The Stone Child

by Dan Poblocki

  The four of them made their way up the hill to Nathaniel’s house. Once at the back door, Harris, Maggie, and Eddie managed to pull the last of the wooden planks away from the frame. Nathaniel opened the door himself, pausing before going inside. The three of them followed him into the dark kitchen.

  They sat at the dining room table, amid the scattered crystals of the fallen chandelier. They rested their flashlights in the middle of the table, the bluish light reflecting off the shards, painting the walls and ceiling with tiny rainbows. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Eddie asked Nathaniel. “Can we get you something from the kitchen?”

  Nathaniel laughed, a surprising, radiant sound that seemed to brighten the decay around them. “I am hungry and thirsty. But I’m certain my cupboards are currently bare.” He began to cough slightly. “How long have I actually been gone?”

  “Almost thirteen years,” whispered Maggie.

  “Wow,” said Nathaniel. “Thirteen years.” He picked up a shard of crystal from the dining room table. “I have no words.”

  “Where were you?” said Harris cautiously. “What happened?”

  “Ah,” said Nathaniel, looking up at them. He turned the shard, end over end, tossing an echo of light across his forehead, as he contemplated his answer. “That too is a long story.” He took a deep breath. “So we both have stories to tell. The question is … who goes first?”

  Eddie, Maggie, and Harris explained everything they had gone through over the past month, starting with Eddie’s arrival in Gatesweed and his mother’s discovery of The Enigmatic Manuscript. Eddie told the stories about encountering the monsters in and around Nathaniel’s estate, how they had figured out the code, and finally, their struggle to defeat the Woman in Black. Nathaniel was horrified to hear that both his book and the necklace had been discovered in the Nameless Lake, but he was impressed with the diligence of these three makeshift detectives to solve the mysteries of the strange objects.

  When Eddie explained how he had come to destroy the statue in the woods using the pendant, Nathaniel threw the crystal shard he’d been holding against the wall. He hung his head, as if he were trying to hold back some sort of wild emotion. Laughter. Tears. Eddie couldn’t tell which.

  “Of course!” he said, once he calmed down. “If only I’d had Eddie’s foresight thirteen years ago, I never would have made the journey I did.”

  Nathaniel went on to explain what had happened to him the night he finished writing The Enigmatic Manuscript and opened the gate. After he tossed the metal box with the pendant and the book into the Nameless Lake, he watched as the dogs’ red eyes began to appear, like he had expected, under the surface of the water. He turned and quickly ran up the hill toward the clearing. When he saw the statue, glowing brilliant blue, his situation, which had once felt like a work of fiction, suddenly became all too real. He paused, wondering if he should go home and face his fate. But then he heard the dogs approaching quickly from the lake. Nathaniel ran toward the stone child. When he reached the statue, the forest disappeared, the world changed, and suddenly he found himself standing in the middle of a dark, muddy field. The sky was filled with charcoal-colored storm clouds. On the horizon, he could see what looked like a deserted, burned-out town. The statue was still beside him, but it no longer glowed. He was alone in an unfamiliar world. Frightened, he reached out and touched the statue, expecting to find himself back in the woods behind his house. But as the stone of the statue cooled the palm of his hand, Nathaniel instantly realized his mistake. The gate had closed. It would not remain open for him to travel back and forth between Gatesweed, as he had assumed it would. And Nathaniel no longer possessed the key with which he could open it.

  He spent the next thirteen years—the story of which he insisted could fill countless books—building a life, struggling to survive in the new, impossible landscape, regretting every minute of his decision. The worst part—the Woman in Black was nowhere to be found. Either she was hiding, or she existed in another world entirely—one that Nathaniel knew he would never be able to reach.

  Only earlier that evening did things change for him. He awoke from a nap and found himself lying at the edge of a circular clearing in familiar woods. He thought he might have been dreaming—so much of his life had seemed like a dream—but then he heard footsteps tramping through the brush nearby. He got to his feet and followed the sound through the woods and over a small hill. That was moments before Eddie had found Nathaniel in the orchard, blinding him with the flashlight.

  “But how did you come back all of a sudden?” said Harris.

  Nathaniel thought about that. “I’m not really sure,” he said. “All I can think of is that when Eddie destroyed the gate, those who had traveled through it, like me, were pulled back to the world from which they’d originally come.”

  Eddie leaned forward. “If that’s true,” he said, the excitement in his voice filling the small room, “that means all the monsters that had come through the stone child’s gate must have been sent home too.”

  “I hope so!” said Maggie.

  “That’s why we didn’t see any monsters in the woods after the statue crumbled,” said Harris. “No one in Gatesweed has to worry about them anymore. We’re all safe now.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” said Nathaniel. “I think you kids are brilliant for figuring this out. And very kind for saving someone who, after thirteen years in his own private purgatory, wasn’t sure he deserved to be saved anymore.”

  Eddie blushed. “We wouldn’t have been able to do it if we hadn’t loved your books so much. Reading them has always been sort of like … a lesson … in fighting monsters!” He laughed as he heard the words come out of his mouth. They sounded so silly, but ultimately, they were true. Nathaniel’s books had been the best preparation for this crazy ordeal.

  Nathaniel smiled. “Then I should have known better how to take care of them myself.”

  After a moment of quiet, Maggie said, “What are you going to do now that you’re back?”

  “Is that a subtle way of asking me if there will be another book?” said Nathaniel, raising his eyebrow.

  Maggie looked flustered for a second. “Of course not,” she said. “I only meant …” She didn’t finish her sentence. As she slumped into her chair, Eddie realized that her question had been a subtle way of asking Nathaniel if there would be another book. For someone who had never considered herself to be a fan of scary stories, Maggie certainly looked embarrassed.

  “I’m kidding,” said Nathaniel, smiling at her. “To answer your question, though, all I really want to do right now is take a shower. … As for the writing … I no longer have my precious silver pendant.” He sounded sarcastic. “Who knows if I’ll ever be able to write anything again? To be completely honest … I don’t really care.”

  Eddie didn’t believe him. He bent over and lifted his bag off the floor. Placing it on the table, he undid the zipper. Very carefully, he reached inside and pulled out the necklace. With the chain wrapped around his fingers, Eddie allowed the pendant to swing slowly as he held his hand above the table.

  Nathaniel shook his head. He slowly reached out and took it from him. “I don’t want it, but if I don’t keep it safe, who knows where it will end up next.”

  Suddenly, Eddie thought of his mom. She was probably frantic, wondering where he was. He was certain she had discovered that he’d taken her “pen.” He hoped she wouldn’t flip out when he told her he’d “lost” it.

  “But it doesn’t matter if anyone uses the pendant to write another book. Does it?” said Harris. “The gate is destroyed.”

  Nathaniel smiled a sad smile. He shook his head. “According to the legend, there were two stone children. Weren’t there? As long as the other statue exists, someone might use the pendant to try to open the gate again. I think it’s our job now to make sure that never happens.”

  When Eddie heard Nathaniel say that, he felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. “But where is the ot
her statue?” he said.

  Nathaniel clenched the silver pendant in his fist and lightly tapped it on the table. “I hope,” he said, “we never find out.”

  EPILOGUE

  Weeks later, on the evening of Halloween, the town green bustled with activity. The first autumn festival in many years had brought people out of the woodwork. Tents open for business lined the perimeter of the lawn. People were selling everything from cotton candy and caramel apples to balloon animals shaped like vampires and werewolves. There were games where contestants had to topple heavy bottles with baseballs to win giant stuffed frogs for their girlfriends. A small Ferris wheel whirred on one of the long stretches of grass near the church. A portable carousel spun at the opposite end of the park, next to the big mill. Its music hummed cheerfully, oblivious, as several people stumbled away from it, green and dizzy. On a banner spanning the front of the white gazebo, someone had painted in bright red the words WELCOME TO DARK TIMES IN GATESWEED. Eddie strolled through the park and thought it all looked beautiful. He wished he could take his time, but he knew there were other matters he needed to attend to.

  Standing next to the gazebo were a tall skinny witch and a floating white sheet with legs, which, Eddie assumed, was supposed to be a ghost—Maggie and Harris in costume. They waved as he approached.

  Harris shouted, “You’re late!” and grabbed Eddie’s red sweatshirt sleeve.

  “Sorry,” said Eddie, laughing as he tripped over his own red shoelaces. He was dressed like a devil. He’d painted his face maroon and glued two latex horns to his forehead. Even though the coming night was brisk, he’d already begun to sweat. He could feel the makeup running down his neck. He pointed over his shoulder to the vendor tents where his parents lolled, looking at some of the crafts the local artisans were selling. “My dad couldn’t find a parking spot.”

  “Excuses, excuses,” said Maggie from behind her own bright green face paint. “We’re going to be late.”

  “The reading doesn’t start for a half hour!” said Eddie.

  “But we need to get good seats,” said Harris, stepping into Center Street and making his way toward The Enigmatic Manuscript, which was lit up like a jack-o’-lantern. There was already a crowd at the door, spilling off of the recently painted front porch. People were dressed in costume, scattered across the sidewalk. Eddie could see several news vans parked along the curb; reporters and cameramen leaned against them, as if waiting for something exciting to happen. If Eddie didn’t know better, he might have thought that, inside the store, Frances was offering the best treats in Gatesweed.

  As Harris pushed his way through the crowd, Eddie heard whispers from behind the crowd’s many masks. In the front window, Eddie read the sign that Frances had posted early last week—WELCOME THE RETURN OF NATHANIEL OLMSTEAD. JOIN US ON HALLOWEEN FOR HIS READING OF A NEW STORY, HIS FIRST IN OVER THIRTEEN YEARS!

  The crowd continued to push back, until finally, when the three of them made it to the top of the stairs, a blond woman wearing a tutu and pink tights turned around and glared at them. “There’s a line, you know,” she said through her teeth.

  Harris blinked at her through the eyeholes cut in the sheet. “This is my store,” he answered simply. Harris took out his key and held it up for everyone to see. The woman in the tutu shot them all a dirty look but stepped aside.

  Eddie chuckled to himself as he squeezed past her and followed Harris and Maggie through the front door of the empty bookstore. Nathaniel Olmstead’s diehard fans had come many miles to see him. Who could blame them for being excited?

  Inside, Eddie followed Harris and Maggie past rows of folding chairs to the very front, where big pieces of white paper marked RESERVED were taped to the seats.

  “See?” said Eddie. “We’re not late at all.”

  Harris rolled his eyes, but Eddie could tell that his friend was smiling. Each sat down with a satisfied huff. The door in the rear wall of the store opened, and Frances peeked out. When she saw them, she waved. “Oh good,” she said, “I was about to start letting people in. Eddie, make sure you save two seats for your parents. Your mother is really excited.”

  “I will,” said Eddie.

  A month earlier—on the night he, Harris, and Maggie destroyed the gate in the Nameless Woods—Eddie had come home to find his mother typing at the kitchen table. He expected her to be upset with him for taking the pendant. He wasn’t sure how to tell her that she’d never see it again. When he closed the front door, she glanced up, and he realized that she was upset for a different reason.

  “Where have you been?” she cried. “We called Maggie’s house, and they said you weren’t there.”

  Eddie thought quickly. “We were hanging out outside.”

  She looked at him skeptically. “How’d you get home?”

  “We walked,” said Eddie.

  “That doesn’t sound very safe.” She sighed. “How many times do I have to ask you to call?”

  “Sorry,” said Eddie. “I promise, I will never, ever, ever forget again.”

  She looked at him strangely, but after a moment, she smiled. “Well … I also wanted to tell you my news,” she said. “I’m done!”

  Eddie felt his face flush, suddenly panicked that his ordeal in the woods had been for nothing. She had finished the Woman’s story. Did that mean the gate was now open? “But your pen …,” Eddie started to say.

  “You can have it,” said Mom, getting up from the table and giving him a hug. “I finally realized that it was hard to write with. For some reason, it always made me sort of cold! I’m better off without the darn thing. I just typed the last few pages directly into my laptop. Simple as that.”

  Eddie heaved a sigh of relief.

  “Would you like to read it?” Mom asked.

  Frances walked to the front of the bookstore and opened the doors. The costumed fans who had been standing on the front porch poured in. Eddie couldn’t help but imagine the gate in the woods as he watched vampires, goblins, pirates, one Frankenstein monster, and several of the living dead crush each other trying to get through the door. He overheard bits and pieces of their many conversations as they filled the empty rows of chairs behind him.

  There were the true Olmsteadys: “I can’t believe he’s back!” or “This is going to rock!”

  There were the skeptics: “I bet you this was all a publicity stunt to get us to buy a book!” and “There’s no way this can live up to the hype. …”

  And finally, there were the tagalongs: “Nathaniel who?”

  At the very back of the room, Eddie noticed Mrs. Singh, the librarian, standing next to Wally, the policeman. She whispered something into his ear, then glanced at Eddie suspiciously. On the other side of the room, Eddie recognized Sam, the skinny tow truck driver he’d met the day he’d moved to Gatesweed, leaning against a wall in his leather jacket. He kept his eyes fixed intently on the podium at the front of the room, wearing a curious expression as well.

  A couple weeks ago, Nathaniel had assured him that every author has his critics, and every reader is entitled to his or her own opinion. An author simply needs to learn how to deal with all of it, for better or worse. The same could be said about people in general, Nathaniel had commented.

  When Mrs. Singh accidentally caught his eye, she looked away, startled. Eddie only smiled to himself, then turned around. Let these people believe whatever they wanted about Nathaniel Olmstead—Eddie knew the truth. He hoped that one day they would too.

  “Look. Here he comes,” said Maggie, tapping on Eddie’s drooping horn to get his attention. Eddie turned around as his parents snuck through the hushed crowd and took their seats next to him.

  The storage-room door swung open to reveal a massive shadowy figure standing in the darkness of the closet. The audience gasped. The shadow stepped forward into the orange light of the bookstore. A black velvet cloak covered the figure from head to toe. Its hem slithered on the ground as the shadow continued to lurch toward the rapt audience. It paused at
the podium, seeming to catch its breath for a moment, until it suddenly whipped the cloak away.

  Nathaniel Olmstead stood before his audience as they leapt to their feet and burst into tremendous applause. Camera flashes popped, filling the room with a strange, almost constant stream of white light. Under the cloak, he wore a navy blue wool sweater and a corduroy jacket. He’d cut his hair and trimmed his beard. His slight smile was filled with enormous gratitude. He didn’t look so very different from the picture on the back of his books. Nathaniel waited several seconds before taking a bow.

  Eddie, Harris, and Maggie leapt to their feet as well. Eddie clapped so hard, his hands hurt. He felt dizzy when Nathaniel finally turned to the three of them and gave them a sly wink.

  The past two months had been like a dream—at first a nightmare but now a fantasy beyond anything he could have imagined. Over the past few weeks, he and his friends had visited Nathaniel Olmstead several times as the author began to reconnect to Gatesweed and beyond. They helped him clean up the mess that was his house, they brought him groceries and such until he managed to buy a new car, and they kept him company after school when he was afraid to be alone. Once upon a time, Eddie had known what that felt like, and he was happy to be of assistance. Eddie couldn’t believe that he could now call his favorite author his friend.

  During visits to Nathaniel’s house, the four often theorized answers to some of the questions they still had about the Woman in Black and the statue in the woods. For example, was she a particularly nasty member of the Lilim or was she actually Lilith herself? Was she really as powerful as she’d have them believe? Harris wondered why the Woman in Black didn’t just have one of the creatures use the pendant to write her story? Nathaniel was certain that none of the creatures would have been capable of such a feat. As cunning and clever as some of the monsters had appeared to be, none of them had ever been thoughtful enough to create something from nothing. To actually write a story, the author explained, is purely a human talent.