Read Online The Light (Morpheus Road) by D.J. MacHale - Free Book Online
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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was that Frano had called me on the cell phone. How did he get my number?
I put in another hour of work (without ruining a single bowl, I'm relieved to say) and asked Mr. Santoro for some extra time at lunch to do my chore. He had no problem with it. Mr. Santoro was a good guy, though I think he was just as happy to see me gone and not destroying any more expensive bowls.
55
I rode my bike over to Davis Gregory High, which was actually pretty close to my house. It was odd to see the parking lot completely empty. It made sense since summer school hadn't started yet, but it was still weird because normally it was jammed. Walking through the empty corridors was just as strange. It was a big school with a lot of students. Even when most everybody was inside a classroom, you could feel the energy of the people in the building.
Not that day. The place was empty. It felt dead.
I walked to the far end of the sprawling complex where the gym, music department, and art department were located. I didn't pass a single person. It made me wonder what Frano was doing there all by himself.
"Hello?" I called when I stepped into the art room. "Mr. Frano?"
No answer. I figured he had gone out for lunch. Assuming he ate like a normal person. The room was shut down for the summer. Chairs were up on worktables, supplies were out of sight, and the art cubbies were empty. I thought I was too late to salvage my sketch and was about to leave when I spotted something on a worktable across the room. A single chair was on the floor, and a large piece of white drawing paper was on the table. I made my way across the room to see that the table was set up as if somebody had been working there. Charcoal pencils lay next to the paper, along with a gum eraser. I recognized the sketch. Sort of. It was one of mine. Gravedigger. The sketch was a big close-up of his face and shoulders, but there were no facial features, only the familiar outline of his skull-like head topped off by the wide-brimmed black hat. I had shaded in his dark suit, but the face had no detail. Oddly, I had no memory of having done the sketch. I guess that wasn't so strange. I had done hundreds of sketches of the G-man. No way I could remember every last one . . . especially the ones that
56
weren't finished. Still, this one wasn't coming close to ringing any bells.
Something felt off. There were plenty of details in the sketch, just not in the face. That was the exact opposite of the way I usually worked. I liked to draw the features first, then frame them with the contours of his face. Why had I done this one backward? I'm not sure why, but I sat down to finish the job.
I was reaching for one of the charcoal pencils when I was suddenly tickled by another puff of air. The pencil rolled a few inches away from my fingers. My hand hung there.
A second later, a dark shadow leaped at me. I jumped sideways in surprise and looked to see . . .
. . . Winston, my cat, standing on the worktable across from me. Though it took a second for me to register that it was her, there was no mistake. Winston was a uniquely colored tortoiseshell tabby. That alone wasn't proof, but the cat had on Winston's purple collar and I.D. tag. I saw her name engraved in white letters. It was definitely Winston. What the heck was she doing there? How did she get into the school?
"Winny?" I called tentatively. "C'mere."
Cats don't normally do what you tell them, but Winston was more like a dog. When you asked her to come, her tail would go up with a happy flip and she'd prance over to get a scratch on the head. I expected her to run to me and jump onto my lap. She didn't. With a short meow Winston jumped off the table and ran for the door.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Winny!" I got up and chased after her. The surprise of seeing her made me forget about the moving charcoal pencil. All I could think to do was catch her and get her home. Winston trotted out of the art room and along the corridor just fast enough to stay
I put in another hour of work (without ruining a single bowl, I'm relieved to say) and asked Mr. Santoro for some extra time at lunch to do my chore. He had no problem with it. Mr. Santoro was a good guy, though I think he was just as happy to see me gone and not destroying any more expensive bowls.
55
I rode my bike over to Davis Gregory High, which was actually pretty close to my house. It was odd to see the parking lot completely empty. It made sense since summer school hadn't started yet, but it was still weird because normally it was jammed. Walking through the empty corridors was just as strange. It was a big school with a lot of students. Even when most everybody was inside a classroom, you could feel the energy of the people in the building.
Not that day. The place was empty. It felt dead.
I walked to the far end of the sprawling complex where the gym, music department, and art department were located. I didn't pass a single person. It made me wonder what Frano was doing there all by himself.
"Hello?" I called when I stepped into the art room. "Mr. Frano?"
No answer. I figured he had gone out for lunch. Assuming he ate like a normal person. The room was shut down for the summer. Chairs were up on worktables, supplies were out of sight, and the art cubbies were empty. I thought I was too late to salvage my sketch and was about to leave when I spotted something on a worktable across the room. A single chair was on the floor, and a large piece of white drawing paper was on the table. I made my way across the room to see that the table was set up as if somebody had been working there. Charcoal pencils lay next to the paper, along with a gum eraser. I recognized the sketch. Sort of. It was one of mine. Gravedigger. The sketch was a big close-up of his face and shoulders, but there were no facial features, only the familiar outline of his skull-like head topped off by the wide-brimmed black hat. I had shaded in his dark suit, but the face had no detail. Oddly, I had no memory of having done the sketch. I guess that wasn't so strange. I had done hundreds of sketches of the G-man. No way I could remember every last one . . . especially the ones that
56
weren't finished. Still, this one wasn't coming close to ringing any bells.
Something felt off. There were plenty of details in the sketch, just not in the face. That was the exact opposite of the way I usually worked. I liked to draw the features first, then frame them with the contours of his face. Why had I done this one backward? I'm not sure why, but I sat down to finish the job.
I was reaching for one of the charcoal pencils when I was suddenly tickled by another puff of air. The pencil rolled a few inches away from my fingers. My hand hung there.
A second later, a dark shadow leaped at me. I jumped sideways in surprise and looked to see . . .
. . . Winston, my cat, standing on the worktable across from me. Though it took a second for me to register that it was her, there was no mistake. Winston was a uniquely colored tortoiseshell tabby. That alone wasn't proof, but the cat had on Winston's purple collar and I.D. tag. I saw her name engraved in white letters. It was definitely Winston. What the heck was she doing there? How did she get into the school?
"Winny?" I called tentatively. "C'mere."
Cats don't normally do what you tell them, but Winston was more like a dog. When you asked her to come, her tail would go up with a happy flip and she'd prance over to get a scratch on the head. I expected her to run to me and jump onto my lap. She didn't. With a short meow Winston jumped off the table and ran for the door.
"Hey!" I shouted. "Winny!" I got up and chased after her. The surprise of seeing her made me forget about the moving charcoal pencil. All I could think to do was catch her and get her home. Winston trotted out of the art room and along the corridor just fast enough to stay
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