by Holly Black
That morning I wound up in a headlock with a bunch of kids giving me knuckle-burn noogies.
By the bus ride home, I was weighed down with books for make-up homework and dreading what might happen as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk. One of the other kids—Marcus—squinted his eyes at me and then cracked his knuckles. I looked away.
At my stop, I got off the bus really slowly. I gathered up my stuff like a sleepwalker, hoping the other kids would just go home and leave me alone. They didn’t, but something else was there too—a huge dog.
Its fur was a glossy black and its pink tongue lolled from between its teeth in a way that made it seem like the dog was smiling. As soon as Marcus stepped toward me, the dog growled.
“He yours?” one of the other kids—a guy named Kenny—asked.
I shook my head and took a step back. The dog seemed just as likely to bite me as to bite them. But when I started walking home, the dog walked at my side cheerfully. It walked right up to my door and then ran off.
The next day, when I started toward the bus stop, the dog was there again. It sat next to me while I waited for the bus and growled at anyone that bothered me. And so it went for weeks and weeks. The dog was my constant at the bus stop, guarding me from any harm. After a while, the other kids seemed to forget that they hated me and moved on to amusing themselves other ways.
One afternoon Kenny walked next to me and the dog on the way home. He told me about the book on spaceships he’d just read. I tried really hard not to correct his information.
“Does your dog have a name?” Kenny asked.
I petted the dog’s soft fur and shook my head.
“You should name him.”
“How about Shadow,” I said, looking at the dog. “Would you like to be called Shadow?”
Shadow barked once. I didn’t know if that was a yes or a no, but he walked me to my door just like he always did. The next morning, though, he wasn’t waiting for me and I never saw him again.
—David T.
ANALYSIS: Phookas take the form of a black goat, rabbit, or dog. Although often tricksters, on some occasions phookas have been known to help people avoid danger.
—H. B. & T. D.
This creature is both scary and cuddly:
Here’s what else I know about it:
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Some of the creatures in this notebook have a very good sense of humor. These are the knock-knock jokes I would share with them:
A poem about a story:
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A story about a poem:
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Sketches of phookas:
Their wings resembled leaves, but their faces seemed almost human.
FROM BOOK 2: THE SEEING STONE
SPRITES
I grew up in the city, but we would visit my grandparents in the country for the holidays. I hated it. You would think that it would be easy to sleep with only the noises of crickets out the window, but it’s actually pretty impossible if you’re not used to it. My ears would strain for the familiar sounds of cars and people and when they didn’t hear anything, they would strain even harder. They would strain so hard that they would wake me up so I could concentrate on listening too.
And when I did hear something, it was hard to figure out what it was. Branches from the overgrown trees scratching against the aluminum siding of the house sounded a lot like the claws of a monster. A dog howling in the distance sounded like how I figured a werewolf might sound. Dogs sure didn’t howl like that in the city.
But the worst thing of all was the darkness. In the city, there were always lights twinkling in the distance, neon signs brightening the streets underneath my window. Out in the country, at night, the sky was as black as the inside of a closet. Mom said my eyes would adjust, but they never did.
One weekend after Thanksgiving, I was lying in the bed in the guest room, next to Grandma’s sewing machine and teetering stacks of fabric taller than me. I had the blanket pulled over my head in case anything was looking though the window, but I could see a little bit through a small hole in the fabric. More than anything, I wanted to put on the overhead light, but I knew some adult would come along and shut it off.
I tossed and turned, but when I closed my eyes, the darkness of my lids was too dark. The silence left me waiting for something. I didn’t know what, but my heart raced regardless.
Opening my eyes, I saw lights outside the window, dozens of them, like strings of holiday twinklers. My bare feet hit the cold wooden floorboards before I could think about it. My fear was gone, replaced by a nameless excitement. My breath frosted the window glass as I stared out at the little creatures. They were tiny and winged, but they looked more like tiny people than bugs. They darted around a knot on the old oak tree that seemed to have swung open on tiny hinges. Looking closer, I saw some of them enter the tree. It was hollow, lit from the inside by their tiny, glowing bodies. I watched them out there, whirling through the air, for many minutes without them seeming to notice me, or me caring if they did.
Finally, cold and sleepy, I crept back to bed. As my eyes closed, my blurred vision seemed to turn the bright, flitting creatures into city lights. With that familiar sight in mind, I slipped off into sleep.
I don’t know what those things were, but I haven’t had any trouble sleeping out in the country since I saw them.
—Juan G.
ANALYSIS: Sprites sometimes take up residence in trees. This appears to be a rare sighting of these tiny faeries.
—H. B. & T. D.
Sometimes at night, I hear this creature:
Here’s what else I know about it:
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Ideas I have before I fall asleep:
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A dream I have over and over:
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Commonly known as faeries, sprites look like a mix of humans, insects, and plants. A poem about a sprite that lives in the country:
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A poem about a sprite that lives in the city:
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The view from my window:
The view from my window with a seeing stone:
This is what I would look like if I were a sprite:
This would be my sprite family:
He recalled something about people losing their way, even really close to home. . . .
FROM BOOK 3: LUCINDA’S SECRET
STRAY SOD
When I was about twelve, I stayed at my friend Rob’s place longer than I should have. We’d been reading comics and making up new superheroes, like Monkey Man and Booger Boy, until we laughed so hard that chocolate milk shot out my nose and made me choke. When I looked at my watch, I realized I’d completely lost track of time and was going to be way late for dinner no matter what I did, but I thought that maybe there was a way I could avoid getting seriously punished.
There was this farm between Rob’s house and my house and it was supposed to be haunted. My grandma told me that back in her day the family was pretty prosperous, but during the Depression the people who lived there wouldn’t share any of their food, even with kids who came begging. A couple of years later, the whole family got sick and died, one right after another. For a while, after that, there was a guy who tried to keep horses on the farm, but they always got spooked, jumped over the fence, and galloped all around my backyard and the neighborhood. Seriously. I used to sink my hands in the prints their hooves made in the mud. But, by the time I was coming home from Rob’s, no one lived on the farm.
I figured that our parents told us the property was haunted to keep us from playing there, because it was overgrown and split by a fastmoving river. Even though the place creeped me out and I usually avoided it, my plan was to cut through and run all the way home. If it worked, I would be late enough to get a lecture, but not so late that I’d get grounded.
I climbed over the old post fence and took off across the field. Long weeds and maple seedlings whipped against my jeans. A wind blew through the patches of trees, making them rustle in a way that sounded like eerie laughter. I ran faster.
Here’s the weird thing about running—it makes you feel like you’re being chased. The faster I ran, the more I felt like there was something on my heels. I glanced back automatically and at the same moment, my foot dropped into a groundhog burrow. I went down hard on the dirt, twisting my ankle, skinning my hands, and knocking the breath out of my body.
Getting up slowly, I felt pretty stupid. There was nothing following me, nothing to be scared of except shadows. But as I looked around, I wasn’t really sure if I’d been running in the right direction. I could hear the river and I could see clumps of trees, but none of it looked familiar. I started walking the way I thought was toward my house, but the closer I got, the more convinced I was that I still wasn’t going the right way. Panic rose in me, making my heart beat as fast as if I were still running. My raw hands burned where I’d fallen on them. I turned around, walked a little ways, changed direction, and then changed direction again.
Then, across the field, I saw a light. Relief flooded me. It had to be the street lamp that was at the end of my street. I started toward it, not running because of my stiffening ankle, but walking pretty fast. I didn’t care about getting in trouble anymore or about the fact I was late. I just wanted to get home.
I stepped into a more heavily wooded area. The thick ceiling of leaves made it harder to see, but I kept my eyes on the single, unwavering light. It was brighter now, closer, and I figured that the trees were what had kept me from seeing familiar landmarks. As soon as I got on the other side of them, I’d be home.
I started to speed up, even though I couldn’t see really well. I was so happy to be that close.
A voice called my name. I stopped and heard it again. It sounded just like my mother’s voice, but close by, as though she were standing right behind me. I whirled and saw nothing, but that pause made me stop and think. The light was really bright and yet I didn’t see any of the lights of any of the neighborhood windows or porches, which should have been visible if I really were that close.
I stopped and sat down, forcing myself to be calm. After a few moments of me just sitting there, I thought I felt the grass shift under my feet. That completely freaked me out. I was so scared that I didn’t move until the sun came up.
That was when I realized I’d spent the night at the edge of the river. One more step and I would have slipped down the steep bank and fallen into the dark water that rushed by.
—Tom R.
ANALYSIS: Stray sod shifts under the feet of travelers, causing them to go astray even in familiar surroundings.
—H. B. & T. D.
This small creature enjoys playing tricks on people:
Here’s what else I know about it:
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Descriptions or diagrams of important shortcuts I know:
Pictures of my three favorite superheroes:
Three faerie superheroes I’ve made up:
My all-star baseball team of faerie creatures:
Team batting order and other stats:
The Guide had said that trolls weren’t very smart.
FROM BOOK 2: THE SEEING STONE
TROLLS
One winter there was a terrible storm. My dad got stuck sleeping in his office in New York because all the trains were snowed into place. When he called, he told me that the whole city had come to a standstill. Cars were buried so deep that they looked like white hills and the plows were barely making a dent. The only people out on the street were wading through the cold powder on foot.
My mother got snowed in one town over, at her sister’s house. They’d been out shopping or something and had managed to get back to Aunt Alicia’s place before the snow hit. She called me like a million times, talking me through making a frozen pizza and heating up some chicken noodle soup, asking me if I needed her to try to make it home. I told her I’d be fine.
I ate my pizza and soup in front of the television and watched cartoons until I was too sleepy to keep my eyes open. But then, as I dragged myself off to my bedroom, I got kind of freaked out. I was in our ranch house all alone. In bed, I could hear sleet rattle off the roof and I could see jagged icicles hanging off the gutters outside my window.
When the cat jumped up on my bed, I yelped. I normally think of our tortoiseshell cat as annoying. She’s old, and when she meows, it always sounds like someone just stepped on her tail. But right then, even though she scared me, I was glad to have something with me. I petted her and she scooted up next to my body. Pretty soon I was asleep.