“WHAT DO yu suppose the narrator meant by ‘a multitude of bottled-up memories’?” Miss Finney asked excitedly after finishing a paragraph in the class’s latest text. It was a B-schedule day, which meant she taught reading in the afternoon instead of her normal post at the helm of the school’s library.
Lochgilphead Central School’s pupils were generally motivated and eager to please . . . especially in Miss Finney’s class. A number of hands shot into the air, each student keen to prove his or her reading comprehension prowess.
“Ellie Faust?” Miss Finney pointed.
“Is she talking ’bout past experiences . . . things she hasn’ a told anybody?”
“Good, Ellie.”
“And,” Ellie went on, “she tried to tell someone, but whoever it was wouldna’ listen. Maybe even humiliated her.”
“And thus the tension of the scene,” agreed Miss Finney. “Class, yu’ve come a long way in text analysis. Let’s see if we can go even deeper. Tell me more about the tension.”
As reading was one of his favorite classes, this would have been interesting to Jimmy, had it not been for the dramatic events of the past twenty-four hours, or for the weighty book that sat in the backpack under his seat. He could almost hear it calling his name. That and he was desperate to talk with Miss Finney in private. So consumed was he with his thoughts that he never did hear the question his reading teacher posed to him.
“Jimmy?” The sound of his name snapped him out of his daydream.
“Aye?”
“The tension?”
“I’m tense?”
The class giggled.
Mrs. Finney frowned. “Nay, Jimmy, the tension between our main characters.”
“Right. I—”
The bell cut him off, and not too soon for Jimmy.
“Remember, class,” Miss Finney yelled over the ringing, “chapters seventeen and eighteen for homework! We’re covering them on Friday!”
Everyone filed out of the room except Jimmy. He sat staring at his desk, eager to talk with Miss Finney, but again not sure how to breach the subject.
She walked over to him and sat down in an adjacent desk. “Crazy day?”
“Yu could say that, Miss Finney.”
“I heard the boys talking about gym. Said yu were a wonder.”
Jimmy looked down, face slightly red. “I wouldna’ go that far.”
“Said yu faked out MacBain and scored a basket or two.”
“I got lucky.”
“Then yu gave him a bit of a hand into the condiments table at lunch.”
“It’s not like I have any special power or anything!”
Miss Finney’s face went blank.
Neither of them spoke.
The whisper of a smile formed in Miss Finney’s lips. A very peculiar smile.
“Miss Finney? What are yu smiling at?”
The bell rang, signaling the start of sixth period.
“I suggest yu make time after yur normal studies to study something else when yu get home.” Jimmy saw her make a subtle gesture to the book she had given him in the library.
“What do yu know that I don’t, Miss Finney?”
“Wait and see, Master Jimmy.” She stood up and walked away from him toward the front of the classroom. “Wait and see.”
The rain hadn’t stopped all day, so when Jimmy slipped in the front door of his house, the first thing he did was bolt for his room for a fresh change of clothes. Fortunately no one saw him; if they had, he wasn’t sure they wanted to talk to him anyway. It had become all too clear that he had no real family.
He pulled on a dry sweater and opted for his pajama pants. He didn’t plan on leaving his room for a long time. Sure, he’d miss dinner. But, at this point, he’d rather read than eat.
Jimmy unzipped his drenched backpack and dumped his books onto the floor. He scolded himself as he noticed each volume was also wet, the pages warped, covers blotted. And the book he was most interested in sat amongst the rest. Surely its handwritten pages were now utterly ruined. Jimmy reached for the large, dark-green tome, but to his surprise it felt dry. But the pages will be soaked. He cradled the book, admired its gilded title once more, and then carefully opened it up.
What’s this then? He glanced back at the pile of study books on his bedroom floor, each clearly saturated from the rain. “Not a drop,” Jimmy whispered. He flipped forward a few more pages, each of them just as he had seen them before, perfectly clear and devoid of blemish.
I don’t understand.
He stood slowly and walked to his bed, eyes fixed on the writing within. He flicked off the room light and turned on his reading lamp before slipping under the covers. He dwelt once more on the intricate drawing, the vast bridge ascending across to a tower, and marveled at the detail. Almost photographic quality. How can anyone draw like that? Jimmy wondered. Only this time Jimmy thought the drawing had changed slightly—a different point of view perhaps, or the trees had changed position, or the clouds had moved. Something was different—something he couldn’t put his finger on. Granted, his first glance at the mysterious book had been rushed.
He turned a few more pages until he spotted 9680 Founding of Allyra. “If this be typeset, I’m an aardvark,” Jimmy said to his empty room. Someone had handwritten this text. But who? All the other books he had ever read were merely mass-produced, printed copies. This was one of a kind. And it looked old, smelled old, felt old. Ancient was a better word. For all that, Jimmy thought it best to be much more careful with it. With painstaking caution, he turned every page by pinching the absolute corner of the page. He made sure he never once touched the text.
Jimmy soon forgot about the hour, forgot about his hunger, and never did hear Mrs. Gresham summoning him for dinner. Mr. Gresham had come up and listened at Jimmy’s door, but hearing nothing, assumed the boy was asleep.
Turning pages long after midnight, Jimmy found himself completely consumed with an ancient story of Elves and Gwar, epic battles, and evil plots. He had the oddest sensation while he read . . . a bizarre mixture of feeling as if he’d read it all before and a kind of creeping dread. It was so easy to see himself in this story. Somehow. But that’s crazy!
And then he heard Miss Finney’s voice in his head again. “Crazy day?” If only she knew just how crazy it was becoming . . . or maybe she did.
After all, it was she who gave him this book. Surely she must have read it, or else why recommend it? Better still, it was clearly not one of the library’s books: no markings of Lochgilphead anywhere. So it is her own. Wonder if she, wrote it?
In that moment, Jimmy’s heart began to thunder in his chest. He was on to something, putting clues together like a detective and closing in on the truth. And yet not all the clues added up. But how could Miss Finney write something like this? He knew she was a good teacher, and some teachers were known to write novels in their spare time. But this? This was a masterpiece!
Jimmy closed the book, leaned back against the headboard, and closed his eyes. His imagination churned, and he was nearly asleep when he heard a sound.
His eyes shot open wide, and he scanned his room.
It sounded like a cup or something had tipped over or fallen off—the dresser!
Jimmy glared at the top of his dresser, where Geoffry’s spider container lay sideways, open, . . . and empty. How’d that get in here?
He jammed himself backward into the headboard and looked frantically around the room. He wasn’t an arachnaphobe, but he didn’t want the thing to crawl up into his bed in the middle of the night, either. Jimmy remembered reading somewhere on the Internet that, while sleeping, the average person ate thirteen or fourteen spiders every year. How anyone measured that, Jimmy had no idea. What kind of sick scientists would just watch spiders crawl into some poor person’s mouth?
Jimmy squirmed in bed for a few moments, but his curiosity got the best of him. He leaned over the mattress to check the floor. He slid out of bed and walked gingerly around the room.
It wasn’t on the throw rug.
It wasn’t under the bed.
Jimmy even checked behind the dresser. No sign of it. Not finding it was somehow worse. Wondering where the little hairy booger had gotten to, Jimmy reluctantly got back into bed.
He struggled to stay awake for some time, but soon his willpower gave out. Jimmy blinked, nodded, and fell asleep.
The lights were out when he woke some time later. Mom . . . Mrs. Gresham must have checked in on me, he thought. He started to close his eyes once more when he felt something touch his right ankle. It was such a light, ticklish feeling that Jimmy ignored it at first. But in one sudden, heart-pounding moment, he realized what it was.
He flung off the covers, switched on his bedside light, and stared.
Brown and black, the size of a golf ball, the spider crawled slowly up Jimmy’s ankle and onto his pajama pants leg.
“AH!!” Jimmy kicked his leg furiously, but the spider held on. Finally, Jimmy managed to fling it off. It landed at the bottom of his bed and made haste crawling back toward Jimmy.
“No yu don’t!” Jimmy growled.
He grabbed the only thing handy, his precious book, and slammed it down on the spider.
The first time he lifted the book, the spider was still there and very much alive. It kept coming. Again and again, Jimmy whaled on the spider.
Bam! Baam! Baaam!!
At last, it was dead.
He scraped the spattered remains off the book into the hallway toilet and flushed. A few globs and pieces of the spider decorated Jimmy’s blanket, so he balled that up and threw it in the hamper.
It was a long time before Jimmy Gresham could fall back asleep, and an even longer night of tossing and turning.
The next morning had gotten off to a great start. Geoffry cried all morning long because “mean-old-Jimmy” killed his pet spider.
“Why’d yu put the stupid thing in me room?” Jimmy had asked.
“I thought yu were lonely,” whined Geoffry.
Mr. and Mrs. Gresham had taken Geoffry’s side, of course. And now, at school, things didn’t seem to be improving.
“Did I write the book?” Miss Finney’s expression gave away nothing.
“Aye. At least that’s the only way I can explain it all,” replied Jimmy. The way she looked at him now, Jimmy felt stupid for the question. It did seem absurd. But how else could he explain it?
“Tell me, Jimmy,” she said. “Did it seem like an ordinary book then?”
“No!” Jimmy replied. “It was AWESOME. I was totally into it. But why’d yu write it by hand? Don’t yu like the computer?”
“That’s not what I mean.” Her hands flew to her hips. “Stars, lad, did yu even touch the writing?”
“Touch it? No, I didn’t want to mess it up.”
“Mess it up—” Miss Finney’s face reddened. “Yu can’t mess it up, Jimmy.” The two of them stood in the hallway between classes, kids rushing around them on both sides. Neither of them moved. Miss Finney just stared back at Jimmy.
Why is she so mad? Have I said something wrong?
Jimmy glanced around as students emptied the hall. Second period meant one thing for Jimmy: Mr. Brodie and more basketball.
“Yu can forget basketball today, Jimmy. I’ll write yu a pass,” Miss Finney said. “Yu must finish the book.”
“What do yu mean—now?”
“Aye, right now. How far did yu get last night?”
Miss Finney was acting strangely. She seemed . . . frightened. Jimmy felt like his answer would decide whether he passed or failed. “Up to where the Drefids took the children to that Vesper place—”
“Not near enough. Yu must finish today. We haven’t much time left.”
“What, are yu entering yur book in a ullishing contest or something?”
Miss Finney cast him a dour look that could have melted rock.
“Yu’d definitely win, Miss Finney. Seriously.”
Distracted by voices, Miss Finney ignored the comment. She stared up the hallway. Coming around the corner with Mr. Donegal, the principal, was the last person Jimmy ever expected—or wanted—to see in his school. His heart skipped more beats than it hit; the tweed jacket, dark-green sweater, cane, and black cap—there could be no doubt.
Mr. Ogelvie.
“Jimmy, go to me classroom right now,” Miss Finney ordered him with a whisper.
Jimmy was incredulous, looking back and forth between Miss Finney and Mr. Ogelvie. “Do yu know him? That’s my neigh—”
“Jimmy! Yu must finish that book! Go to me class and lock the door, pull the shade over the window. Yu’ll be safe.”
“Safe?”
“Jimmy Gresham, yu have much to learn, but circumstances are now beyond me control, accelerating far too quickly, and I have only two objectives.”
“Two obj—?”
“To keep yu alive and bring yu home.”
“Alive?”
Miss Finney turned him by his shoulders and pushed him down the hall, walking with him away from Mr. Ogelvie and Lochgilphead’s principal. “Go read, Jimmy. And touch the writing this time. We’ll speak when yur done.”
“What’s going on here, Miss Finney? I—”
“Yu’ll know more than yu wish soon enough. But for now, yu’re just going to have to trust me.”
“Listen, Miss Finney, if I’m in some sort of trouble, just call me parents and they’ll come get me. . . . at least I think they will.”
She stopped him right there and spun him to face her. Jimmy peeked around her arm; Mr. Ogelvie was getting closer. His heart was racing. Miss Finney seemed out of her mind. But he was far more frightened of his new neighbor than he ever would be of her.
“Jimmy, don’t yu understand? That’s not the home I’m talking ’bout! The Gresham family cannot help yu now!”
“Miss Finney, I’m beginning to think that it’s yu who—”
“I know about yur gift, Jimmy! Yu can see into the future!”
Jimmy was speechless, staring wildly at her now. He wasn’t sure if it was the intensity of the moment, or being overtired from reading late into the night, but her very words provoked another wave of nausea to pass over him. And with it another vision . . .
He stood in the hallway with Miss Finney gripping his arms. A moment later, the principal and Mr. Ogelvie approached them. Words were exchanged. Mr. Ogelvie produced a small knife and, an instant later, Mr. Donegal was on the floor, blood pooling on the gray tile. Miss Finney reacted, but too slow, and the same knife plunged into her stomach, reopening the wound already present there. Mr. Ogelvie turned to Jimmy, the knife dripping with blood.
“Jimmy!” Miss Finney yelled.
Jimmy snapped back to reality.
“Miss Finney,” Mr. Donegal spoke up from down the hall. “Whatever seems to be the problem?”
“Be careful,” Jimmy said, panic tightening his throat. “He has a knife.”
“Thanks for the tip.” She smiled and winked at him.
Jimmy took off running down the hallway.
“Young man!” cried Mr. Donegal. When Jimmy failed to respond, the principal turned to Miss Finney. “Where’s he going?”
“Detention,” Miss Finney replied sternly. “Incorrigible wee lad, that one. And who do we have here?”
“Ah, right. Miss Finney, meet Mr. Ogelvie,” he said, introducing the two. “Mr. Ogelvie is here to offer his services to our distinguished school.”
“Oh?”
“He’s a science teacher, or was for forty years.”
“Is that so, Mr. Ogelvie?”
“I figured I’d come out of retirement for a spell,” replied Jimmy’s neighbor. “Yu know, help the wee lads and lasses.”
“That’s mighty kind of yu.” Miss Finney covered her mouth and acted as if she were going to cough. She looked down, and spied a dark object in the man’s other hand, the one not holding the cane.
Knife. Miss Finney locked eyes with the old man. This would not end well.
Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring! An ear-shattering bell rang through the air, and a beat later every door in the hallway burst open, releasing students from their classrooms like floodwater behind a broken dam. It was the fire alarm.
Within seconds, Mr. Donegal, Mr. Ogelvie, and Miss Finney were caught up in a sea of churning kids—all ecstatic their lectures had been interrupted for at least the next twenty minutes while the fire department checked out the building. Leaving his distinguished guest, Mr. Donegal strode away to attend to the mass of students flooding the wing.
In that same moment Miss Finney caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.
Mr. Ogelvie jabbed at her with his concealed knife. But, thanks to Jimmy’s tip, Miss Finney was waiting for just such a move. She intercepted his wrist with a fierce hand lock and twisted the weapon around so it rested beneath his chin. None of the students or teachers seemed to notice the split-second attack as they scurried toward the closest exit.
Miss Finney leaned in to Mr. Ogelvie’s face and whispered, “I know who yu are. Il berne di wy blakkir nai letta wy feithrill?” (What place does the darkness have with the light?) Miss Finney knew the impact the words of Ellos would have.
As if struck by a bolt of lightning, Mr. Ogelvie was seized where he stood, his body rigid and shaking with energy. It was something in those words. Unable to move his head, he forced his eyes to glare at Miss Finney.
“And now we know where he is . . .” he hissed just before his entire body disappeared in a swirling cloud of dust.
Miss Finney placed the knife beneath her belt and swung around to see if anyone had noticed. Content that the students seemed oblivious to the strange scene and completely preoccupied with the commotion of the fire alarm, Miss Finney looked farther down the hall toward her classroom. There she spied her door cracked open ever so slightly and a small face poking out from within. Meeting Jimmy’s eyes, she saw a hand shoot out with a quick thumbs-up sign.
“Well done, Jimmy, me lad,” she whispered, praising the boy’s ingenuity and quick thinking.
She knew there was no fire. The young man was already proving to be more Elf than human, and he still had no idea of his true identity.
“Well done indeed.” She grinned.