by Peter Cox
“I know….”
I took a few more seconds.
“I guess some birds have great eyesight. We were learning about it in school.”
“They sure do. Especially birds of prey.”
“That’s right! Hawks and falcons, they use their eyes to hunt. I mean, birds eat spiders and stuff, so they have to see super well.”
“One problem though: all the birds are gone.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
I laughed, but it quickly faltered. This wasn’t really a funny situation.
“So no one can help us read it?” I asked.
“Not that I can think of…”
I knew this wasn’t Guster’s reason for getting rid of the birds. There was no way he could know I could talk to animals, or that I would need their help in reading a burnt up ID card he hadn’t even dropped yet.
But it was a frustrating coincidence. The only people who could help us figure out why the birds disappeared were the birds.
Not super helpful.
We chatted a bit more, about how awesome Sam’s fort was, about what else might be hidden away in those woods, what other forgotten places and mysteries were out there. I talked about how much fun it would be to read in the fort, away from parents who think fantasy books are “nonsense” because you should only read schoolbooks or the newspaper.
We eventually settled down to sleep without getting any further in our investigation. I had no idea where to go from there.
As I tried to sleep, I couldn’t get my dad’s words out of my mind. The books I read were “frivolous.”
It wasn’t the substance of his opinion that bugged me so much. It was the dismissive way he had given his opinion. Like it wasn’t even a conversation. Like his opinion was obviously right, and I was just too young to understand it yet. But when I grow up I’ll see that imagination is a waste of time, right?
That’s one thing I can’t stand about adults: they treat us like kids. Well, we are kids, but I mean they treat us like young kids. They completely forget what it’s like to be our age. Our section of the library is called “Young Adult,” but our parents only see the first half.
I’m not saying I don’t respect my parents. I obey them, usually without questioning, because I know they’ve been around longer and know more than I do about a lot of things. I get that. There’s a lot I don’t know.
But here’s the thing: there’s a lot I do know.
I respect my parents. I just wish they respected me a bit more.
You know what I’m talking about. Why do so many adults treat 13-year-olds the exact same way they treat 3-year-olds? Like we can’t understand anything, like our minds are too simple to grasp “adult” concepts.
I don’t know about you, but I’m a lot further along than when I was 3. For one thing, I can read.
For another, I have the ability to think and reason and hold conversations that don’t just circle around topics like “how’s school?” and “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
We’re expected to learn advanced math and language and poetry, but they can’t talk to us like adults.
I’m not saying a 13-year-old should be able to drive a car. I’m just saying they could treat us like we can think for ourselves. Because we can, right?
Have adults really forgotten that much about being our age? Is it just one big blur? You’re either a kid or an adult, and there’s no in between? From our perspective, it’s a long road to adulthood, and we’re well into the journey. We compare ourselves to what we were, and we’ve grown. Adults don’t see it. They just see “kid,” like we’re all the same.
We might look young to them, but we look pretty mature to ourselves. Because this is as mature as we’ve ever been. We can’t compare it to adulthood, because we haven’t been there yet.
How can they expect us to learn to act respectably if we can’t earn their respect?
I feel bad about thinking these things now because of what happened next: my parents disappeared.
Chapter 15
THE PHANTOM RETURNS
In the middle of the night I had the dream again.
I “woke up” drenched in freezing sweat that made my skin tingle, my heart galloping.
Basset was gone.
The death-white mask stared at me through the window.
I tried to tell myself that it was just a dream, but I couldn’t shake the terror I felt. Like when you’re in line to a roller coaster and you try to calm yourself down and tell yourself there’s nothing rational to be scared of. But your emotions don’t always listen to reason.
Once again, it felt more real than any dream I’d ever had, but this time I figured it had to be a dream. I mean, I’d just read about the Masked Marauder right before I went to bed, and now a masked man was floating in front of my window?
Obviously a dream.
Still frozen to my bed, I watched as the gloved hand reached up to the window.
The hand moved kind of like a puppet, all jerky and erratic. Like the bones were shivering.
The glove slowly scratched out words on my window again. Different words this time, but they made just as much sense as last time, as much sense as math class. That is to say: none at all.
“When the indoor sun is upside down
And the smile becomes a frown
Then the answers will appear
Never known to be so near.”
This time it rhymed.
Well that was new.
“What the heck does that mean?” I asked out loud. It can’t hurt to ask your dreams what they mean, even if they almost never answer.
The mask kept staring at me, not moving an inch.
The moon came out from behind a cloud, shining cold white light on everything, but I still couldn’t make out much of the person’s body, or how he was hovering in front of the second story window.
Just more evidence of this being a dream.
The mask almost seemed to twinkle or glow in the moonlight, as if covered in strands of silver.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone.
Basset hadn’t returned yet, but I settled back into bed nonetheless.
He’d be there when I woke up.
Just like normal.
Chapter 16
THE RIDDLE
He was there.
But it wasn’t normal.
For the second day in a row I found Basset sitting by the window, staring out with that inexplicable sad look.
“Still worried about the birds?” I asked as I got up.
“Certainly. But that’s not what I’m looking at now.”
I lifted my eyes from Basset and looked out the window. I didn’t see it for a second. It can be hard to see things when they’re right in front of your eyes.
The words.
They were still there.
The words the dream phantom had scribbled on the window were still there.
Dreams don’t usually do that.
“You didn’t see anything last night, did you?” he asked. “I can’t figure how someone could have written this up here without a ladder, and that would’ve woken me up for sure.”
“I…I thought that was a dream!”
“You saw something?”
I told him about everything. About my first dream and the one last night, about the phantom’s jerky movements and the death mask. I read him the note, but he had no more ideas about it than I did.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Basset asked, sounding kind of hurt.
“I thought it was a dream. Besides, you weren’t here.”
“Oh my.” He paused. “I smelled the oddest smell late last night, like nothing I’ve ever smelled before, and went downstairs to investigate. Nothing. But when I got back you were still sound asleep just as I left you. I never would have gone if I’d known there was an intruder outside.”
“It’s okay boy. You didn’t know. Besides, it’s not like he did anything. Words can’t hurt you.”
> I laughed to try and break the tense feeling in the room, but it didn’t quite do the trick.
This was just too weird.
“Do you smell anything now? Any clues as to who left this?”
“Believe me, I’ve tried. There’s nothing. Not even the slightest scent. Everything as it should be.”
We sat for a couple more seconds in silence, but sitting still wouldn’t solve much of anything.
We needed to get out and see Sam. She might have a better idea of what the clues meant.
I raced downstairs, not even pausing as I heard more ticking behind the crawlspace door.
“Someone’s in quite a rush this morning!” my mom said as she was pouring out the soggy remnants of her cereal.
“Beautiful day!” I responded, snatching a granola bar. “Friend of mine wants to play out in the woods.”
“A friend?” my dad asked, that proud look he got when I picked up the paper last night returning to his eyes. “Glad to hear it. You spend too much time locked up alone in that room of yours with your books.”
I somehow managed to keep my eyes from rolling. It kind of hurt.
I didn’t mention that I planned on reading some extremely frivolous books with my new friend. You know, after our current disappearing-birds-and-floating-death-faces investigation was over.
“Who is he?” my mom asked.
“Name’s Sam,” I said quickly. “Didn’t get her last name. Lives on Maple. Gotta go!”
As I raced out the back door I heard my dad shout after me “We’ll have to talk later!”
Not sure what that was about, but I didn’t stop to think about it. The woods waited.
We made our way to the fort in short order, and found Sam already there waiting for us.
“I’m glad you came back,” she said. Her shyness had returned.
“Of course I came back. This place is awesome. Besides, we need your help in figuring all this out.”
She relaxed and beamed at me.
“Great. Okay, I’ve been thinking. We need to search for more clues, but we also need to make sense of the clues we already have. We have to find a way to read that ID.”
“Agreed,” I nodded. “So where do we start?”
“I’m not sure. My dad’s got a magnifying glass at home. If I wait until he goes to the worksite I can sneak back and grab it for a couple hours.”
“That’s a good idea. The letters are there, they’re just too worn down to read without getting a closer look.”
“It might take me a bit to snatch the magnifying glass, and my dad would think it’s suspicious if you were hanging around the house. So you wanna hang out here while I’m out?”
“I want to be more help than that,” I said thoughtfully. I wasn’t sure what I could do. “Hey! Why don’t I go down to the library? I’m sure there’s books there that talk about which animals have the best eyesight, and if we can find one maybe one of them can read it.”
“That’s a great idea. Let’s meet back here a little after lunchtime.”
Chapter 17
THE LIBRARY
It was agreed. While Sam made her way back home I took a shortcut through the woods to downtown.
Our village downtown wasn’t anything special: a bank, two churches, a comics and “novelties” store, a handful of restaurants, and the library. Adults called it “cute” and “quaint,” but for us kids it was just “boring.”
On my way to the library, I saw Mr. Mulligan making his way up the street towards me, but before I could duck away he spotted me.
Mr. Mulligan was one of those adults who thinks he’s great with kids, but honestly doesn’t know the difference between a 13-year-old and a 3 year old. Or a 13-year-old and a puppy for that matter. Most of the village parents knew him, and none of them liked him too much. He was not very friendly to adults, kind of gruff and self-centered, and a definite stickler for the rules.
He was in charge of the neighborhood watch, and would hand out tickets for every little crime, no matter how small. “You parked your car facing the wrong way. Better not let me catch you doing that again.” “I noticed your porch light was on after 10 p.m. We don’t live in a lawless land, you know.”
The parents did like that he was so nice to the kids. He was always giving us lollipops and candies and treats, but he didn’t treat us much like people. I always got the sense he kept candies in his pocket for the same reason a mailman might keep dog treats with him: because he’s scared, and wants to distract the vermin in case he has to make a hasty getaway.
But he only pulled out the candy at the end of his conversations. He always talked our ears off, probably because none of the adults wanted to talk to him. You know, because he might ticket them for using the wrong word. So he’d give us a nice long rambling speech about how his job was annoying and his leg was acting up and no one around here appreciated his neighborhood watch program.
It was always awkward running into him.
“Hey there buddy!” he shouted like he’d spotted a puppy. “Have you been a good boy? How’s school going?” He never gave us a chance to answer. “Going good, huh? Bet you’re learning all sorts of fun stuff, like how to read and write?”
I prayed under my breath that this would be over soon.
“I saw your dad the other day down at the store, and I said to him ‘boy, it’d sure be nice to have a job like yours. I saw your house lights on until after midnight last night. Must be nice to go into work whenever you want.’”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. Did I defend my dad and tell Mr. Mulligan that Dad works very hard and wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, and Mr. Mulligan should give people their freaking privacy? Or did I just keep my mouth shut? Arguing with Mr. Mulligan would just make the conversation last longer.
I didn’t even get a chance to decide.
“Well he nodded at me like he knew what I meant. Everyone around here knows what a thankless job I do down at the plant.” He shook his head sadly. “Everyone knows.”
“Oh, I think everyone knows about your job alright. They’re always talking about it.” Luckily he missed the sarcasm and didn’t skip a beat.
“Certainly. I’m sure it’s the talk of the town.”
This was getting painful.
“Anywho, I’d better get running. The neighborhood doesn’t watch itself. Here. Have a butterscotch.”
I didn’t bother asking what crimes he expected to happen in our neighborhood at 10 a.m. A heist of Mrs. Marple’s pies? A gang of well-equipped bank robbers stealing a whopping 10 dollars and 44 cents from Mr. Bondangle’s store? Or (gasp!) a lunatic parking his car facing the wrong way?!
I also didn’t bother telling him butterscotch reminded me of old ladies.
Didn’t want to hurt his feelings, after all.
Mercifully he walked away and I continued straight on into the library.
I spotted Mr. Barston behind the old wooden librarian’s desk and broke into a smile. He was always my favorite librarian. He loved chatting about books with everyone, especially the kids because we were “still discovering the wonders of reading.”
He was definitely more friendly than the standard “shushing and be quietly stern” librarians.
“Good morning master Nate,” he said, tipping his cap at me. “What brings you in here today?”
“Well sir, I found a wallet on the ground outside, but I couldn’t read the ID inside to find out whose it is,” I said, handing him the card. I felt bad lying, but “I suspect my school bully is part of a plot to chase away birds using stolen stereo equipment while calling himself the Masked Marauder” wasn’t really something I wanted to say out loud to too many people.
“And you were hoping one of our books might prove useful in deciphering the writing,” Mr. Barston said with a nod as he thoughtfully looked at the card. “Unfortunately, I seem to have left my glasses at home this morning, so I’m afraid I won’t be much help to you myself. But we have some wonderful books on
magnification and other investigation techniques.”
He pointed me in the right direction and I walked straight over there. I didn’t pick up a single book though. Magnification was Sam’s job. My job was to research animals.
Once I was out of sight I headed over to the nature section.
I picked up anatomy books specializing in eyesight, books on animals that are particularly good at hunting, and books on nocturnal hunters. None of them proved very useful.
Chameleon’s have amazing eyesight, apparently. They can look in two directions at once and can spot tiny insects moving incredibly quickly, but where was I going to find a chameleon in the suburbs?
There was also an animal called the tarsier, but I didn’t read much about it. If I’d never even heard of it, chances are it doesn’t live around here.
Colossal squid and four eyed fish have some incredible eyes, but I didn’t feel like heading out to the ocean, diving down a mile underwater, and trying to decipher the blubs of sealife.
The last animal I found that fit my criteria was the ogre faced spider. That sounded terrifying. Even if bugs could talk, I wasn’t sure I’d want to go hunting for a spider with a name like “ogre faced.”
I of course ran across tons of books mentioning hawks and falcons, but the birds were all gone.
The library looked like a bust.
Chapter 18
DECIPHERING THE RIDDLE
I was pretty discouraged as I made my way back to the fort, and felt like I had wasted a solid hour and a half, but I cheered myself up by reminding myself that Sam was on her way with a magnifying glass.
When I opened the heavy oak door of the fort, I found Sam sitting at the table with the exact same look of defeat on her face.
She looked up at me and said “You too, huh? No luck?”
