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

“I reckon I can see that. What’s your point?”


“Well, if this . . . yellow-dressed, bald, nasty woman made you quit your job, shun society, and hole up in a house all by yourself, then I think she’s won a mighty victory over the world. She’s beaten the great Norbert Johnson once and for all, and will move on to her next prey.”

Tick liked seeing his dad try and help this poor man and decided to do his part. “Yeah, Norbert, you’re doing exactly what she wanted you to do—give up and be miserable. Go back to work, show her you’re the boss of your own life.”

Norbert looked back and forth between Tick and his dad, his face a mask of uncertainty. “And if she does come back? What then?”

“Then by golly,” Dad said, “stand up to her. Show her who’s in charge.”

“And call us,” Tick chimed in. “By then, maybe we’ll have figured everything out and know how to help you.”

Norbert scratched his head. “Well, I don’t know. I’m

a-gonna have to think about this.”

Dad smiled. “Listen, we’ll exchange phone numbers and keep in touch, okay? How’s that sound?”

Norbert didn’t answer for a very long time, and Tick wondered if something was wrong. But then he saw moisture rimming on the bottom of the man’s eyes and realized the guy was all choked up.

Finally, their new friend spoke. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you folks care enough to give me your phone number. I just wished you a-lived up here in Alaska. I could use a friend.”

“Well, hey,” Dad said. “In this world, with the Internet and all that, we can keep in touch just fine.”

And with that, their new friendship was sealed and Tick felt mighty proud of himself.

~

Frazier watched as Tick and his dad stepped out of the house, then shook hands and embraced their new little buddy. They said a few more sappy words, just like they had inside, and headed for their vehicle.

What is this, a soap opera? I might need a tissue for my weepy eyes.

He snickered at his own joke, then put the car into drive, ready to follow, the twilight of midday having long faded into the full darkness of late afternoon.

Frazier pulled out his half of the special device, fingered the big button in the middle of its shiny gray surface.

In just a few minutes, he thought. Just a few minutes and the show begins.





Chapter


24




~





Pedal to the Metal


Norbert stared out his frosty window, watching the boy Tick and his father climb into their rental car, warm it up, then begin their long trek back to Anchorage. Norbert hadn’t felt this good in weeks, like he was doing something right, finally taking a stand against the yellow witch who haunted his dreams. He couldn’t explain it—the boy and his dad seemed to pulse with some invisible force, strong and magnetic. Norbert felt like a new person, as if powerful batteries had replaced his old junky ones, revved him up to face the world like he’d never done before.

The new year could bring a new life. He’d go back to work . . .

His thoughts petered out when he noticed another car pull out into the road just moments after Edgar had driven past it. The black Honda had been parked on the sidewalk, idling, and wasn’t in front of a house, just a blank lot of snow-covered weeds and brush. Something about that didn’t seem right. Not at all.

Then it hit Norbert.

The person in the black car was following his new friends. That couldn’t be a good thing. No sir, that couldn’t be good one bit.

The new Norbert acted before the old Norbert could talk himself out of it. He threw on some warm clothes, a wool cap, and his faded, weather-beaten shoes. He frantically searched for his keys, forgetting where he’d put them since his last venture to town. They weren’t on his dresser, weren’t on his kitchen counter—he couldn’t find them anywhere. After five minutes of hunting, he was just about to give up when he saw them on the floor under the table; he grabbed them and turned toward the garage.

The doorbell rang, freezing his blood solid.

Trying to stay brave, he ran up the stairs to his usual spying window and took a peek. Relieved, he saw it was just a kid girl with a man who looked an awful lot like Master George—dressed in a fancy suit, shiny shoes, the works. But this guy stood a lot taller and had plenty of hair, shiny blond hair slicked back against his skull.

Must be another one of those smart kids looking for their letter.

He bolted back down the stairs, grabbed another copy of Mothball’s golden envelopes (could that really be her name?) and tore open the door. He held out the letter and was just about to drop it into the girl’s hand and close the door when he caught a glimpse of his visitor’s car parked in the driveway. It was much nicer and . . . faster than his. An idea popped in his head.

“You folks lookin’ for a clue from M.G.?” he asked.