Dan Poblocki - The Stone Child

“Maybe Edgar can tell us?”

Eddie looked up from his book. Ms. Phelps was staring at him; so was the rest of the class. A pie chart was drawn on the blackboard. The students had their math books out. “Uh,” said Eddie. The book he was reading was obviously not math. “I don’t know?”

Ms. Phelps came over to his desk. She picked the book up. “The Witch’s Doom? Detention,” said Ms. Phelps, placing the book back on his desk.

Eddie flinched. “What?”

“You may join me after school this afternoon to read up on all the things you’ve missed this morning, Mr. Fennicks.”

Eddie’s mouth went dry. He slipped the book into his bag. Detention? Eddie didn’t know what to think. What would his mother and father say? And more importantly, would it be dark when he got out?

After class, Eddie found Harris outside of the gym. Eddie’s conscience was burning about receiving his first detention ever. He told Harris that their after-school adventure would start later than anticipated. “But before you get too upset, I should tell you that I at least got to read the chapter you wanted me to.”

“What did you think?”

“I thought it was totally creepy,” said Eddie, “but I don’t get why you think it’s so important.”

Harris raised his eyebrows. “Come on, Fennicks, use your brain. If Nathaniel Olmstead did actually write about stuff he saw with his own eyes, like the lake and the dogs, then we should try looking around his place. Like you said-the answer might be in Nathaniel’s stories. In The Witch’s Doom, the key is in a secret compartment in the basement of a farmhouse… Maybe there’s something similar in Nathaniel’s own farmhouse, like the one Gertie found, down in his basement, or under the stairs, or somewhere-any type of place he’d have his characters find stuff.”

Eddie understood what Harris was getting at. “If there is some sort of secret compartment, we might find something inside it. A clue of some sort… or maybe even the code key itself?”

“Right. That… or monsters,” said Harris, chuckling.

“Yeah, right. Monsters…,” said Eddie, trying to chuckle too, but for some reason, he didn’t find that to be as funny as Harris did.

When Ms. Phelps finally let Eddie go, the sun had almost set. He couldn’t believe how long detention had been. The sky was a light indigo, and the stars were just beginning to twinkle. It was the start of a crisp fall evening. In a month, it would probably be too cold to ride bikes anymore, but what truly gave Eddie goose bumps was the thought of going up to Nathaniel Olmstead’s place in the dark.

He turned right onto School Street. The trees on both sides were tall and wide, their big colorful leaves muted in the shadows. He rode past the post office and the row of boarded-up restaurants at the intersection of Farm Road. The church was dark as he passed it on his right. He left crystallized breath floating behind him as he took a left onto Upper Church, heading toward Center Street. On his right, a few streetlights in the town green eliminated some shadows even as they made more.

Ahead, orange light lit the library from the sidewalk below. Long black shadows stretched from where the window ledges stuck out, making the building look like a storyteller holding a flashlight underneath his chin. Flipping down his kickstand, Eddie parked himself next to the large rhododendrons beside the wide front stairs.

As he waited for Harris, Eddie listened to the evening sounds. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees. Across the park, a car cruised by the darkened bookstore. Where was Harris? The library would be closing soon. Who knew how much longer he’d have before they turned off the lights? The more he thought about it, the more Eddie wanted to wait for daylight to make the journey into the Gatesweed Hills. What was the rush? Nathaniel Olmstead’s house wasn’t going anywhere, was it?

Wham!

Something banged nearby and Eddie nearly fell into the bushes. He tentatively glanced around and realized he was still alone on the sidewalk.

The noise had come from around the side of the building.

“Harris?” Eddie called. “Is that you?” Peering around the corner, he could see the library stretch all the way to the other end of the block. A small spotlight illuminated a narrow cement walkway that hugged the building. Beside the walkway, a small patch of grass extended to Market Street on the left. No one was there.

Wham!

This time when the noise came, like a gunshot, Eddie felt as if something inside himself had exploded. His breath caught in his throat. “H-hello?” he struggled to say, though at this point, he wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

Creee…

A new sound called out-sustained and high-pitched like the wail of a child. Then-

Wham!

Pinpricks danced across Eddie’s skin. “Harris, if you’re fooling around…,” he called out. It felt good to make noise, as if the quiet itself was dangerous. Stepping around the corner of the building, he noticed a railing that jutted out from the library three-quarters of the way back. Beyond the railing, a stairwell led down to the library’s basement. A gust of wind whipped along the side of the building, rustling Eddie’s hair.

Suddenly, the high-pitched sound came again. That nerve-shattering bang followed a few seconds later.

Eddie jumped.

The sounds were coming from the stairwell. Creeping along the side of the library, he was finally able to catch a glimpse of the door at the bottom. It opened slightly, revealing a small gap of pitch darkness on the other side.

Creee, sang the rusty hinge. Then the door closed with a soft ffudd . The wind hadn’t slammed it as hard this time.

His mother’s voice ran through his head: I wish my imagination were half as wild as yours, Edgar. I’d be a bestselling novelist by now.

Eddie sighed and clutched at his hair. “So stupid!” he whispered to himself. “Someone must have accidentally left it open.” To prove to himself that he had no reason to be frightened, he followed the path to the top of the cement stairs, which lay perpendicular against the side of the building. Five steps down, a shadow cut across the stairs where the orange spotlight could not reach. The battered door hid in a dark archway at the bottom. When the wind caught it again, the door opened outward. Only then did the light catch the top of it, before it slammed shut.

Wham!

Even though he now knew what it was, the sound still made Eddie jump. He shook his head and was about to head back to the front steps when he saw something shift in the shadows at the base of the stairs. In the center of a small circular storm drain, dark weedy tendrils grew, flopping in the breeze. Weeds usually wouldn’t catch Eddie’s attention, but for a brief moment, he was sure he’d seen something else down there as well. Curious, he took a couple steps down. That’s when he was certain.

Amid the weedy tendrils grew a small purple flower.

Could it be…?

He felt his bones flood with an excited, electric feeling. Had he really found another of Nathaniel Olmstead’s inspirations? If so, might there be some sort of clue at the bottom of the stairs? He cautiously made his way down for a better view. The smell of mildew grew pungent. The bottom step was almost entirely covered in greenish-black slime. Balancing on the edge of the stair, Eddie bent down and examined the flower. About an inch in circumference, it consisted of seven deep-purple velvety petals. Six of the petals clung to a seventh, larger petal. The seventh petal hugged the pistil and stamen before lolling away from the bottom of the flower, its color growing black at its sharp, almost barblike tip.

Creee…

The wind opened the basement door slightly as Eddie reached out and touched the stem. It felt like any ordinary flower, but it didn’t look like any ordinary flower. Unless he was mistaken, Eddie didn’t know of any botany book in which Gremlin’s Tongue was actually listed. The only book in which Eddie had ever heard of the flower was Nathaniel Olmstead’s. This flower certainly fit the description.