The Journal of Curious Letters 1r-1

by James Dashner

  But three months. He felt his mind slipping into an abyss of insanity.

  To make matters worse, the room swayed. Not very much and not very often, but he could feel it. It was like a gigantic robot trying to put her cute little metal box to bed. He kept telling himself it was all in his imagination, but it sure seemed real enough when he leaned over the toilet and threw up.

  Frazier was a miserable, miserable man, and it only poured salt in his wounds that he didn’t know why he was here, or who had captured him.

  It had to have something to do with that nuisance of all nuisances, George. Master George. Please. What kind of man has the audacity to refer to himself as Master anything?

  The sound of scraping metal jolted him from his moping. He looked up to see a small slot had slid open in the center of the main door, only a couple of inches tall and wide and about waist-high from the floor.

  This is new. He stood and walked over to the opening, peeking through. He yelped and fell backward onto his bed when a cat’s face suddenly appeared, baring its fangs and hissing.

  “Who’s there!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls with a hollow, creepy boom. He recovered his wits and righted himself, staring at the small open space. The cat had already disappeared, replaced by a mouth with an old ruddy pair of chapped lips.

  “Hello in there?” the mouth spoke, the voice heavy with an English accent.

  “Yeah, who is it?” Frazier grunted back at his captor, though he already knew who was behind the door.

  “Quite sorry about the inconvenience,” Master George said. “Won’t be long now before we send you on your way.”

  “Inconvenience?” Frazier snarled. “That’s what you call locking up a man for three months?”

  “Come on, old chap. Can you blame us after what you did to those poor children?”

  “Just following orders, old man.” Frazier sniffed and folded his arms, pouting like a little kid. “I never meant any true harm. I was, uh, just playing around with the car to scare them. No big deal.”

  “I must say,” George countered, “I disagree quite strongly with your assessment of the situation. Mistress Jane has gotten too dangerous. She’s gone too far. I mustn’t allow you to return to her until… we’ve taken care of something.”

  “Taken care of what?”

  “Just one more month or so, my good man,” George replied, ignoring the question. “Then we’ll send you off to the Thirteenth where we won’t have to worry about you coming back.”

  Intense alarms jangled in Frazier’s head. What the old man had just said made no sense. Unless…

  “What do you-”

  His words died in the metallic echo of the small door sliding shut.

  Chapter 32

  Shattered Glass

  A week went by with Tick, Sofia, and Paul e-mailing each other almost every day. They talked about their lives, their families, their schools. Though Tick had never met Paul and had met Sofia only once, he felt like they’d all become great friends.

  Tick and Sofia used every ounce of persuasive skills they possessed to convince Paul to tell them the magic words. On more than one occasion, Sofia even threatened bodily harm, never mind that she lived on another continent. But Paul stubbornly refused, not budging an inch. Finally, the other two gave up and reluctantly admitted he was right, anyway. Better to follow the rules in this whole mess than risk jeopardizing their chances of achieving the goal all together.

  The goal. What was the goal? Yeah, they pretty much knew that on the special day they had to perform a silly ritual in a certain place-probably to show their ability to follow instructions and obey orders as much as to show they could solve the riddles of the clues. But then what would happen?

  Tick felt strongly that if they did everything correctly, they would travel to another place. Somehow Mothball and Rutger were doing it. Somehow Master George was traipsing about the world to all kinds of strange places, mailing letters. Tick always felt a surge of excitement when he considered the possibilities of what may happen on the special day, only to have it come crashing down when he remembered he hadn’t figured out the magic words.

  After dinner one night, Tick sat at his desk, his Journal of Curious Letters open before him, while his dad lounged on the bed with his hands clasped behind his head. Tick had told him everything, but his dad hadn’t been much help, falling back on his normal Dad capacity of offering encouragement and rally cries. Tick suspected his dad knew more than he let on, but that he felt much like Paul did-it was up to Tick to solve the puzzle.

  “Go through your list again,” his dad said. “Everything we know needs to happen on May sixth.”

  Tick groaned. “Dad, we’ve gone over this a million times.”

  “Then once more won’t hurt. Come on, give it to me.”

  Tick flipped to the page where he’d accumulated his conclusions. “Okay, on May sixth, I need to be in a cemetery-any cemetery-with no one else there but all the dead people.”

  “That excludes me, unfortunately.” His dad let out an exaggerated sigh. “I still don’t know if I’m going to let you do this.”

  “Dad, it’ll be fine. It’s probably a good thing you won’t be there, anyway-I’m sure I’ll be abducted by aliens or something.”

  “Whoa, now that’s a dream come true.”

  Tick rubbed his eyes, then kept reading. “I need to be dressed warmly, and at nine o’clock on the nose I need to say the magic words, with my eyes closed, then stomp on the ground with my right foot ten times-all while keeping both of my hands in my pockets.”

  “Is that it?”

  “That’s it.”

  His dad rolled into a sitting position on the bed with a loud grunt. “All that’s pretty easy, don’t you think?”

  “Well… yeah, except for one tiny thing.”

  “The magic words.”

  Tick nodded. “The magic words. At this rate, Paul will be the only one of the three of us who gets to… do whatever it is that’s gonna happen.”

  His dad scratched his chin, doing his best Sherlock Holmes impression. “Son, it can’t be that hard. I mean, all the other clues have been challenging and fun, but not really hard, you know what I mean?”

  “Maybe this is Master George’s last way of weeding out those who aren’t willing to stick with it. Maybe I’m one of those last schmoes who ends up losing. The seventh clue said most people would fail.”

  “Listen to me,” his dad said, unusually serious. “I don’t care what happens, and I don’t care who this Master George fancy lad from England is. You’re not a schmoe, and you never will be. You hear me?”

  “Yeah, but…” Tick’s eyes suddenly teared up and his heart seemed to swell and grow warm, like his veins had brought in steaming hot soup instead of the usual blood. It hit him then that he was worried-no, scared-that he wasn’t going to solve the riddle of the magic words. He’d analyzed the first letter from M.G. more times than he could count, and nothing had come to him.

  His dad got up and knelt next to his son, pulling him into his arms. “I love you, kid. You mean more to me than you can ever know, and that’s all that matters to me.”

  “Dad, no offense, but… I mean, I really appreciate all your help.” He pulled back from the hug and looked at his dad. “I want this so bad. I know it sounds dumb, but I want this. I’ve never really done anything important before, and Master George said I might be able to save peoples’ lives.”

  “Then by golly we’ll figure it out, okay? Give me that jour-”

  His words cut off when a thunderclap of broken glass shattered the silence, followed by the tinkle of falling shards and a loud thump on the floor. Dad fell onto his back with a yelp and Tick’s hand went to his chest, clutching his shirt like an old woman shocked by the spectacle of kids skateboarding in a church parking lot.

  Someone had wrapped a note around a rock and then thrown it through the window.

  While his dad went for the rock, Tick ran to the window to see
if he could get a look at who had thrown it. He just caught a glimpse of a figure leaving the front yard and disappearing into the thicker trees of the neighboring woods.

  A very short, very fat, figure.

  Snickering, Rutger waddled along on his short legs through the dark trees and back to the main road. The thrill of throwing the rock had been a great boon to his spirits, and he had enjoyed every second of it. Now he just had to get away before Tick caught him.

  As he thought about it more while escaping, he realized that breaking one of the Higginbottoms’ windows maybe hadn’t been the smartest thing to do, or the nicest. But it sure was funny.

  He crossed the road and entered the forest on the other side, trying to remember the best way back to the old abandoned graveyard. He could’ve stuck to the road for a while longer, but he was worried he’d be caught. As he paused behind an enormous bush-it had to be big to hide him — he heard Tick’s voice from a distance.

  “Did you really have to break my window, Rutger!” the kid yelled.

  Rutger laughed, then set off again, feeling his way in the darkness.

  Tick and his dad walked up and down the road a few times, trying to spot the eccentric little man, but he was nowhere in sight, the darkness too deep. A slight breeze picked up, making Tick shiver.

  “I can’t believe he broke my window,” he said, but then he laughed.

  “You think it’s funny, huh?” Dad said.

  “Actually… yeah. That guy’s crazy.”

  “Well, young man,” Dad said in his best attempt at a stern voice, “maybe you won’t laugh so much when I tell you it’s coming out of your allowance. Come on, let’s go see what the note said.”

  Tick picked up the rock, which was about the size of his fist, and carefully pulled the pieces of tape off the white cardstock that had been wrapped around the hard, cold surface. When he finally got it off safe and sound, he turned it over to see that it was the next clue-number eleven-from Master George.

  “Read it, read it,” his dad urged.

  Tick read it out loud as he devoured each word with his eyes.

  Given that the day is almost here, I will issue a final warning. If you succeed in this current endeavor, your life will be forever altered, becoming dangerous and frightful. If you do not, very bad things will happen to people you may never meet or know. The choice to continue is yours.

  “Dang it,” Tick said.

  “What?”

  “I was hoping he’d give us another hint on how to come up with the magic words. This isn’t a clue.” Tick waved the paper in the air, then dropped it on the desk next to his journal. “It’s just a warning. No different from the stuff he said in the very first letter.”

  “But remember,” his dad pointed out, “he said everything you receive is a clue.”

  “Yeah, well right now I’m kind of sick of it.” Tick flopped onto his bed and rolled over toward the wall.

  After a long pause, his dad spoke quietly. “Sleep on it, Professor. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

  The floor creaked as his dad walked toward the hallway; then the light went off and he heard the soft thump of his dad gently closing the door.

  Despite the tornado of thoughts churning inside his mind, Tick fell asleep.

  Tick knows he’s dreaming, but it’s still creepy.

  He’s in the forest, moonlight breaking the darkness just enough to make the trees look like twisted old trolls, their limbs reaching out to grab him, choke him.

  Leaves and snow swirl around his body like fairies on too much pixie dust. A huge tree looms at his back. Tick watches the leaves spinning in the air, mesmerized.

  He jumps to catch one, and some unseen force holds him in the air …

  And then the leaves turn into letters.

  One by one the letters pass in front of Tick, glowing briefly, teasing him with their riddles, reminding him that he can’t solve the biggest one of all. The first letter.

  The first letter.

  The first letter…

  Chapter 33

  The Final Clue

  The last yellow envelope from Master George came on the third of May, only three days before the Big Day. Tick came home from school on a warm and rainy afternoon to find it on his pillow, addressed to him and postmarked from Brisbane, Spain.

  Until then, he’d been in a foul mood, with good reason.

  Two days earlier, Sofia had announced she was pretty sure she’d solved the riddle of the magic words. Positive, in fact. Tick knew he should be happy for her, but instead felt jealous and angry. Especially since he knew she couldn’t tell him; in his mind it was like Paul and Sofia had this secret about Tick and kept giggling about it behind his back.

  With each passing day May sixth grew closer and closer and Tick became more dejected, moping around like an old man searching for his lost soul in an Edgar Allan Poe story. He just didn’t get it-he was smart. He’d always thought he was way smarter than anyone his own age, and many who were older. Yet for some reason he couldn’t figure out those stupid magic words! Paul and Sofia did it, why couldn’t he?

  As Tick opened the last letter, hoping against hope it somehow held the final link to the magic words, he thought again about how odd it was that Master George traveled around the world to mail his messages. And how Mothball and Rutger got around the world so quickly. It had to be something magical, and Tick sure hoped he’d find out all about it in three days.

  He pulled out the white cardstock. The last clue. Scared to death he’d finish it and be no better off than before, he almost reluctantly read its words:

  Everything you need to determine the magic words is in the first letter. Quit struggling so much and read them, won’t you? Listen to the words of Master George-they’ve been there all along! This is the last clue. I shall never see or speak to you again. Unless I do. Good-bye, and may the Realities have mercy on you.

  Tick slumped down on his bed, groaning out loud. It seemed like the last few clues had been a complete…

  Wait a minute.

  He sat back up and put the paper in his lap, reading through the clue again. Had Master George made a mistake while typing it? The second sentence made no sense.

  Quit struggling so much and read them, won’t you?

  Read them? Why would he say them when referring to the first letter he’d sent out? There’d been only one piece of paper in that original envelope, so why would he use the plural word them when telling Tick to read it? The first letter…

  Tick stopped. He felt like the Earth had stopped spinning and the air had frozen around him in an invisible block of ice; his mind and spirit seemed to step out of his body and turn around to look at him, not believing he could’ve missed something so obvious.

  The first letter.

  He grabbed his journal, ripping it open to find the clue that had first revealed he needed to discover magic words to say on May sixth. It had been the second clue, telling him that at the appointed time, he would need to say the words with his eyes closed. Master George couldn’t tell him what the words were, but the last sentence told him how he could figure it out himself:

  Examine the first letter carefully and you will work them out.

  Old M.G. had been purposefully tricky with his language to throw his readers off the trail. When Tick read that clue the first time, his mind had immediately interpreted it as referring to the very first letter he’d received in the mail from Master George. And once that had been set in his mind, he’d never even considered the possibility of a different meaning. But what the mysterious man really meant was something entirely different.

  The first letter.

  Not the first envelope. Not the first paper. Not the first message.

  The first letter.

  M.G. meant that Tick needed to literally examine the first letter of something. And only one possibility made sense. Even though some of the Twelve Clues had not seemed like clues at all, Master George had been very clear.

&n
bsp; Everything is a clue.

  His blood racing through his veins like he’d just done windsprints, setting his heart into a thumpity-thump that he could feel and hear in his ears, Tick went through his Journal of Curious Letters page by page, clue by clue. He kept a finger on the last page of the dusty old book, flipping back there after seeing each of the twelve riddles in turn, jotting down a letter then going back again.

  One by one, Tick wrote down the first letter of each clue, twelve letters in all. When he finished, he sat back and stared at the result, wanting to laugh and cry and scream at the same time.

  M A S T E R G E O R G E

  Chapter 34

  The Miracle of Screaming

  Tick took his journal downstairs with him, eager to e-mail Sofia and Paul and let them know he’d finally- finally — figured it out. He placed his precious book on the desk and quickly logged in and sent off the messages, his excitement building by the second. He couldn’t wait until his dad got home from work so he could tell him, too.

  It’s all in place now, he thought. Just three days and it’s really going to happen!

  Of course, he didn’t know what “it” was, but that was beside the point.

  Tick stood up from the computer desk and stretched, suddenly happier than he’d been in weeks. He felt stupid for all the jealous feelings he’d had toward his new friends and the whole thing in general; he’d acted like a little baby, at least within his own mind.

  But that was all in the past, now. Three days.

  So bottled up with energy he could hardly stand it, he decided to run over to the library and hang out like he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe he’d check out a book and read it as a reward. He’d probably have just enough time to finish it before the Big Day came. He told his mom he’d be back in time for dinner and headed out the door.

  Halfway to the library, the sun finally breaking through the storm clouds that had hung over the world all day, he realized he’d left his journal sitting on the computer desk back home and wondered if he should go back and put it away. No, I won’t be gone that long. As he ran on, he hoped he didn’t look as ridiculously happy as he felt.