by Marc Franco
“The book!” I said, hurrying out of the closet.
“The book roared?” Logan asked disbelievingly.
“Come on,” I said, ignoring her question.
Stealthily, I led Logan through the master bedroom then walked across the hall and into the dining room. We stopped, looked for owls, then continued toward the kitchen. That’s when I saw the vase debris in the dining room from last night. I grabbed one of the dining table chairs and placed it beside the wall adjacent to the kitchen, then climbed up on it and motioned for Logan to do the same. I knew the kitchen was the last place we should have been—especially with that roar—but I just had to try closing the book.
Logan glanced back over her shoulder at the front door, visually marking the distance in case we needed to escape … or maybe she was just staring at the vicious-looking claw marks made by the skeleton owl. Finally, she grabbed a chair, set it beside mine and stood on it. I stared at the book’s text.
Logan nudged me. “Are you reading the book?”
“Yeah.”
“You better not be messing with me. I see blank pages.”
I ignored her and kept reading. Logan nudged me again.
“Well, what does it say?”
“Hold on,” I said, a little annoyed.
I read from the left page and continued onto the following page, where the text seemed to just float over the open stairwell.
“It’s talking about the Wayward List. It lists ways to punish or dispose of those named on the Wayward List.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
My curiosity suddenly shifted to the steps that led down into the book itself. What was down in that dark abyss? I shifted and struggled to get a better look down into the book, but I couldn’t. All I was doing was bumping into Logan. I hopped off the chair and stared into the kitchen.
Every part of my curious, eleven-year-old being wanted to get closer to the book, to use the flashlight to look down the stairs, and maybe even to take a few steps down. But that sudden spike of confidence was washed away by one tidal wave of fear when we heard the monstrous sound of a second—and much louder and closer—roar: a roar that emanated from within the book.
I’ve been to the zoo and heard a lion roar. This was no lion’s roar; it was a hundred times louder and fiercer. That was it for me. Logan and I beelined out the front door and sprinted to her driveway.
Once there, we watched Fleep and Tiff come outside with Mr. Sanchez. Mr. Sanchez pointed a baseball bat at Tiff’s house as he spoke to them. From the sound of that roar, I expected to see something—a huge beast, a monster maybe—behind us, but there was nothing in Tiff’s yard. I noticed that a lot of neighbors had come out of their homes, which I thought was pretty crazy. If you heard something that sounded like a monster’s roar, the last thing you should do is go outside.
Then Mr. Sanchez’s voice came into earshot, “… the panther, the one that lives along the pond behind Jakob’s house.”
Logan and I dashed over to Mr. Sanchez.
“Yeah, it had to be the panther,” Tiff said, overly anxious.
“It sure sounded close, like it was right next door,” Mr. Sanchez said.
“Probably,” Logan said. “Tiff has a lot of rabbits in her yard. What are we going to do?”
I know what I wanted to do: involve a parent and tell him all that was happening, but I knew that was impossible. S.R. was a real threat and I knew that the moment he learned we told a parent, things would get much worse.
“Nothing. Whatever it is, it’s gone. I’m going back inside,” Mr. Sanchez said. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to use this,” he said, laughing as he walked off with his bat. Tiff had started walking over to Logan and me when Mr. Sanchez added, “Come on, Tiff. I want to finish our talk about your brother.”
Her brother! I wanted to give her the news about Rick, that Logan and I had seen him on the wall under the magnifying glass in her parents’ closet. Boy, that sounded weird even in my head. I also wanted to ask my questions: who were the kids on the wall, where were they, and what was that wooden creature thing?
Tiff gave me a somber stare. She looked like she wanted to tell me something, too, but couldn’t—not with Mr. Sanchez there. She just gave us a slow and deliberate shake of the head, then offered a weak wave and followed Mr. Sanchez inside the garage.
Logan and I walked across the street and parked ourselves on her driveway.
“Did you hear Fleep’s dad?” I asked.
“Yeah, I heard him.”
“That wasn’t a panther. You know that, right?” I asked.
“Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid. I was there. There’s something inside the book.”
“And in the pictures—don’t forget the pictures. Those kids need help. I bet Santa can rescue them. We need to call the cops or at least tell Shig’s dad. Technically it has nothing to do with me catching Santa,” I said.
“Call the police?” Logan held her hand up to her ear and mimicked talking into a phone. “Police? Uh, yeah, there’s a giant book inside our neighbor’s kitchen, and the book has a stairwell that leads down inside its pages. And there’s some scary roaring creature down there, too, so be careful. Oh, and in the closet is a view into a prison-like place with hundreds, maybe even a thousand kids in it, but don’t forget you have to stand in the dark in the closet and use a flashlight to see them.” Logan looked at me and shot a cutesy smile. “Oh, and then after you do that, our parents turn to smoke and disappear.”
I rolled my eyes. She was right. “Okay, then what do we do?” I asked, staring at Tiff’s front door. Logan started rambling on about being safe, but I zoned out and didn’t hear a word. I was thinking about the giant book … I knew I had to close it. When I tuned back in, Logan was snapping her fingers inches from my face. “Hey, did you hear me? We stay away from Tiff’s house!”
“No, I need to close the book, or at least try.”
“What? No way! Whatever’s in that book—”
“Isn’t a problem,” I finished her sentence, but Logan shook her head worriedly. I placed my hands on her shoulders and looked into her deep brown eyes. “Come on, Logan. Think about it logically. If the creature was going to come out, it would have by now. I think we’re safe.”
“Fine! Maybe for now … but I’m sure S.R. has something else up his sleeve.” She turned, stepped away, then held her finger up like she was the lead detective in an investigation and was about to make a proclamation. “Those creatures are in the book for a reason.” Logan sighed then continued. “They have a purpose; they are part of something bigger. Jakob, we can’t do this alone. I hope Tiff’s right about Benji being an elf spy.”
“We’ll find out soon. Is your mom still taking us to The Teashroom?”
Just as Logan nodded, her garage door opened behind us and startled her.
“Relax,” I said. “It’s just your mom.”
She exhaled and tried a fake laugh, but I knew she was anxious. I wanted to make her feel better but couldn’t find the words.
“Hey, you two, I’m going to get my nails done. I’ll be back after lunch. Be ready,” Mrs. Raffo said hurriedly.
“We will,” Logan said.
“We need to tell Tiff about seeing Rick in one of those cells,” I said, watching Logan’s mom pull away.
“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’d want to know if it was my family.”
“She’s not going to like that we were in her house,” Logan said.
“I know, but it doesn’t matter. We have to tell her.”
Logan sighed, then we walked over to Fleep’s house. We got Tiff and Fleep to come out and told them everything. As Logan expected, Tiff was pretty upset that we went into her house, but she quickly got over it when we hit her with the Rick bomb. Knowing Rick was okay brought Tiff to tears of joy.
“I’m glad he’s okay, but there’s nothing we can do to help him. I can see and
hear the prisoners on the wall and they can hear me also, but that’s it. I can’t just reach into their cells and pluck them out,” Tiff said.
“What is that place anyway?” I asked.
“It’s Diyu, S.R.’s prison for the wayward,” Tiff said regretfully.
“Wayward, like from the Wayward List … the list that’s mentioned in your book. Bad things happen to kids on that list,” I said. “So all of the kids I saw on the wall—they’re wayward and waiting for their punishment?”
Tiff nodded.
“Yeah, but that’s S.R.’s form of punishment. The only punishment Santa ever intended was for naughty kids to get a lump of coal instead of presents.”
“What in the world happened?” Logan asked.
“S.R. happened. He wants Santa’s power. He always has. Never mind all that. Just know that bad things happen at Diyu … very bad things. Now, you said you saw a boy get transformed into a wooden creature?”
I nodded.
“He’s rebuilding …” Tiff mumbled. “There’ll be more transformations before this is all over.”
“Rick too?” Logan asked worriedly.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.”
“Ah man,” I said grabbing my hair. “This is not good. Where is this prison? Where’s it located?”
“I don’t know. But even if I did, it would do you no good. You can’t see it. It’s hidden, just outside of time,” Tiff said.
“That’s impossible,” Logan said.
Tiff looked at her and said, “You did not just say that.”
“Yeah, you’re right—never mind. So what about calling Santa to come? I mean there’s got to be a way to call him. Maybe it’s on his Web site somewhere.”
“He’s not Batman, Logan,” Tiff said then turned to me. “It’s all up to you, Jakob. You have to catch Santa. It’s the only way.”
Logan’s mom dropped us off in the parking lot at Mr. Raffo’s teashop, The Teashroom. It looked like a giant brown-stemmed, green-capped mushroom—like something from a fairytale.
Logan and I first became friends when it was being built, and we’d explore the construction site together. I have to admit, there were some really strange things happening even back then. We’d watch the odd workers wearing mirrored sunglasses and yellow hazmat suits, kind of like what firemen wear. I remember repeatedly asking Mr. Raffo why we didn’t have to wear the suits too when we walked around the site. He’d just shrug and quickly walk away before I asked any more questions. And some days we weren’t allowed to come on site at all—it was completely closed to anyone except the strange workers. It was odd now that I thought about it.
On our way to the door I noticed something new hanging outside The Teashroom. It was a red-and-white flag blowing in the wind. As I got closer I could see an image of a standing polar bear in the center of the flag. I shrugged and followed Logan toward the front door—an exaggeratedly large, round, glass door I had entered a hundred times before. As I reached for it, Logan punched me in the arm.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“Don’t say anything dumb to Benji. He’s not a spy for S.R.,” Logan said.
I didn’t say anything and walked in. The chime sounded, announcing our presence. A tall, freckle-faced, skinny man in his thirties, with a red ‘fro that covered half his ears, walked out from the back room. We met by the counter.
“Hi. Welcome to The Tea—oh, it’s you … and your friends,” the man said, suddenly excited. His accent caught my attention—the way he rolled his r’s.
Jingle Bells was playing over the speakers.
“Hi, I’m Benji,” he smiled and looked pointedly at Fleep, “And who might you be?
“I’m Fleep.” Fleep turned his head curiously, studying Benji. “Are you a Scot?” he asked excitedly.
“Aye,” Benji said.
“My mum is a Scot,” Fleep said, almost sounding Scottish himself.
“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Benji shook Fleep’s hand firmly.
“Likewise,” Fleep said.
“Yeah, and I’m—”
“Jakob, the Pole,” Benji said, stepping forward and beaming widely. Odd greeting. We shook hands.
“Guys, let’s play some video games,” Fleep said, looking past the counter to the back of the shop where the games were.
That’s all Fleep ever wanted to do—walk in and head straight to the gaming area. Logan reached out and grabbed his arm. “I don’t think so,” she said matter-of-factly then jerked him back. “We didn’t come to play video games.”
“That’s right. I’m going to tell you how to catch Santa,” Benji said. My eyes bulged. He said Santa! That knocked out my suspicion he was S.R. Was Tiff right? Was Benji really an elf spy? I moved closer to Logan.
Benji smiled and continued, “You need elf tea. High in caffeine and irresistible to its drinker. One sip and Santa will drink the cup dry.” He leaned against the counter and peered at us over his sliding black-rimmed glasses. I stared at his ears and tried to see the slightest hint of a point. I had to ask him if he was an elf.
Just then a woman, probably my mom’s age, came in.
“Meet me over by the caterpillar aisle. I’ll be but a moment,” Benji said.
Benji was referring to one of the four merchandise aisles where all the health-related items like teas, vitamins, and herbs were stocked. The first aisle looked like a giant, lifelike, yellow caterpillar. The second aisle looked like a red snake, the third aisle like a blue earthworm, and the fourth was like a giant, black, African millipede. I’d never seen an African millipede before, but Miss Know-It-All always corrected me if I didn’t call it by its proper name. Speaking of whom, Logan was reading a bottle she’d picked up from the snake aisle, no doubt looking for elf tea. She was so literal.
While I waited for Benji, I looked around the shop at the four faceless glass figureheads hanging high up on the wall. The red and yellow figureheads were female. The red one held some type of a rod, and the yellow one had massive, textured glass wings and held a crossbow-like weapon. The other two figureheads were male. The blue one held a sword in one hand and a knife in the other while the black one held open a gleaming white book that contrasted against his onyx black hands. They were beautiful. It was probably the shop’s light, but they had this magical glow about them. I just wish they had faces.
I glanced back at the snake aisle, looking for Logan, when I thought I saw the snakehead move. I did a double take, looked again, and saw it frown at me.
“Did you see that?” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
“What?” Logan shouted back, equally loud.
“The snake—”
Logan screamed the loudest girl scream I’d ever heard her do. It was painful on the ears.
“Where is it? Kill it!” Logan said, sprinting toward the counter.
“I’m talking about the aisle, the snake, you … just forget it.” I was seeing things; maybe this business of catching Santa was catching up with me.
I forgot about what I thought I saw and found Fleep leaning against the counter on his tiptoes, still looking toward the game rooms. Benji was on the other side of the counter, pouring something into a cup.
I walked over to Logan and said, “You’re not going to find elf tea just sitting around. He has—”
A lady’s scream broke. “Oh my, are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?” The woman cried out. I sprinted to the counter, while Logan ran around it.
“What happened?” Logan asked, placing her hands on her hips.
“He poured scalding water over his hand!” the lady said.
“It was an accident. I’ll be fine,” Benji said.
“Aren’t you in pain? Run it under water! Hey, are you in shock?” The lady was snapping her fingers in his face. Benji stepped back.
“Lady,” Benji’s said, clearing his throat, “I’m fine. I work in a teashop. I burn myself all the time. It’s called tolerance. I’ll be okay.”
/> He resumed what he was doing before and finished making her drink, all the time watching me. What was his deal? Maybe he healed from burns like I did with S.R.’s smoke. I pulled Logan by the shirt and forced her to follow me away from the counter, away from the woman. As we walked away, I whispered to Fleep, “Wait here. We’ll be right back.” Fleep nodded.
I glanced over at the counter. Benji was still watching me while the woman chattered on. “I think Tiff’s right. He’s an elf … or something. Boiling water burns, and he’s acting like nothing happened. We just don’t know whose side he’s on,” I said.
“Come on, let’s ask him,” Logan said, walking toward the counter as the lady was leaving. Benji was already strutting over to us carrying a green denim backpack.
“I’ve been watching you, Jakob. You need to relax a wee bit. I’m on your side.”
“How do you—”
“I can read lips,” he said with a smirk. “A rude but useful talent that is quite handy in my line of work.” He stopped and looked around to be sure no one was listening, even though we were alone in the shop. “Yes, I’m an elf spy. I work for Santa.”
There was something in the way he had said the name Santa, a certain pride in his voice that made me trust him. Something innate, deep inside me, knew that he was a friend.
I cracked a smile and could see that Logan was relieved too. Suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. I had magical help, Santa help. He looked us over then said, “You’re a smart bunch. By now you’ve probably learned that Santa has caffeine anaphylaxis.” Fleep offered a blank stare then walked to the internet lounge area and sat at a computer. He was so easily distracted. There we were, meeting one of Santa’s elf spies, and he just walks off. I gave Logan a look. She shrugged her shoulders and went after him.
Benji seemed to shift gears and reached into the green denim backpack. “Jakob, take these. They are special glasses that make it possible to see the Xs on the roofs.”
“I know what the red X means,” I said.
He nodded. “Good. Keep them handy. You’ll want to know which home is missing an X on Christmas Eve.” Benji discretely glanced over his shoulder at Fleep and Logan.
