The Light (Morpheus Road) by D.J. MacHale Page B
Authors: D.J. MacHale
Tags: Fiction, General, Children's Books, Action & Adventure, Horror, Juvenile Fiction, Action & Adventure - General, Fantasy & Magic, Ages 9-12 Fiction, Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), supernatural, Horror & Ghost Stories, Ghosts, Legends; Myths; Fables, Horror stories, Mysteries; Espionage; & Detective Stories, Ghost Stories (Young Adult), Mysteries (Young Adult)
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Sydney was protecting Cooper. She didn't like her brother much, but maybe her heart wasn't cold enough to actually rat him out.
I went back inside, making sure to lock the door in case Russo changed his mind and decided to charge back and injure me. No sooner had I twisted the lock than I
remembered the other mystery. The one that wasn't solved. I ran for the kitchen.
The Ovaltine powder was all over the counter and the floor. The three-ring design was gone. Winston had walked through the chocolate and left kitty footprints everywhere . . . across the counter, on the floor, and into the dining room. I stood staring at the counter, trying to make out the remains of the design. There was nothing. Any sign that it had been there was gone. I questioned whether I had seen it or not. It's easier to think something like that was a trick of the imagination than to believe there were inexplicable forces at work. I stood still, trying to feel for rogue gusts of wind. There was nothing. I stood still for a solid five minutes, waiting. I didn't feel even the hint of a breeze. Whatever the event was, it was over and all there was to show for it was a messy
53
kitchen. There was nothing for me to do but clean it up.
Later that morning at work I had trouble focusing and ruined three silver bowls in about ten minutes. Engraving was easy, but you had to concentrate and be precise. Unfortunately, I couldn't and wasn't. Silver bowls weren't cheap. Mistakes got tossed, which didn't make Mr. Santoro too happy. I think I had ruined two bowls the whole time I had worked there. That morning I trashed five. It had to be a record.
"Take a break," Mr. Santoro said, holding back his anger. "Go for a walk. Clear your head."
"Okay, sorry," I said lamely, and went out to Stony Brook Avenue. I grabbed a Coke from the Garden Poultry deli and sat down on a bench in the pocket park next door. My mind wasn't in the moment. All I could think about was the swirling design that appeared in Ovaltine on my kitchen counter . . . and the bag face at the window. I had to force myself to stop obsessing. It wasn't like it was getting me anywhere.
I turned my thoughts to Cooper. Mikey Russo wasn't balanced. If he thought Cooper was going to turn him in to the police, he would hurt him. It wouldn't matter that he was Sydney's brother--Coop would be in trouble.
I didn't want to deal with any of it. Summer wasn't supposed to be so stressful.
My cell phone rang. Only two people called me on the cell. Dad and Cooper. I was hoping it would be Coop so I could tell him about Russo. Besides, I didn't want to deal with my dad. I wouldn't know what to tell him when he asked how things were going.
"Hello?" I said, hoping to hear Coop's happy voice saying, "Hey, Ralph!"
"Is this Marshall Seaver?" came the monotone voice of a guy I didn't recognize.
54
"Yeah."
"This is Mr. Frano."
I had no idea who Mr. Frano was. My silence must have made him realize that.
"From school," he added.
Oh. Right. Him. I never thought of Frano as "Mr. Frano." The guy wasn't that much older than I was. The fact that he was calling my cell seemed almost as impossible as the mysterious wind that created a pattern in chocolate on my kitchen counter. Almost.
"Oh, hi," I said.
Frano spoke in his usual flat, emotionless voice. Over the phone it sounded even stranger because you didn't have the visual of the black-wearing art poser.
"I discovered another one of your sketches here," he said, sounding annoyed. "I have to clean out the room, so if you want it, I suggest you come by today or else it'll be tossed."
I was a second away from saying, "Trash it." It wasn't like I needed to save every last sketch I had ever done, but with all that was going on, the idea of going on a simple, mindless mission appealed to me.
"Don't," I said. "I'll be there."
"Fine," Frano said, and hung up without so much as a "Good-bye." Creep.
It wasn't until I was halfway back to work that I realized how strange it
I went back inside, making sure to lock the door in case Russo changed his mind and decided to charge back and injure me. No sooner had I twisted the lock than I
remembered the other mystery. The one that wasn't solved. I ran for the kitchen.
The Ovaltine powder was all over the counter and the floor. The three-ring design was gone. Winston had walked through the chocolate and left kitty footprints everywhere . . . across the counter, on the floor, and into the dining room. I stood staring at the counter, trying to make out the remains of the design. There was nothing. Any sign that it had been there was gone. I questioned whether I had seen it or not. It's easier to think something like that was a trick of the imagination than to believe there were inexplicable forces at work. I stood still, trying to feel for rogue gusts of wind. There was nothing. I stood still for a solid five minutes, waiting. I didn't feel even the hint of a breeze. Whatever the event was, it was over and all there was to show for it was a messy
53
kitchen. There was nothing for me to do but clean it up.
Later that morning at work I had trouble focusing and ruined three silver bowls in about ten minutes. Engraving was easy, but you had to concentrate and be precise. Unfortunately, I couldn't and wasn't. Silver bowls weren't cheap. Mistakes got tossed, which didn't make Mr. Santoro too happy. I think I had ruined two bowls the whole time I had worked there. That morning I trashed five. It had to be a record.
"Take a break," Mr. Santoro said, holding back his anger. "Go for a walk. Clear your head."
"Okay, sorry," I said lamely, and went out to Stony Brook Avenue. I grabbed a Coke from the Garden Poultry deli and sat down on a bench in the pocket park next door. My mind wasn't in the moment. All I could think about was the swirling design that appeared in Ovaltine on my kitchen counter . . . and the bag face at the window. I had to force myself to stop obsessing. It wasn't like it was getting me anywhere.
I turned my thoughts to Cooper. Mikey Russo wasn't balanced. If he thought Cooper was going to turn him in to the police, he would hurt him. It wouldn't matter that he was Sydney's brother--Coop would be in trouble.
I didn't want to deal with any of it. Summer wasn't supposed to be so stressful.
My cell phone rang. Only two people called me on the cell. Dad and Cooper. I was hoping it would be Coop so I could tell him about Russo. Besides, I didn't want to deal with my dad. I wouldn't know what to tell him when he asked how things were going.
"Hello?" I said, hoping to hear Coop's happy voice saying, "Hey, Ralph!"
"Is this Marshall Seaver?" came the monotone voice of a guy I didn't recognize.
54
"Yeah."
"This is Mr. Frano."
I had no idea who Mr. Frano was. My silence must have made him realize that.
"From school," he added.
Oh. Right. Him. I never thought of Frano as "Mr. Frano." The guy wasn't that much older than I was. The fact that he was calling my cell seemed almost as impossible as the mysterious wind that created a pattern in chocolate on my kitchen counter. Almost.
"Oh, hi," I said.
Frano spoke in his usual flat, emotionless voice. Over the phone it sounded even stranger because you didn't have the visual of the black-wearing art poser.
"I discovered another one of your sketches here," he said, sounding annoyed. "I have to clean out the room, so if you want it, I suggest you come by today or else it'll be tossed."
I was a second away from saying, "Trash it." It wasn't like I needed to save every last sketch I had ever done, but with all that was going on, the idea of going on a simple, mindless mission appealed to me.
"Don't," I said. "I'll be there."
"Fine," Frano said, and hung up without so much as a "Good-bye." Creep.
It wasn't until I was halfway back to work that I realized how strange it
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