“Whoa,” said the boy, examining the strange words. “What is this?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Eddie. “In his books, Nathaniel Olmstead always uses codes and stuff. Looks like he went a little bit overboard with this one.”
“Right, I know. I’ve got all of his books upstairs in my bedroom.”
“You do?” Eddie was surprised. He had begun to think no one in Gatesweed appreciated Nathaniel Olmstead like he did. “Maybe you can tell me how Nathaniel Olmstead ended up with a souvenir book from your mom’s store?”
“Duh … Nathaniel Olmstead lived in Gatesweed. My mom knew him.”
Eddie was speechless. Forgetting the mystery for the moment, he wondered if Nathaniel Olmstead might have stood in this very spot.
“A long time ago, my mom told me Nathaniel Olmstead was the one who suggested she open the store. He even came up with the name.”
“That is so cool. Did you know him?”
“No way,” said the boy. “I was, like, zero years old when he disappeared. Thirteen years ago, on Halloween, he was supposed to give a reading at my mom’s store, but he never showed up. She tried calling him for the next few weeks … but she’s never heard from him again. No one has.”
“Huh,” said Eddie. “That’s so weird.” Then he had an idea. “Hey, what do you know about the Olmstead Curse?”
The boy gave him a sharp look. He pressed his lips together, then glanced over Eddie’s shoulder toward the park. When Eddie turned around, he saw the police officer near the bronze bust glaring at them.
“I—I gotta go,” said the boy suddenly.
“But—”
“I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to …” The boy shoved the book into Eddie’s hands. He turned around and closed the door to the bookstore, leaving Eddie alone on the porch.
Across the street, the police officer tossed his brush into the bucket with a splash.
Eddie decided to ride his bike back home. After hearing Sam mention the possibility of an Olmstead Curse yesterday, he had expected that he might encounter some weird things in Gatesweed. After all, Olmstead stories were pretty weird, so it made sense that the place where he wrote them might be weird too. But after his experience that morning, he thought he could use a break from weird for a few hours. Besides, the cryptology book was too heavy to simply carry around while he searched for more sites from Olmstead’s books.
When he opened his bedroom door, Eddie found his mother sitting on his bed, facing the window with her back to him. “Mom?” Eddie said. She yelped, leapt off his bed, and spun around. When she saw that it was Eddie, relief flooded her face.
“Edgar, you scared me so badly I nearly flew out the window!”
“What are you doing?” Eddie asked, curious. Then he noticed what she was holding in her hand, his copy of The Wrath of the Wendigo.
She held up the book and said, “Guilty as charged. I was flipping through your book. I’m sorry I barged in here, but when I was unpacking this morning, I found a box that belongs to you.” The small cardboard box sat at the end of his bed. “Since you were looking for these books last night, I brought them up.”
“Thanks,” said Eddie.
“Can I borrow this one?” she said, blushing. “I know it’s creepy fantasy stuff, which isn’t usually my thing. …” She hestitated. “It’s sort of silly, but …” She flipped open the back cover and showed Eddie the picture of Nathaniel Olmstead. “I had a feeling that I should look him up. I thought maybe since we live in his old town now, he could help me.” She paused, then said, “It’s been so difficult lately, I’m not even sure I should be a writer anymore.”
“Of course you should be a writer,” said Eddie. “You love writing.”
“But I’m beginning to think I’m not any good!” said Mom. “I read you that epic poem I wrote last week. It was ridiculous!” She threw her arms wide and said in a deep, dramatic voice, “How woebegone was Constance Meade? She had one glass eye and couldn’t read! What was I thinking? I don’t even know what I want to write anymore. Forget this rhyming stuff. … I’ve got to find a great story to tell.”
Eddie walked across the room to his bed, sat down on his mattress, and took off his sneakers. “New town, new stories. Isn’t that what Dad said?”
“He did say that, didn’t he? The funny thing is … I think I might actually have an idea for a new story,” said Mom. “Thanks for letting me borrow this.” She waved the book. “Let’s hope this Nathaniel Olmstead person knows what he’s doing.”
“He knows,” Eddie said. “I’m sure of it.”
Mom went back downstairs. After unpacking some more boxes, Eddie spent some time hunched over his desk scanning the mysterious book, searching for a clue. After staring at the page, the letters all started to blend together, and he couldn’t concentrate.
To clear his head, Eddie hauled the library book out of his bag. He went through it slowly, trying to understand the confusing academic writing, but ultimately, the book wasn’t much help. For a while, there didn’t seem to be anything in it that resembled the code in The Enigmatic Manuscript.
Finally, in a chapter called “The Science of the Secret Message,” he came across a symbol similar to the one written on the first page of the book. The symbol was called pi. Memories of Mrs. Benson’s math class came back to Eddie. He already knew pi was a Greek letter that stood for 3.14; still, he tried to read more about it. The letter represented a constant relationship between the circumference and diameter of a circle. But he didn’t see what that had to do with anything.
Just before dinner, Eddie’s father finally managed to set up the Internet connection. Thinking about what the tow truck driver had said, Eddie searched for a link between the names “Jeremy” and “Gatesweed.” Near the top of the page, he found what he was looking for: a headline for an archived article in a journal called The Black Hood Herald. The article described an investigation, which had occurred almost twenty years earlier, into the disappearance of a twelve-year-old boy from his bedroom one October night. His name had been Jeremy Quakerly.
This must be the boy Sam had been talking about, Eddie thought. His childhood friend had disappeared. How horrible … But what did this have to do with the supposed Olmstead Curse? The article didn’t mention anything about curses.
Next, Eddie searched for the words “Olmstead Curse.” He received several results, but one paragraph leapt clearly off the screen. It was from a Web site called Cassandra’s Calendar, posted several years ago.
Some citizens of Gatesweed are calling these incidents the unfortunate consequence of the aptly named “Olmstead Curse.” Local superstition says the author’s stories have wreaked havoc on the town itself. As strange as it may seem, many blame the missing author himself for the recent closing of the Black Ribbon Mill. Representatives for Mr. Olmstead pass off such comments as unsubstantiated hogwash. Outside of Gatesweed, such hogwash continues to work wonders for the author’s sales. …
Weird, thought Eddie. He read through several more search results. From the articles, Eddie gathered that, for some reason, people in Gatesweed believed Nathaniel Olmstead’s stories were dangerous. Eddie didn’t understand.