The Stone Child

by Dan Poblocki

  Eddie shook his head.

  “Oh, come on!” said Sam.

  “No. I haven’t heard of it,” said Eddie.

  “A curse?” said Eddie’s father. “You can’t be serious.”

  Sam didn’t answer.

  “What kind of curse is it?” Eddie’s mother tried.

  “I think I’ve already done enough damage to Gatesweed’s reputation for one afternoon,” said Sam. “I do sort of depend on this town for business. Can’t go scaring you off, especially now that you live here. If you want to know more, you can look it up for yourself.”

  “You can’t say something like that and then just leave it,” said Eddie’s mother, clutching her pocketbook even closer.

  The truck came around a bend in the road. Several sharp-peaked roofs bit through the treetops ahead. Then, suddenly, the whole town appeared, cupped in the small circular valley beyond the lip of the hill.

  “I’d offer to check under your bed tonight for ya,” said Sam, turning up the radio, “but I don’t want to intrude.” The music shrieked and the windows of the small cab trembled. “Don’t you just love this song?”

  Sam took a right onto Heights Road. The truck rose up the steep hill, shuddering as it tried to shift gears. Eddie couldn’t believe they were almost home. So much was happening so quickly.

  Every house they passed might be the one where they would stop. Strange how so many of them looked empty. Their windows were dark, the glass broken. Most of the large front lawns were unkempt and overgrown, as if no one had touched them in years. As unbelievable as it seemed, maybe the driver had been right. Maybe everyone really had left Gatesweed.

  Were curses real? Eddie wondered.

  The long truck he had last seen in Heaverhill was parked in front of a quaint gray house at the top of the road. When the tow truck stopped, his father opened the door, and Eddie leapt from the cab onto the curb. He started to run up the driveway. He was nearly at the garage when he heard his father call, “Edgar!”

  Eddie turned around and called back, “I need to find my books!”

  3

  Ronald could see his reflection on the lake’s surface. The cold air bit through his thin jacket. Time was running out. He looked at the crumpled paper. It was difficult for him to read the writing. The moon had almost sunk beneath the horizon, and the light was fading. He needed to solve the riddle before the caretaker realized he’d torn the page from the mysterious book.

  Ronald squinted to make out the position of the cross marks on the paper. He knew that the first X was the mansion itself, and he was pretty sure that the second X represented the statue of the girl in the clearing. But what location did the star represent? There were certainly plenty of stars reflected in the water, but which one held the answer to the question at the top of the page?

  As he looked at the other shore, trying to notice another clue, the toes of his sneakers slipped forward and touched the wet, muddy edge of the lake, sending out tiny ripples. He immediately leapt backward. His grandfather had warned him—no matter what, do not touch the water.

  Reflected in the water, some of the stars had already changed color, from white to red. As he watched, they all turned, then began to move. In an instant, they divided into hundreds of pairs of red eyes that watched him from under the lake’s surface.

  Ronald took a step backward and almost tripped as he turned to run. He made it to the woods before he heard the splashing.

  “Here you are,” said Mom.

  Eddie sat on the dusty floor of the barn, surrounded by piles of boxes. Ronald Plimpton’s story lingered in his mind’s eye like smoke. Even after seeing his mother standing in the doorway, it still took him a moment to realize where he was. The orange overhead light bounced off the rafters above. The pitched roof of the barn was hidden in shadow. Outside, it was starting to get dark.

  “I was looking all over for you,” she said. “I’m gonna make dinner. Your father called. He’ll be back from the garage in a few minutes. They gave him a loaner so he can drive himself home. … What are you doing in here?”

  Once the movers had finished unloading the truck late that afternoon, Eddie had torn into the boxes they’d stacked in the barn. After seeing Nathaniel Olmstead’s house on the hill and learning about the supposed curse from the tow truck driver, all Eddie had wanted to do was find his collection of books. Of course he’d read them all before, but, for a reason he couldn’t quite name, Eddie needed to have them now. He wished he’d been more organized when he’d packed in Heaverhill. He’d forgotten to label some of his bedroom boxes. The movers had placed them in the barn with his father’s antiques.

  Eddie showed his mother the first book he’d found, the one he’d been reading when she’d interrupted. The Rumor of the Haunted Nunnery.

  She pursed her lips. “Have you started on your bedroom at all? It’s getting late.”

  Eddie shook his head. He couldn’t concentrate on unpacking yet. This book had captured him again.

  Mom had changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants to make the work of unpacking boxes more comfortable. It had been a long day. Leaning against the wooden door frame, she looked exhausted. “School starts the day after tomorrow, you know. You’re not gonna have much more time to get organized before homework sets in.” She suddenly looked closer at the book in his hands. “Hey, isn’t that by—”

  “Nathaniel Olmstead,” said Eddie. “Ronald was about to run away from the monster lake-dogs.”

  “The monster lake-dogs?” said Mom. “Sounds scary.”

  “Once he makes it back to the mansion, he feeds them leftover chicken bones and escapes, so it all turns out okay,” said Eddie.

  “I never realized that leftover chicken bones worked so well at getting rid of monster lake-dogs.”

  “They’re easily distracted,” said Eddie, shrugging. “If you read the book, you’d know.”

  “Maybe I should read those books,” said Mom. “I mean, if this town is cursed, I probably need to prepare myself.” She rolled her eyes. “Can you believe that guy from the garage?” she said. “I was nervous to leave your father alone with him. Creepy.”

  Eddie laughed. “I thought he was sort of cool.”

  “Cool?” said Mom. “If serial killers are cool, then sure, that guy was very cool. Come on, let’s go inside. You can help me find the pots and pans.”

  “But I wanted to find my books. They’re all mixed up out here.”

  Mom sighed, glancing around at the mess. She nudged an open box with the toe of her boot. “Here … what about this one?” She reached inside and pulled out a leather-bound book. She tossed it to Eddie. He was surprised when he actually caught it.

  Eddie had never seen it before. It was unlike the well-worn paperbacks for which he’d been searching.

  The cover of the book was sturdy. The leather was tight but slightly worn around the edges. From the side, Eddie could see that the book was not thick, maybe 150 slightly yellowed pages. The gold lettering stamped directly onto the brown leather read The Enigmatic Manuscript. Despite its size, the book was heavy. When Eddie lifted the cover, it creaked, snapping at him as the old glue bent. Inside, Eddie found words scrawled in black ink in the center of the first page. When he read them, he gasped. A story by Nathaniel Olmstead.

  Underneath the author’s name was a strange symbol.

  Eddie didn’t know what it was supposed to mean. “The Enigmatic Manuscript? What is this?” he said.

  “Isn’t it one of your books?” said Mom.

  Shaking his head, Eddie held it open and showed it to her.

  Realization washed across her face. “Oh,” she said, “I remember now. … I picked up that book when your father and I came down for the Black Hood Antiques Fair a few months ago. I thought it looked interesting, like an old-fashioned artifact. We didn’t know what it was, but your father thought it might be worth something. Isn’t it odd Nathaniel Olmstead’s name keeps coming up today?”

  Odd is an understatement, Ed
die thought. He suddenly felt as if this entire day could have been written by the missing author himself. A piece of the man seemed to be everywhere Eddie looked.

  But the author’s name on the first page was nothing compared to what was on the next page.

  Eddie nearly dropped the book on the floor when he read:

  VSP IYU POY PLY LDG UDM HUV HFP

  WYF SYZ GYP FMG YHS PIY ZDU YFS

  GDM RSF SYO DDG RPF YHK YYO VHD

  LFS YIY GRY DTZ PFP HFG DAS YPL OVG

  YPN VCY LDK FSP FVF VHU ETP MNF

  Puzzled, Eddie flipped through all of the pages. He found the rest of the book to be the same: filled with three-letter, nonsense words. He showed the book to his mother. “What does it mean? Is it a sort of code or something?”

  “Whatever it is,” said Mom, heading back toward the house, “you’ve got a day to figure it out before school starts.”

  “Do you think Dad will mind if I hang on to it?”

  “We’ll ask him at dinner. If you do figure out what it means, he’ll probably thank you. Especially if it did belong to this Olmstead person. Maybe it actually is worth something.”

  “Wow!” said Eddie. “This is so cool! Thanks!”

  After dinner, Eddie’s mother came upstairs to say good night. She kissed his cheek while he sat at his desk. “I’m going to try to write a little bit tonight, before I totally crash into pieces,” she said. “I know it’s been a long day, but try to organize your room before bed. Okay?”

  “I’ll try,” Eddie said as she closed the door. “Good night.”

  Like the rest of the quaint bungalow, Eddie’s new bedroom on the second floor was a mess. Empty boxes, crumpled pieces of newspaper, and piles of clothes littered the floor, a mess he’d managed to make since coming in from the barn. Much of the room lay beneath the tilt of the roof, but there was still plenty of space to stand. A gabled window with a southern view over the town cut into the sloping ceiling. The sun had set, and the sky was indigo.

  Eddie picked up the book his mother had found in the barn. It smelled awful, like dirt or mold. Weird. He opened to the first page again. The strange symbol leapt out at him. Eddie placed the book onto his quilt and scrambled under his covers.

  He reached out and ran his index finger down the spine of the book, feeling the impression of the title stamped vertically onto the cover. A story by Nathaniel Olmstead?

  What if The Enigmatic Manuscript was in fact a handwritten Olmstead book? A new novel that no one had read before? It was possible. After all, his parents had found the book only a few towns away. Nathaniel Olmstead’s name on the first page might actually be his signature! But if it was an unpublished novel, why would he have written it in a code language? Whatever the reason, Eddie was certain that there was something inside the book its author hadn’t wanted anyone to know.

  Eddie stared at the ceiling, his shoulder throbbing faintly where the seat belt had caught him. It had been such a weird day. Leaving his old house behind and driving from Heaver-hill would have been unusual enough, but then his father had to go and hit that creature in the road.

  Its gash of a mouth lolled open when Eddie shut his eyes for a moment. He shuddered and sat up, propping his pillows against his headboard.

  After the accident, seeing the author’s house and learning about the supposed Olmstead Curse only added to the day’s peculiarity. Eddie knew that every town has its legends, but before he’d even had a chance to look around Gatesweed, it seemed as though, in a way, the spirit of Nathaniel Olmstead had come to haunt him. The funny thing was, Eddie didn’t mind. Figuring out the book would be like exploring Nathaniel Olmstead’s world, almost as if he were a character inside one of his stories. Plus, Sam had mentioned that Olmstead wrote about places in Gatesweed. Living here, Eddie could explore his world from the outside too!

  Like the characters in Nathaniel Olmstead’s books, Eddie had several questions: What exactly is the Olmstead Curse? Why do people move out of Gatesweed but not in? What exactly had happened to Jeremy, Sam’s childhood friend?

  This last question left Eddie feeling queasy instead of excited, the way he felt about the others. Strangely, this third question was the one he was most afraid of answering.

  Where should he begin?

  Eddie looked down at the book in his lap.

  In The Rumor of the Haunted Nunnery, Ronald found the key to decode a secret message. The message allowed Ronald to find the lake in the woods. Eddie knew Nathaniel Olmstead liked to include codes in his books. Could the writing in The Enigmatic Manuscript be one of those codes? If the town library had books about secret codes, maybe Eddie wouldn’t need to find a key, like the one Ronald had discovered. Maybe Eddie could solve the code himself.

  Shouldn’t be too hard, he thought. After reading all of Nathaniel Olmstead’s books several times, he’d become pretty good at figuring out stuff like this. One more day until school? Plenty of time, he thought with a smile.

  4

  After breakfast the next morning, Eddie begged his parents to let him explore the town. They agreed, but only after he had organized his closet, bureau, and desk. They also made him promise to be home for lunch.

  Less than an hour later, he was out the door.

  It was warm now that the sun had finally come out from behind the clouds. He didn’t even need his hooded sweatshirt. Inside his backpack, he carried the two Olmstead books that weren’t still packed away, as well as The Enigmatic Manuscript.

  Standing next to his bike in the middle of his house’s gravel driveway, Eddie had a perfect view of the town. The roads were laid out in concentric circles, linked by lanes and small side streets, like a labyrinth. A long, thin park divided the town in half. On the western end of the park, at the base of the surrounding hills, sat an old wooden church, and on the east, along the Black Ribbon River, huddled several mills.

  He wished he’d been able to find the rest of his books the night before. He thought they might act as a map for his journey. Even though he could probably list certain places for which he should keep a lookout, like the ones Sam had mentioned yesterday, Eddie figured there must be hundreds of secret Gatesweed spots he’d never on his own think to look for. Then again, Eddie knew he had all the time in the world to explore Gatesweed. Right now, however, he had a mystery to solve.

  The library had to be down there somewhere.

  Heights Road wound down to the town center. Eddie’s bike kicked up clouds of dust. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d sped by several empty houses, a few deserted storefronts, and a brick fortresslike town hall. He braked in front of the park, where the long grass rustled in the warm breeze. He was on Center Street. True to its name, it circled the center of the park and came back to the spot where Eddie stood.

  Eddie glanced behind him, where an old movie theater sat quietly, the front of it blockaded haphazardly by a loose chain-link fence. When Eddie noticed the marquee over the entrance to the building, his skin went cold. He expected to see an old movie title hanging on the yellowed white panel, but instead, broken black letters spelled out strange words that reminded Eddie of the code from The Enigmatic Manuscript.

  LO ED UN L FU HER NO ICE.

  As he stared at the theater, Eddie realized he was wrong. The words were not part of any code—some of their letters were missing. Feeling like a contestant on a weird game show, Eddie slowly filled in the gaps.

  CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

  The sign had fallen apart over time. Eddie suddenly felt entirely alone. The town seemed to be deserted.

  Across from the park stood a wide brick building covered in ivy. Stone steps led up to a high arch, over which was carved GATESWEED PUBLIC LIBRARY. Near the roof, around the top of the cornice, more words decorated the building. A PLACE WHERE STORIES ARE TOLD. Eddie beamed.

  Eddie had never had tons of friends. In Heaverhill, the kids didn’t understand stuff like studying astrological star signs, or reading about old Babylonian statues, or researching
ancient Aztec gods at the library. People in Heaverhill tended to ignore the way things could be or might have been, and so they tended to ignore Eddie. His mom was always trying to get him to talk to people. Once, she’d signed him up for baseball and soccer and karate. But Eddie only learned that he wasn’t very good at hitting or kicking. Plus, there was never very much talking involved. So Eddie had found friends in books. Nathaniel Olmstead’s stories were so vivid and strange, it was as if they had been plucked directly from Eddie’s own brain. Maybe here, he thought, people would understand what that felt like.

  He locked his bike to the stand and made his way up the stairs. When he pulled hard on the heavy glass door, the scent of old books wafted out. Eddie took a deep breath and stepped inside.

  In the center of the main room, two shallow balconies stretched from wall to wall, fenced in by intricate wrought-iron railings. Tall shelves lined up vertically like teeth, running along the entire length of each floor. The books were a sight to behold—their spines were a jumbled mishmash of different sizes and colors. Some were new, but most were dusty, musty, and worn. Spiral staircases wound their way up through each floor. Though much of the room was cast in shadow, a skylight allowed the sun to spill down to the main level where Eddie stood. He gaped up at the beauty of the place and didn’t realize his mouth was open until he heard a voice ask, “Can I help you?”

  The librarian sat behind a large wooden desk. A name-plate on top of the desk said MRS. SINGH, ASSOCIATE LIBRARIAN. Her hair was wavy and dark, and her happy face was round. She smiled at Eddie, so he smiled back. Sometimes, book people were easier to talk to.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m looking for a book about solving puzzles.”

  “Crossword puzzles?” she asked.

  “No. Puzzles written in code.”