Nightbooks

by J. A. White

  Her stomach rumbled.

  Katie crept down the hallway to her brother’s bedroom. He was asleep. His head was turned away from her, exposing his bare neck.

  She entered his room and closed the door behind her.

  Alex finished reading just as the oil diffuser’s cycle came to an end. Blue mist dispersed into the air as the magical walls vanished.

  “Your story is all wrong,” Natacha said.

  Alex’s cheeks burned.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, unable to meet her eyes. This was part of the reason why he never shared his stories with anyone else. The slightest criticism was a hornet’s sting.

  “The girl, she turns into a vampire at the end, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But that can’t be! She never gets bitten by one!”

  “That’s the whole idea,” Alex said, hating the defensive tone in his voice. “I wanted to do something different, so I made the mirror creature turn her into a vampire by taking her reflection.”

  “But that’s not how it works,” Natacha said in a petulant tone. “I’m surprised at you, storyteller. I thought you knew better than that.”

  Alex considered arguing, but he could see that it wouldn’t do any good. Natacha would never understand that he was trying to do something creative. In her mind, the story had simply been inaccurate.

  “Sorry,” Alex said.

  “Apology accepted,” replied Natacha. She smiled smugly, like a know-it-all who had just proved the teacher wrong. “Fortunately for you, I’m a witch, which makes me an expert in these matters. I’ll be sure to let you know if you get any other details wrong in the future.”

  “Can’t wait,” Alex muttered under his breath.

  Natacha stood up and pressed her ear against a wall. After a few moments, she nodded with satisfaction.

  “Good news,” she said. “Your story might not have made any sense, but it still got the job done.”

  Alex’s face flushed, this time with anger instead of embarrassment. He was tired of hearing his writing criticized.

  “What do you mean, ‘got the job done’?” he snapped, ignoring Yasmin’s look of warning. “What are you even listening to?”

  Natacha gave him an appraising look.

  “One of those, are you?” she asked, rubbing her hands together. “Curious type? Got to know what makes the clock tick? The rain fall? Not so fond of that characteristic, Alex. Leads to trouble.”

  Alex swallowed nervously as Natacha took a step closer to him.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I just . . . thought it might make a good story, you know. Noises in the walls. Creepy stuff.”

  “Always the little author,” Natacha said, though it was clear by the look on her face that she didn’t believe him. “You’re sure you’re not curious about the apartment itself? Maybe you think you could figure out a way to escape, if only you knew its secrets?”

  “No,” Alex said. “It’s not like that at—”

  Natacha snapped her fingers in his face. Alex flinched, expecting a spell, but she just wanted him to stop talking.

  “Since you’re being so forthcoming with me,” Natacha said, spitting out the word forthcoming in a way that implied its opposite, “I’ll do the same for you. The dark magic that keeps this apartment up and running is very old and not quite what it used to be. Sometimes things shift out of alignment and grind together, like a car that’s been driven too many miles. When that happens, the walls shake. Cracks appear.”

  Alex nodded, remembering his first day in the apartment, how he thought he was in the middle of an earthquake.

  “The thing about dark magic, though—it thrives on nightmares,” Natacha said. “When you read it a scary story, you soothe its aches and pains. And then it can rest easy again—at least for a little while.”

  Alex watched Natacha carefully as she spoke. The smirk on her face made it clear that she was keeping something from him, and that she wanted him to know that she was keeping something from him. She was teasing him with half-truths.

  “Are you saying the apartment is alive?” Alex asked.

  Natacha snorted with laughter.

  “Now that’s a crazy idea,” she said. “Maybe you can write a story about it.”

  9

  What Grows with No Light

  Alex’s new life in apartment 4E settled into a predictable routine.

  During the day, he pretended to write in the library while combing the stacks for another entry written by the mysterious girl. It was slow going. Not only did Alex need to examine every page of every book, but he kept getting distracted by the stories themselves, often losing himself in reading for hours on end.

  It was the only way he could escape the apartment.

  At night, Alex read aloud while Natacha sat in her misting room (she didn’t offer any more information about the purpose of the blue mist, and Alex didn’t ask—though he did develop a theory). After each story the witch listened to the wall for a moment and then patted it like an obedient steed. Alex didn’t completely buy her explanation about the dark magic of the apartment being appeased by his narrative offerings, but he kept these doubts to himself. No good could come of questioning her. Besides, he liked sharing his stories. Maybe Natacha was overly fond of correcting him, especially if the story contained any magic, but at least Alex didn’t have to worry about the witch thinking he was a freak for having such a dark imagination. As Natacha said again and again, they were one and the same.

  The same darkness that runs through Natacha’s veins runs through my own, Alex thought.

  It scared him.

  Alex wished he could talk to Yasmin about all of this—and share his exciting discovery in the library—but she continued to spurn his attempts at friendship. Eventually he gave up, and they each settled into their section of the apartment: Alex in the library, Yasmin in the place behind the coat closet door. They barely exchanged a word all day.

  Alex grew lonely with only his thoughts to keep him company. These inevitably turned to his family.

  He missed them so much.

  Days were bad. Nights were worse. The fact that his family was only four floors away didn’t make him feel any better. They might as well have been on Saturn.

  Sometimes he imagined their reunion, playing it in his head like the end of a cheesy movie. I knock on our apartment door. Mom and Dad answer. They don’t hug me at first. They’re in shock. They can’t believe it’s really their son, safe and sound. And then it starts: the tears, the hugs, the kisses. Even John gives me an affectionate fist tap.

  Alex longed to make this fantasy a reality. There was only one way to do it.

  Escape.

  He wished he could search the apartment more thoroughly to see if he had missed a clue, but it was impossible. Lenore could be anywhere. Besides, if there was an exit, he knew exactly where it would be.

  Through Natacha’s bedroom door.

  Alex doubted that there was anything special about the actual bedroom itself; his interest was in the magical room accessed by the bonekey. He had only seen Natacha enter this way once, and she had checked around carefully before slipping the bonekey inside, shooing Alex away when she saw him standing at the end of the hallway.

  Whatever was behind that door was so important that she didn’t want Alex catching a single glimpse.

  He was dying to know what it was, just like he was dying to know what Yasmin did in the coat closet each day. Unfortunately, the only way to find out was to steal Natacha’s bonekeys, which she kept in her pocket at all times. Alex wasn’t desperate enough to try something that crazy. Not yet, at least.

  Days passed. Alex searched the library. Told his stories. Dreamed of escape.

  He imagined that things would have continued in this fashion if it hadn’t been for the danglers.

  Alex had been combing the stacks all morning with nothing to show for it but blurry eyes and an aching back. He cleaned his glasses on the bottom of his shirt while conside
ring the number of books waiting to be searched. Even after a week, he had barely made a dent.

  This is going to take forever, he thought.

  He had found, to this point, exactly six other entries by the mystery writer, who he had dubbed Unicorn Girl. As far as Alex could tell, she had shelved the books at random, and as there were no dates to tell him their precise chronological order, he relied instead upon the rising desperation in their tone. Thus the earliest two entries, Alex believed, were drawings of unicorns, little more than cheerful graffiti in the margins. The next one was a list:

  Things I Miss

  Mom

  Dad

  ICE CREAM!!!

  Jude (sometimes)

  Raindrops

  Alex, whose mind often wandered to his life before the apartment, knew exactly how Unicorn Girl felt. He also thought it was funny how she put Jude (who he assumed was her brother) after ice cream. It made him feel like he knew her a little bit.

  The fourth entry, on the other hand, just made him sad. Five sentences formed a heart around a carefully rendered sketch of a unicorn pendant:

  My special pin. From Mom + Dad. I wear it close to my heart and touch it when I need to remember them better. When they get fuzzy in my brain. I will NEVER EVER NEVER take it off!!!

  “Fuzzy in my brain”? Alex wondered. Does that mean she’s starting to forget her parents? How long has she been Natacha’s prisoner at this point?

  According to the fifth entry, even Unicorn Girl didn’t know:

  Today I tried to figure out how long I been here. Couldn’t. The days and nights get all mixed up. I asked the witch how long but she wouldn’t tell me. The witch don’t tell me nothing. She just wants her story every night. I’m so tired of reading her scary stories.

  I HATE HER.

  I’ve been looking for a spell book. Thinking if I could do magic then I could make her pay. But the only books here are stories. Stupid useless stories.

  I seen a movie where this guy with a big beard made scratches in a prison wall so he could remember how long he’d been there. I should have done that. Except I never thought it would be this long. And now it’s too late to start.

  Just thinking about this entry depressed him. When Unicorn Girl had first been captured, she believed that Natacha was a lonely woman who would eventually set her free. That hope and optimism was gone now. She had changed.

  Is that what’s going to happen to me? Alex wondered.

  He hoped not. And if the final entry was any indication, maybe he could avoid such a fate:

  I escape tonight. Everything is set.

  I escape tonight, Alex thought, the three simple words quickening his heart. Everything is set. That means she had a plan. If so, it was entirely conceivable that she wrote it down. The answer that Alex sought might be waiting somewhere in the library.

  It was great news. Spectacular news.

  If Unicorn Girl had really written her plan down, and if he could find it.

  He had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t going to happen today. He considered taking a break from his search and reading for a while—a slim volume titled The Maze Inside the Labyrinth had caught his eye—but instead sat at the table and opened his nightbook.

  I should try to write something, he thought. Just in case Natacha starts getting suspicious.

  This nightbook—the one with the peeling cover—was the only one he had used since coming to apartment 4E. He had already read most of the stories, but Alex wasn’t worried. He still had the two other nightbooks in his backpack. Last night he had flipped through them, just to see what was there. Some of the stories had been written when he was only eight or nine, and Alex didn’t think that they were good enough to share. Others were little more than unfinished ideas that had fizzled out like defective fireworks. Even excluding those, however, Alex still had over forty stories in the bank.

  That’s plenty for now, he thought, closing the nightbook. No need to worry about it.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Alex pushed his chair back, unsure who it could be. When Yasmin came to tell him that it was dinnertime every night, she simply walked into the library without knocking. And although Natacha had never actually checked on him, Alex doubted that she would be so polite.

  Could it be someone else? he thought. Maybe the apartment lured a new kid inside?

  He inched the door open and peeked cautiously through the gap.

  It was Yasmin.

  Usually her face was flat and expressionless, as though her emotions were a secret she wanted to keep hidden from the world. Today, however, Yasmin was visibly upset. She rocked back and forth on her heels while twisting the bottom of her T-shirt into a knot.

  “I need your help,” she said.

  “With what?” Alex asked.

  “I . . . something happened . . . and . . .”

  Yasmin pulled the brim of her Mets cap tight over her forehead and closed her eyes, as though trying to wish the entire situation away.

  “This is a mistake,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “I’m sure I can figure out a way . . . to fix it on my own. I shouldn’t expect you to . . . to . . .”

  She took a few steps back.

  “Yasmin,” Alex said. “Let me help. Whatever it is, you don’t have to do it alone.”

  She stared at him a moment with a dubious expression on her face. Finally, she nodded.

  “I’ll have to get the extra pair of goggles first,” she said. “One of the lenses is cracked, but I think it’ll still work.”

  “Why do I need goggles?”

  “To protect your eyes.”

  “I know what goggles do, I meant—”

  “And see if you can find a pair of gloves,” Yasmin said, cutting him off. “Thick ones.”

  “What exactly are we doing?” Alex asked.

  “It’ll be easier to explain once we’re inside,” Yasmin said. She smiled weakly. “You wanted to know what I do every day, right? Well, you’re about to find out.”

  Once Alex had tracked down two mismatched gloves (one bright pink, the other with a small hole in the left pinkie), he met Yasmin in front of the coat closet door. She handed him a pair of yellow-tinted goggles that looked like something you might wear during science lab. Alex slipped them over his eyes. The band was too tight around his head, but he didn’t want to take the time to adjust it. He was afraid that any hesitation might give Yasmin the opportunity to change her mind.

  “Let’s go,” Yasmin said.

  “What about her?” Alex asked, nodding his head toward Lenore. The cat sat in the middle of the living room floor, watching them with interest. She had stayed out of Alex’s way since he told Natacha that he needed solitude in order to work, but every so often he caught her staring at him with cold green eyes. The witch already seemed to dislike the cat, and by stripping Lenore of her library duty Alex had diminished her value even further. If she had a chance at redemption, he was certain she would take it.

  “Lenore’s going to come whether we like it or not,” Yasmin said. “It’ll be much worse if we try to lock her out. Then Natacha will really think we’re up to something.”

  She slid the bonekey into the keyhole and pulled the door open. The expensive coats that normally weighted down the rod were no longer there. Instead, Alex saw an open expanse of darkness, like a cavern. The dimensions were impossibly huge, but he wasn’t as fazed by that as he would have been a week ago.

  Lenore passed between them and vanished into the murk.

  “You can’t see anything at the start,” Yasmin said. “So just follow my footsteps and try to keep up.”

  “There’s no light at all?” Alex asked.

  “Not the kind you’re thinking of,” she said. “That reminds me, close the door behind you.”

  Alex didn’t like the idea of plunging them into total darkness, so when Yasmin turned around he left the door open a crack. It made him feel a little better, knowing that there was still the slighte
st thread of light in this place.

  “We should have brought a flashlight,” he said, following the echo of Yasmin’s footsteps.

  “That’s the last thing you want to do,” she said. “Besides, you don’t really need it. Just keep walking straight. It’s not far. See—you’re about to pass through a big curtain here.” Her voice was suddenly muffled. “It’s on the other side.”

  Alex, walking through the darkness with hands outstretched, felt something heavy and smooth hanging from the ceiling. It reminded him of those lead aprons that dentists made you wear when they x-rayed your teeth. There was a seam in its center. Alex slipped through it.

  And gasped with wonder.

  Alex liked to write about things that didn’t exist. He saw them clearly enough in his imagination, but in order to paint a picture in the reader’s mind he created links to the real world. For that reason, he might describe a monster as a “scaly rat with wings,” or compare the smell of a sunbaked zombie to “a liverwurst sandwich left in a locker over summer vacation.” The sight before him now was so remarkable, however, that there was nothing on earth with which to compare it. Alex could only describe it in terms of imaginary things: a phosphorescent garden on some alien planet, a neon forest hidden at the center of the earth.

  “What is this place?” Alex asked, staring slack-jawed at the long tables that stretched into the distance. From clay plots and long lacquer boxes grew a dizzying variety of flora whose violent colors exploded in the dark. In some cases, they resembled plants and flowers familiar to Alex. A lily the color of hibiscus tea. Yellow sunflowers like streaks of colored chalk on a blackboard. A tiny cactus, its needles tipped with red.

  In most cases, however, the plants were unlike anything that Alex had ever seen.

  Some breathed. Some snapped. Some chewed.

  The air was filled with the musty smell of growing things but there was something slightly spoiled beneath it all, as though someone had committed a murder and hid the body to rot.

  Alex was both exhilarated and afraid.

  “It’s a nursery,” Yasmin said. Her white shirt glowed in the dark, like she was about to play a game of laser tag. “Well, that’s what Natacha calls it, at least. Except these aren’t normal plants, as you probably noticed. They’re meant to grow at night. You put them under direct sunlight, or even a lightbulb, and they’d be dead in an hour. That’s why we use black light instead.”