F. Wilson - Secret Histories

Jack winked at Eddie. “I know she’s got Flashdance hidden around here

somewhere.”

Eddie picked up right away. “She must. I’ve heard it through the wal .” He began

to sing. Badly. “‘She’s a maniac, maaaaaniac—’”

Weezy tossed a pil ow at him. “You lie! And what have you been told about

that?”

Eddie looked puzzled. “What?” Then a light seemed to go on. “Oh, hey, I wasn’t

thinking.”

Weezy only glared at him.

Jack didn’t know what was going on between these two, but doubted it had

anything to do with Flashdance. He tried to bring the talk back to music. “Bauhaus, then,” he said. “Anything but this.”

As she popped out the Cure cassette—thank you, God—he picked up the cube

and turned it over in his hands.

“Can’t open it, eh? What’ve you tried?”

Eddie said, “Anything toolacious. Knife, fork, screwdriver, razor blade,

chisel—you name it. Even a hammer. I’m ready to get my dad’s electric dril .” “Real y?” The glossy black surface looked unmarred. “How come it’s not al

scratched up?”

“Because it doesn’t scratch,” Weezy said, returning to the edge of her bed. “No

matter what we do to it.”

“Bela Lugosi’s Dead” began to play. Jack kind of liked this song. “Maybe it doesn’t open. Maybe it’s just a solid cube of—what did you cal it

yesterday?” “Onyx.”

“What’s onyx?” Eddie said.

“A kind of black stone.”

Eddie snorted. “Black, huh? Figures you’d know about it.”

Weezy gave him a gentle kick. But Eddie had a point. Weezy was into dark—dark

clothes, dark music, dark books. She even kept her shades drawn to

make her room dark. The bright morning sun outside had been locked out. At

least she didn’t have black sheets, although her bedspread was dark

purple. Half a dozen gargoyles peered down at them from her shelves. “It’s not solid,” she said. “Give it a shake.” Jack did just that—and felt something

shift within. Not much. Just the slightest bit, but enough to tel it was

hol ow.

For no particular reason, he dug his thumbnails into the faint groove along one

of the edges and—

The sides of the cube fel open and it tumbled to the floor where it flattened out

in a crosslike configuration.

But what captured and held his attention in an icy grip was the black pyramid

inside—but not like any pyramid Jack had ever seen.

Weezy was off the bed and on the thing like a cat on a mouse. She grabbed it

and held it up, turning it over and over.

“I knew it—I knew it!” Then she looked at Jack, frowning. “How’d you get it

open?”

He shrugged. “I just—”

“Doesn’t matter. What’s important is it’s open.”

But it mattered to Jack. He hadn’t done anything special, just edged his

thumbnails into the—

“Some kind of pyramid,” Eddie said. “Maybe it’s Egyptian.”

“No, the Egyptian pyramids are four-sided. This has six. And it’s engraved with

these weird-looking symbols.”

“Let’s have a look,” Jack said. When Weezy hesitated, he added, “What? Afraid

I’l steal it?”

She flashed a nervous smile as she handed it over. “Don’t be sil y.” But Jack could tel she didn’t want to let it go.

The pyramid felt cold against his skin, and Weezy was right: The symbols, a

different one carved into each face, were kind of weird. Not exactly

hieroglyphics, but not like any letters he’d ever seen either. He upended it and

checked the base. Yep. Another symbol there too.

“Maybe there’s something in this as wel . Maybe it’s like one of those Russian dol

s, you know—”

“Matryoshka,” Weezy said. “A nesting dol .” How did she know this stuff? Jack searched the surface for a seam but came up empty.

“Looks like this is it.”

“Check this out,” Eddie said, pointing to the flattened box. “There’s something

carved on this too.”

Jack looked and saw what he meant. Some sort of grid had been carved inside

the crosspiece of the T.

Eddie echoed Jack’s sentiments when he said, “What’s al this mean?” Jack looked at Weezy, who had retrieved the pyramid and was studying it like a

jeweler grading a diamond. Al she needed was that little magnifying

eyepiece. What was it cal ed? A loupe. Right.

“Ever see anything like this in any of your secret histories?” He waved at her

sagging bookshelf. “One of those books has to—”

She was shaking her head. “Nothing like this at al . Trust me. I know those

books by heart.”

“Then we’ve got to ask somebody.”

“No-no-no!” She clutched the pyramid to her chest. “They’l say it’s evidence and

take it from us.”

“We don’t have to mention it’s got anything to do with the body. We’l just say we

found it somewhere in the Pines and leave it at that.”

“Okaaaay,” she said slowly. “Let’s say we do that. Who can we show it to?”

A name popped into Jack’s mind immediately. “Mister Rosen.”

Weezy made a face. “He’s just a junk dealer.”

“Yeah, but it’s old junk. He knows everything about old stuff. You even got some

of your weirdo books from him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts. If he can’t help us, he’l know someone who can.”

“Okay. But first …”

She jumped up and hurried from the room, taking the pyramid with her. “Hey, look,” said Eddie, holding up a reassembled black cube. “I got her back

together. The sides just clicked into place. Simplacious.” He started

prying at the edges. “But I can’t seem to get her open again.”

Jack showed him where to position his thumbnails but, try as he might, Eddie

couldn’t get it open.

“Here. Let me have that.”

He took the cube, positioned his thumbnails the way he’d shown Eddie, and

pried.

The box popped open.

“How do you do that?” Eddie said. Jack had no idea.

2

Weezy returned carrying the family Polaroid camera.

“Before we do anything, I’m getting some photos.”

She set the pyramid on her desk, knelt before it, and snapped a picture from

about two feet away. The flash lit the room.

Probably more light than this room’s seen in a long time, Jack thought. The camera whirred and spit out the photo. As expected, it came out blank.

Weezy put it aside to let it develop as she rotated the pyramid and— flash, whir —photographed the other side. Then she turned to Jack.

“Lay that on the floor, okay?” she said, pointing to the unfolded box in his hand. He did, then watched as she snapped another picture.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back to her desk. She picked up the first photo and

frowned. “Damn.”

Jack stepped closer and peered over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” “I was too close.”

Jack wasn’t so sure. “Maybe. But funny how that pen lying right next to it is in

perfect focus.”

Weezy picked up the second photo: Same thing. And then the one of the unfolded box, where she hadn’t been close at al . The box pieces were blurred

but the rug around it was in perfect focus.

“Al blurred.”

Eddie came over and took a look.

“I don’t know about you guys,” he said, “but that’s creepitacious.”

Jack agreed, but didn’t say so. There had to be an explanation.

“Let’s try this,” he said, grabbing the pyramid and stepping back. He held it waist-high before him. “Take a shot of me holding it.”