The Journal of Curious Letters (The 13th Reality #1) (30 page)

He turned off his flashlight and returned it to his bag. He pulled out the jacket and gloves and put them on, not wanting to take any chances that the instructions to dress warmly had been anything but literal. He tightened his scarf and glanced at his watch. He could see the numbers perfectly in the moonlight.

Five minutes to go.

He put his backpack on the ground, then thought better of it, swinging it back onto his shoulders. If he were about to magically travel somewhere, much better to have everything . . .
attached.

For the millionth time, he wondered which was stranger—the things he’d been through or the fact that he actually believed there was something
true
behind it all. That he wasn’t crazy.

One minute to go.

Tick stared at his watch now, clicking the button that made it show the ticking seconds as well as the hour and minute. As the appointed time grew closer and closer, his heart picked up; sweat beaded all over his body; he felt himself on the verge of throwing up.

Ten seconds.

He quickly put his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, counting down the last few seconds inside his mind.

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . .

Tick closed his eyes and shouted out the words, “MASTER GEORGE!” He stomped the ground below him ten times with his right foot and a quick and cold shiver of excitement went up and down his back.

Tick waited, holding his breath for a long minute. He finally opened his eyes and looked around, but saw that he stood in the exact same spot as when he began. Everything was the same. He waited longer still, hoping something would change around him. Several more minutes passed. Then a half hour. Then an hour. Then two. Desperate, he went through the entire ritual again.

Nothing happened.

Absolutely nothing.

~

Knowing for a fact he’d never felt so depressed in all his life, Tick began the long walk back home. He wished he had a cell phone so he could prevent his dad from telling his mom about everything—now that it was all moot. Now that Tick had failed, and wouldn’t be going anywhere after all. At least then he could enjoy the one saving grace of Mom not thinking her husband and only son had gone bonkers.

If the town had been quiet before, it now seemed completely devoid of any life whatsoever. Tick didn’t see one person as he walked past the fountain area, and there wasn’t a light to be seen anywhere. Even the streetlamps had been extinguished, or they’d burned out. Only the moon shone its pale milky brilliance around the square, making everything look like a much bigger version of the graveyard he’d just left.

Dead and quiet. Full of shadows.

Tick picked up his pace.

When he left the town behind him and started down the long road leading to his house, the creepiness increased. He couldn’t explain it, but Tick felt a constant chill in his bones, like something very big and very hungry watched him from the woods. He looked back and forth, scanning both sides of the road, but saw only the tall shadows of the trees, black on black. This time, Tick threw all reservations out the window and simply ran, resolving not to stop until he lay in his bed where he could cry himself to sleep.

As he jostled down the road, concentrating on his feet so he wouldn’t trip, Tick had to consciously ignore the feeling that an enormous ghost was right behind him, ready to tap him on the shoulder. Goose bumps broke out all over his body, slick with sweat. He kept running.

He made it to his neighborhood and finally to his house, not slowing until he reached the porch. He stopped, bending over with his hands on his knees as he gulped in air to catch his breath. He didn’t want to walk back inside panting like a chased dog. But then the feeling he’d had near the forest returned full force and he ran up the steps to the front door.

The handle rattled when he gripped it, but didn’t turn. Locked. He glanced at his watch where he could barely see it was just past eleven o’clock. Tick stepped back, looking for the first time at all the windows on the bottom floor. He should’ve noticed before—everything was dark, not a single light was on in the house. Yes, it was late, but his dad was supposed to be telling a very long story to his mom, so surely his parents were still up. They would stay up and watch for him, wouldn’t they?

Tick knew his dad kept a spare key to the house hidden in a fake rock placed behind the bushes. He walked back down the porch steps and searched for it, even getting down on his knees to feel around with his hands. But they came up empty, even after scouring the usual area several times.

He couldn’t find the key anywhere.

Tick sat back on his heels.
What in the world?

Frustrated, Tick gave up and walked back to the front door, where he reluctantly pushed the doorbell.

A long moment passed. No one answered. Not a sound came from within the house. Tick, getting more worried by the second, pushed the doorbell again.

Still no response.

Finally, in a panic, he pushed the bell over and over again, hearing the loud ring through the wood of the door. He stopped when he heard a booming shout; it sounded like it came from one of the upstairs bedrooms. The shout was followed by a quick series of loud thumps—someone running down the stairs. Then the door jerked open, revealing a man Tick had never seen before in his life.

“What do you want!” the stranger screamed at the top of his lungs, spittle flying out of his mouth. The man was pale and sickly, so thin he looked like he’d crumble into a pile of sticks at any moment. His ruffled black hair stood up in patches on his head, his face covered in a scraggly beard. Dark, sleep-worn eyes stared at Tick, full of fire and anger. “Who are
you,
you little brat? What do you want?”

Tick felt a sick fear swell inside his stomach. “I’m . . . I’m . . . Atticus Higginbottom. I . . . I live here.”

“
Live
here? What are you, one of those no-good townies? Get out of here!” The man kicked out, missing Tick badly. “Get!” He slammed the door closed.

Tick, his world crashing down around him, turned and ran, the darkness weighing on his shoulders like black stone.

~

Edgar stood in the dark cemetery, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He’d searched everywhere—behind every tombstone, tree, and bush in sight. He didn’t know how it could be possible, but what he’d seen from his hiding spot across the road must not have been a trick of his mind.

It had really happened.

What he’d seen had
really
happened.

Tick had disappeared. Like a Las Vegas magic show, Edgar’s only son had vanished from sight. There one second, gone the next. No smoke, no sound, nothing.

His son had
disappeared.

Panicked, Edgar started searching all over again, even though he knew it was useless. Deep down inside, he tried to convince himself Tick was okay, that they’d known something like this would happen. This was what they’d been preparing for all along! Edgar told himself that Tick was safe now, in some other world or realm, learning how he could help save the lives that were depending on him. Where had all the good feelings about this whole mess gone to? He and Tick had devoted themselves to this cause, believing in its purpose.

But it hadn’t seemed real until the moment he’d seen his son vanish. And now Edgar didn’t know if he could ever forgive himself for letting Tick go. If something happened to his boy . . .

Dejected, a sinking weight of despair filling his stomach, Edgar finally gave up and headed for home. He was about to have a very long night explaining things to his wife.

~

Tick didn’t know what else to do—where else to go—except back to the cemetery. Something
must
have happened when he’d performed the ritual—something horrible. He’d messed it up somehow, sending him to the wrong place or time. He thought back to the crazy things Mr. Chu had told him about quantum physics. Where
was
he?

Once he left his neighborhood, he couldn’t run another step. He slowed to a walk, breathing heavily, constantly looking behind to make sure no one was following him—especially the creepy man who’d answered the door at his house.

It was a weird feeling to suddenly feel like the only place you’ve ever lived is no longer yours, occupied instead by some monster of a man willing to kick a little kid. Tick had run the gamut of emotions in the last hour—excitement that the special day was here, disappointment when seemingly nothing had happened, dejection and despair, panic and fear that his home wasn’t his home anymore. Now he just felt numb as he slowly made his way back to town. To the cemetery. It was the only place where he could hope to find some answers.

He tried to take in his surroundings as he walked, searching for signs that other things about his hometown were different than what he was used to. But the darkness was too great and all he saw were shadows hiding other shadows. He almost pulled out his flashlight, but thought better of it—who knew what lurked in this new nightmare. He wanted to remain as hidden as possible.

As he entered the town square for the third time that night, he realized the lack of lights couldn’t be a coincidence—the place was a haven for nothing but ghosts and ghouls. Where was he? What had happened to this place that should feel so familiar but instead seemed so alien? His heart hurting, his body exhausted, Tick picked up the pace again and quickly ran across the waterless fountain area and down the small road until he reached the entrance to the cemetery.

He didn’t know how he’d missed it before, but Tick saw that more than half of one side of the stone archway had crumbled and fallen to the ground into a pile of dusty rubble. Dozens of rods from the iron fence were missing or bent, looking like the mangled teeth of a horrific robot. The moon vanished entirely behind a large bank of clouds, casting everything into sinister shadows. The tombstones seemed bigger, less defined, leaning at odd angles.

Tick rubbed his hands over his arms, standing in the same place where he’d performed the magic-words-and-foot-stomping ritual. He finally realized what he was feeling.

Terror. Absolute, shrill, make-your-hair-stand-on-end terror.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light come on.

He sucked in a quick intake of air as he turned to see a small spotlight shining on a single tombstone, about thirty yards deeper into the cemetery grounds. Compared to the heavy darkness around him, it seemed like the sun itself had changed its mind and come back for a nighttime visit. Realizing he hadn’t seen a spark of electricity since leaving for his house and returning, Tick felt like he was witnessing some kind of magic trick.

Curious, he walked toward the light, ignoring the fear constricting his chest.

He stepped around several large graves, almost tripping on a stone border around a particularly wide one. He kept his eyes riveted on the bright spot, scared it might be a trap, but not knowing where else to go. As he got closer, he saw that the light came from a large flashlight, sitting alone in front of a grave. He looked around the area, squinting his eyes to see if any monsters or zombies were hiding in the shadows, readying themselves to jump out and eat him.

The light hurt his vision, and he knew if someone was out there, he wouldn’t be able to see them. He focused on the brightly displayed tombstone, now close enough that he could read the etched words, dusty indentations on an old black-gray slab of granite.

Everything in his mind immediately vanished, all fear and thoughts washed away in the disbelief of what he saw before him. Tick fell to his knees, unable to take his eyes away from the words on the grave marker.

Tick looked at the dates.

According to the tombstone, he’d been dead for three years.

~

Before Tick could completely process the fact he was looking at his own grave, he heard a noise behind him. He twisted around, still on his knees, and for a split second thought he saw the reincarnation of Frankenstein’s Monster. A scream formed in the back of Tick’s throat. But it quickly fell mute when he realized the figure was someone very familiar, standing just a few feet away, towering over him.