Dan Poblocki - The Stone Child

There were the true Olmsteadys: “ I can’t believe he’s back!” or “ This is going to rock! ”

There were the skeptics: “ I bet you this was all a publicity stunt to get us to buy a book!” and “ There’s no way this can live up to the hype… ”

And finally, there were the tagalongs: “ Nathaniel who? ”

At the very back of the room, Eddie noticed Mrs. Singh, the librarian, standing next to Wally, the policeman. She whispered something into his ear, then glanced at Eddie suspiciously. On the other side of the room, Eddie recognized Sam, the skinny tow truck driver he’d met the day he’d moved to Gatesweed, leaning against a wall in his leather jacket. He kept his eyes fixed intently on the podium at the front of the room, wearing a curious expression as well.

A couple weeks ago, Nathaniel had assured him that every author has his critics, and every reader is entitled to his or her own opinion. An author simply needs to learn how to deal with all of it, for better or worse. The same could be said about people in general, Nathaniel had commented.

When Mrs. Singh accidentally caught his eye, she looked away, startled. Eddie only smiled to himself, then turned around. Let these people believe whatever they wanted about Nathaniel Olmstead-Eddie knew the truth. He hoped that one day they would too.

“Look. Here he comes,” said Maggie, tapping on Eddie’s drooping horn to get his attention. Eddie turned around as his parents snuck through the hushed crowd and took their seats next to him.

The storage-room door swung open to reveal a massive shadowy figure standing in the darkness of the closet. The audience gasped. The shadow stepped forward into the orange light of the bookstore. A black velvet cloak covered the figure from head to toe. Its hem slithered on the ground as the shadow continued to lurch toward the rapt audience. It paused at the podium, seeming to catch its breath for a moment, until it suddenly whipped the cloak away.

Nathaniel Olmstead stood before his audience as they leapt to their feet and burst into tremendous applause. Camera flashes popped, filling the room with a strange, almost constant stream of white light. Under the cloak, he wore a navy blue wool sweater and a corduroy jacket. He’d cut his hair and trimmed his beard. His slight smile was filled with enormous gratitude. He didn’t look so very different from the picture on the back of his books. Nathaniel waited several seconds before taking a bow.

Eddie, Harris, and Maggie leapt to their feet as well. Eddie clapped so hard, his hands hurt. He felt dizzy when Nathaniel finally turned to the three of them and gave them a sly wink.

The past two months had been like a dream-at first a nightmare but now a fantasy beyond anything he could have imagined. Over the past few weeks, he and his friends had visited Nathaniel Olmstead several times as the author began to reconnect to Gatesweed and beyond. They helped him clean up the mess that was his house, they brought him groceries and such until he managed to buy a new car, and they kept him company after school when he was afraid to be alone. Once upon a time, Eddie had known what that felt like, and he was happy to be of assistance. Eddie couldn’t believe that he could now call his favorite author his friend.

During visits to Nathaniel’s house, the four often theorized answers to some of the questions they still had about the Woman in Black and the statue in the woods. For example, was she a particularly nasty member of the Lilim or was she actually Lilith herself? Was she really as powerful as she’d have them believe? Harris wondered why the Woman in Black didn’t just have one of the creatures use the pendant to write her story? Nathaniel was certain that none of the creatures would have been capable of such a feat. As cunning and clever as some of the monsters had appeared to be, none of them had ever been thoughtful enough to create something from nothing. To actually write a story, the author explained, is purely a human talent.

After a few weeks, the four of them had become certain that when it came to the Woman in Black, there would always be mystery. These uncertainties, Nathaniel explained, were what made the villains in books so enigmatic and frightening.

Shortly before Halloween, Nathaniel had asked the three friends to accompany him on a walk into the Nameless Woods. They made their way up the ridge and down into the forest. They passed through the empty clearing where the statue had once stood. The sun hung low in the sky as they hiked toward the lake. Harris, Maggie, and Eddie watched from a distance as Nathaniel plucked a pebble from the shore and tossed it at the glassy water. After a few minutes, the ripples disappeared. The lake was still, reflecting the clear blue sky overhead.

Nathaniel turned around and smiled. “Just to be sure,” he whispered.

The crowd in the bookstore roared.

Finally, the author was forced to hold up his hands so the audience would sit down and listen. He waited a few more seconds until the room was totally quiet, then he said, “Welcome. Happy Halloween. Thank you all so much for coming. I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see your… horrific faces.”

The audience laughed. Nathaniel merely smirked and picked up a pile of loose papers from the table. “Contrary to reports you might have read in the news, I have not spent the past thirteen years writing a large novel,” he said. “Since I have always struggled to come up with interesting ideas, tales of epic proportions have never been my cup of tea. But since I returned to Gatesweed nearly a month ago, I have had the privilege of meeting three amazing people who’ve not only rescued me from an exile of my own making, but who’ve also inspired me with their story.”

Eddie felt Harris poke him in the arm. Eddie couldn’t keep from smiling.

Nathaniel continued, “With their permission, I have begun working on a new book, based on their own recent experiences.” The audience gave another round of excited applause. “It is unfinished. I cannot promise that everything I read to you is true. I am a fiction writer, after all… but that’s not to say this story is a lie. All I can truly promise is a jolt or two, which, I believe, is all anyone really needs in order to remember he’s still alive.”

Nathaniel did not bother explaining to his first audience in over thirteen years that he used to write all of his books by hand. Only Eddie, Harris, and Maggie knew that after so many years, Nathaniel had a good reason to stop working that way. Since returning to Gatesweed, Nathaniel had purchased a computer for himself. Having recently buried his formerly favorite writing implement under a stone in his secret basement, like Eddie’s mother he’d decided to entirely type his stories instead.

These writers would be fine, Eddie knew. With a stone child or without, he had a feeling Gatesweed would always provide inspiration to anyone looking for it.

“Now, without further ado, I present to you The Secret of the Stone Child.” With a small bow, Nathaniel began. “‘The blue station wagon had just come around a sharp bend in the road when the creature stepped out of the woods,’” he read. “‘Eddie was the first to see it-a blur of black hair and four long, thin legs. It looked at him with red-rimmed yellow eyes and a gaping mouth full of sharp teeth. “Watch out!” Eddie cried from the backseat.’”

Sitting in the front row, Eddie closed his eyes and listened to Nathaniel’s story, his heart racing as he tried to picture what in the world would happen next. Secretly he knew, of course, but he could not admit it to himself. A true fan would never peek ahead to the end of a Nathaniel Olmstead book.