doom? Detention,” said Ms. Phelps, placing the book back on his desk.
Eddie flinched. “What?”
“You may join me after school this afternoon to read up on all the things you’ve missed this morning, Mr. Fennicks.”
Eddie’s mouth went dry. He slipped the book into his bag. Detention? Eddie didn’t know what to think. What would his mother and father say? And more importantly, would it be dark when he got out?
After class, Eddie found Harris outside of the gym. Eddie’s conscience was burning about receiving his first detention ever. He told Harris that their after-school adventure would start later than anticipated. “But before you get too upset, I should tell you that I at least got to read the chapter you wanted me to.”
“What did you think?”
“I thought it was totally creepy,” said Eddie, “but I don’t get why you think it’s so important.”
Harris raised his eyebrows. “Come on, Fennicks, use your brain. If Nathaniel Olmstead did actually write about stuff he saw with his own eyes, like the lake and the dogs, then we should try looking around his place. Like you said—the answer might be in Nathaniel’s stories. In The Witch’s Doom, the key is in a secret compartment in the basement of a farmhouse. … Maybe there’s something similar in Nathaniel’s own farmhouse, like the one Gertie found, down in his basement, or under the stairs, or somewhere—any type of place he’d have his characters find stuff.”
Eddie understood what Harris was getting at. “If there is some sort of secret compartment, we might find something inside it. A clue of some sort … or maybe even the code key itself?”
“Right. That … or monsters,” said Harris, chuckling.
“Yeah, right. Monsters …,” said Eddie, trying to chuckle too, but for some reason, he didn’t find that to be as funny as Harris did.
When Ms. Phelps finally let Eddie go, the sun had almost set. He couldn’t believe how long detention had been. The sky was a light indigo, and the stars were just beginning to twinkle. It was the start of a crisp fall evening. In a month, it would probably be too cold to ride bikes anymore, but what truly gave Eddie goose bumps was the thought of going up to Nathaniel Olmstead’s place in the dark.
He turned right onto School Street. The trees on bot
h sides were tall and wide, their big colorful leaves muted in the shadows. He rode past the post office and the row of boarded-up restaurants at the intersection of Farm Road. The church was dark as he passed it on his right. He left crystallized breath floating behind him as he took a left onto Upper Church, heading toward Center Street. On his right, a few streetlights in the town green eliminated some shadows even as they made more.
Ahead, orange light lit the library from the sidewalk below. Long black shadows stretched from where the window ledges stuck out, making the building look like a storyteller holding a flashlight underneath his chin. Flipping down his kickstand, Eddie parked himself next to the large rhododendrons beside the wide front stairs.
As he waited for Harris, Eddie listened to the evening sounds. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees. Across the park, a car cruised by the darkened bookstore. Where was Harris? The library would be closing soon. Who knew how much longer he’d have before they turned off the lights? The more he thought about it, the more Eddie wanted to wait for daylight to make the journey into the Gatesweed Hills. What was the rush? Nathaniel Olmstead’s house wasn’t going anywhere, was it?
Wham!
Something banged nearby and Eddie nearly fell into the bushes. He tentatively glanced around and realized he was still alone on the sidewalk.
The noise had come from around the side of the building.
“Harris?” Eddie called. “Is that you?” Peering around the corner, he could see the library stretch all the way to the other end of the block. A small spotlight illuminated a narrow cement walkway that hugged the building. Beside the walkway, a small patch of grass extended to Market Street on the left. No one was there.
