The charcoal slipped from Kallie’s fingers. It dropped to the floor along with the clipboard that landed at her feet with a hollow thud.
Kallie stood, her knees trembling. “Not feeling well,” she muttered, sweeping past Mr. Washington, who had stooped to pick up her drawing.
She left the class as quickly as she could without breaking her stride. She marched down the corridor and burst through the door to the girl’s washroom. Fortunately, it was empty.
Something was happening to her. Something completely and totally beyond her control. It was as if she had become a puppet and someone was working the strings.
It was a terrifying feeling not knowing what might happen next. But something was coming. She could feel it, but she could not yet see it. She did not even know where to look.
She reached out a shaky hand and turned on the faucet. She scooped cold water, splashed her face, and then took several cleansing breaths. She stared hard at her piqued complexion in the small mirror hanging above the sink. At long last she regained some composure. Rule number one in any crisis: Remain calm.
The fourth piece from the box had a castle on it. And now, on the art paper, etched in dark, bold lines, shaded perfectly, was a castle. It sat perched high on a cliff, with a narrow road winding up toward its entrance. At the base of the mountain stood a small, cloaked figure. In one of the castle windows was a blurry face, staring down, ghostly.
She’d sketched all of it. A perfect castle with shadows and highlights, value and texture. There was depth and contrast and even a hint of movement. And she’d done it all without even looking at the paper.
Kallie shook her head as though responding to an invisible inquisitor. No. She could not have been the artist. There was no way. She had zero talent. She was certain of it. She’d made certain of it. Hadn’t she?
A short time later, Pole and Anna approached Kallie, who sat despondent at what had somehow become their usual lunch table. She was staring sullenly at the triangular tuna and alfalfa half-sandwich in her hand.
When she saw them, she frowned. They were walking side by side. Close together. As though they were friends. Best friends.
“Mr. Bent likes the idea, but he feels we need support from the student body before going to Principal McEwan,” Pole was saying.
“We can make flyers!” beamed Anna. “And get signatures. And I was thinking we could have a Periodic Picnic Table Lunch, an Element Dash, a Guess the Element contest…”
“Great idea about the flyers,” said Pole. “I’ll work on it tonight. And by the way, I’ve decided I’m going to be helium.”
“You would choose a gas,” giggled Anna.
Kallie frowned harder.
“What’s wrong?” asked Pole, seating himself across from Kallie. “Why did you run out of art class?”
“You left your binder,” said Anna, placing it on the table. She took a sip of water from her cup.
Kallie eyed the jagged line of glue where it had been repaired. She opened her lunch bag and retrieved a second container. She handed it to Anna.
“What’s this?”
“I know you eat huge breakfasts,” said Kallie. “But I made an extra sandwich. For you. Just in case…”
Anna took the container and smiled. “Yes. Mrs. Winslow really outdid herself again this morning. I am pretty stuffed”—she patted her belly—“but maybe just a bite…”
Pole stared at Kallie as though she had grown a second head. She was not acting like herself. And she hadn’t answered his questions. Mostly because she wasn’t sure what she could tell him.
He opened his lunch bag and unwrapped a tofu burrito. “What’s happened to you? You’re acting irrationally.”
Kallie’s eyes shot daggers in his direction. It was the worst thing he had ever said to her. First, he shows up with Anna as if they’ve been best friends forever, planning Periodic Table Day without her, and now he insults her. He was right, of course, but that did nothing to dull the sting. She knew she wasn’t acting sensibly. But couldn’t he see it wasn’t her fault? Something was recklessly guiding her actions. He’d know that—if he weren’t paying so much attention to his new friend.
Kallie swallowed a bite of sandwich and secretly scolded herself. Emotions were untrustworthy, and hers were running amok. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that truly smart people know they do not know everything. A truly smart person knows when it’s time to seek help. And if anyone could help her, surely it was Pole.
“Can I tell you something?” she said. “Will you listen to the whole story before you pass judgment?”
“A story!” said Anna. “Hurray! Does it have fairies? And trolls? Because those are my favorites! Or is it more of a mystery? Oh! A romance! Oh, please say it’s a romance!” She clapped her hands vigorously.
A sinking feeling settled into Kallie’s stomach. She put down her sandwich. Things were much worse than she had thought. She was no longer in control of her actions or her words.
“It’s not a story.” She corrected herself. “It’s merely a … a … recounting of events … of happenings … of occurrences. A report. Yes. That’s what I meant to say. A report.”
Anna looked deflated and slightly peevish.
“Something is happening to me,” Kallie said softly.
She watched Pole intently, his face as unreadable as a book of squiggles and squares. But he was a good listener. Kallie knew he approached everything scientifically, so she was certain he’d gather all the facts and hear everything she had to say before forming an opinion.
Slowly, methodically, Kallie recounted the events leading up to the drawing, including the faceless man, the box, the nine pieces, and their connection to recent events in her life: the jackal. The broken cup. The ocarina. And now the castle.
Anna sprung to her feet, a wild glint in her eyes. She pointed an aha finger in the air. “I know exactly what those things are! The pieces—inside the box—they’re story bones!”
“What?” said Kallie.
“You know—story bones!” she repeated excitedly.
Kallie and Pole shook their heads, looking blank.
“You’ve never heard of story bones?” said Anna incredulously. She looked in disbelief from Kallie to Pole, but both shrugged.
“It’s like a game. You toss the bones,” said Anna, “then use the pictures to create a story. Only, yours are bewitched, don’t you see? And now you’ve become part of the story!” Her triumphant gaze swung like a pendulum from one lackluster expression to the other.
Pole averted his eyes and cleared his throat. “Well. That certainly could be one explanation. But I offer another, slightly more plausible one. What I think you have here, Kallie, is a simple case of the power of suggestion.”
His eyes were steadfast, his voice calm, bordering on casual, which put Kallie immediately at ease.
“The idea a person—or object—can guide the thoughts, feelings, and even behavior of another. Influence their surroundings. It’s nothing new. Simple nineteenth-century psychology.” He tucked a straying piece of lettuce into his burrito.
“The power of suggestion,” Kallie repeated slowly, with each word becoming all the more convinced.
Anna frowned and shook her head defiantly.
“Consider it, Anna,” said Pole. “If something has been planted in our mind, and we come to expect a certain outcome, then we automatically set in motion a chain of thoughts and behaviors producing that exact outcome.”
Anna narrowed her eyes. “I still say the pieces are story bones … bewitched story bones…”
“You’re right as usual, Pole,” said Kallie. “I saw the pictures on the pieces from the box. I must have stored the images in my subconscious and then went about re-creating them in my life … Or something like that, anyway.”
Pole took a huge bite of his burrito. “Precisely.” A black bean fell out of his mouth and onto the table.
“The power of suggestion,” repeated Kallie. “That has to be it.”
“Of course it is.” He popped the bean into his mouth. “So stop thinking about that box. Clear your head. Put it away. Out of sight. Out of mind.”
Kallie nodded. Clear her head. That was the solution. The box had caused the exact trouble her father had warned her about. It had fueled her unconscious mind and let it run wild. He’d be furious with her if he found out. It was time to rid herself of the box and regain control of herself and her surroundings.
“Out of curiosity,” said Anna, finishing the last bite of her sandwich. She sealed the container and handed it back to Kallie. “What were the next pictures on those cubes?”
“Well,” said Kallie. “There was a cylinder spouting flames, and then a coffin, and then…”
“A coffin?” gasped Anna. “Oh no. That can’t be good. Luckily you’re putting a stop to this suggestion power straightaway. Before things get really bad.”
“Yeah.” Kallie gulped. “Good thing.”