The Stone Child (6 page)

At the gate, Eddie was certain they would not be able to go any farther. But Harris got off his bike, hiked into the brush, pushed aside some of the thick vines, and revealed a gap wide enough for them to squeeze through one at a time.

“We’re going in?” asked Eddie, suddenly remembering the animal his father had hit only two days earlier. “Is it safe?”

“Hmm,” said Harris. “Probably not. But I can’t show you what you need to see if we don’t. Come on, we’ll leave our bikes here.”

“Won’t someone see them?” All of a sudden, Eddie felt nervous. The faces of the people he’d met in Gatesweed scowled at him when he closed his eyes. “We’ll get in trouble.”

“Lay it down flat. You can’t see them from the road. Believe me, I’ve checked.”

“Then you’ve been here before?” Eddie asked.

Harris rested his bike behind a small evergreen bush. “What do you think?” he said.

Eddie shrugged, laid his bike next to Harris’s, then followed him through the broken gate. Together, they hiked the rest of the way up the long driveway.

At the top of the hill, the house sat in silence. Eddie couldn’t believe he was actually here, seeing the view Nathaniel Olmstead had seen every day. He turned around to take in the countryside. He wanted to see where the house stood. Farther up Black Ribbon Road was the spot where they’d stopped on Saturday. In the opposite direction were the hills through which the road dipped and curved. The town of Gatesweed lay beyond the small, smooth peaks. The blue sky made the house even creepier, as if on a day such as this, the house should have been alive and lived in. But covered in vines and falling apart, the house almost seemed to whisper,
Welcome …

“What’s the matter?” Harris said.

“Nothing. Why?”

“You look … I don’t know … weird or something.”

“Sorry,” said Eddie, stepping toward the house. Eddie pulled a clingy nettle off his sleeve. Goose bumps raced across his skin. He crossed his arms and shuddered. Those dark upstairs windows were dead eyes, but they watched nonetheless. “I don’t know. It’s creepier up here than I thought it would be.”

“This is nothing,” said Harris, raising an eyebrow.

The sound of crickets and chirping birds was interrupted
only by the wind and Eddie’s imagination. Harris led him to the back of the house, where a small pasture stretched down the other side of the hill. About three hundred feet away, five rows of small trees dared the boys to come closer.

“An orchard,” said Harris. “I don’t think the fruit grows here anymore.” Beyond the orchard another hill arched up. A thick blanket of trees covered a small ridge. “And there”—Harris pointed—”is the Nameless Woods.”

“Why doesn’t it have a name?” asked Eddie.

“That
is
its name.” Harris trotted off down the hill and across the pasture. He called over his shoulder to Eddie, who stood frozen like a statue. “And that’s where we’re going.”

Once over the small ridge, they came to a green carpet of plants stretching under a flat expanse of trees. They continued their hike in silence. Under the dense canopy of leaves, the light filtered dimly, almost green. The forest was surprisingly dark. The smaller trees twisted toward the rare rays of sunlight. Fighting for space in the rocky soil, some of the bigger tree roots bulged like the swollen tentacles of deep-ocean creatures. As Harris led Eddie into the woods, they waded through a shallow sea of ankle-high plants. There was no path, only dead leaves and prickly brush. Eddie hoped he didn’t end up with poison ivy.

Finally, they reached a place where the trees did not obscure the sky. A circular clearing stretched out in front of
them. It was approximately twenty feet in diameter. No greenery grew here. The ground was covered with small rocks. Dust hung in the air.

From the edge of the clearing, Eddie could see a white figure standing just off the center of the circle, closer to the other side. It looked like a ghost.

“What is that?” Eddie whispered.

“A statue,” Harris whispered back. “Come on.”

They slowly made their way across the clearing. A raven heckled them from a nearby tree, but Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off the figure. Standing in front of her, he could make out more details. The statue was gleaming white—a girl about his own height. She wore a simple robe that bunched at her shoulders, draped at the waist, and fell, pleated all the way to her feet, like something out of a painting he’d seen in an art history book. Her hair was draped in simple wavy ringlets past her shoulders. Her arms were bare and her toes peeked out from the bottom of the robe. The small-domed base on which she stood was carved with all sorts of beasts, dragons, sphinxes, and other strange creatures Eddie did not recognize. Her smile was almost undetectable as her milky eyes stared at Eddie and sent chills up his spine. Her arms were extended, and in her hands she held an open book tilted toward herself.

“What does the book say?” said Eddie.

“See for yourself,” said Harris, staying back.

Feeling almost nauseated, Eddie stepped forward, stood on his toes, and peered over the edge of the stone pages.

“It’s blank.” Feeling a little too close to her gaze, Eddie stepped away from the statue. “She sort of looks familiar. …”

Harris smiled, raising an eyebrow. Eddie felt like he was missing something. Then it hit him.

“Isn’t she from …?”

“
The Haunted Nunnery”
said Harris. “Yup.”

“Whoa,” Eddie whispered. He’d found another of Nathaniel’s inspirations. Up close, it looked exactly as he’d imagined.

Something small crunched through the brush outside of the clearing, and the raven cawed again. The noises made Eddie’s skin prickle, but he told himself that these woods were filled with squirrels, chipmunks, and mice, all harmless creatures that were very good at making crunching sounds. Trying not to sound as freaked out as he felt, he nonchalantly asked, “This is cool and everything, but what does a statue have to do with my book?”

“I didn’t bring you here to look at
a
statue. I brought you here to look at
this
statue. And I don’t think you’ve looked close enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Harris crept close to the statue and leaned underneath her book. “Here.”

Eddie ducked under the book too. There was something
carved there. Eddie leaned closer to see what it was. The symbol from the first page of
The Enigmatic Manuscript
was engraved clearly into the book’s stone cover.

A cool rush crept underneath Eddie’s clothes, tickling his skin. “What the heck is going on here?” he said.

Harris didn’t say anything for a moment. He stood next to Eddie and stared at him. Finally, he said, “Creepy, huh? I know the feeling.”

Eddie reached out and ran his finger along the cold stone spine of the book. “How did you hear about this place?”

“After Nathaniel Olmstead disappeared,” said Harris, “the town sent out a search party. They came across this clearing. It’s sort of become a local legend in Gatesweed. Nobody knows for sure who this statue is supposed to be, who carved it, or why it’s here.”

“Really?” said Eddie. “Hasn’t anyone even tried to guess?”

“I’ve heard some of the high school students say it’s a gravestone,” Harris said, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

“A gravestone out here in the middle of the woods?” The thought gave Eddie goose bumps again. “Who does it belong to?”

Harris shook his head. “No one knows. There’s no name on the stone,” he whispered. “But they also say … its ghost haunts these woods.”

“A ghost?” said Eddie, glancing over his shoulder. “What kind of ghost?”

“Some people say they’ve seen the ghost of an old woman wandering around Nathaniel Olmstead’s estate.”

“Really?” said Eddie. He looked up at the statue. She stared at him blankly.

“That’s not the only thing people have seen up here,” said Harris. “People tell stories of strange animals. Weird noises. Stuff like that.”

Strange animals? Eddie’s stomach squelched. “The thing that totaled my dad’s car on Black Ribbon Road was pretty weird looking,” he said. He still didn’t mention that he’d thought it was a monster. The accident had happened so fast, he wasn’t sure what he’d seen anymore. “Did you see anything strange the last time you came up here?”

Harris laughed. “If I had, do you think I’d be wandering around in these woods with you?”

Eddie chuckled too. “I guess not.”

“I mean, yeah, I heard some noises I couldn’t explain,” said Harris. “And once or twice I thought I saw a shadow move, but when I turned to look, nothing was there. Then again, I’m pretty skeptical when it comes to stuff like this. Sure, I like Olmstead’s books, but I know the difference
between what’s real and what’s made up.” Eddie didn’t quite believe him. Harris continued, “People in town are pretty serious about the legend of the statue, though. They talk. Some people think that if you stay up here too long, the ghost of the woman will follow you home. She’ll haunt you until you go crazy. That’s probably why the librarian freaked out when you showed her your book. Mrs. Singh’s definitely heard about the statue’s symbol. When she saw it on the first page of your book, she must have thought you’d already been up here. She didn’t want the ghost to follow her too.”

“That’s dumb,” said Eddie, forcing a laugh. “People in Gatesweed really believe that?”

Harris scoffed. “Yeah, actually. Some of them really do. But then again, a few of them
are
crazy, if you ask me.”

“Seems like
someone’s
crazy enough to graffiti that statue in town.” When Harris gave him a knowing look, Eddie continued, “So weird. Someone had painted this awful face onto the pedestal, with swirling black squiggles for eyes.”

Harris smiled reluctantly and crossed his arms. “Once, someone spray-painted it on the side of my mother’s store,” he said. “The
Woman Is Watching
. In big black letters. It took forever to clean it off.”

“Someone graffitied your store because of the Olmstead Curse?” Eddie asked. “They don’t want her selling his books?”

“Exactly.” Harris nodded. “They think the less people who come through town, the less … trouble there will be
here. To them, Gatesweed is filled with dirty little secrets, Nathaniel Olmstead’s disappearance being number one. But my mother was friends with him. And she’ll never stop selling his books in her store—no matter how many times people paint nasty things on her front porch … or how many people believe his monsters are real.”

The pair of red-rimmed yellow eyes blinked in Eddie’s memory. He remembered the articles he’d read on the Internet about the curse. “People
really
think his monsters are real?” he said, clutching his book bag even tighter.

“Yeah,” said Harris. “Some people do. Like the animals people say they’ve seen in these woods. I’ve never seem them, but I’ve heard people say they look like the ones Nathaniel writes about. Everything that happens in this town gets blamed on him—and he’s not even here anymore. People stopped going to the movie theater on Main Street because of the things they said lived behind the screen. And the mills closed down after the owners kept finding huge gouges in their machinery. People said they looked like bite marks. And, of course, a small group of people blamed the New Mill Bridge collapse on Nathaniel’s trolls. After everything else, that one was pretty much inevitable. Lots of people left town when the mills closed. That sort of destroyed Gatesweed, so it makes sense that people need someone to blame, but still …”

“What about the symbol on the statue?” said Eddie. “Do you know what that means? I read something about the Greek
letter pi, which looks almost exactly like the symbol carved here.” He pointed at the girl.

“Right … from math class,” said Harris. “Maybe. We could look into it, but I’m not very good at that subject. And I don’t know a thing about Greek. What I do know is that the book you found is important. I was so happy when I saw you in school today … that you weren’t just an Olmstead hunter, chased away by old Wally the Weasel. That’s what my mom calls him,” said Harris, with a smirk. “I was thinking about your book all night. The code
has
to mean something. The symbol on the statue is the connection. I brought you here so that you’d understand. … The secret of the book in your bag isn’t just about a code. It’s about this place, this statue. It might be about Nathaniel Olmstead himself. Who knows … maybe if we solve it, we’ll find out what really happened to him. Maybe we can clear his name. Then people will leave my mom alone.”

“Yeah, totally!” said Eddie. “Nathaniel Olmstead would also probably give us his autograph or something … if he’s, you know … still alive.” As he said the words, he felt foolish, disrespectful—especially in this place, so close to where the man had lived. He wandered to the opposite side of the circle. “So you
do
think the book might have belonged to Nathaniel Olmstead?”

The land sloped down quickly. At the bottom where it leveled out, the hill was met by a lake, about thirty feet across. The trees on the other shore concealed a steep, rocky hillside
that jutted high above the water. Through the thick foliage, the tree roots were visible clinging, almost clutching, at the cliffside. Near the water’s edge, several long, leafy branches hung down from the trees and dangled just above the calm surface, tickling their own reflections with stringy shadows.