The classroom became very quiet.

“That’s why we like reading scary stories,” Eddie finished quietly. He folded his hands and stared at the blackboard. “At least, that’s what I think.”

Maggie leaned toward him and said, “So basically, you’re saying that monsters are real?”

He made it to the woods before he heard the splashing…

“That’s not what I meant,” Eddie started to say, but the bell interrupted him and Mr. Weir dismissed the class.

Harris was late meeting Eddie after the last bell to go home. Eddie sat on the stoop outside the cafeteria, looking at his copy of Whispers in the Gingerwich House. After rereading the book the night before, he had a strange feeling that there was something inside it to which he should pay closer attention, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He was scanning the beginning of chapter seven, when Viola finds the mirror hidden behind the secret panel in the living room wall, when a shadow crossed his path.

Eddie glanced up and saw Maggie in front of him. Her purple tattered sweater and skinny black jeans looked especially harsh in the slanted autumnal light.

“Can I help you?” asked Eddie, sticking his finger between the pages of his book to keep his place.

She crossed her arms and bit her lip. She wouldn’t look at him. Quietly, she said, “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“The scary-story stuff.” She tilted her head and shrugged before continuing. “For some reason, every autumn, the teachers bring up the whole Gatesweed ghost and goblin thing. Just wait. Listen to people talking in the hallway and the locker room. I bet you’ll hear someone mention the Olmstead estate and how it’s creepy and dangerous and we should stay away in case we get cursed and go crazy. I live up there. I’m not crazy.” She paused. “I’m just so sick of everyone talking about it. Obviously, you’re not.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say.

She added, “The class wasn’t whispering about you. They were laughing at me… That’s what usually happens. I just thought you should know. I’m the class freak, if you haven’t heard.”

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” said Eddie quickly.

She stared at the book he held in his lap for a few seconds, then said, “So… tell me. Are you an Olmsteady?”

Eddie blinked.

“I’ve seen you carrying his books around,” she said.

“You have?” Eddie asked. Had she been watching him? “What’s an Olmsteady?”

“Do you really need a definition?” she asked.

Eddie cleared his throat. “Uh… no, I guess not.” He had heard the term before but hadn’t really thought about what it meant. Olmsteady: one who reads Olmstead.

“Are you obsessed or something?” She kicked at the stoop with her black boot.

“I wouldn’t say obsessed. I just like to read,” said Eddie. “Don’t you?”

“No. I hate it. But television is totally cool.” Eddie didn’t know what to say. Then Maggie smiled at him. “I’m kidding. I do read. Books about biology and science and cool stuff like that,” she said, clearing her throat. “I think those books are terrible, by the way.” She pointed at the book in his lap. “Nathaniel Olmstead’s.”

“Oh,” said Eddie, a little bit hurt. “That’s too bad. I really love them. They’re exciting. Good versus evil. Battling it out. I like being scared. The books make me happy.”

“I like science,” she said. “There is no good and no evil. There’s fact versus fiction. And it doesn’t matter who wins. The truth is the truth… Epic tales of good and evil are so unnecessary, you know? Those kinds of battles are fought every single day, right here.” Maggie slowly extended her index finger and pointed it at Eddie’s forehead, like a gun. “Kapow.”

Eddie laughed and quickly moved out of her line of fire.

“I’m Maggie, by the way.”

“I know,” said Eddie. “I mean… I’m Eddie. Nice to meet you.”

Maggie smiled. “See you around, Eddie,” she said, blowing on her trigger finger as she slinked away. Eddie realized he was staring when he felt someone breathing in his ear.

“She’s way too mature for someone like you, dude.” It was Harris. “I’ve seen your pits in gym class. They’re totally bald.”

“So are yours,” said Eddie. He knew his face was bright red.

Smacking Eddie in the arm, Harris said, “You totally have a crush on her.”

“No, I don’t. I just…”

“She’s a real witch,” Harris whispered. “Be careful. She probably put a spell on you. You might fall in love with her and have little witch babies.” Then he started kissing his own hand in a really gross way. Eddie blushed, but Harris looked so ridiculous, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

Eventually, Harris stopped kissing himself and said, “Mrs. Dunkleman is such a dummy. She made me stay late because I said her skirt looked like a sheep.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Because it did,” said Harris, heading toward the bike rack. “Come on, it gets dark early in Gatesweed at this time of year. Let’s go to my house. If we can’t crack the code today, then at least I’m totally going to kick your butt playing The Wraith Wars on my computer.”

Eddie took his finger from Whispers in the Gingerwich House and dog-eared the page where he’d stopped reading. The chapter title caught his eye. Chapter Eleven: “The Place Where Stories Are Told.” Why did that look so familiar?

When Eddie didn’t follow him, Harris called over his shoulder, “Oh, come on… don’t be a sore loser before we’ve even started playing the game!”

Eddie waved him quiet. He stared at the book. He didn’t want to lose his thought.

“What’s wrong?” said Harris.

Finally, Eddie blinked and looked at Harris again. “Have you heard this before?” he said, then read from the page, “‘The Place Where Stories Are Told.’”

Harris stood next to the bike rack. He squinted and looked confused. “Well… yeah. ‘The Place Where Stories Are Told’… It’s the phrase that’s carved into the stone near the roof of the library. In the middle of town.”

Eddie thought about his English class and how Maggie accused him of believing in monsters. So basically, you’re saying that monsters are real? she’d asked him. Slowly, he began to nod. “Are these words carved into the library because Nathaniel Olmstead wrote them? Or did Nathaniel Olmstead write them because he saw them carved into the stone?”

“I don’t know,” said Harris. “What do you mean?” He stood over his bike, undoing the chain lock, looking at Eddie as if he were nuts.

“I just have a hunch about something,” said Eddie. “My English class today has me thinking about these books again. The statue in the clearing, the symbol on the book, the lake in the woods, the dogs from the Haunted Nunnery… If they were real, if Nathaniel Olmstead had seen them with his own eyes, then maybe it stands to reason that other parts of his books are real. And not just the places that inspired him.”

“Are you saying…?” Harris started, then added, “What are you saying?”

“In order to solve The Enigmatic Manuscript‘s code language, we need the key. Right?” said Eddie, picking up his own bike lock and swirling the numbers on his combination pad. “The answer might be in Nathaniel’s stories.”

“You think there might be a clue about the code somewhere here in Gatesweed-a clue we might find in one of his books?” said Harris.

“Exactly.” Eddie yanked the chain away from his front tire. It clattered against the steel rack with a loud clang before he shoved it into his book bag. “How about we forget the video games tonight?” he said, swinging his leg over his bike and hopping onto the seat. “Let’s read a book instead?”