Legend of the Book Keeper (3 page)

Before Cody could gather his wits to respond, Wesley smoothly vanished and took his post behind the front desk, commenting, “You don’t need any help. . . .” Ready to leave Wesley’s awkward presence, Cody was relieved to hear Jade call for him.

Quickly navigating through the stacks of books, he found his friend surrounded by a pile of George Eliot works. “Jade!” He cried, catching his breath, “You’re not supposed to leave me alone with that crazy old man, remember!?”

Jade laughed. “Don’t be a baby. Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to talk to grown-ups?” she chided him. “Now go find some more of your useless fantasy garbage while I pick a book that actually talks about the
real
world.” It was a disagreement that went back to the first time they had entered
Wesley’s
and had threatened to tear apart their blooming friendship: Jade was a reader of historical fiction; Cody adhered to the school of fantasy and science-fiction authors. In order to save the friendship, they had adopted the necessary plan of splitting up and shopping in private.

Cody, taking leave of his friend, circled around the perimeter of the maze of books in order to avoid coming into contact with the strange store owner. Reaching the staircase, he quickly ascended to the second floor. Although the shop had been organized with no apparent pattern, one could find various stashes of similar books; Chaos masquerading as Order. The particular pile for which Cody was probing was a hoard of greats containing H. G. Wells, Tolkien, Bradbury, C. S. Lewis and more that fate had led him to on his previous visit.

At last he found his treasure trove, hugging the corner of the room firmly, towering ten-feet high against the wall. Cody’s mouth began salivating at all the classic goodies before him. Scanning the mountain for new immigrants to the pile, his eyes bulged; a first-edition copy of T. H. White’s
The Once and Future King
sat as the steeple of the stack. Cody cherished the classic story of King Arthur and his noble knights.

He scanned the room for a stool to reach his coveted prize but came up blank. He briefly considered asking Wesley for a hand, but quickly dismissed the idea, opting to avoid enduring any more cryptic conversation with the ancient bookkeeper. The solution presented itself in the form of a stubbed toe. “Ouch!” Cody yelped.

Glancing to his throbbing foot he saw a stack of Jane Austen novels littering the floor.
Perfect!
Shuffling them across the floor with his foot, he pushed them up flush against the larger pile. Then, his footstool in place, carefully ascended the Austen books. They wobbled beneath him like a swinging bridge. As with most areas of his life, Cody had not been gifted with exceptional balance, and as he tensely teetered back and forth on the books, he began to rethink his plan. He reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against his desired classic.
Just a bit higher
. Rising onto his tiptoes he grabbed the novel, but the sudden shift in weight caused his homemade stool to implode.

Cody tumbled out-of-control toward the wall and crashed into the mountain of books, which swayed slightly just before crashing down around him. The splattering of books upon the floor echoed like thunder within the antique shop. Fear seized Cody, wrapping its firm hands around his neck and stealing his breath. He paused, breathless for a second, waiting to hear if either Jade or Wesley had heard the commotion. After another moment of silence, he let out his breath. The coast was clear.

He half-heartedly turned around to examine the aftermath of his clumsiness—and released a startled yelp. The top portion of the book pile had come crumbling down, and behind where they had once been was a door. Above the frame of the door was one word:
Restricted
. It was written in blood.

A Midnight Visitor

J
ade stared unimpressed at her anxious friend. “A door?” she issued in a bored, irritated tone. “You rushed me out of there like a bomb was about to detonate because of . . . a lousy door?” She shook her head disbelievingly, “I really hope you have a better explanation because I had a classic
Middlemarch
in my hand and . . .”

“You’re not hearing me, Jade,” Cody cut her off. “Okay, okay. So a door isn’t anything to sound the alarm about, but what about the word
restricted?
And, in case you had forgotten, it was written in
blood
!” Cody struggled for breath. Following his accidental discovery of the hidden door and without wasting any time to clean up his mess, Cody had dashed wildly down the stairs, grabbed Jade, and dragged her out the door before Wesley was able to question them. Pulling Jade by the arm, the duo had scurried down the alley. Only when they were a good six blocks from the store had Jade finally managed to demand an explanation.

“Or red paint,” she insisted in her rational voice. “You do realize that Wesley is going to think we shoplifted the way we dashed out of there,” Jade continued, still unab
le to grasp the significance and reason behind their impromptu mile dash. Cody collapsed onto a sidewalk bench, inhaling rapidly.

“That’s the least of our worries. It was blood. I’m positive! What would a man need a hidden door labeled with blood for?” Cody asked, as if there was only one logical conclusion to be deduced. Jade stared blankly. Exasperated, Cody bit his lip, “For storing dead bodies!”

At this Jade couldn’t suppress a laugh. “So, you think Wesley is a mass murderer do you? You do realize he’s . . .”

“. . . like eight hundred years old, I know,” finished Cody, “but still, you have to admit it’s not normal. He’s clearly hiding
something
back there.” Jade sighed, placing her arm onto her best friend’s shoulder, “Cody, maybe he is. But whatever it is, it’s
his
secret. It’s of none of our business.” A crack of thunder exploded in the dusk sky and the first drop of rain splashed on Cody’s shoe. “It’s getting dark, and a storm’s rolling in. Get some sleep, Cody, and I’ll see you at school tomorrow. I’ll walk myself home.” The two friends diverged toward their homes. After a few feet Jade paused, and turned around, calling, “Cody!”

“Yeah, Jade?” Cody answered while fitting his jacket’s hood over his head.

“Sometimes people’s secrets are just better off left alone. Forget about the door.”

With those final words the sky flashed pure white and the rain began to pour.

Cody rolled over in his bed. Noisy raindrops pelted against his window and the wind howled against the house. His bedroom seemed to sway like a pendulum against the unrelenting onslaught of the storm’s breath. He rolled over again, smothering his head underneath his thick pillow. The crackling of thunder erupted overhead. Cody squeezed the pillow tighter around his face.
Blasted rain! Blasted wind!
He was in the middle of turning over once again when something caused him to pause; he could have sworn he heard something. Straining his ears he heard it again. “Cody . . . Cody . . .” It sounded like someone whispering his name.

It’s just the wind playing tricks on me. It’s been a long day
. It wasn’t his mother calling. She was away in New York for business, a regular occurrence ever since Cody’s father abandoned them. He didn’t think Jade would be calling him from outside in the miserable weather. “Cody . . . Cody . . .” He could not deny it this time; someone, somewhere was calling his name. He felt a tingling sensation rush across his skin.
Who? Who? Who?
“Cody . . . Cody . . . ” He could hear a slow creaking sound.
Is it coming from my closet?
he thought, petrified. He could hear the faint sound of breath seeping through the door cracks—he was not alone. The creaking noise continued. Cody squinted open an eye; shadows were moving across the ceiling. He took a deep breath and tossed away his pillow. Sitting straight up he screamed at the top of his lungs, “What do you want from me!”

There, standing unmoving before him in the open closet was a figure. Light from the window reflected off a ghostly white face as it stared back savagely: the pale face of Wesley. In his left hand was a serrated knife. Above the closet door,
Restricted
was written in fresh blood. “Cody! Cody!” The wraithlike man shrieked in an inhuman voice, lunging forward . . .

With a jerk, Cody rose up in his bed, drenched in sweat. In front of him was his closet—both doors were fastened closed. The sound of Cody’s racing heart was the only noise audible above the fierce offensive of the outside storm.
I’ve been dreaming.

Cody glanced over at his clock, debating whether to call Jade and tell her about his nightmare, but he decided against it, knowing what he would get; another motherly lecture on the need to forget all about Wesley and that stupid door. No, it was too late now to simply forget that door. His nightmare had ensured that. For whatever reason, he and this door were now interconnected and there was only one way he was going to get it off his mind—he was going to have to go through that door . . . and he was going to have to do it tonight.

Opening the Door

A
n eerie fog settled in on the town of Havenwood like a hungry vulture following behind the passing rainstorm. Early remnants of frost seemed to proclaim the coming of the night’s nipping chill. No lights were shining; all of the town’s people lay nestled in their warm beds, shielded from the bitter night. All except for one . . .

Cody pulled his jacket up to guard his face from the wind gusts careening against it. The idea to enter the mysterious doorway seemed a good one while Cody lay in the warmth of his house. Rushing, completely drenched down the alleyway toward Wesley’s, he began to realize the rashness of his plan.
I’ve come too far to turn back now
.

Coming out of the alley, Cody saw the familiar mansion. Only not all was familiar. Standing out like a neon light from the rest of the unchanging scene was a wooden sign in the front yard. The sign read:
FOR SALE.

Cody panicked.
Does he know?
Surely the new sign could not be a reaction to his discovery. But Cody couldn’t dismiss the odd timing.
He knows
.

Cody shuffled under the doorway ledge of an adjacent building. He needed a plan, and he needed it quick; otherwise he would freeze to death in the storm. Wishing Jade was nearby, Cody scanned the house. He was positive the front door would be locked.
Backdoor perhaps?
He tried to recall the backside of the house. Even though he had been in the store countless times, he could not recall the existence of a back door. He bit down hard on his lip, a nervous habit that emerged anytime he was straining his brain, which of course, was not very often.

Finally, it came to him.
The window
. Apart from the large, draped bay windows in the front, the house had a surprising lack of additional windows, especially considering its great size. There was only one rather small, circular window on the top floor, which must have served as Wesley’s peephole to the outside world.
Or to scout out his next murder victim.

Another window was located on the left side of the building on the second floor. Clearly, though, without a legendary growth spurt in the next few moments, Cody knew it was not an option. That left only one hope: the back window. The window was of medium size, but large enough to crawl through, and if Cody’s memory served him right, which was rare, it should enter into the room that primarily housed poetry.

Determining that this was his only reasonable plan of action, Cody squatted low and sprinted toward the house, hiding behind parked cars and bushes along the way.
For all I know old Wesley is scouting out that peephole right now
. Reaching the store, Cody silently scaled the walls around the large house until he came to the backyard. What he saw next shocked him. In the middle of the backyard was a large hole dug into the ground with a shovel sticking upright. By the look of it, the dirt was fresh.
He’s going to bury the bodies!