The Stone Child

by Dan Poblocki

  “What does the book say?” said Eddie.

  “See for yourself,” said Harris, staying back.

  Feeling almost nauseated, Eddie stepped forward, stood on his toes, and peered over the edge of the stone pages.

  “It’s blank.” Feeling a little too close to her gaze, Eddie stepped away from the statue. “She sort of looks familiar. …”

  Harris smiled, raising an eyebrow. Eddie felt like he was missing something. Then it hit him.

  “Isn’t she from …?”

  “The Haunted Nunnery” said Harris. “Yup.”

  “Whoa,” Eddie whispered. He’d found another of Nathaniel’s inspirations. Up close, it looked exactly as he’d imagined.

  Something small crunched through the brush outside of the clearing, and the raven cawed again. The noises made Eddie’s skin prickle, but he told himself that these woods were filled with squirrels, chipmunks, and mice, all harmless creatures that were very good at making crunching sounds. Trying not to sound as freaked out as he felt, he nonchalantly asked, “This is cool and everything, but what does a statue have to do with my book?”

  “I didn’t bring you here to look at a statue. I brought you here to look at this statue. And I don’t think you’ve looked close enough.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Harris crept close to the statue and leaned underneath her book. “Here.”

  Eddie ducked under the book too. There was something carved there. Eddie leaned closer to see what it was. The symbol from the first page of The Enigmatic Manuscript was engraved clearly into the book’s stone cover.

  A cool rush crept underneath Eddie’s clothes, tickling his skin. “What the heck is going on here?” he said.

  Harris didn’t say anything for a moment. He stood next to Eddie and stared at him. Finally, he said, “Creepy, huh? I know the feeling.”

  Eddie reached out and ran his finger along the cold stone spine of the book. “How did you hear about this place?”

  “After Nathaniel Olmstead disappeared,” said Harris, “the town sent out a search party. They came across this clearing. It’s sort of become a local legend in Gatesweed. Nobody knows for sure who this statue is supposed to be, who carved it, or why it’s here.”

  “Really?” said Eddie. “Hasn’t anyone even tried to guess?”

  “I’ve heard some of the high school students say it’s a gravestone,” Harris said, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

  “A gravestone out here in the middle of the woods?” The thought gave Eddie goose bumps again. “Who does it belong to?”

  Harris shook his head. “No one knows. There’s no name on the stone,” he whispered. “But they also say … its ghost haunts these woods.”

  “A ghost?” said Eddie, glancing over his shoulder. “What kind of ghost?”

  “Some people say they’ve seen the ghost of an old woman wandering around Nathaniel Olmstead’s estate.”

  “Really?” said Eddie. He looked up at the statue. She stared at him blankly.

  “That’s not the only thing people have seen up here,” said Harris. “People tell stories of strange animals. Weird noises. Stuff like that.”

  Strange animals? Eddie’s stomach squelched. “The thing that totaled my dad’s car on Black Ribbon Road was pretty weird looking,” he said. He still didn’t mention that he’d thought it was a monster. The accident had happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what he’d seen anymore. “Did you see anything strange the last time you came up here?”

  Harris laughed. “If I had, do you think I’d be wandering around in these woods with you?”

  Eddie chuckled too. “I guess not.”

  “I mean, yeah, I heard some noises I couldn’t explain,” said Harris. “And once or twice I thought I saw a shadow move, but when I turned to look, nothing was there. Then again, I’m pretty skeptical when it comes to stuff like this. Sure, I like Olmstead’s books, but I know the difference between what’s real and what’s made up.” Eddie didn’t quite believe him. Harris continued, “People in town are pretty serious about the legend of the statue, though. They talk. Some people think that if you stay up here too long, the ghost of the woman will follow you home. She’ll haunt you until you go crazy. That’s probably why the librarian freaked out when you showed her your book. Mrs. Singh’s definitely heard about the statue’s symbol. When she saw it on the first page of your book, she must have thought you’d already been up here. She didn’t want the ghost to follow her too.”

  “That’s dumb,” said Eddie, forcing a laugh. “People in Gatesweed really believe that?”

  Harris scoffed. “Yeah, actually. Some of them really do. But then again, a few of them are crazy, if you ask me.”

  “Seems like someone’s crazy enough to graffiti that statue in town.” When Harris gave him a knowing look, Eddie continued, “So weird. Someone had painted this awful face onto the pedestal, with swirling black squiggles for eyes.”

  Harris smiled reluctantly and crossed his arms. “Once, someone spray-painted it on the side of my mother’s store,” he said. “The Woman Is Watching. In big black letters. It took forever to clean it off.”

  “Someone graffitied your store because of the Olmstead Curse?” Eddie asked. “They don’t want her selling his books?”

  “Exactly.” Harris nodded. “They think the less people who come through town, the less … trouble there will be here. To them, Gatesweed is filled with dirty little secrets, Nathaniel Olmstead’s disappearance being number one. But my mother was friends with him. And she’ll never stop selling his books in her store—no matter how many times people paint nasty things on her front porch … or how many people believe his monsters are real.”

  The pair of red-rimmed yellow eyes blinked in Eddie’s memory. He remembered the articles he’d read on the Internet about the curse. “People really think his monsters are real?” he said, clutching his book bag even tighter.

  “Yeah,” said Harris. “Some people do. Like the animals people say they’ve seen in these woods. I’ve never seem them, but I’ve heard people say they look like the ones Nathaniel writes about. Everything that happens in this town gets blamed on him—and he’s not even here anymore. People stopped going to the movie theater on Main Street because of the things they said lived behind the screen. And the mills closed down after the owners kept finding huge gouges in their machinery. People said they looked like bite marks. And, of course, a small group of people blamed the New Mill Bridge collapse on Nathaniel’s trolls. After everything else, that one was pretty much inevitable. Lots of people left town when the mills closed. That sort of destroyed Gatesweed, so it makes sense that people need someone to blame, but still …”

  “What about the symbol on the statue?” said Eddie. “Do you know what that means? I read something about the Greek letter pi, which looks almost exactly like the symbol carved here.” He pointed at the girl.

  “Right … from math class,” said Harris. “Maybe. We could look into it, but I’m not very good at that subject. And I don’t know a thing about Greek. What I do know is that the book you found is important. I was so happy when I saw you in school today … that you weren’t just an Olmstead hunter, chased away by old Wally the Weasel. That’s what my mom calls him,” said Harris, with a smirk. “I was thinking about your book all night. The code has to mean something. The symbol on the statue is the connection. I brought you here so that you’d understand. … The secret of the book in your bag isn’t just about a code. It’s about this place, this statue. It might be about Nathaniel Olmstead himself. Who knows … maybe if we solve it, we’ll find out what really happened to him. Maybe we can clear his name. Then people will leave my mom alone.”

  “Yeah, totally!” said Eddie. “Nathaniel Olmstead would also probably give us his autograph or something … if he’s, you know … still alive.” As he said the words, he felt foolish, disrespectful—especially in this place, so close to where the man had lived. He wandered to the opposite side of the ci
rcle. “So you do think the book might have belonged to Nathaniel Olmstead?”

  The land sloped down quickly. At the bottom where it leveled out, the hill was met by a lake, about thirty feet across. The trees on the other shore concealed a steep, rocky hillside that jutted high above the water. Through the thick foliage, the tree roots were visible clinging, almost clutching, at the cliffside. Near the water’s edge, several long, leafy branches hung down from the trees and dangled just above the calm surface, tickling their own reflections with stringy shadows.

  “If not, at least it belonged to someone who knows about the Nameless Woods, the Nameless Lake,” said Harris, following Eddie across the clearing to the top of the slope, “and the symbol on the statue.”

  “Which could be anyone in town,” said Eddie. “Right?” He picked up a pebble from the edge of the clearing before heading down the hill.

  “Yeah,” said Harris, “but no matter who it belonged to in the past, now it’s up to us to figure it out.”

  Eddie nodded, excited. Was Harris suggesting they work together? That they become friends? “Yeah,” he said as they neared the edge of the lake. “It’s up to us.”

  “So how should we start?” said Harris.

  At the shore, Eddie tossed the pebble. It bounced across the sky’s reflection, splashing several times before disappearing underneath the surface. “I’ve already taken the one code book out of the library,” said Eddie. “But it’s really confusing and not much help.” The raven called to them from the top of the hill near the statue, louder this time.

  “Forget about it then,” said Harris. “I’m sure we can find some sort of pattern on our own.”

  Eddie was about to take The Enigmatic Manuscript out of his bag so they could get started, when near the far shore, the calm surface of the water suddenly rippled, as if something large had risen from below. The raven at the top of the hill took off for the sky. Wide-eyed, the boys looked at each other.

  “I think the sun’s starting to go down,” said Harris, stepping away from the shore.

  “Did you see that?” said Eddie. Small waves disturbed the water at the center of the lake. Eddie stepped forward, trying to peer through the blue sky’s opaque reflection. He could see a dark shape shifting and squirming in the hazy depths fifteen feet from the shore. The shape reminded Eddie of a fast-moving storm cloud, swirling and rolling in upon itself as it grew stronger. The forest behind him was suddenly quiet, as if all its inhabitants did not want to be heard. From where he stood, Eddie could see the dark cloudy shape rise to the surface of the water from below, creating a black spot nearly five feet in diameter. The edges of the black spot seemed to pulsate and roil, spreading its wide fingers out across the top of the lake like a fist slowly opening. “Is it an oil slick?” Eddie asked.

  “I don’t know what it is,” said Harris, staring at the spot intently as it continued to grow. Now it had doubled in size. It floated in stark contrast to the sky’s blue reflection, turning the water black as it spread outward.

  “It’s coming up from the bottom of the lake.” Eddie leaned forward. “Like a geyser.” He was frightened, yet at the same time, he was curious. “Or maybe not. I can’t really tell.” He’d never seen anything like this before. After Harris’s spooky stories about the woods and the town, he felt compelled to run away, but he also wanted to stay to see what would happen as the black shape grew and grew. This almost seemed like something that would happen in a Nathaniel Olmstead book, but, of course, Eddie told himself, those stories were not real, in spite of what people believed.

  Now the dark shape in the middle of the lake was as large as a small island, taking up almost all of the water’s surface. The blue reflection from above had been replaced by darkness from below, as if someone had covered the sky with a blanket; yet, when Eddie looked up, he could see the sun still shining somewhere beyond the canopy of trees near the horizon. Even so, the afternoon light barely broke through the tree-tops. Then Eddie noticed something even weirder. In the water, there began to appear little white specks of light, which wavered as the surface rippled slightly. Eddie was reminded of a book he’d read about phosphorescent algae. He also remembered reading about a type of shrimp capable of producing a small amount of light, like a firefly. But these specks of light didn’t look like algae or shrimp or fireflies. They appeared to be something else—something familiar that Eddie couldn’t quite name.

  “Are those … stars?” whispered Harris.

  The darkness reached the shore, so that now, except for the specks of light, the entire lake had turned black. The water did not merely look dirty—but impenetrable and infinite. Eddie cautiously leaned forward even farther. “You’re right,” he said. “It almost looks like … a reflection of the night sky.” He glanced up at the cirrus clouds wisping in the afternoon light, then shook his head, baffled. He bent down and picked up another pebble from the edge of the water. He was about to toss it in to see what would happen, when Harris grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t,” said Harris. “Look.”

  The specks of white had turned red. Eddie realized they no longer looked like the reflection of stars from above. Now the lights were clearly floating just below the water, close enough for Eddie to reach out and touch. The sight was almost hypnotic. Eddie began to feel dizzy. Suddenly, he knew what would happen next. He’d read about it in one of Nathaniel Olmstead’s books on Saturday night.

  “Eddie, get away.” Harris yanked him backward as something large in the middle of the lake splashed the dark water. Several waves came rolling slowly toward the shore. Unable to look away, Eddie felt his skin go prickly with goose bumps. His mouth felt as if it was filled with dust. His hands were numb. Harris continued to pull on his sleeve. When Eddie glanced at him, he could see fright welling up in Harris’s eyes. His mouth had fallen open, and his skin had turned ashen. Seeing Harris afraid made Eddie twice as scared as before.

  Harris swiftly shot his finger to his lips and nodded toward the hillside. Slowly backing away, the boys made it to the edge of the woods. Several pine branches poked into Eddie’s back. He jumped. The splashing in the middle of the lake stopped. The small waves finally rose up and rolled onto the pebbly beach, breaking and washing the shore in slow, steady rhythm. The soft lapping of the water was the only sound Eddie could hear. Then, several feet from the edge of the lake, a shape churned the water—something rising from the shallows below the surface. A muffled howl resonated faintly from its direction. Eddie’s mouth dropped open in horror as he saw what looked like a long black snout and a flash of several sharp white teeth.

  The boys turned and ran as fast as they could, slipping and sliding up the slope in the mud and dirt. At the top of the hill, the statue watched silently as the boys ran through the clearing and into the woods. Eddie followed Harris, leaping over large roots and half-buried rocks that jutted out of the ground every few feet. In some places, the trees had grown densely together. Trying not to slip in patches of silt and leaves, the boys weaved back and forth as if through an obstacle course. Even though he was nearly out of breath, Eddie glanced over his shoulder.

  But there was nothing there.

  Still, he wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible. Eddie sprinted into the woods, clutching the straps of his bag, which bounced against his back. At the edge of the flatland, the boys briefly caught their breath before heading over the ridge, through the orchard, past Nathaniel Olmstead’s house, and all the way down the long driveway. By the time they got to their bikes, Eddie was feeling faint.

  He dropped to the side of the road and hung his head between his knees. After he caught his breath, he glanced up at Harris, who was leaning against the fence in shock. “What the heck just happened?” said Eddie. “I thought I saw … dogs … coming out of the water for us!”

  “I’m not sure what I saw,” said Harris, red-faced and weary. “But I have an idea.” He pushed himself away from the fence and stumbled toward his bike. “There’s something
else I think you should see.”

  “It’s not another statue, is it?” said Eddie.

  Harris shook his head, lifted the handlebar, and set his bicycle upright at the edge of the road. After swinging his leg over the seat, he kicked at Eddie’s bike, which was still on its side in the brush. “Do you think you’re okay enough to ride this thing back to my place?”

  Eddie nodded.

  “Because we should probably get the heck out of here.”

  7

  By the time they reached Main Street, Eddie was shaking with exhaustion and fear. “Hey! Wait for me!” Eddie called, but Harris raced toward his mother’s store.

  When Eddie came around the side of the building, he noticed Harris’s bike tossed near the still-swinging apartment door. Eddie propped his bike against the wall. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled.

  Up the stairs to Eddie’s right, Harris stood in front of another open door. “This way,” Harris said.

  At the top of the stairs Eddie found a neatly kept kitchen. Harris dropped his book bag onto a chair at a table opposite the refrigerator. Green gingham curtains hung in the window above the sink. A bowl of fruit sat on the counter. A dishwasher was running quietly.

  “Where have you been, Harris? I was starting to worry.” A woman came through a doorway next to the refrigerator with a dripping tea bag in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. She looked about the same age as Eddie’s mother. She wore jeans, a tank top, and baubly green beads draped around her neck. When she noticed that Harris was not alone, she said, “Oh, I didn’t realize you brought home a friend.” Her smile was sweet. Her warm brown eyes matched the few dark strands that ran through her blond hair. “You boys are filthy,” she said with amusement. “What have you been doing?”