The Stone Child Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nathaniel Olmstead’s books. A hand-painted signpropped up on the table read GATESWEED’S VERY OWN . The books were stacked precisely in several piles.
The Ghost in the Poet’s Mansion. The Revenge of the Nightmarys. The Cat, the Quill, and the Candle. The Wrath of the Wendigo
. They were all there; however, these were not the books that caught Eddie’s attention.
    At the far edge of the table sat a small stack of leather-bound books that had a different title.
    The Enigmatic Manuscript
.
    Eddie dropped his book bag onto the porch. Bending over, he opened the bag’s front pocket and pulled out the book his mother had found the night before. Holding it up, Eddie compared it to the books sitting on the table. They seemed to be exactly the same. Would the inside of the books be the same too? Eddie felt his heart pumping. He could see the blond boy moving around near the back of the store. Eddie took a deep breath, realizing what he must do. The characters in Nathaniel Olmstead’s books never solved any of their mysteries without taking a risk or two.
    Before he could think to stop himself, Eddie knocked on the window. When the blond boy peered around the corner of a bookshelf, Eddie waved and forced himself to smile.
    “We’re closed!” shouted the boy before ducking away. His words hit Eddie in the chest like a fast, hard baseball. This wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe he should leave. But no, he told himself.
Ronald Plimpton
would not have given up so easily.
    He raised his hand again and continued to knock. He didn’t stop until the blond boy had come all the way to the front of the store. Angrily, the boy shouted through the door, “What is wrong with you?”
    “I—I wanted to ask you something,” Eddie stammered.
    “Yeah …?” said the boy, looking as if he were about to walk away. His voice sounded muffled through the glass.
    “I wanted to know about that book on the table in the window.
The Enigmatic Manuscript
.“
    “What about it?”
    “I was wondering if you knew when Nathaniel Olmstead wrote it?”
    The boy made a face like Eddie was crazy. “Wrote it?”
    “Yeah,” said Eddie. “What year did the book come out?”
    “Nathaniel Olmstead didn’t write a book called
The Enigmatic Manuscript
. Nobody wrote
The Enigmatic Manuscript
.“
    Eddie shook his head, confused. The blond boy rolled his eyes, grabbed one of the books off the pile of
Enigmatic Manuscript
s, and opened it to a page in the middle. He held the book up to the window for Eddie to see.
    “Blank,” said the boy.
    Eddie still didn’t understand.
    “The Enigmatic Manuscript is the name of my mother’s store!” said the boy.
    “The name of your mother’s store?” said Eddie. He looked over his shoulder. The store’s hanging placard signstuck out from the pole at the top of the stairs, but it hung perpendicular to the street, so it was really only visible from either side of the stairs.
    “We sell souvenir blank notebooks,” the boy continued. “If you wanna buy one …” The boy spun around and started back toward the bookshelves. Over his shoulder, he called, “Then come back some other time.”
    “Wait!” cried Eddie, knocking on the window. When the boy turned around, Eddie quickly pressed the cover of his own copy of the book up to the window. “I don’t want to buy one,” he called through the glass. “I’ve already got one. And I think it might have belonged to Nathaniel Olmstead.”
    The boy paused for a few moments before returning to the front of the store again. He unlocked the door, opened it, and stood in the doorway. “Why do you think that?” he asked.
    Suddenly, Eddie felt foolish. “Because mine’s not blank.” He awkwardly held out the book.
    The boy took it from Eddie and brushed the cover with his fingers. It was obviously older than the ones in the store. He turned it over and examined the spine. When he opened the cover and saw the first page, his eyes widened. A moment later, he