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 Nathaniel Olmstead’s books. A hand-painted sign propped 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 Manuscripts, 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 sign stuck 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 squinted skeptically. “Where’d you get this?” His reaction reminded Eddie of the librarian’s.

“My parents bought it at an antiques fair just north of here,” said Eddie. “But look.” He reached forward to turn the page.

“Whoa,” said the boy, examining the strange words. “What is this?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Eddie. “In his books, Nathaniel Olmstead always uses codes and stuff. Looks like he went a little bit overboard with this one.”

“Right, I know. I’ve got all of his books upstairs in my bedroom.”

“You do?” Eddie was surprised. He had begun to think no one in Gatesweed appreciated Nathaniel Olmstead like he did. “Maybe you can tell me how Nathaniel Olmstead ended up with a souvenir book from your mom’s store?”

“Duh… Nathaniel Olmstead lived in Gatesweed. My mom knew him.”

Eddie was speechless. Forgetting the mystery for the moment, he wondered if Nathaniel Olmstead might have stood in this very spot.

“A long time ago, my mom told me Nathaniel Olmstead was the one who suggested she open the store. He even came up with the name.”

“That is so cool. Did you know him?”

“No way,” said the boy. “I was, like, zero years old when he disappeared. Thirteen years ago, on Halloween, he was supposed to give a reading at my mom’s store, but he never showed up. She tried calling him for the next few weeks… but she’s never heard from him again. No one has.”

“Huh,” said Eddie. “That’s so weird.” Then he had an idea. “Hey, what do you know about the Olmstead Curse?”

The boy gave him a sharp look. He pressed his lips together, then glanced over Eddie’s shoulder toward the park. When Eddie turned around, he saw the police officer near the bronze bust glaring at them.

“I-I gotta go,” said the boy suddenly.

“But-”

“I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to…” The boy shoved the book into Eddie’s hands. He turned around and closed the door to the bookstore, leaving Eddie alone on the porch.

Across the street, the police officer tossed his brush into the bucket with a splash.

Eddie decided to ride his bike back home. After hearing Sam mention the possibility of an Olmstead Curse yesterday, he had expected that he might encounter some weird things in Gatesweed. After all, Olmstead stories were pretty weird, so it made sense that the place where he wrote them might be weird too. But after his experience that morning, he thought he could use a break from weird for a few hours. Besides, the cryptology book was too heavy to simply carry around while he searched for more sites from Olmstead’s books.

When he opened his bedroom door, Eddie found his mother sitting on his bed, facing the window with her back to him. “Mom?” Eddie said. She yelped, leapt off his bed, and spun around. When she saw that it was Eddie, relief flooded her face.

“Edgar, you scared me so badly I nearly flew out the window!”

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked, curious. Then he noticed what she was holding in her hand, his copy of The Wrath of the Wendigo.

She held up the book and said, “Guilty as charged. I was flipping through your book. I’m sorry I barged in here, but when I was unpacking this morning, I found a box that belongs to you.” The small cardboard box sat at the end of his bed. “Since you were looking for these books last night, I brought them up.”

“Thanks,” said Eddie.

“Can I borrow this one?” she said, blushing. “I know it’s creepy fantasy stuff, which isn’t usually my thing…” She hestitated. “It’s sort of silly, but…” She flipped open the back cover and showed Eddie the picture of Nathaniel Olmstead. “I had a feeling that I should look him up. I thought maybe since we live in his old town now, he could help me.” She paused, then said, “It’s been so difficult lately, I’m not even sure I should be a writer anymore.”