Dan Poblocki - The Stone Child

“Something like this could be the answer to the code in The Enigmatic Manuscript,” Eddie said.

“Yeah, but that’s assuming the code we’re trying to solve is a simple letter puzzle,” said Harris, “that this book only needs to be translated, then bam , we’re done. Mystery solved.”

“What do you mean?” said Eddie. “What else would the code be?”

“Well… anything, really,” said Harris. “When was the last time you read an entire book that had only three-letter words?”

Eddie blinked, frustrated. “Don’t you think we should at least try?”

“I guess so.” Harris shrugged, unconvinced. “If this decoder-ring thing is the answer, and that’s a big if , how are we supposed to know what offset number Nathaniel used?”

Eddie shook his head. “We could go through the whole alphabet,” he said, “offsetting each letter.”

“A through Z?” said Harris. “That’s going to be a ton of work.”

Together, they spent a week of lunches trying to figure the code out. In the evenings, sometimes, Harris would come home with Eddie, and they would work on their project in his bedroom. Eddie’s mother was constantly writing in her notebook at the kitchen table, and his father was always out in the barn, sorting through his antiques, so the house’s quiet was suitable for the boys’ concentration. They finally made it through the entire alphabet, offsetting the letters one by one. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. The only pattern they could discern was the arrangement of letters into groups of three. Still, they wondered how, or why, anyone would write an entire book using only three-letter words?

Near the end of September, as the leaves finally changed color, and the north wind brought colder, drier air to Gatesweed, Eddie began to feel more at ease in his new school, especially the one day his English teacher introduced his class to Gothic literature. Mr. Weir had asked the class to give a report on a spooky book of their choice. Even though English was his favorite subject, Eddie was still nervous to talk in front of his class. He had prepared the night before by rereading Whispers in the Gingerwich House, a book with which he was quite familiar.

His report went well. Eddie only stammered a couple times. No one laughed, so he made it through his speech, then sat down quickly.

After two more reports, someone near Eddie raised her hand.

“Why do we like being scared?” said a voice quietly. Eddie turned around-it belonged to Maggie Ringer, the girl whom Eddie had run into the first day of school. She looked as pale and weird as ever. Her hair was especially stringy, as if she hadn’t washed it in days.

“Excuse me?” said Mr. Weir.

“In these stories, the authors are always trying to scare us,” said Maggie. “Why?”

Mr. Weir pushed up his glasses and smiled. “Eddie? Can you think of an answer?”

Silence. Then slowly, Eddie nodded. Before he could stop himself, he answered, “So we know what we’re up against.” All the students looked at Eddie like he was crazy. But he was certain he was right, so he confidently continued. “Nathaniel Olmstead once wrote that most of his stories came from his nightmares,” he said, looking at his desk. “He said that we have bad dreams because our brain is trying to protect us.” A boy coughed nearby. Eddie wondered if he was making fun of him. “If-if we can figure out a way to beat the imaginary monsters…” People started to snicker. Eddie spoke quickly, “Then the real monsters don’t seem so scary.”

The classroom became very quiet.

“That’s why we like reading scary stories,” Eddie finished quietly. He folded his hands and stared at the blackboard. “At least, that’s what I think.”

Maggie leaned toward him and said, “So basically, you’re saying that monsters are real?”

He made it to the woods before he heard the splashing…

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie started to say, but the bell interrupted him and Mr. Weir dismissed the class.

Harris was late meeting Eddie after the last bell to go home. Eddie sat on the stoop outside the cafeteria, looking at his copy of Whispers in the Gingerwich House. After rereading the book the night before, he had a strange feeling that there was something inside it to which he should pay closer attention, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He was scanning the beginning of chapter seven, when Viola finds the mirror hidden behind the secret panel in the living room wall, when a shadow crossed his path.

Eddie glanced up and saw Maggie in front of him. Her purple tattered sweater and skinny black jeans looked especially harsh in the slanted autumnal light.

“Can I help you?” asked Eddie, sticking his finger between the pages of his book to keep his place.

She crossed her arms and bit her lip. She wouldn’t look at him. Quietly, she said, “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“The scary-story stuff.” She tilted her head and shrugged before continuing. “For some reason, every autumn, the teachers bring up the whole Gatesweed ghost and goblin thing. Just wait. Listen to people talking in the hallway and the locker room. I bet you’ll hear someone mention the Olmstead estate and how it’s creepy and dangerous and we should stay away in case we get cursed and go crazy. I live up there. I’m not crazy.” She paused. “I’m just so sick of everyone talking about it. Obviously, you’re not.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say.

She added, “The class wasn’t whispering about you. They were laughing at me… That’s what usually happens. I just thought you should know. I’m the class freak, if you haven’t heard.”

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” said Eddie quickly.

She stared at the book he held in his lap for a few seconds, then said, “So… tell me. Are you an Olmsteady?”

Eddie blinked.

“I’ve seen you carrying his books around,” she said.

“You have?” Eddie asked. Had she been watching him? “What’s an Olmsteady?”

“Do you really need a definition?” she asked.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Uh… no, I guess not.” He had heard the term before but hadn’t really thought about what it meant. Olmsteady: one who reads Olmstead.

“Are you obsessed or something?” She kicked at the stoop with her black boot.

“I wouldn’t say obsessed. I just like to read,” said Eddie. “Don’t you?”

“No. I hate it. But television is totally cool.” Eddie didn’t know what to say. Then Maggie smiled at him. “I’m kidding. I do read. Books about biology and science and cool stuff like that,” she said, clearing her throat. “I think those books are terrible, by the way.” She pointed at the book in his lap. “Nathaniel Olmstead’s.”

“Oh,” said Eddie, a little bit hurt. “That’s too bad. I really love them. They’re exciting. Good versus evil. Battling it out. I like being scared. The books make me happy.”

“I like science,” she said. “There is no good and no evil. There’s fact versus fiction. And it doesn’t matter who wins. The truth is the truth… Epic tales of good and evil are so unnecessary, you know? Those kinds of battles are fought every single day, right here.” Maggie slowly extended her index finger and pointed it at Eddie’s forehead, like a gun. “Kapow.”

Eddie laughed and quickly moved out of her line of fire.

“I’m Maggie, by the way.”

“I know,” said Eddie. “I mean… I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

Maggie smiled. “See you around, Eddie,” she said, blowing on her trigger finger as she slinked away. Eddie realized he was staring when he felt someone breathing in his ear.