The Journal of Curious Letters 1r-1

by James Dashner

  “Good. Because when you get back, we need to talk about dead people.”

  Chapter 16

  Nowhere in Between

  Tick wasted five minutes searching for the box in the basement where his old clothes were stored-the ones his mom couldn’t bear to part with. He finally spotted it and pulled almost everything out before he found a pile of shoes of varying sizes. He chose three pairs that seemed the closest to Rutger’s size, then rummaged through everything else again, searching for mittens or gloves. He found nothing.

  He walked back upstairs, still doing his best to keep quiet, and dove into the closet holding all of their winter clothing. He finally came across a pair of yellow mittens his grandma in Georgia had knitted out of yarn a long time ago. They’d been his once, but Kayla had been wearing them ever since she destroyed her own pair in the fireplace. Tick tried not to laugh at the thought that they should fit Rutger just perfectly.

  I can’t believe I have a Hobbit in my own front yard.

  Holding in a snicker, he went outside.

  “Oh, those will do just fine. Just fine! Thank you.” Rutger hurriedly pulled on the mittens, then replaced his worn shoes with a pair of sneakers that Tick must’ve grown out of very quickly because they still looked relatively new.

  “Glad to be of service,” Tick said, settling on the step beside his new friend. He shivered from the cold and tightened his scarf around his neck. “Now I think you had a lot to tell me? What was that about dead people?”

  The little man rubbed his newly wrapped hands together and leaned against the step behind him. “Ah, yes, dead people. There’s a phrase that Mas-” He caught himself before saying anything else, looking at Tick with guilt written all over his face.

  “What?” Tick asked.

  “Oh, nothing… nothing. I was just going to say that there’s something a good friend of mine always says: ‘Nothing in this world better reflects the difference between life and death than the power of choice.’ Says that all the time, my friend does.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  Rutger looked at him intently. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Atticus Higginbottom. Or Tick.”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Rutger pulled out a notepad and pencil from his pocket, then started scanning it, much like Mothball had done. “There you are, and there we go.” He wrote a checkmark next to Tick’s name, then put the pad and pencil back into his pocket. When he pulled his hand out, this time he was holding a yellow envelope. “I believe you’ve been expecting this.”

  “The fourth clue?”

  “You got it.”

  He handed the envelope to Tick, who immediately ripped it open then pulled out the cardstock containing the next message from M.G. Before he could read it, Rutger placed a pudgy hand on top of the clue.

  “Remember what I said about dead people, young man.”

  “What exactly did you say?”

  “Well, nothing really, now that you mention it. Wasn’t supposed to say much, anyhow. It’s for you to figure out.”

  “You’ve really cleared things up for me, Rutger, thank you.”

  The round man’s eyes narrowed. “Do I sense a hint of sarcasm?”

  Tick laughed. “Not just a hint.” He pulled the message out from under Rutger’s hand. “May I please read this now?”

  Rutger waved a hand. “Read to your heart’s delight.”

  Squinting to see in the patchy moonlight, Tick did just that.

  The place is for you to determine and can be in your hometown. I only ask that the name of the place begin with a letter coming after A and before Z but nowhere in between. You are allowed to have people there with you, as many as you like, as long as they are dead by the time you say the magic words. But, by the Wand, make sure that you are not dead, of course. That would truly throw a wrinkle into our plans.

  Tick looked over at Rutger. “I can bring people with me, as long as they’re dead before I say the magic words? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  The short man smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, I didn’t write the clues.”

  “And how can a letter come after A, before Z, but nowhere in between? Wouldn’t that exclude all twenty-six letters?”

  “Who am I, Sherlicken Holmestotter? You figure it out, kid.” He rubbed his arms and shoulders with his mittened hands.

  “Sherlicken who? Do you mean Sherlock Holmes?”

  Rutger gave him a blank stare. “No, I mean Sherlicken Holmestotter, the greatest detective who ever lived.”

  Tick didn’t know what to think of that answer. “So are you going to tell me anything worthwhile or not?”

  “I’m leaning toward the not, actually.”

  “Boy, you and Mothball sure are a lot of help. Why didn’t M.G. just send me letters in the mail like he did with the other stuff?” Tick shivered again, and realized his warm clothes and scarf weren’t enough to block out the freezing cold.

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Rutger looked down at the ground, no small feat with his huge belly. “I guess you didn’t want me to come, did you?”

  “Hey, I was just kidding.” Tick tried to keep from laughing as he reached out and patted the man’s shoulder. Maybe it was the guy’s size, but Tick felt like he was consoling a little kid. “I’m glad we met. I just wish you could tell me a little more about what’s going on.”

  “Trust me, I’m dying to tell everything, but that would defeat the whole point, now wouldn’t it?”

  Tick threw his hands up in frustration. “What is the point?”

  Rutger grew serious. “I think you know, Tick. You’ve made a choice to pursue this endeavor, and no matter what, you must see it to the end. By the very act of making it to the special day, and solving the riddles of what will happen at that time, you will be properly prepared for…” He paused, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat.

  “For what?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “What a surprise.” Tick wanted to be angry, but instead felt torn between disappointment and eagerness to solve everything at once. He’d always been that way; he wanted to know things right then and now, which was probably one reason why he did so well in school. He often read ahead in his books, curiosity lighting the fire of his impatience, which only added to his status as Nerd-Boy of the Universe.

  “I will say this,” Rutger said. “I truly hope you make it, Tick. I want to see you when it all comes down to the boiling point.” He turned his squat little body and looked Tick in the eye. “You’ll be there, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Rutger snorted. “ Try is for dingbats with no heart. You will do, young man, do. ”

  “Who are you-Yoda?”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.”

  Rutger stood up with a loud groan, seeming to barely rise in height even though he had his legs straight under him. “Well, must be off to the wild blue yonder. Feels like I haven’t eaten in three weeks.” He patted his stomach. “Boy,

  I sure do enjoy a lovely meal now and then.” He cleared his throat loudly, as if trying to give a hint.

  “Where are you from, anyway?” Tick asked, trying his best to avoid any subject that dealt with the man’s weight.

  “I, young man, am from the Eleventh-the finest place you could ever visit.”

  “The Eleventh?”

  “Things developed a little differently there, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Oh. Yes. Well, someday you will.”

  Tick sighed. “What were those words you said earlier? Kyoopy, Barrier Wands, chika-something?”

  Rutger only raised his eyebrows in reply.

  “Let me guess, you can’t tell me.”

  “That’s my boy, getting smarter by the minute.” Rutger stretched and let out a big yawn. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Tick. I expected someone a little more generous with treats and goodies, but what can
you do?”

  Tick rolled his eyes. “Do you want something-”

  “No, no, maybe next time you can be a good host,” Rutger replied with no subtlety. “You go on inside and stuff yourself with turkey and beans while little old Rutger walks his long journey home. At least I have new shoes, I guess.”

  Little? Tick thought, but wisely didn’t say. “Oh, hang on a minute. You’re a pathetic actor.” He slipped inside the house and grabbed some bread, a bag of cookies, and a couple of bananas, throwing them all into a grocery bag, trying his best to be quiet. He forced himself to take extra precautions with every trip through the front door. He didn’t need his dad waking up to find him giving out free food to a weird little fat guy in the middle of the night.

  When he handed the bag to Rutger, the man beamed with joy. “Oh, thank you seven times over, my good man! Thank you, indeed!”

  Tick smiled. “You’re welcome. When will I see you again?”

  Rutger started down the sidewalk, looking over his shoulder as best he could. “Many tomorrows, I expect, many tomorrows. Good-bye, Master Atticus!”

  “Bye.” Tick waved, feeling a pang of sadness as he watched Rutger set off down the road.

  Edgar watched from the upstairs window in the hallway, his emotions torn between fascination at the miniature fat man that seemed to have struck up a friendship with his son, and his sadness that Tick was involved in something very strange and had failed to tell his own father about it. He and Tick had always had a special bond, sharing anything and everything. Had things changed so much? Had his boy grown up, leaving his poor father behind to wallow in ignorance?

  It all made sense now. Tick had been acting so bizarre lately and the reasons behind it could very well change the way Edgar viewed the world in which he lived. As he’d watched the two speak together on the steps of the porch, he’d readied himself to run outside at the first sign of danger. But the man seemed to be a friend, and Edgar decided to wait a while before he confronted Tick about it.

  He told himself he didn’t know why he wanted to wait, but his heart knew the truth. Deep inside, he hoped his son would decide to tell him on his own what was going on. Edgar could hold out just a little bit longer-maybe a day or two-watching his son’s every move.

  Down below, Tick waved as his short friend disappeared down the dark road.

  Quickly, Edgar turned and went back to his room.

  Chapter 17

  Smoky Bathroom

  The next day was Friday, the last day of school for two weeks, and Tick thought it would never end. Having enjoyed a grand total of four hours of sleep the night before, he nodded off in class constantly, waking with an unpleasant string of drool on his chin more than once. Mr. Chu was the only teacher who gave him a hard time about it, but Tick survived.

  Finally, the last bell of the day rang.

  Tick was at his locker, the excitement of the coming vacation days perking him up a bit, when disaster struck in the form of a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Billy “The Goat” Cooper sneering at him with arms folded, his goons gathered behind his massive body.

  Just wait it out, Tick, just wait it out.

  “Well, looky here,” Billy said, his voice the sound of marbles being crushed in a vice. “Looks like Ticky Stinkbottom and his pet Barf Scarf are excited to go home and wait for Santy Claus. Whatcha getting this year, Atticus? A new teddy bear?”

  “Yes,” Tick said, stone faced, knowing it would throw the Goat off track.

  Billy faltered, surely having expected Tick to adamantly say no or try to walk away. “Well, then… I hope… it smells bad.”

  Tick really wanted to say something sarcastic- It’s a teddy bear, not a Billy the Goat doll — but his common sense won out. “It probably will, with my luck,” he said instead.

  “Yeah, it will. Just like your feet.” Billy snorted out a laugh, and his cronies joined in.

  Tick couldn’t believe how idiotic this guy was, but held his face still and said nothing.

  “Here’s an early Christmas present for you, Ticky Stinkbottom,” Billy said, and his cronies’ forced laughter ended abruptly. “Stay in your locker for three minutes, instead of the usual ten. Then, go into the bathroom and stick your head in a toilet. Do that and we won’t bother you until we get back from Christmas break. Deal?”

  Tick felt his stomach drop because he knew Billy would send a spy to make sure he did what he’d been ordered to do. “With my hair wet, I might catch a cold on the way home.”

  Billy reached out and slammed Tick up against the locker, sending a metallic clang echoing down the hallway. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we don’t have school for two weeks, now isn’t it?” He let go and stood back. “Come on, guys, let’s go.”

  As they walked off, Tick lowered his head and stepped into his locker, closing the door behind him.

  A few minutes later, he stood alone in the boys’ bathroom, staring at his distorted image in a moldy, warped mirror. He pulled down his scarf with two fingers and examined his birthmark, which looked just as ugly as ever. He felt himself sliding into that state of depression he’d visited so often before he had resolved to quit letting the bullies rule his life.

  But then he thought of Mothball and Rutger, the letters and clues, and the way they all made him feel important. He snapped out of the gloom and doom, and smiled at himself in the mirror.

  Forget those morons. I’m not sticking my head in the toilet, spy or no spy.

  A moving smudge suddenly appeared on the reflection of his face, like black moss growing across the mirror. Startled, Tick reached out and touched it with his finger, but only felt the cool hardness of the glass. In a matter of seconds, the entire mirror was dark, blacking out everything. Tick took a step back, a shot of panic shooting through him.

  The blackness grew, enveloping the wall and the sink, moving outward in all directions. It took on substance, puffing out like black cotton, devouring the entire bathroom wall. Tick spun to see that all the walls and the ceiling were covered now, dark smoke everywhere. The room looked like the result of a five-alarm fire, but Tick couldn’t see flames and felt no urge to cough.

  Then, with a great whooshing sound, every bit of the strange smoky substance rushed to the exit of the bathroom in streaks of wispy darkness, coalescing there into a big ball of black smoke. Tick’s heart stuttered to a stop as he realized what hovered between him and the exit.

  A Tingle Wraith.

  Tick moved to run, but stopped instantly. He had nowhere to go. The Wraith completely blocked the one and only exit out of the bathroom, its dark smoke already forming into the same ancient, bearded face he’d seen in the alley a few weeks ago. Mothball’s words about the creature came back to him, sending a sickening lurch through his body.

  If any man, woman, or child hears the Death Siren for thirty seconds straight, their brain turns right to mush. Nasty death, that.

  Tick turned to look for another way out. A tiny window let some daylight in, but other than that, there were only stalls and urinals. He ran to the thin slat of a window and grabbed the metal crank bar to open the window. He twisted the bar clockwise and a horrible screech of metal on metal boomed through the room as the glass slowly tilted outward.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew the Wraith would start its deathly cry soon. He looked over his shoulder and saw the mouth forming into a wide, black abyss.

  Tick quickened his pace, cranking the window as hard as he could. It jammed when it reached the halfway point. He pushed and pulled but the lever wouldn’t budge. He beat against the glass with both fists, but ended up with bruised knuckles, leaving the dirty glass unbroken. Desperate, he tried to squeeze through the window anyway, pushing one arm through. It didn’t take long to see it was hopeless. The crack was too thin.

  He ran to the stalls, jumping up on one of the toilets to see if he could lift a ceiling tile and climb up. But it was too far above his head.

  And then he heard it, the worst sound to
ever beat his eardrums, a cacophony of nightmarish wails. The sound of dying men on a battlefield. The sound of a mom screaming for a lost child. The sound of criminals at the gallows, waiting to drop into their nooses. All mixed together into one horribly terrifying hum.

  The Death Siren.

  Thirty seconds.

  As the Wraith’s cry increased in volume with every passing second, Tick squirmed his way onto the top of the stall siding, balancing as it creaked and groaned below him. He held on with one hand and reached up with the other, stretching to see if he could touch the tiles. His fingertip brushed it, but that was all.

  Frantic, he jumped back down to the floor and ran out of the stall, spinning in a wide circle, looking for ideas, for a way out.

  The Death Siren rose in pitch and volume, growing more horrible by the second. Tick covered his ears with both hands, hoping to quell the noise, but the stifled groan he heard was worse. Spookier. Creepier. He knew it was almost over, that he only had a few more breaths until his brain turned to mush from the loud, haunting cry.

  He looked directly at the Tingle Wraith. As he stared at its wispy black face, long and old and sad, its mouth bellowing out the terrible sound, Tick realized he had only one choice.

  He dropped his hands from his ears, closed his eyes, and ran straight toward the smoky ghost.

  Tick held both arms out in front of him, stiffening them like a battering ram, and charged. He crossed the floor in two seconds, his clenched fists the first thing to make contact. Not knowing what to expect, and his mind half insane knowing the thirty seconds were almost up, Tick threw himself forward with every bit of strength in his legs and feet.

  A cold, biting tingle enveloped his hands and arms and then his whole body as he ran straight through the black smoke of the Wraith. The Death Siren took on a different pitch-lower, gloomy. Tick felt like he’d dived into a pool of arctic water, everything muffled and frigid and dark.

  But then he was through the Wraith’s body, slamming into the wall on the other side. His mind sliding into shock, Tick flung open the bathroom door and threw his body out into the hallway, banging the door shut behind him.