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

“Well, I guess opening the door is all there is to it, then.”


Tick looked up at his dad, whose face wore a scared, tense expression, and felt oddly relieved that his old man was just as spooked as he was. “Let’s do it, Dad.”

Dad smiled, flicking on the flashlight. The hallway light was on as well, but Tick thought you could never have too much light when searching for mechanical demons that ate through the bottom of beds before gobbling up the child who slept on it.

Several seconds passed, the two of them staring down at the brass doorknob.

“Well?” Tick asked.

“Oh . . . yeah.” Somewhat sheepish, Dad reached forward and twisted the handle, pushed, then pulled his hand back like he expected a troll to jump out and bite it off.

As the door swung open with a long, groaning creak that echoed through the house, a wave of light from the hallway spread over the carpet like a rising tide. Tick tensed, sure the strange something would dart at them the second it had a chance, scuttling across the floor like a possessed badger. But he saw nothing unusual.

Dad reached around the edge of the doorframe and turned on the bedroom light. In an instant, every last shadow in the room disappeared, bringing a completely different feel to everything.

Tick felt his fear go down a notch. Just a notch. “Maybe it went under the bed again.”

Letting out a big sigh, Dad walked over and knelt down next to the bed, where a heavy quilt draped nearly to the floor, hiding the space underneath. “Listen, Tick, I’m not gonna lie to you—you’ve got me just as freaked out as you.”

“Really?”

“Let’s just say if something runs out at me, I’m going to scream like a little girl and run to your mom.”

Tick laughed. “Me, too.”

Dad quickly pulled up the quilt and beamed the flashlight under the bed, sweeping it back and forth like a sword of sunshine. Nothing but a few random books scattered across the dusty carpet. “Not under there,” he said with relief. He leaned against the bed to push himself to his feet—no small effort for a man the size of Edgar Higginbottom.

“The closet?” Tick said, licking his dry lips.

“Yeah, the closet. Where every monster that’s ever eaten a child dwells. Just great.”

They edged across the room, which now seemed as wide as the Sahara Desert. Tick noticed his dad tiptoeing, which for some reason made him laugh, though it came out sounding like a panicked hyena cornered by three starving lions.

“What?” Dad asked, settling back down onto his heels.

“Nothing. Go for it.” Tick gestured to the closet door, which stood ajar a couple of inches.

Dad reached out and flung it open, then took a quick step back. Nothing moved in the cluttered pile of dirty clothes, sports balls, Frisbees, and other junk. There didn’t seem to be enough space for a mechanical dog-sized monster to hide.

Tick stepped forward and nudged a pile of clothes with his foot. No response. They spent the next ten minutes searching the room from top to bottom, their initial fear having almost completely melted away, but found nothing.

“It has to be here somewhere, Dad. I’m telling you, there’s no way I imagined that thing. It scared me half to death.”

“Don’t worry, son, I believe you. But sometimes we wake from dreams and they seem very . . . real. You know?”

Tick wanted to argue, but he was smart enough to consider the possibility, even though it kind of made him want to kick his dad in the shins for suggesting it. Tick had been on the bed for a long time—maybe he’d fallen asleep without realizing it. But then the thing that clunked against the door . . . ?

No, he was convinced it’d been real. But why worry his poor dad any longer? He nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Come on,” Dad said, flicking off the flashlight and putting his arm around Tick’s shoulders. “You can sleep on the little couch in our bedroom. It’ll be like old times when the branch outside your window used to give you the heebie-jeebies on a windy night. It’s been years since we’ve had a sleepover.”

Tick felt dumb and embarrassed, but he didn’t hesitate, grabbing his pillow and blanket before following his dad out of the room. In the hallway, they shared a glance, then Dad shut Tick’s bedroom door, pulling on the knob until they both heard the comforting click of the latch taking hold.





Chapter


5


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A Most Unwelcome Patch of Smoke