In Laymon's Terms

No matter how mad Mr. Standish was that Charlie had run, Charlie knew the man wouldn’t chase him. He had neither the energy nor the time to do so. He never left the store, except to buy food. And even then, there were three locks he had to engage before he left.

The bricks against Charlie’s back were hard and cold. He stood still for a moment, letting the wall hold him up while his knees regained their strength. More than anything in the world, he wanted to cry. He fought that urge, trying to shore up his strength and think clearly.

He couldn’t go back into that store. It was too risky. Mr. Standish would be on him in a second, then whatever the man had planned for him would be just a heartbeat away.

He couldn’t tell anyone. Who would believe the nine-year-old son of a whore? They’d think he was crazy and lock him up.

Still, he had to know where the books wanted him to take the shovel. What did they want him to dig up?

Charlie paced back and forth along the sidewalk in front of his house. There were only two kids who passed that way, snotty Shawna Reilly and Greg Tremblay. Greg was younger by two years than Charlie, but smart as a whip. He’d been advanced to third grade and there was talk of sending him yet another year ahead.

And so Charlie waited. The minute Greg walked past, Charlie reached out and snagged him by the sleeve. The shorter, younger boy let out a small yelp and shied away from Charlie at once.

“Relax, Greg. I’m not gonna take your lunch money or nothing. I just want to talk to you for a second.”

Greg scowled at Charlie and yanked back his arm. “What do you want?”

“I have a little job for you. And I’m willing to pay.”

Greg’s face lit up at that. Charlie could see the little cash register symbols in his eyes. “How much? And what’s the job?”

“All I want you to do is go into the bookstore for me. See, I can’t go in there no more ’cause Mr. Standish don’t like letting people like me and my Mama in.”

“Okay, and what do I do once I’m in this bookstore?” Greg’s eyes scanned the sidewalk.

“Go to the back of the store. All the way to the back where they keep the adventure books. Then just ask the books, ‘Where should Charlie take the shovel?’ That’s it. But ask quietly so old man Standish doesn’t hear you.”

“You want me to talk to BOOKS?” Greg backed away.

Charlie advanced. “I’ll explain later. But for right now, you have to trust me...and this five spot.” Charlie waved the bill beneath Greg’s nose. “Once you ask the question, books will slide out from the shelves, all on their own. Don’t be scared, though, okay? It won’t hurt you.”

“So, I walk into the back of Standish’s bookstore and ask the books where you should take the shovel.”

“Read the first word of the title of each book, in order, as they pop out.”

“And the books will give me the answer. And for this I get five bucks?”

“You got it! Don’t let me down, okay? And get in and out fast. Don’t hang around.”

“What if I get caught?” This seemed almost as important to Greg as the five-dollar bill which still held his eyes captive.

“Doing what? Talking to books? Look, if Standish catches you, just say you’re rehearsing for the school play and that’s why you were talking to yourself. Okay? Do we have a deal?”

“You’re weird as hell, Drier, ya know that?”

“Yea, I know. But do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

The boys shook on it and Greg took off, bound for the bookstore. Charlie waited in front of his house, kicking stones and chewing his lip, hoping Greg wouldn’t get busted. It wouldn’t take Standish long to realize just who had sent Greg into the store. Then he might well come after Charlie.

At twelve past forever, Greg ran toward Charlie. He skidded around the corner and planted his gray sneakers on the sidewalk in a dead stop.

“So? So? What did they say?”

Still panting and holding his sides, Greg tried to stand fully upright. “I’ll tell you what, man. That bookstore is the creepiest place I’ve ever seen. How do they do that, anyway? Books popping out all over the place?”

“I don’t know how they do it. What did they tell you?”

“The old abandoned fishing pier. Dig at the end farthest from the water.” Greg paused for a moment, grimacing from the stitch in his side. “Now, where’s my five bucks?” Charlie yanked the bill from his pocket and pressed it into Greg’s sweaty palm. “Thanks, man.” And he dashed toward his house.

“Hey! What are you digging for, anyway?” Greg yelled after him.

“I’ll let you know when I find out,” Charlie hollered, then disappeared around the side of the house.

The ground was soft and mucky beneath the rotted old pier, so the digging wasn’t too hard. Charlie had waited for a spell, until all the old-timers dragged themselves home, fishing poles in tow. It had been a long time since fishing had been legal there, though the old residents refused to admit that.