Maggie shook her head.

Harris thought to himself for a moment before turning to Eddie. “Where did you say your parents found this book?”

“The Black Hood Antiques Fair-a few months ago, I think,” said Eddie. “North of the mountains?”

“I wonder how it got up there?” said Harris. “I mean, doesn’t it seem like Nathaniel Olmstead would have wanted to keep this book down in the basement with all the other ones he wrote by hand?”

“Only one way to find out, I suppose,” said Maggie, pushing the pen and paper toward Harris. “Better hurry, before someone discovers we’re missing.”

“Here,” said Eddie, pulling out a spiral notebook. “We’ll all work at the same time.” He laid The Enigmatic Manuscript on the table so each of them could see it.

They worked for the next two periods. Whenever they heard someone approach, they scattered, hiding in separate aisles of books. Returning to the table, each of them continued to translate a part of the page. When they were done, together, they would read their parts aloud, before going on to the next page. In this manner, they slowly but surely began to piece the story together.

At first, the book was filled with fairly standard autobiographical information. It was interesting, but as he continued to read, Eddie wasn’t sure why Nathaniel felt the need to write his life story in code. Nothing about his reading ghost stories late into the night seemed all that scandalous.

Then Eddie learned something about Nathaniel Olmstead he didn’t already know.

From early on, Nathaniel didn’t think he had enough talent to be a writer. He never thought his ideas were any good. Saving his allowance each week, he sought inspiration at second-run monster movies in his hometown of Coven’s Corner, but afterward, when he went home and took out his notebook, all he could imagine was what he’d seen that afternoon. Nearing high school, he became interested in the ancient mythologies, old cultures, and world histories upon which many of the stories he read or watched were actually based. These interests led him to a degree in English and a minor in history from New Starkham College. After graduation, he spent a year traveling the world. He saw pyramids in Egypt, castles in Ireland, canals in Venice, Aztec ruins in Mexico, glaciers in Alaska, and volcanoes in Hawaii. He thought these sights might inspire him to write-but for some reason, his ideas never solidified into anything more than a glorified diary.

As Maggie began to read her section aloud, Eddie stared at the wavy pattern of the wood grain on the surface of the library table. Listening to the hypnotic sound of her voice, he imagined Nathaniel’s story in his head. After a moment, he felt like he was actually there with him.

Finally, my journey brought me to the Carpathian Mountains of Romania. I stayed with a college friend who was doing research at the university in Bucharest. One day, while seeking a particular antiques shop specializing in vampire protection artifacts, I wandered down an alley and became lost. After walking the labyrinthine byways for nearly an hour, I came upon an old woman selling trinkets out of the doorway behind her house. On a crate, she had set up a small display of what looked like homemade jewelry. I didn’t speak her language, but I understood that she wanted me to buy something. I had budgeted only enough for my exploration of the absent vampire antiques shop, so I tried to refuse her hustle, but she was insistent that I inspect one artifact in particular. She grabbed my hand, pressing a piece of metal into my palm. Attached to a sparkling chain, it was long and silver, about six inches in length, featherlight, and perpetually cold to the touch. Its body was flat and wavy like a wriggling snake. One end was wide and straight like a spoon or small shovel. The other end came to a sharp point like a pen.

I had no idea what it was, but as soon as I held it, I felt I needed to own it. I took out my wallet, but she pushed my money away, shaking her head. She said something to me that I couldn’t understand, then turned around and walked through her darkened doorway, leaving me alone in the alley.

As Eddie listened, he realized that a shape had appeared in the library table’s wood grain. The swirling and swooping lines of intermittent blond and brown wood looked like a face staring up at him. Long dark hair seemed to stretch toward the edge of the table, framing an uneven, lighter patch of wood from which empty eye sockets glared, skull-like, above a thin, angry mouth. Eddie’s heart raced as he stopped hearing what Maggie was reading.

The face appeared to be moving. For a moment, it seemed to smile. Then it parted its lips as Eddie pushed himself quickly away from the table. He gasped and said, “Do you guys see-”

“Excuse me.” Mr. Lyons, the school librarian, emerged from behind a bookshelf. “Where are you kids supposed to be this period?” he said.

Eddie nearly screamed. When he glanced at the table again, the face had disappeared. Had it only been his imagination? He stared at the table in disbelief. It took him a few seconds to realize that they had been caught. Mr. Lyons stood in the nearby aisle with his hands shoved into his pockets. The three kids glanced at each other, as if trying to psychically communicate before returning to the librarian.

“Well?” said Mr. Lyons.

“We’re working on a project,” said Harris. “For… uh… extra credit.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Lyons. “The infamous extra-credit excuse…” He approached their table, planted his fists on the surface, and leaned over the notebook in which Harris had been scribbling. Eddie worried that Mr. Lyons would ask what they were doing and then confiscate all of their work, but he didn’t seem to notice the strange words on the pages of The Enigmatic Manuscript.

“Get back to class now, and I won’t report you,” said Mr. Lyons. “However, if you’re caught in the hallway without a pass, don’t come crying to me. I will deny this conversation ever happened.” He flashed them a peace symbol, turned around, and walked away.

The kids stared at each other, then burst into nervous laughter. Eddie quickly glanced at the table again, to see if the face in the wood grain had returned. If the face had been there at all, Mr. Lyons seemed to have frightened it away. Eddie covered his own face, hoping silently that he was not going nuts.

“What do we do now?” said Harris. “There’s so much left to translate.”

“I’m pretty sure Mr. Lyons won’t let us use the photocopier now, so we can’t split the code up like we did today. Only one of us can keep working on the book tonight,” Maggie answered, pushing her chair from the table and standing up. “Later we can meet up and read it all together. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Good idea,” said Eddie quietly. “But who should keep translating it?”

Harris and Maggie glanced at each other. “It’s your book, Eddie,” said Harris. “I think you should be the one who works on it tonight… if you want to, that is.”

Eddie nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes open for anything important,” he said. Distracted by the memory of the wood-grain face, he gathered The Enigmatic Manuscript, their translation, and the piece of paper on which Maggie had written the code key, and shoved everything in his book bag. Translating the book by himself was a daunting task, but he knew he could do it. He only needed to stay focused.

As they made their way to the front of the library, Eddie wondered if he should mention the face to Harris and Maggie. But before he had a chance, the bell rang, startling him. He jumped.

“Call me tonight if you figure anything out. Good luck!” said Harris, pushing open the library door and disappearing with Maggie.