The Nightmarys - By Dan Poblocki Page 0,30
really upset that we had been asking her about that book her uncle wrote. She said she doesn’t want me to hang out with you anymore.”
Timothy’s face burned. “She doesn’t like me?”
“It’s not that. I think she’s trying to protect us from something.”
“From what?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“If we knew the truth,” he said, “we would know what we’re up against.”
“To be fair, we didn’t tell her the truth either.”
“Yeah, but …” Timothy thought about that. It would be impossible to explain the events of this week to anyone who hadn’t experienced them too. “But should we? Your grandmother is obviously keeping a secret. Maybe we should tell her ours.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. If she wasn’t so weird about the whole thing …” Abigail stared at her desk. “I slept on the couch in the living room, if sleeping is what you want to call it. I waited all night for those girls to show up. They didn’t, thank God. Maybe my disguise worked.”
“I almost forgot! You’ll never believe what else I saw … or maybe you will at this point, actually.” Timothy finally told her about the man he’d seen leaving her apartment building.
Abigail nearly fell out of her chair. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Timothy explained what had happened when he’d gotten home—about Ben’s transport to Maryland and Mr. Crane’s call. “I sort of forgot about everything else,” he added. “Sorry.” Finally, he told her about Ben’s phone call that morning.
“Are you sure it was him?” said Abigail, the color draining from her face.
“It sounded like him. Maybe someone’s trying to screw with us?”
“But who?” she said.
Timothy was about to suggest that the call might have been from Abigail’s Nightmarys, but she continued, “And who was the guy you saw at my building? Was he real? Do you think it was your shadow man?”
“Could’ve been anybody, I guess. Have you seen anyone like that there before?”
Abigail shook her head. “No. But I haven’t really been looking.” After a moment, she said, “Hey, did you check the jars yet?” When Timothy gave her a blank look, she continued, “Didn’t Mr. Crane say you left them on his front steps? I wonder if the box you put in the parking lot is still there.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Timothy. “Don’t they empty the Dumpsters every night?”
Abigail sighed. “I can’t help remembering what the Nightmarys said to me. That they had ‘helped’ me, and now I have to go with them. Are they still ‘helping’ me? You’re seeing and hearing creepy stuff. Mr. Crane is obviously bugging out. Stuart’s in the hospital. If that is all part of this, then the Nightmarys must think I owe them. Maybe if I go with them, all the rest will stop.”
“No freakin’ way!” Timothy shouted. “Don’t even think that.”
Abigail blushed. “But where do they want to take me? And why?” She stared at the floor. “What if they find me? What if I can’t say no the next time they ask me to go?”
“You always have a choice,” said Timothy, unsure if it was the right thing to say.
Abigail seemed to shudder, then said, “I’ve got an idea.” The bell rang, marking the end of class. “Remember that Web site you said you found with my great-great-uncle’s author biography?”
“Ogden Kentwall?”
“Right. Well, I was thinking, since my grandmother probably won’t tell us her story, maybe we should write to the Web site. Try to get some more information.”
Timothy nodded, excited. “Yeah. Like, how does the book end?”
“Exactly. Maybe there is an actual clue to an incomplete corpse.”
Together, they walked to the library and opened the Web site. “We’ll just ask her if she can provide us with any more information about the book’s history,” said Abigail. “Maybe even a plot summary … I hope this woman, the owner, won’t think we’re cheating on a class project.”
Timothy shrugged. “At this point a little cheating is in order. If she asks, we’ll tell her someone stole our only copy.”
“Hey,” said Abigail, “at least it won’t be a lie.”
Waiting for the end of the day, Timothy floated through the rest of his classes. Then he met Abigail, and Abigail logged into her e-mail account. To their amazement, there was a response from the owner of the bookstore.
From: [email protected]
Subject: The Clue of the Incomplete Corpse
Dear Abigail,
Thank you for your inquiry. I am always happy to oblige a literature lover’s rare-book pursuit. I understand your financial and time constraints, so I am absolutely willing to help answer your questions,