by Dan Poblocki
The little creature listened, quietly penitent, then hung its shoulders in outward defeat. It almost seemed to roll its eyes as it trudged toward Eddie, stopping a foot in front of him, holding out one hand. Eddie looked at it, unsure of what to do. The creature shook its hand at him, its palm facing up like a beggar asking for money.
“I think it wants the flower back,” whispered Harris from a few feet away.
Eddie nodded. He spit the soggy flower into his palm, then very carefully bent over and handed it to the creature at his feet. The thing snatched the flower from Eddie and grumbled something quietly under its breath. Then it turned around and angrily kicked pieces of broken glass as it slunk back toward the library’s entrance. After it crunched through the hole in the door, the gremlin spun around quickly and glared at them. Finally, it popped the flower into its own mouth, gave a brief bow, and, before any of them could comprehend what was happening, disappeared.
Silence shrouded the library—until someone behind the librarian’s desk sneezed. When Eddie turned around, he saw Maggie holding her sleeve up to her nose. Both she and Mrs. Singh stared in awe. Eddie felt as confused as they both looked, yet he still felt the need to offer some sort of explanation. From outside, the sound of a siren grew as a police car approached. “That was … uh … that was …” But he couldn’t think of anything to say that would help them understand, so he joined them in their astonishment. “That was … weird,” he choked out. “Wasn’t it?”
When Wally showed up and saw the damage at the library’s entrance, he shook his head and began to write notes onto a small pad. In a low, accusing tone, he asked the boys what had happened. Still hanging back, Maggie stared at the two of them curiously. Harris and Eddie explained that they were about to ride their bikes around the park when the creature attacked them in front of the library. The cop listened patiently, and when Harris finished his statement, he took Mrs. Singh aside and spoke with her privately behind the circulation desk.
After Wally finished taking Maggie’s statement, the boys walked their bikes back across the park toward the bookstore. Every dead leaf that skittered across the path made Eddie’s skin crawl. The bust of Dexter August stared at him with hollow eyes.
“I’m surprised Wally didn’t take us into the station for questioning,” said Eddie.
“Mrs. Singh looked pretty freaked out,” said Harris. “He’ll probably stay with her until she closes up.”
“How nice of him,” Eddie said with a smirk.
As they crossed the southern hemisphere of Center Street, they agreed that their trip to Nathaniel Olmstead’s place was more important now than ever. But they decided to wait until tomorrow, when they could be more prepared, when the afternoon light would provide a better sense of security … and when they weren’t jumping at every stray sound.
They stopped on the sidewalk in front of The Enigmatic Manuscript. Eddie watched Frances’s silhouette float past the lighted windows upstairs.
“Are you gonna be okay going home by yourself?” said Harris. “Do you want me to ask my mom to drive you and your bike home?”
“No. It’s a short ride. I think I’ll be fine,” said Eddie, hitching his book bag up onto his shoulders. “That is, if I don’t stop to smell the flowers this time.”
Harris laughed and shuddered as he said, “Yeah, right. The ugly purple ones anyway.”
When Eddie arrived home, he found his parents in the living room. His father was nestled on the sofa, reading Antiques Magazine. Eddie’s mom sat next to her husband, scribbling furiously in her notebook. She glanced up when Eddie came through the door.
“Hey, there!” said Dad. “We were wondering where you were! You had us worried.”
Eddie turned red, wondering how to respond. Detention after school … monsters at the library … followed by police questioning? There was no way his parents would understand. “Yeah, I’m sorry,” said Eddie, sighing and dropping his book bag on the floor. “It’s been a crazy day. I promise, next time I’ll call.”
“You’d better.” Mom smiled. “Glad to see you made it home in one piece.”
Eddie nodded and said, “Me too.”
11
In school the next day, Eddie heard his classmates whispering to each other. He wondered how the rumor had spread so quickly that he’d held a flower under his tongue and spoken a strange language to a monster in the library. How many of his classmates had seen something similar in Gatesweed? Eddie tried to ignore the kids who looked at him funny. He had more important things to worry about than a few people who thought he was a freak.
As the clock ticked toward the final bell, Eddie felt his hands start to go numb. Part of him was excited to see Nathaniel Olmstead’s house from the inside, but another part of him was terrified. As the past few weeks had proven, Gatesweed was a weird place, and the possibilities for encountering danger were much greater than they’d been in Heaverhill. Having now seen a gremlin, the dogs, and the creepy Watching Woman graffiti, Eddie worried more than ever about Nathaniel Olmstead’s fate … and his own.
Eddie and Harris met at the bike rack after school. In his book bag, Eddie had brought a flashlight in case the house was dark, a hammer in case they needed protection from any strange creatures, and, of course, The Enigmatic Manuscript.
Before they unlocked their bikes, Harris reached into his bag and showed Eddie everything he’d brought too—a flashlight, a notebook, a pen—but when Harris revealed the final item that he’d tucked into his backpack that morning, Eddie couldn’t keep from laughing. In his hands, Harris sheepishly held a small bent piece of wood that had a smiling white kangaroo painted on it. “My mother got it as a gift from a customer,” he explained.
“That’s nice, Harris, but what are we going to do with a boomerang?” said Eddie.
“Hit something,” said Harris sharply. “It’s better than a stupid hammer. At least I can throw a boomerang.”
“Right. But let’s hope you don’t need to,” said Eddie.
Twenty minutes later, they’d made it to Nathaniel Olmstead’s estate. They laid their bikes near the road, climbed through the hole in the fence, and hiked up the long driveway. The sun sat low in the sky, painting the long cirrus clouds pink.
Once the boys reached the top of the hill, they walked around the corner to the back door of the house. It was nailed shut with a few horizontal planks of wood. “On the count of three,” said Harris, clasping the middle board in his hands.
Eddie glanced over his shoulder, making sure no one, or nothing, was watching, but the hillside was empty. The orchard trees bristled as the breeze plucked at their barren branches. Eddie imagined the statue standing alone in the woods. The thought of her made him nervous.
“One. Two. Three!” said Harris. The wood ripped clean away from the nails holding it in place. It left a two-foot gap between the top and bottom board. Inside the gap was the doorknob. Harris turned it and pushed. The door swung open with a soft squeak.
Without hesitation, he lifted a leg and carefully stepped over the bottom board. He gripped the door frame, ducked his head under the top board, and swiveled the rest of the way inside. Eddie followed, swinging his first leg through, then his head and body. When he lifted his other leg over the bottom board, a nail caught his pant cuff. He fell face-first into Nathaniel Olmstead’s kitchen with an oomph. It didn’t quite hurt, but it took him a moment to catch his breath. Behind him, Harris quietly shut the door.
“Careful there,” said Harris.
“I’m okay,” said Eddie as he stood up. Only then did Eddie realize he was actually inside Nathaniel Olmstead’s house. His heart was racing, for so many reasons. “Wow,” he whispered, and glanced at Harris, who looked as fascinated as Eddie felt. Even though the afternoon was sunny outside, inside the house was dark. Both boys reached into their bags, took out their flashlights, and flicked them on.
“Characters in Nathaniel Olmstead books are always checking under rugs and knocking on walls in case there a
re hollow spots,” said Harris, stepping forward into the gloom. “Keep your eyes open for stuff like that.”
Eddie made his eyes really wide and said, “I will.”
Harris chuckled nervously.
They wandered to the doorway of the crumbling dining room. Heavy curtains hung over all the windows, shutting out the light. Harris’s flashlight crisscrossed the floor and sent rainbows leaping toward the ceiling and walls. A small chandelier had crashed onto the circular table in the center of the room, scattering its crystals across a damp and molding rug.
In awe, the friends silently wandered through the dining room into the long room at the front of the house. The ceilings were so low that Eddie wondered if Nathaniel Olmstead ever bumped his head. They shone their flashlights everywhere, in case something was hiding in a dark corner. The light painted the shadows with circles of white.
The house was a mess. Strange old stuff had tumbled every which way, as if the place had been plundered by thieves. A sun-and-moon grandfather clock lay on its side next to the front window. Its smashed cogs and winches were rusting as time pulled itself away from this place. An entire bookshelf was filled with spindly black antique typewriters whose wiry black keys seemed to have been wrenched apart by violent hands. Eddie desperately wanted to take one home to show his father, but he kept his hands to himself. A dusty globe had fallen onto a stained velvet couch. Victorian statues of sad and dramatic women nestled behind jumbled stacks of books on the floor.
“Where the heck is the basement?” said Harris. “I don’t see a door anywhere.”
“Check the floor,” said Eddie. “That’s where Gertie found the hatch.”
They continued to search. The house was bigger than it looked from outside. Eddie wondered if Nathaniel Olmstead would have disapproved of them. Two kids … breaking into his house, running from monsters, searching for answers … No, thought Eddie, Nathaniel Olmstead would not have had a problem with this. He probably would have written this story.
In the corner of the living room, Eddie discovered a doorway that led to a crooked stairway upstairs. He knocked the bottom step with the heel of his sneaker to see if it was hollow like the one Ronald Plimpton found in The Rumor of the Haunted Nunnery. But the step seemed to be ordinary. He glanced at Harris, who nodded him forward. Eddie took each creaky step slowly, in case the wood had rotted. At the top of the stairs was a dark hallway. Anything might be hiding in the shadows. He stopped, afraid to move.
Harris scooted past him into the hallway. “Harris,” Eddie whispered, “wait!” But Harris turned into one of the bedrooms before Eddie could stop him.
“What’s wrong?” Harris said calmly from inside the room.
When Eddie followed hesitantly, he half expected to see the horrible face of the Wendigo hovering outside the window, watching through the dirty glass for trespassers such as themselves. But there was nothing except more furniture, shadows, and dust. He shook his head, convinced he’d officially read one scary story too many.
“This is so cool,” said Harris, rushing forward to the big bed. He bounced on it. Dust billowed up in clouds around him. “This must be where he slept.”
Reluctant, Eddie joined his friend, removing his bag and lying next to Harris for a few moments, staring at the ceiling, and listening to the creaking of the old house.
Something thumped downstairs. “What was that?” asked Eddie, sitting up and looking into the hallway. Harris sat up too. They listened for a moment.
Then Harris said, “It’s probably nothing. … Right?”
Eddie hopped off the bed and clutched his bag, feeling the weight of his father’s hammer at the bottom. Suddenly, he felt foolish. What good would a hammer be against the gremlin they’d met last night … or against something worse?
They wandered back downstairs. In the long living room, a creak came from the wall near the chimney. Together, the boys stepped forward cautiously.
The mantel above the fireplace was dark wood, intricately carved with flowers and fat cherubs frozen in silent song. Underneath it, a pile of birch wood had been carefully arranged upon a pair of imp-shaped andirons. A squat ceramic vase filled with dead, colorless flowers was perched on the left side of the mantel. Eddie’s flashlight bounced off the mirror hanging on the wall above the hearth.
The vase crashed to the floor and Eddie jumped onto the nearest chair. His shout was interrupted by Harris’s apology.
“Sorry!” said Harris, standing next to the andirons. “My bag knocked it.” He bent down and examined the fireplace itself, carefully avoiding the shards of shattered ceramic. Crawling forward slowly, Harris stuck his head through the archway.
“What are you doing?” asked Eddie. He imagined hulking black dogs growling in the corners of the room. But this place wasn’t like the woods, Eddie told himself. This was only Nathaniel Olmstead’s house. There were no monsters here. Right?
“In Horror of the Changeling, Elise finds an envelope in the fireplace,” said Harris.
“Oh yeah,” said Eddie, leaning forward. He felt as if they were both peering into a gaping mouth. What if the fireplace decided to chomp? He frantically skittered backward, catching his coat sleeve on one of the andirons. Suddenly, the room shook. A loud scraping sound came from inside the chimney, like stone sliding against stone. Eddie yelped, thinking the house was about to collapse—but when he noticed Harris smiling by the glow of the flashlight, he realized that his friend had been right. The back wall of the fireplace had opened up. They had actually found a secret passage! How clever of Nathaniel. It was just like one of his books. Eddie had once thought these sorts of things existed only in books like Nathaniel’s.
“Nice job, Eddie,” said Harris as he quickly crawled all the way inside. The opening was about three and a half feet tall and nearly the same width. At the back of the fireplace, the tunnel bent like an elbow. Harris quickly disappeared around the corner. “You coming?” His voice echoed from the shadows.
Crawling on his hands and knees, Eddie felt the soot and grime clinging to his skin. The walls were made of large damp rocks. Moss grew in several places where water had seeped through the cracks. He followed the stone path past the andirons and to the right, where it stretched for a few feet before dropping off.
“Harris?” he called.
“Down here,” said Harris.
Eddie peered down to find a small ladder, about six feet high, bolted to the wall. At the bottom, Harris’s flashlight bobbed across a stone floor. Eddie gripped the cold metal rungs and lowered himself. The thought of Gertie crawling away from the Watchers at the end of The Witch’s Doom gave Eddie goose bumps, but he had to keep going.
Another archway greeted him at the bottom of the ladder. He ducked through it and followed Harris’s flashlight into a small cryptlike basement with a low ceiling. Spiderwebs draped from the rickety rafters like decaying curtains. Someone had piled a few boxes and stacks of newspapers along the walls. A dark, empty doorway gaped on each side of the room.
“Check it out!” said Harris from across the room. “It looks like some sort of … office or something.”
A desk with spindly legs sat along the far wall. Next to it stood a tall wooden filing cabinet. One drawer was open.
“Is this where he worked?” Eddie said, trying to calm his frazzled nerves. “How creepy.”
“Maybe this is just where he kept stuff he didn’t want anyone to find,” said Harris. He propped his flashlight on top of the filing cabinet, then reached inside the open drawer. He pulled out what appeared to be a hardcover notebook. He opened it. After looking it over for several seconds, he gasped. “Oh my gosh, Eddie, you have to see this!”
Eddie rushed over to the desk, and Harris showed him the notebook. On the first page, the words The Ghost in the Poet’s Mansion were written in scratchy penmanship. Underneath the title was the symbol Eddie had found in his copy of The Enigmatic Manuscript.
Harris flipped through the entire notebook, shaking his head. “It
looks like a handwritten copy of a Nathaniel Olmstead book.”
“Someone wrote the whole thing out by hand?” said Eddie.
“That’s what it looks like. Just like The Enigmatic Manuscript. Only this one isn’t in code.”
Eddie glanced inside the open drawer. There were more notebooks, their spines facing up. He reached inside, took out another one, and opened the cover.
“Whoa,” Eddie whispered.
On the front page were the same scratchy handwriting and the weird symbol Harris had found in the other notebook, but this one was The Wrath of the Wendigo, Nathaniel Olmstead’s third book. Eddie put the notebook on the desk and picked up another one—The Revenge of the Nightmarys. And another—The Egyptian Game of the Dead. And another—The Cat, the Quill, and the Candle. “Are these notebooks all filled with his original stuff?”
“I guess so,” said Harris. He bent down and knocked on the stone floor.
“If he wrote these himself, they’re probably worth tons of money,” said Eddie.
Harris shook his head. “Yeah, but we’re not here for money.”
Eddie blushed. “I know that,” he said. He reached into his bag and pulled out The Enigmatic Manuscript. Opening the front cover, he compared the handwriting on the first page to one of the other handwritten books. “Look … Here, where it says Nathaniel Olmstead … you can see the writing is the same. The same person who wrote The Enigmatic Manuscript wrote these books.”
“So then it was Nathaniel who wrote them,” said Harris, glancing up from where he knelt on the stone floor.
“All clues point in that direction,” said Eddie. “This is his house, after all. But what does it mean? Why did he write all of his books by hand? And why did he keep them in this secret room?”
“Doesn’t look like this room was his only secret,” said Harris. “Look at this.” He ran his finger around the outer edge of the stone on which he was perched. “This one is different. There’s no mortar keeping it in place. Just like the one Gertie finds in The Witch’s Doom.” He blew at the crevice where the other stones met it. Dirt and dust flew from the crack. When Harris rapped his knuckles against it, the stone sounded hollow. “Help me out.” The two knelt down opposite each other, but after trying to lift the stone, they realized that it was stuck. Harris said, “Do you think there’s something down here we can use to pull it up?” He glanced around. “What about that hammer in your bag?”