23.

A stranger sat behind Mr. Crane’s desk—a substitute. Mr. Crane was out sick.

Timothy snuck to his seat in the back of the classroom. The rest of the students slowly began to trickle in. Moments later, when the class was nearly full, a new girl with short black hair appeared in the doorway. No one seemed to notice her. She gave him the smallest, most hidden smile he’d ever witnessed. It was their secret now, one of many.

The bell rang, and the substitute teacher stood up and read from a piece of paper. “Please move to be with your partner, and work on your project.”

Timothy got up and sat down in the desk next to Abigail. “What’s wrong?” she said. “You look a little odd.”

“I wonder where Mr. Crane is.” He was still trying to recover from his frightful phone call. He kept remembering the sound of his brother’s laughter.

“After you left last night,” she said, shaking her head, “all hell broke loose at my house.”

“What do you mean?”

“My grandmother got 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: frances@

To: lilbadwolf97@

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, the first obviously concerning the plot of Ogden Kentwall’s debut mystery novel for children. As you’ve stated, you understand the basic premise of the book—Zelda Kite, girl reporter, searches for her missing classmate. Fairly standard mid-twentieth-century stuff. But about halfway through the novel, the story takes quite a dark turn. The darkness stems from a magical object Zelda learns of, which supposedly gives its user the power to control other people’s fear. In this case, I think the object was the jawbone of some sort of ancient goddess. I don’t remember how it worked, except that whoever wielded it simply targeted the person they meant to frighten, and then made a wish. The jawbone’s magic would penetrate the victim’s mind, driving him mad in the process.

The plot of this book pales in comparison to some of the creepy things children read nowadays, but as I said in my online description, the book does have its charms. Zelda Kite is a strong, quirky female character, with oodles of savvy and wit. I do hate to spoil the ending of the book for you, but since you asked, I’ll go ahead with it. If you wish to be surprised, you may want to stop here.

By closely examining a photograph she took at the Fourth of July Parade, Zelda Kite realizes she’d captured the moment of her friend’s abduction. She uses this evidence to track down a professor at the local college. Eventually she learns that this is the man who has taken her friend, with the dubious purpose of using the girl to somehow charge this magical jawbone. You see, the bone maintains its power through a sacrifice to the ancient goddess. This professor has been keeping the poor girl locked in a hidden room at the college where he works until the time is right to make the sacrifice and charge the bone. Lots more mumbo jumbo ensues, but the point is, Zelda Kite rescues her friend and becomes a local hero.

I actually sought out The Clue of the Incomplete Corpse after I learned of its strange origin at a booksellers’ convention several years ago. Supposedly, in the 1940s, Mr. Kentwall’s niece was a reporter, or maybe a photographer, for her school newspaper. One of her classmates was in fact abducted by a prominent local man, a professor at New Starkham College, in Massachusetts. Mr. Kentwall’s added mysticism aside, I’m not entirely sure of the real story, but I believe that Kentwall’s niece was not pleased to have been turned into a literary celebrity. I imagine the real experience was quite harrowing for her, especially since in reality her own friend was never found.

I’m not sure how much more I can help you, other than with the small bits of information I’ve already provided. There do not appear to be any New Starkham newspaper archives online from that time just yet. But if you are curious and able to make a visit to New Starkham, I’m sure one of the local libraries would be able to help track down an article or two to flesh out additional details.

I hope I was able to provide some worthy assistance. Please let me know if you may be eventually interested in a copy of the book. My own son and his friends have enjoyed reading the series very much, and I believe you may too.

Yours truly,

Frances May

Owner and Proprietress—

The Enigmatic Manuscript Bookstore

Gatesweed, Massachusetts

“Hmm,” said Timothy. “Do you think we’ll have time to make a visit to the library in New Starkham? It’s so far away.”

At that, Abigail laughed, hard.