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

“What if . . . whatever I do takes me somewhere? Something tells me it will. What if I’m gone a long time?”


His dad’s face melted into a look of deep sadness, all droopy eyes and frowns. “Professor, trust me, I’ve been so worried about all this I can’t sleep at night. How could any good father let his son go off to who-knows-where to do who-knows-what and for who-knows how long? Especially after the dangerous things we’ve been through.” He paused, rubbing his hands together. “But what can I say—I’m nuts? It’s hard to believe in all this—but I believe in you. I’m taking a huge leap of faith, but I’m gonna let you walk out of this house and down that road”—he pointed out the window—“and off to wherever or whatever it is you’ve been called to do. It’s going to kill me, but I’m gonna do it. I’m either the best or the worst dad in history.”

A long silence followed. Tick felt something stir within him, a new appreciation for his parents and what they went through worrying about their kids. It couldn’t be easy. And now Tick was going to do the worst thing possible to his dad—make him let him go without having a clue what might happen to his only son.

“What about Mom?” Tick finally asked.

His dad looked up from the spot he’d been staring at on the floor. “Now that could be a battle.”

“What are you going to do? She’d never let me go.”

His dad laughed. “That’s exactly why you’re going to go tomorrow night, and leave the explaining-to-Mom bit to me. Once you’re gone, I’ll sit her down and spill the beans, every little morsel, from beginning to end. Your mom and I have loved each other for many years, son, and eventually she’ll understand why you’re doing this, and why you and I feel so strongly about it.”

Tick snorted. “Yeah, sometime after she tries to kill you for letting me go.”

His dad nodded. “You’re probably right, there. Just try to not be gone too long and maybe I’ll survive.”

Tick suddenly had a horrible thought. “What if . . . what if I never—”

His dad held up a hand and shushed Tick loudly. “Stop. Stop, Atticus.”

“But—”

“No!” He shook his head vigorously. “You’re coming back to me, you hear? These people know what they’re doing, and you will come back to me. And there won’t be another word said about it, is that understood?”

Tick couldn’t remember the last time his dad had looked so stern. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now let’s run through those clues.”

~

It took a half hour, but they read through each and every one of the Twelve Clues, studying their words one last time to make sure they hadn’t missed anything. But it all seemed to be there, straightforward and solved. Looking back, it had all been pretty easy in a way. The real test seemed to be the endurance and the bravery to keep going.

And, of course, figuring out the magic words, which seemed to be the most important piece of the puzzle. No matter what else he’d done, without those words to say, he felt sure everything would fail.

When they read the twelfth clue, they realized they’d perhaps missed something—a little phrase their mysterious friend had thrown in to verify they’d decoded the magic words correctly.

Listen to the words of Master George—they’ve been there all along!





And they really had been there. If Tick had just known to look at the first letter of the individual clues, he probably would’ve figured out “Master George” the second they’d learned the name from Norbert up in Alaska.

And so, after thoroughly examining the entire Journal of Curious Letters with his dad, Tick felt ready to go.

Tomorrow night, in the cemetery close to downtown, at nine o’clock, he’d show up, alone, in warm clothing, say the words “Master George” with his eyes closed, hands in pockets, then stomp the ground with his right foot ten times.

After that, who knew what might happen.

~

Tick went downstairs to check his e-mail before bed, realizing this might be the last chance he had to see if his friends had sent anything. It was already approaching early morning on Monday for Sofia because of the time difference, and Paul was probably already in bed.

What would happen to the others between their turns and his? If they were being taken somewhere, would they just wait around all day until he arrived? Was the staggered time difference on purpose—so Master George wouldn’t have to do . . . whatever he was going to do to everyone all at once?

There I go again, Tick thought. Asking a billion questions even though he knew the answer was out of his reach for now. One more day. Twenty-four hours. Then, hopefully, he’d know everything at last.

He logged in to his e-mail and was excited to see messages from both Sofia and Paul. He opened Sofia’s, who’d sent hers hours before Paul.

Tick and Paul,



Not much to say now, huh? Don’t think Sofia Pacini is in love with two American boys, but I really hope I see you both tomorrow. I’m sure somehow they’re going to bring us magically together. Right?