Read Online The Nightmarys by Dan Poblocki - Free Book Online Page A

seat.
    Seconds later, from the corner of the room, he
    could feel Abigail Tremens looking at him. He
    couldn’t bring himself to look back.

    15.
    Timothy sleepwalked through the rest of the
    day. He was standing at his locker, just after the
    last bel had rung, wondering what project Mr.
    Crane had in mind for his detention, when he
    felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped and
    spun around, embarrassed.
    Abigail was standing behind him. “Sorry
    about what happened with that note,” she said.
    “I wasn’t quick enough.”
    “S’okay,” said Timothy. “I only came up with
    the idea to eat it after I’d read it in front of the
    whole stupid class.”
    To his surprise, Abigail laughed. “Oh my
    God, I would’ve paid to see you do that.”
    Timothy shrugged. “Next time, then.”
    She laughed again, but a second later, her
    face quickly changed. “So … um … what was
    that about my grandmother?” She drew her

    that about my grandmother?” She drew her
    eyebrows close together and somehow
    managed to repossess that ability to look inside
    him.
    “I—I…,” Timothy stammered, trying to nish
    his sentence. “I’m going to be late.”
    “Late for what?”
    “For my detention with Mr. Crane.”
    “We could talk after your detention. I’m
    staying in my grandmother’s apartment for a
    while. You could, like, come over if you want?”
    “I could do that. Sure.”
    “Good,” said Abigail. “I could actual y use
    your help with something.”
    “Real y? With what?”
    She shook her head. “It’s sort of
    complicated.”
    On a scrap of paper, Abigail quickly wrote
    down her grandmother’s address and handed it
    to him.

    Mr. Crane was waiting for Timothy, leaning
    against the chalkboard, staring at the side wal .
    He barely glanced at Timothy as he came
    through the door. “You’re late,” he said.
    “Sorry,” Timothy answered. His teacher
    continued to stare at the shelves on the side of
    the room. The specimen jars rested there, silent
    and unassuming as always. “Uh, Mr. Crane,”
    Timothy said, “what do you want me to do?”
    Mr. Crane nal y turned to look at him,
    pul ed away from the sight of the specimens, as
    if from a dream. “I …” He cleared his throat. “I
    need you to take those jars out of here.”
    Timothy inched. “Where do you want me to
    take them?”
    “I don’t care,” said Mr. Crane. “They don’t
    belong in this classroom. I don’t know why
    they’ve lasted as long as they have.” He pointed
    out the window. “Take them outside to the
    Dumpster,” he said, slipping into his corduroy
    jacket. He clutched his leather briefcase under
    his arm. “Just close the door when you’re

    his arm. “Just close the door when you’re
    done.”
    “Wait a second,” said Timothy. “You’re
    leaving?”
    Mr. Crane wiped his forehead with the back
    of his hand. “I’m sorry, Timothy. I haven’t been
    feeling wel . I trust you’l be ne alone.” He
    headed toward the door.
    Before his teacher slipped away entirely,
    Timothy looked at the specimen jars one more
    time. “Mr. Crane?” he said.
    The teacher stopped in the doorway, but he
    didn’t turn around. “Yes, Timothy?” he
    answered stif ly.
    “Why do you real y want to get rid of the
    jars?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “Why now?”
    Mr. Crane turned around. His eyes were wide
    with some sort of secret. “Why now? I told you,
    they do not belong here.”
    Timothy remembered the black eyebal he’d

    Timothy remembered the black eyebal he’d
    seen two days ago, staring at him through the
    dusty glass. Staring or dead—it had been
    impossible to tel the dif erence at the time.
    “Did you see something?” said Timothy,
    almost a whisper.
    “Excuse me?”
    “In the jars. Did you see something?” This
    time, he said it more loudly.
    “See something? Like what?”
    “I don’t know. Something scary.”
    The teacher opened his mouth to speak, but
    al that came out was a harsh crackling sound.
    After Mr.