The Stone Child Read Online Free PDF

family on Black Ribbon Road yesterday.
    Eddie could hear the man muttering when he noticed what the police officer was scrubbing at. Someone had sprayed black paint in the primitive shape of a face onto the back of the pedestal. Two black squiggles for eyes dripped down the stone where the paint had been sprayed on thick. Below the eyes, one blunt, almost straight line grinned grimly. On the ground, behind where the police officer knelt, Eddie noticed more graffiti, huge words painted directly onto the broken granite.
THE WOMAN IS WATCHING
.
    Eddie hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder. The woman is watching? What woman? Who is she watching? He glanced at the library, where the glass doors stared at him darkly. He wondered if Mrs. Singh was watching him from behind her desk.
    Finally, the man looked at him, holding up his hand to block the sun’s glare. He scowled. “It’s not coming off this time.”
    This time? Had someone done this before? Eddie wondered. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling for some reason as if the officer blamed him.
    “Oh, it’s you,” said the man, suddenly recognizing him. Eddie expected him to finish with
You made it home all right
, or
Sorry I couldn’t be of more help yesterday
, or at the very least,
You lived!
But the man simply stared at him expectantly, as if he anticipated Eddie to sprout wings and fly away.
    The man’s silence made him feel weird. “I, uh … I’ll let you get back to work,” Eddie said, stepping into the grass, heading toward his bike. The police officer continued to stare at him as he walked away. Eventually, the whispering sound began again as the man went back to scrubbing at the black paint.
Whist-whist-whist
.
    Eddie began to run. When he reached the sidewalk where his bike lay, he noticed something painted onto the window of a store on the other side of the park.
    BOOKS .
    This time, the paint was not graffiti.
    Even though he was sort of freaked out, Eddie couldn’t resist. His mother had mentioned a bookstore in Gatesweed. This must be it. A bookstore was always cozier than a library—more comforting—a familiar place in an unfamiliar town. He picked up his bike from the sidewalk. Keeping far away from the weird cop, he walked his bike across the grass and crossed the street.
    The bookstore was in the lower portion of a two-story white wooden house, the last in a row of buildings that curved along the park. A green-and-white-striped awning reached out toward Eddie, shading the house’s porch from the sunlight. Glancing over his shoulder toward the park, Eddie noticed the cop staring but decided to ignore him.
    He crept up the stairs and pressed his nose to the window of the store, holding up his hands to block out the glare. Dim lights hung from the ceiling, and bookshelves stretched up so high that tall ladders leaned against them in several spots. The store looked empty.
    “We’re not open,” said a voice behind him.
    Eddie spun around to see a blond-haired boy who’d spent too much of the summer exposed to the sun. The skin on the boy’s nose was peeling. Eddie thought he smelled like insect repellent. Eddie stood there with his mouth open, barely able to breathe. Why was it that he could approach an adult librarian without a problem, but when facing the possibility of conversation with someone his own age, Eddie’s brain shut tight?
    “What do you want?” said the boy.
    “Nuh,” said Eddie, turning sunburn red. He’d meant to say
Nothing
, but was only able to spit out the first part of the word.
    The boy examined Eddie quizzically before reaching around and opening the door. Cool air breezed out. Eddie was about to ask what time he should come back when the boy brushed past Eddie, closed the door, and locked it.
    Embarrassed, Eddie almost turned to leave when the window display caught his attention. He came closer to the glass to make sure his eyes weren’t fooling him.
    Sitting on the table near the window ledge was a small display of