Oscar and Alphonse

Burdick Mysteries continue...

            “SEE YOU TOMORROW, ABBYYYYYyyyyy-” Theodore “Snacks” Mohr couldn’t hold the warbling note any longer.  “I think we should do Whisper Day tomorrow, Opera Day has really taken a toll.”

            “But you sing so well, Snacks,” Abby replied with a grin. “Oops, I have to go. Bocelli is waiting for me.” She gave Snacks’ pudgy hand a resounding high five that left him grimacing as she bounced off.

            Abby and Bocelli walked home in silence for a change. Snacks certainly had a point: Opera Day could wear a person out.

            They entered the mother ship and heard their father waging war on his Quark Heat Converter through the floor. The sounds rumbling up from the basement were impressive, and the shrieking smoke detector added contrasting high notes. As they passed the kitchen they saw their mother, wearing earmuffs, standing on a stool amidst a daunting cloud of smoke.

She slowly reached up one finger, looking a lot like E.T. Her fingertip didn’t glow, but it did disable the smoke detector, immediately lessening the din, but by no means eliminating it. It almost sounded as if their father was having his Opera Day downstairs, accompanied by mechanical pounding and whistling.

There was an incredible amount of heat pouring from the kitchen, so Abby dropped her sweater off in her room on her way to the third-floor bedroom. As she was about to close her closet and get beamed up, she saw movement. She looked closer.

On the back wall of her closet were two hairy green caterpillars. She had no idea how they had gotten there, but she was sure that they would enjoy interstellar travel as much as she did. Carefully, she cupped one hand and used the other to brush them off the wall. Within moments, she was teleported upstairs with her precious cargo.

“What do you have, Ensign?” Archie was curious.

“Sample life forms, sir,” she said. “I found them in my quarters.” She opened her hands flat. Archie approached and together he and Abby watched the caterpillars. They crawled around her palms, circling each other, touching and then parting, turning this way and that.

“They’re dancing!” Abby exclaimed. Archie leaned in closer. The caterpillars were certainly up to something. Archie squinted his eyes. The insects circled each other, touching end to end. Then they parted and rearranged with surprising quickness. Both were stretched out straight, one with its head pointing to the middle of the other. Archie’s eyes widened.

“Those are letters! Ensign, you’ve found intelligent life forms!”

            “Letters? What are they spelling?”

            “Excellent question. Hmm,” he thought. The caterpillars didn’t have enough room, and they moved so quickly it was tough to keep track of all the letters. “I have an idea!” he said with a snap of his fingers. “Go grab some paper, I’ll meet you back here.”

            Archie sped from the room at warp speed. Abby let the two insects down onto the top of the dresser and zoomed away. Within moments both Burdick kids were back in orbit over the pair of caterpillars. Unaware that their audience had left, the caterpillars continued to trace patterns, both recognizable and indecipherable across the dresser.

            Archie held a shallow dish and several tubes of paint in his arms, which he dropped on the floor. Abby had a short stack of blank white paper.

            “OK, spread those papers out. I’ll get the paint ready,” Archie said. He popped the top off a tube of purple paint and squirted a thin layer in the dish. Abby had the papers arranged in a line. Preparation complete, Archie stepped to the dresser.

            “Alright, little guys, listen up. It is clear that you are trying to communicate and I have an idea that will make things easier.”

            “I hope they understand English,” Abby said. Archie paused as if such a thing hadn’t occurred to him. The caterpillars had stopped moving, however, and Archie took this as an encouraging sign. He went into action.

            Carefully scooping them up, Archie moved over to the paint dish. He very gently held one caterpillar in between his small fingers and dipped its numerous feet in the paint. He let the paint drip off then set it down on the edge of the paper. It waited patiently while its companion received the same treatment.

            Both caterpillars stood stock still, two small vermillion lumps underlined in lilac atop a stretch of white paper.

            “Who are you?” Abby asked. Immediately, the caterpillars lurched to life. Like two miniature locomotives they chugged across the paper, leaving a trail of tiny purple footprints behind. Sloppy capital letters, strangely connected, yet legible appeared. O – S – C – A – R, a small space, then A – L – P – H – O – N – S – E.

            “Oscar and Alphonse? Nice to meet you. I’m Abby, and this is my brother Archie. Where did you come from? How did you get in my closet?”

            B – O – O – K. Abby’s face scrunched in confusion, but Archie connected the dots quicker.

            “Mr. Linden’s book! We must have missed them.”

            “I guess that’s where they learned to spell,” Abby said. As she and Archie knelt wondering if they had missed anything else, the two caterpillars began moving again. They moved so quickly they were almost a blur.

            W – A – R – N – I – N – G – V – E – I – L – F – A – L – L – I – N – G.

            “Warning, veil falling,” Archie mumbled. “What does that mean?” He looked to Abby, but she appeared just as lost. He returned his attention to the bugs. “What veil? Why is it falling? Oscar? Uh, Alphonse?” Archie realized he didn’t know which was which and glanced back and forth between the two.

            O – U – T – S – I – D – E. Archie stared at the new word, confused. It certainly didn’t answer any of his questions. The caterpillars began wiping their feet off. It was clear that they were finished.

            “They want to go outside!” Abby was confident. “They don’t belong here.” She was more right than she knew. Leaning forward, Abby laid her hand down, palm up. Oscar and Alphonse scampered up in unison. Abby rose and proceeded down the stairs and out the backdoor. Archie trailed behind. His mind was churning almost audibly. Steam was coming out his ears in thin wisps, nothing compared to the thick trunks of smoke pouring from the basement window.

            Abby wasn’t entirely certain how the caterpillars would get back to where they belonged, but she knew it was time to send them back. The caterpillars softly wiggled in her hand, spelling out “goodbye.” They moved speedily, but Abby was just able to catch the last word.

            She bent and let them off her hand. They inched into the grass. Abby and Archie watched as Oscar and Alphonse disappeared into the Jungle of Fiery Foxes. A small green stalk seemed to be almost glowing at the edge of the jungle, but neither sibling gave it a second glance as they raced back to the ship. They were eager to continue searching the universe for the bizarre and inexplicable.

Carter

 Old stuff. Based on facts, full of truthiness. Email me if you don't believe. I'll hook you up with some history. Enjoy!

James broke into a jog as the pond came into sight. He would reach the small dock moments later. This weekend’s fishing trip had been the light Virgil had been carrying in front of him since that horrid Monday. Now it was within reach and patience abandoned him.

            The warm, humid Georgian afternoon felt real, in a sticky sort of way. After being cooped up in a dry, frigid office all week, surrounded by the counterfeit reality of his coworkers, the authenticity of nature was like the light breeze he knew awaited him on the water: refreshing and sweet.

            Reaching the dock, James slowed and then stopped. He bent over the lockbox at the land end of the dock. 4…2…0…1…9…7…9 the combination lock fell open. James pulled his pole and tackle box out and kicked the lid shut.

            Four steps down the dock, James reached his canoe. He stowed his gear and hopped in. As he untied the bowline he noted with disgust his pale fingers next to the eternally tan rope that tethered his canoe. In a brief flash he imagined how weathered and rough his hands would be if were out on a boat every day rather than the odd weekend here and there. He conjured up images of wizened old fishermen and then wily, dirty pirates. With a sigh he resolved to enjoy his time on the lake and to completely ignore the dismal facts of his true life.

            With this resolution, James pushed away from the dock and picked up his paddle. With several short, powerful strokes James put himself out a good distance into the pond. Knowing how good he was with a paddle, despite the limited time he managed to get on the pond, lifted James’s spirits immensely.

            With his boat gently drifting, James dug into his box for the bait. He decided to go with the plastic centipedes figuring the bass would like something natural (in appearance, anyway). Holding the rod between his legs, James popped two centipedes onto his hook. Thus prepared, he sat back for a moment to take in the moment.

            As his canoe floated in a lazy circle he smelled the slight breeze. The faint scent of dogwood and sassafras mixed with a dank smell that James associated with toads. He loosened his belt and rolled up the sleeves of his blue button-down shirt.

            James checked the bobber on his line and looked out at the brownish-green water. He decided that the water was calm enough and cast his line. The bait disappeared into the water and the bobber floated happily on the surface some fifteen yards away.

            Satisfied with his cast and his present state, James adjusted his cap and leaned back to relax. He quite enjoyed these times on the pond when he could unwind, letting go completely of his day-to-day worries. The only interruptions were the occasional bites that resulted a few brief moments of excitement, ending with a fish in the bottom of the canoe.

            Just as he was reveling in the thought of reeling in his first fish of the day James heard a rather loud splash. He scanned the pond but saw only circular ripples under a tree that leaned out a bit over the water about forty yards away. Although it could have been something falling into the water from the tree, James assumed it had been a fish coming to the surface to eat some unsuspecting insect. But it was pretty far away and James did not want to disturb the water close to him by pulling in his line and paddling closer. Let the fish come to you, his father had always said. He sat back again.

            Perspiration broke out on his brow under the bill of his cap. He felt as though he was absorbing the energy of the sun. He closed his eyes and felt wholly settled in.

            As his boat drifted on the water he drifted at the edge of consciousness. Behind his eyelids he was awake, but not thinking, merely absorbing the environment passively. The breeze cooling his moist skin, he could sense the shadows of the small clouds it was pushing across the sky above. He could hear the buzz of insects in the trees, the water lapping against the side of the canoe, and distant splashes of fish and what were probably small toads.

            A small tug on his line brought him abruptly back into a sleepy state of alertness. He sat up and saw something brown floating near his bobber. Some strange log had bumped it. James immediately slouched back into his dozing position.

            His mind free as his eyes rested, James considered the log. It was not uncommon to see sticks floating in the pond, and he had heard something fall into the water earlier. Strange that he hadn’t seen it floating on the surface right after it had fallen. But then, it had been rather oddly shaped, which probably caused it to sink a bit first. There had been a piece that had stuck up, quite ear-like. His fuzzy brain summoned up images of a crocodile stalking the surface of the water, then the wiggling ears of hippopotamus about to defend its territory. His mind, startled at the idea of such a large animal encountering his ten-pound test line, jolted his body up to check the log again.

            But it was not a log. Nor was it a crocodile or a hippopotamus. The sun was silent as the wind pushed a much larger cloud over the pond. James was gazing at a rabbit. At first he wasn’t sure; perhaps it was something else. But as his brain slowly revved back up to normal RPM he recalled the existence of swamp rabbits that could indeed swim. It was still a strange sight.

            The rabbit was headed towards his canoe. James sensed something was wrong. The creature was making a hissing noise and James saw in its open mouth nasty, pointy teeth. James began reeling in his line, thinking that maybe he should move to another part of the pond. With nostrils flared, the rabbit swam with alarming swiftness. It made a beeline for James. His line in and the rod firmly in his left hand, James snatched the paddle with his right and began splashing water at the little critter.

            What started as small, flimsy splashes quickly became frantic slaps at the water as the rabbit, eyes wide with either panic or rage, came steadily closer. WHUNK! The paddle struck the rabbit’s head. As the water calmed from this last flailing, James did not see the rabbit. It must have gone down. Satisfying though it was, James felt a bit guilty. He hadn’t wanted to hurt the poor rodent. Chances were the rabbit was escaping a predator. He had merely wanted to keep it away from himself.

            When the rabbit’s beady red eyes did not reappear above the water James began to feel truly remorseful. He was a catch and release fisherman. His heart rate began to slow back down and he realized that he had been a bit worried. It wasn’t every day that one had to fend off an amphibious rabbit assault. He dropped the paddle into the bottom of the boat, let out a big breath, and leaned back to gather his thoughts.

            James decided that he should paddle another area of the pond; all of the excitement was bound to have scared off any fish in the immediate area. Just as he was reaching down for the paddle, he heard a sound similar to that of a whale exhaling through its blowhole. He froze. The fishing rod fell from between his knees to the floor.

            The next sound his ears picked up was a scrabbling that reminded him of a puppy running full speed across a hardwood floor while trying to turn a sharp corner. Just as the puppy usually winds up smacking into a cupboard James heard a thud. He lifted his eyes from the paddle on the floor to the bow of the boat.

            Those same fiery red eyes that he had been relieved to see disappear after he had accidentally stricken the rabbit were now a mere four feet away. There was a glint in those eyes that suggested what was going to happen next would not be an accident. There was a split second that felt like an eternity for James. He thought how ridiculous it was that he was having a Western high-noon showdown with a wet, limp rabbit. He wished he had a gun in his holster rather than a paddle on the floor.

            The rabbit stared with such intensity that James wondered if it meant to destroy him with its gaze alone. James resolved to make the first move. That was how showdowns were won.

            His hand snaked down to the floor. In the same instant the rabbit sprang forward. Suddenly those four feet seemed more like twenty centimeters. It seemed as though the rabbit flew through the air, going directly for James as if its path had been drawn with a ruler. He grasped the round handle on the floor and snapped it up.

            James had the misfortune of watching the wispy end of his fishing rod whisk upwards. His aim was true, but the blow was in vain. If the rod had been more substantial it would have merely sped the rabbit along its trajectory toward James. As it was the pole snapped in two as it came in contact with the rabbit.

            If either James or the rabbit had blinked they would have missed this incident, brief as it was. But James’s eyes never left the rabbit’s. In James’s mind he knew the sequence couldn’t have been longer than a few seconds, but he picked up enough details that it could’ve been minutes long.

            As the rabbit crept through the air toward James, he noticed that its eyes were locked onto his, but focused lower, on his neck. The moment he realized this fact everything snapped out of slow motion, skipped real-time and proceeded directly to warp speed.

            The rabbit sunk its big teeth into James’s jugular vein. Even as James instinctually tried desperately to dislodge the rabbit from his neck, there was a portion of his brain that was trying to convince the rest of his mind that there was no such thing as vampire bunny rabbits. Meanwhile, his eyes were watching a fountain of his own blood spray in all directions.

            The rabbit clearly had a vicious streak miles wide because it continued to chew away at James’s neck. James felt his strength sap away with disheartening speed. He felt another flash of agony, the equivalent of a shot in comparison to a shattered bone compared to the initial bite. But it registered in his head nonetheless. His fingers had gone through the razors in the rabbit’s mouth.

James felt as though he had lost his last weapon against the ferocious rabbit. He slumped to the floor of his canoe, hitting with a sticky splash. The bottom of the small vessel was quickly filling with the crimson blood that was exiting his increasingly limp body.

            James’s last thought was a consoling one. It was an ongoing joke in the office that they would all die at their desks thanks to the economic crisis. At least he had escaped that cruel fate…

Mr. Linden's Library

OK, there are going to be more of these, so I've put a link over on the right to help keep us straight.

            Archie took the turn way too fast. He would’ve rolled across the intersection if he hadn’t been driving the Ferrari Mars Beam IV. But he was, so he didn’t. The six tires screamed in protest, but they kept their grip on the asphalt as Archie flew around the corner onto Elm Street.

            “WEEEEEEE!” Abby navigated. Foreign Espionage Day had been a huge hit at school that day. Hundreds of bad guys had been dispatched with excessive panache. A surfeit of explosions and witticisms had saved the world half a dozen times by lunch and the universe once before the final bell rang.

            Archie slammed on the brakes. The screeching sound was deafening, as it usually is when you go from six hundred kilometers an hour to zero in just ten meters. He crunched into reverse, backing up ten meters into the immense cloud of smoke that was still pouring off the burning rubber that used to be tires.

            “WHOA! Are the Russians tracking us?” Abby tried to pierce the haze with her x-ray glasses. Her British accent was terrible.

            “No, we lost them when we jumped the submarine,” Archie said in a surprisingly convincing Scottish accent. “Mr. Linden’s door is open.” The rubber fog parted enough for Abby to see straight up the walkway to Mr. Linden’s house. Sure enough, the door was hanging wide open.

            “What should we do?” Abby’s accent did nothing to disguise the quaver of fear in her voice. Archie opened his door, grabbed his sword from behind his seat and stepped out of the Mars Beam IV.

“We need to close that door, lass,” his accent was thick. “We need to keep the neighborhood safe.” Abby bounced out of the sleek sports car. She waited for Archie to come around to her side then grasped his free hand in hers. Together, they stepped onto the sidewalk.

The library had only one door. It was a huge oaken thing and it was never open. An intricately ironclad doorbell was embedded in the wall next to the door, but no one ever rang it.  A plaque that read “Mr. Linden’s Library” rested just above the doorbell.

Even on Halloween, especially on Halloween, no one went to Mr. Linden’s door. Rumor had it that the house used to eat kids. Archie and Abby hoped that the building had kicked the habit as they approached.

On either side of the walkway lay a chasm thousands of meters deep. Archie paused to kick a pebble over the edge. He watched it fall, thinking about Mr. Linden. No one had ever seen him, but it was well known that he was a warlock of the highest order. While other buildings might be struck by lightning from the sky, Mr. Linden’s Library was the only one to strike the sky with lightning. Archie never heard the pebble land.

Abby kept advancing toward the waiting mouth of the house. She could hear it breathing, but the rhythm was steady, suggesting it was asleep. She took the three steps up to the porch on tiptoe. Standing before the threshold, she made no move to close the door. There was a book just inside the doorway on the floor.

“Quickly, m’dear, we must forever lock away the horrors of the warlock’s lair!” Archie’s Scottish pierced the air. Abby bent to the book, but just before her fingers touched the evergreen cover, Archie shouted, “Touch nothing the library offers. It is cursed!”

Wordless, Abby grabbed the book and stood. With a single bound over an alligator and a crocodile, Archie landed on the porch. He poked the book with his sword, twice. The book did not show its teeth. Archie shrugged and turned to the open entrance.

The door was open just wide enough that Archie could not reach the knob without putting a foot inside. He was loath to do so, but there was no other option. Foreign operatives must not hesitate to do what is necessary to protect the Motherland.

“Return the book to whence it came,” he advised his sister. Abby clutched it to her chest with both hands.

“No, it has magical powers. I might need it to help me with my homework,” she replied.

“Books are dangerous. Trust me, lass, you’re better off with a highball,” Archie’s accent seemed to have a life of it’s own. “But I can see you’ll not be swayed. I can only hope the words in that book have as little power as my own.”

“Close the door, and let’s get out of here,” Abby’s accent had completely abandoned her. She stepped off the porch and headed down the walkway, making sure to stay in the center, well away from the sheer drop on either side.

“Aye, lass,” Archie said. He planted his right foot just outside the doorway and extended his left as far as he could before gently setting his toes onto the wooden floor. He felt warmth emanating up through his shoe.

He gently shifted his balance into the house as he reached for the doorknob. It was icy cold. He tried to jerk the door shut, but his foot was in the way. He couldn’t lift it. He began to turn to Abby to ask for help, but his hand wouldn’t let go of the knob.

“Uh, Abby? I think I’m stuck?” Archie’s accent was gone.

“Who’s Abby? I’m Double Dip Daisy,” Abby’s accent was back, but confused, almost Irish.

“Get over here and help me, Double Dip Daisy. My hand is turning blue.” It was true. Archie’s hand was a pale sapphire color.

“You can call me Triple D, if you want,” Abby babbled. “Just don’t call me late to dinner.” She held the book in one hand and reached the other one out to Archie. He clung to it.

“Ok, uh, pull!” Together the Burdicks pulled. Archie didn’t budge. If anything, his hand on the doorknob felt even colder and his foot inside felt even hotter. “Use both hands! PULL!”

Abby grabbed Archie’s free hand with both of hers without putting the book down. As soon as the green book came in contact with Archie, he came free. Abby and Archie went tumbling down the porch steps. The door slammed shut with a resounding THWUMP.

Archie and Abby made eye contact then scrambled to their feet. They took off running, leaving the Mars Beam IV in the middle of the street.

That afternoon Double Dip Daisy rode a huge white dog while Archie faced off against a pair of extra womanly sphinxes. They also tamed a young sasquatch before dinner was called. Their father demonstrated his Molecular Pie Coalescinator and their mother made him clean up the mess.

            They plodded up the stairs together. It occurred to Archie that he hadn’t seen the book since they had escaped the library.

“Hey, what happened to that book from Mr. Linden’s?” asked Archie before he went into his room.

“It’s in my room. Why?” Abby stood with her hand on the doorknob.

“Don’t read it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Bad feeling,” Archie shrugged.

“OK. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Archie went into his room, Abby to hers. She didn’t want to argue with her brother, but she had every intention of at least seeing what the book was about. No need to worry him though.

Abby changed into her pajamas, turned on her bedside lamp, and slid under the covers. The green book looked innocent enough. She flipped through it, stopping randomly in the middle.

At a glance, everything appeared normal. Then Abby noticed that not all the words were in English. Some looked like Spanish, but most of them were indecipherable. There was no way she would be able to read it, so she began to close the book. That’s when the words began to move.

Abby’s eyes widened. She waited, hoping they would arrange themselves in a way that she could read them. Her brain felt like it was moving around in her skull. She felt dizzy. Her eyelids grew heavy.

Maybe this was why Archie didn’t want her to read the book. He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late. Abby’s eyelids drooped shut and she lost consciousness.

Thin green tendrils grew from the crease of the open book. Leaves sprouted on the squirming stems. They spread in all directions, slowly at first, but rapidly picked up speed. A white lotus flower popped up in full bloom.

As the plant grew to the size of a lazy cat lying in the sun, other things began to emerge. A pair of caterpillars inched off toward the foot of the bed. Three roly poly bugs rolled off the sheet straight to the floor. The sound of wings purred in the air as several hummingbirds thrummed out.

A glowing seedpod bounced out and under the bed. The pages of the book rustled faintly then spit out a double-headed snake with four-inch fangs. First one skinny leg poked out and then another, followed by an explosion of pink. The flamingo gracefully stepped away. The animals kept coming as if they were finally free from being cooped up in Noah’s Ark.

Sounds were emanating from the book. The chirrup of jungle bugs, the distant crashing of waves, the crackle of someone tuning a radio. A car horn blared over the background of whales singing while a lion roared its displeasure at a beeping alarm clock.

Archie burst through the door just in time to see an elephant’s trunk exploring its way out of the book. His jaw rested on the floor while he watched a toad jump out of the end of the trunk and land on the floor with a SPLOP.

Unsure of what to do, Archie picked up the bottom of his mouth and held it closed. He took a step toward the bed and froze when he saw his sister.

All he could see of Abby were her bulbous pink toes protruding from the mussed covers (probably thanks to a beaver that was rolling around), and a fluff of blonde hair. A mass a writhing green vines wrapped the rest of her body in a pulsing cocoon.

Archie rushed out of the room, making sure to close the door behind him. Seconds later he crashed back in. He was wearing a dusty brown cowboy hat and held a whip in one hand. In the other gleamed a machete.

He cracked the whip several times on his way to the bed to keep the hyenas at bay. With a short hop, he was on the bed and began hacking away at the plant. White lotus petals flew through the air as he chopped entire vines away. Thick green arms reached out for his arm, but Archie was too fast. Sap splayed off his well-honed blade.

Abby’s head was free in moments. Archie kicked the piles of inert plant mass into the void of the book’s open crease. The tome was bigger than Archie remembered it being.

A condor chick fluffed itself up when the beaver looked to defend its newfound territory. The ruffled feathers tickled Abby’s toes and her eyes snapped open.

“Archie, I’m sorry! I read the book. I tried—”

“No time, we have to get everything back into the book!” He cracked the whip in the face of an upset looking jaguar. Abby pried the rest of the plant off of her legs and scrabbled to her knees. She yanked a crab off of the lampshade, tossed it into the book-pit and took up the lamp in both hands.

Together, Archie and Abby corralled, prodded, carried, and chased the various creatures back into the book. A strange beast with tentacles like a squid and beak like a duck clung to the ceiling. Abby stood on Archie’s back while he bent over on the bed. A few whacks with the lamp on its giant snail-like shell finally knocked it free.

Whooping came from the closet. A troop of macaques spilled out when Abby opened the door. She and Archie wrestled them into the book and swept the roly polys up. As they did, a beam of light blasted up from the book. Steam flowed up. They could hear a train whistle in the distance. It sounded like it was coming closer.

They quickly scanned the room. It was clear. No, not quite.

“Abby, the toad!” It squatted, apparently content, in the corner. She dropped the lamp and ran over, picked it up and screamed. The amphibian dropped back to the floor.

“It peed on me! Ewww!” Abby wiped her hands on her pajamas in disgust.

“Abby, hurry!” The whistle shrieked its imminent approach. The light beamed a growing circle on the ceiling.

She bent over, grasped the slimy toad in both hands and chucked it to Archie. A trail of water (hopefully) traced its path through the air. With a whack of the flat of the machete blade, Archie knocked it into the spotlight.

As soon as it disappeared into the hollow of the book, Archie flicked the cover shut. Abby rushed over and placed the lamp on top of the book. The split second after, the book jumped violently into the air, shaking as if in anger. The lamp bounced onto the messy bed and the book fell to the floor.

“We need to put that where no one else can try to read it,” Abby said, eyes wide.

“We’ll bury it, right now,” Archie nodded. Abby got down on her knees and carefully picked up the book. She spied the seedpod that had bounced out earlier. It still glowed faintly. “We’ll bury that, too.”

“Yeah, no way I’m opening the book to put it back in,” Abby agreed.

The pair wasted no time. They went downstairs and out the backdoor and started digging. Ten minutes of work yielded a hole that they decided was deep enough. Abby carefully placed the book on the bottom of the pit, making certain that it didn’t open even the slightest bit. The luminous seedpod followed, albeit with less ceremony.

Five minutes later the hole was filled back in and the siblings returned to the house.

 “Well, goodnight. Again. You ready for Monster Day tomorrow?”

“Oh, you bet.”