The Journal of Curious Letters (The 13th Reality #1)(17)

Tick threw his hands up in frustration. “What is the point?”

Rutger grew serious. “I think you know, Tick. You’ve made a choice to pursue this endeavor, and no matter what, you must see it to the end. By the very act of making it to the special day, and solving the riddles of what will happen at that time, you will be properly prepared for . . .” He paused, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat.

“For what?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What a surprise.” Tick wanted to be angry, but instead felt torn between disappointment and eagerness to solve everything at once. He’d always been that way; he wanted to know things right then and now, which was probably one reason why he did so well in school. He often read ahead in his books, curiosity lighting the fire of his impatience, which only added to his status as Nerd-Boy of the Universe.

“I will say this,” Rutger said. “I truly hope you make it, Tick. I want to see you when it all comes down to the boiling point.” He turned his squat little body and looked Tick in the eye. “You’ll be there, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ll try.”

Rutger snorted. “Try is for dingbats with no heart. You will do, young man, do.”

“Who are you—Yoda?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

Rutger stood up with a loud groan, seeming to barely rise in height even though he had his legs straight under him. “Well, must be off to the wild blue yonder. Feels like I haven’t eaten in three weeks.” He patted his stomach. “Boy,

I sure do enjoy a lovely meal now and then.” He cleared his throat loudly, as if trying to give a hint.

“Where are you from, anyway?” Tick asked, trying his best to avoid any subject that dealt with the man’s weight.

“I, young man, am from the Eleventh—the finest place you could ever visit.”

“The Eleventh?”

“Things developed a little differently there, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh. Yes. Well, someday you will.”

Tick sighed. “What were those words you said earlier? Kyoopy, Barrier Wands, chika-something?”

Rutger only raised his eyebrows in reply.

“Let me guess, you can’t tell me.”

“That’s my boy, getting smarter by the minute.” Rutger stretched and let out a big yawn. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Tick. I expected someone a little more generous with treats and goodies, but what can you do?”

Tick rolled his eyes. “Do you want something—”

“No, no, maybe next time you can be a good host,” Rutger replied with no subtlety. “You go on inside and stuff yourself with turkey and beans while little old Rutger walks his long journey home. At least I have new shoes, I guess.”

Little? Tick thought, but wisely didn’t say. “Oh, hang on a minute. You’re a pathetic actor.” He slipped inside the house and grabbed some bread, a bag of cookies, and a couple of bananas, throwing them all into a grocery bag, trying his best to be quiet. He forced himself to take extra precautions with every trip through the front door. He didn’t need his dad waking up to find him giving out free food to a weird little fat guy in the middle of the night.

When he handed the bag to Rutger, the man beamed with joy. “Oh, thank you seven times over, my good man! Thank you, indeed!”

Tick smiled. “You’re welcome. When will I see you again?”

Rutger started down the sidewalk, looking over his shoulder as best he could. “Many tomorrows, I expect, many tomorrows. Good-bye, Master Atticus!”

“Bye.” Tick waved, feeling a pang of sadness as he watched Rutger set off down the road.



Edgar watched from the upstairs window in the hallway, his emotions torn between fascination at the miniature fat man that seemed to have struck up a friendship with his son, and his sadness that Tick was involved in something very strange and had failed to tell his own father about it. He and Tick had always had a special bond, sharing anything and everything. Had things changed so much? Had his boy grown up, leaving his poor father behind to wallow in ignorance?

It all made sense now. Tick had been acting so bizarre lately and the reasons behind it could very well change the way Edgar viewed the world in which he lived. As he’d watched the two speak together on the steps of the porch, he’d readied himself to run outside at the first sign of danger. But the man seemed to be a friend, and Edgar decided to wait a while before he confronted Tick about it.

He told himself he didn’t know why he wanted to wait, but his heart knew the truth. Deep inside, he hoped his son would decide to tell him on his own what was going on. Edgar could hold out just a little bit longer—maybe a day or two—watching his son’s every move.

Down below, Tick waved as his short friend disappeared down the dark road.

Quickly, Edgar turned and went back to his room.





Chapter


17










Smoky Bathroom




The next day was Friday, the last day of school for two weeks, and Tick thought it would never end. Having enjoyed a grand total of four hours of sleep the night before, he nodded off in class constantly, waking with an unpleasant string of drool on his chin more than once. Mr. Chu was the only teacher who gave him a hard time about it, but Tick survived.

Finally, the last bell of the day rang.

Tick was at his locker, the excitement of the coming vacation days perking him up a bit, when disaster struck in the form of a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Billy “The Goat” Cooper sneering at him with arms folded, his goons gathered behind his massive body.

Just wait it out, Tick, just wait it out.

“Well, looky here,” Billy said, his voice the sound of marbles being crushed in a vice. “Looks like Ticky Stinkbottom and his pet Barf Scarf are excited to go home and wait for Santy Claus. Whatcha getting this year, Atticus? A new teddy bear?”

“Yes,” Tick said, stone faced, knowing it would throw the Goat off track.

Billy faltered, surely having expected Tick to adamantly say no or try to walk away. “Well, then . . . I hope . . . it smells bad.”

Tick really wanted to say something sarcastic—It’s a teddy bear, not a Billy the Goat doll—but his common sense won out. “It probably will, with my luck,” he said instead.

“Yeah, it will. Just like your feet.” Billy snorted out a laugh, and his cronies joined in.

Tick couldn’t believe how idiotic this guy was, but held his face still and said nothing.

“Here’s an early Christmas present for you, Ticky Stinkbottom,” Billy said, and his cronies’ forced laughter ended abruptly. “Stay in your locker for three minutes, instead of the usual ten. Then, go into the bathroom and stick your head in a toilet. Do that and we won’t bother you until we get back from Christmas break. Deal?”

Tick felt his stomach drop because he knew Billy would send a spy to make sure he did what he’d been ordered to do. “With my hair wet, I might catch a cold on the way home.”

Billy reached out and slammed Tick up against the locker, sending a metallic clang echoing down the hallway. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we don’t have school for two weeks, now isn’t it?” He let go and stood back. “Come on, guys, let’s go.”

As they walked off, Tick lowered his head and stepped into his locker, closing the door behind him.



A few minutes later, he stood alone in the boys’ bathroom, staring at his distorted image in a moldy, warped mirror. He pulled down his scarf with two fingers and examined his birthmark, which looked just as ugly as ever. He felt himself sliding into that state of depression he’d visited so often before he had resolved to quit letting the bullies rule his life.

But then he thought of Mothball and Rutger, the letters and clues, and the way they all made him feel important. He snapped out of the gloom and doom, and smiled at himself in the mirror.

Forget those morons. I’m not sticking my head in the toilet, spy or no spy.

A moving smudge suddenly appeared on the reflection of his face, like black moss growing across the mirror. Startled, Tick reached out and touched it with his finger, but only felt the cool hardness of the glass. In a matter of seconds, the entire mirror was dark, blacking out everything. Tick took a step back, a shot of panic shooting through him.

The blackness grew, enveloping the wall and the sink, moving outward in all directions. It took on substance, puffing out like black cotton, devouring the entire bathroom wall. Tick spun to see that all the walls and the ceiling were covered now, dark smoke everywhere. The room looked like the result of a five-alarm fire, but Tick couldn’t see flames and felt no urge to cough.

Then, with a great whooshing sound, every bit of the strange smoky substance rushed to the exit of the bathroom in streaks of wispy darkness, coalescing there into a big ball of black smoke. Tick’s heart stuttered to a stop as he realized what hovered between him and the exit.

A Tingle Wraith.

Tick moved to run, but stopped instantly. He had nowhere to go. The Wraith completely blocked the one and only exit out of the bathroom, its dark smoke already forming into the same ancient, bearded face he’d seen in the alley a few weeks ago. Mothball’s words about the creature came back to him, sending a sickening lurch through his body.